51. bad blood

Bailey

I hadn’t wanted to take my eyes off the game, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d rushed to the bathroom and couldn’t have been gone for more than two minutes. But when I returned, every member of both teams on the ice was involved in a massive altercation. They yelled and pointed and gestured at each other while the referees stood in the middle, holding players back.

One of those players was Chase. He and Luke were having words—again. Other guys sniped back and forth, not all that worked up, but Chase’s face was twisted in anger, and he was gesturing wildly.

Heart racing, I hurried down the stairs and sank back into my seat beside Siobhan. I tried to time my bathroom break with Chase’s shift change, but apparently, I’d fallen short.

“What happened?” I grabbed my half of the blue and purple plaid blanket we huddled under together for warmth, covering my legs with it.

Shiv nodded to the scrum. “Your ex took a run at Ty.”

My stomach clenched. Of course he did.

“Is Ty okay?” I asked, eyes still glued to Chase. My chest was tight, my breath shallow. What would he do? There was no way he’d let Luke get away with lowbrow action like that.

The ref leaned in and said something to him. Chase shook his head and responded with what looked like a no.

“Yeah, he got knocked for a loop, but he seems fine.” She pointed to the far corner of the ice, where Ty was trash talking Mendez.

Goalies answered to other goalies, but Mendez was soft-spoken and probably not to blame for anything. While some of the players were amped up and reveling in the chaos, Mendez was mostly still and speaking calmly, like he just wanted to get back in the net.

My gaze snapped back to Chase, whose movements weren’t quite so irate. He was still yelling at Luke, but the referee wasn’t straining to hold him back anymore.

“But it’s the principle at this point,” Siobhan added, pulling her hands into the sleeves of her red Falcons hoodie.

“It really is,” I agreed with a nod.

Goalies were off limits. Everyone knew that. Add that to the cheap hit on Dallas, and it wasn’t surprising that Chase wanted to tear off Luke’s head.

The silver lining was that Derek wasn’t on the ice, so I had one less person to worry about.

“Think anyone’s going to take a penalty?”

“Nah,” Shiv said. “No one threw any hits.”

Eventually, the referees negotiated some kind of peace, and the players filtered back to their respective benches. One steered Chase toward the Falcons bench, but Chase shrugged off the ref’s arm and headed off the ice on his own.

My breathing resumed a more normal pattern and the tightness in my shoulders relaxed a notch. It was almost the end of the second period, so maybe things would cool down during the break. Then there would only be twenty minutes of game time to get through without bloodshed. God willing.

Instead of heading to the Bulldogs’ bench, though, Luke made a sharp turn and skated over to Chase, who was halfway to the Falcons bench. They were side by side on open ice, separated from their teammates and the officials.

My heart leapt into my throat.

Luke leaned in close and made a comment. Chase shook his head, and they had a quick verbal back and forth. In a flash, Chase’s expression went from irritated to homicidal. He threw his stick, dropped his gloves, and clocked Luke square in the face. Before Luke could so much as react to the hit, Chase grabbed him by the jersey and tossed him onto the ice like he was weightless.

No, no, no.

I watched as the official blew his whistle and sped over to them, wedging himself between their bodies while holding Chase back. Or attempting to, anyway, as Chase pushed against him to get to Luke. A second linesman skated up, trying to help him restrain Chase with limited success.

Luke scrambled to his feet and backed up a few strides, stumbling as he went. He didn’t fight. Ever. Hell, he didn’t know how to fight. Which meant Chase would destroy him and get himself into serious trouble in the process.

Dallas hopped over the boards and joined the linemen, trying to talk Chase down while restraining him. Chase shook his head, all the while yelling at Luke. I had never seen Chase look that mad. There was no way they wouldn’t kick him out of the game. Maybe suspend him for multiple games.

After another split second of watching and praying, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I stood and ran down the stairs to ice-level. “Stop it!” I banged on the glass. I couldn’t get his attention, but I didn’t stop. “Carter!”

Finally, Chase turned and looked in my direction. Our eyes locked, and I made a “cut it out” gesture. “Please?” I mouthed.

