Chapter 4 - Stone

Here’s the thing. I’m really not an asshole. I swear.

But I can be.

There’s a difference.

I can be an asshole to people who deserve it. I can be an asshole to people who are a dick to me first. It’s called matching energy, and I’m pretty good at that. Sure, there are plenty of times when I shouldn’t or when the person isn’t even worth the trouble.

When it comes to Callum?

I definitely shouldn’t.

Considering we’re on the same team and the crime I committed against him— for him?—I really should be trying to alleviate the tension between us. To be honest, I don’t know for certain who gave Callum all those bruises and scars, but it’s a pretty good fucking guess when taking into account the other information I was given.

Still, I can’t let him find out the truth.

Not when my secrets aren’t only mine to keep.

Not when they’re bigger than me.

But there’s something about him that just makes me want to fight back, fight ice with fire.

Which is exactly why I sat next to him in class today. He’ll get over a stupid ass high school scrimmage game or he’ll get to deal with me making his blood boil both on and off the ice for the next year.

I have to admit watching him squirm was more fun than I expected it’d be.

That’ll have to be the highlight of my day I take with me into practice since I wasn’t able to show up early. My nutritional biochemistry class ran late, so I’m missing out on my solo time on the ice. I really hope the professor doesn’t make a habit of that. I don’t mind walking out of class when it’s supposed to be over even if the teacher isn’t showing any signs of dismissing us, but I also don’t want to risk missing important information.

Standing in front of my station as the rest of the team filters into the locker room, I change into my base layer before pulling down my protective gear.

Callum shows up, ignoring me as he throws down his bag and starts stripping out of his shirt and jeans. I barely resist the urge to turn and look at him. I had to stop myself from doing that in the showers yesterday too.

It’s only curiosity. I haven’t forgotten the map of brutal marks left on his body. I wonder how many of them are still there.

While part of me has enjoyed our verbal sparring, I know where to draw the line.

As much as I want to look at him, I won’t let myself.

But once he’s got his own base layer on, the game’s back on too.

“So, are we actually going to be practicing together today?” I ask as I pull my pads on. “Would probably be a good idea since you’re, you know, one of my wingers and all.”

I can see his jaw working as he grits his teeth. “I told you not to call me that.”

“What’s the matter, Hayes?” Leaning to the side, I get a whiff of his aftershave. It’s sweet and spicy, like cherry and cinnamon. Fuck, he smells good. “You don’t want to be mine?”

When he faces me, there’s something in the depths of his eyes, the flaring of his nostrils, and the set of his jaw that goes beyond whatever hatred he feels toward me.

I hit a nerve much deeper than I meant to go.

The next time he speaks, it’s with a cold conviction I’ve never heard from him before. “I don’t fucking belong to anyone.”

That’s my cue to back the fuck off.

Straightening, I give him a nod. “Fair enough.”

Now I know where another line is.

However, those few simple words, the intensity in which he spoke them, the hard, unwavering look in his eyes that was masking something else entirely sticks with me. It all tugged at the half of me I’ve done a damn good job of keeping locked away when it comes to him.

Beneath my exterior, there are two parts.

A protector and a beast.

Callum seems to enjoy poking the latter, but now there’s something about him that’s calling to that other half just as it tried to do years ago.

As we continue getting ready, I leave him be and give him some space. I take a seat on the bench to pull on my skates, and when he sits beside me to do the same, it’s like the temperature drops twenty degrees.

He finishes lacing up before me and stands, facing me. “I promised Nate I’d keep my shit with you off the ice, and that’s what I intend to do. If you want to have any chance of playing even halfway decent together, then stay the fuck away from me when we’re not in the rink. Got it?”

I stand too and take a step toward him, lowering my voice so no one overhears. “Then how about you actually get over your shit, Callum? I can play nice if you can. If not, it’s going to be a long fucking year.”

Before he can respond, I move around him and yank my sweater off the hanger. I throw it on and grab my stick before heading out of the locker room.

I’m fuming by the time I make it out onto the ice.

Next time one of my stupid professors wants to keep the class late, I’m walking the fuck out. I needed my time in the rink before practice a hell of a lot more than I needed that confrontation with Callum.

Now, instead of those noises in my head being quiet, they’re fucking raging.

That’s what happens when I don’t get what I need. When I don’t get the chance to tame the beast inside me before I let him out on the ice—or anywhere else for that matter—he’s more vicious than ever.

Wanting to eat everything in his path.

Slaughter and devour.

I might’ve let shit go, but Callum just had to keep pushing.

And of course I’m going to push right the fuck back.

Because the alternative is dangerous for both of us.

Practice went about as great as I expected. Which is to say not great at all.

When we were running drills, Callum used any excuse he could find to not pass me the puck. Of course, it was in a way that wasn’t noticeable to anyone but me. He got away with it because when he actually did pass it to me, it was with perfect precision, slapping against my tape every time. It was enough to get the coach’s eyes to sparkle like he could already see the scoreboard lighting up in his favor.

Callum and I could play really fucking well together if he was at all interested in winning games.

Apparently, he’s not.

Then later, I got into a puck battle with Brooks and shoved him into the boards a bit harder than I meant to. He ended up in a heap on the ice. I had to take my frustrations out on someone, and for reasons that were made clear in the locker room, I didn’t want that someone to be Callum.

However, after I made the goal, Callum scowled at me, like he wanted to avenge the guy he wished was his center.

So much for either one of us keeping our shit off the ice.

Of course, I didn’t get any heat for it. Coach Hill told the assistant coach he needs to work with the second line more and barked at the team’s goalie coach that “Fitz needs to get his head out of his ass.” Then I got a