He nodded, and he stopped resisting the linesman. Head down and shoulders slumped, he skated off the side and headed for the locker rooms. I climbed the stairs back up to our seats, exchanging a look with Siobhan.

“What the hell just happened?” she asked.

“I have no idea.”

* * *

Waiting for Chase to emerge from the dressing room was torture. Like time was moving in reverse.

I’d spent the intermission pacing the concourse with poor Shiv in tow, who had to work double-time to keep up with my strides. I couldn’t help it; I was too wired with worry over Chase.

Siobhan and I were still on the concourse—mostly alone, thankfully—when the buzzer sounded, announcing the start of the third period. Shiv looked at me uncertainly, deep teal eyes studying my face.

“Go watch,” I said. “It’s okay. I’ll wait for him here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Chase could be a while.” He was probably getting reamed out, or he’d been forced to sit in on the intermission pep talk with the rest of the team.

It wasn’t nearly as cold in the concourse, so I unzipped my puffy black coat and perched on an uncomfortable blue metal bench, killing time by texting back and forth with Zara and Noelle about everyday stuff. I couldn’t fill them in on what had just gone down because I still didn’t understand it.

Two minutes later, Chase appeared in the hallway. His face was tight, and his posture was even more stiff. I locked my phone and shoved it into my purse, then stood to greet him.

Chase leaned in, giving me a half-hearted kiss on the lips, then pulling back again quickly. His expression was stormy, a mixture of emotions I couldn’t read. He grabbed my hand, but he was silent as we walked to a quieter, more secluded area by the doors and sat at a small table.

“What happened out there?” I dipped my chin in hopes of catching his eye, but he looked away, his attention fixed on the speckled white table between us. Like usual, Chase was too tall for the furniture, and his knees were angled out awkwardly.

“Game stuff.”

“Looked like more than just game stuff. Why did you get so mad?” I asked, voice low so we wouldn’t be overheard, although we were alone since the third period had begun and the fans were all in the arena again. “I was scared you were going to slit Luke’s throat with a skate or something.”

Chase shook his head. “Morrison shot off his mouth again. He’s been needling me for a while, and I finally snapped. That’s all.”

I stretched my arm across the table and took his hand in mine. He stroked my fingers with his thumb, but he didn’t look up at me.

“What did he say?”

“It’s nothing, James.” If it was possible, he went even more tense then, the cords in his neck tight. “Don’t worry about it.”

His deflection ramped up my worry. “Why are you being so weird?”

“I don’t want to repeat it,” Chase said, dark eyes snapping up to mine. His tone took on an edge that he never used with me. “Let it go, okay?”

“Why? Was it about me?” Of course it was. I didn’t really need to ask.

His jawline turned to granite. “Bailey.” Now I knew it was serious because he never used my real name. “I don’t want to repeat it to you. It’s gross and it’s disrespectful.”

What the hell did Luke say?

“Now you have to tell me.”

Chase’s brow knit together, but he didn’t reply. Stubborn as always. But I had a right to know what Luke was saying about me, especially if it was that offensive.

I squeezed his hand, tamping down my frustration. “Carter. Tell me, please.”

“Fine.” He loosened his tie and shifted his weight in his seat. “But I want it on the record that I’m only telling you so you’re not upset with me.”

“Stop stalling.”

Chase swallowed. “Luke told me he broke up with Sophie, so I said, ‘why the fuck would I care?’ and he said…”

“He said…?”

“Then he said, and I quote…” Chase drew in a breath, nostrils flaring. “Because I seemed to like his sloppy seconds.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

“What?”

“Yeah, so my plan is to break both of his knees with a crowbar next time I see him off the ice.” He paused. “If you could give me his address, that would really help move things along.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words would come.

“Carter!” a deep voice barked. Coach Miller was standing with his hands on his hips at the dressing room entrance.

My heart sank at the very sight of him. His face was redder than the Falcons cap he was wearing, and fury radiated off his body.

“I have to go back and talk to Coach.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll wait for you. Good luck.”

* * *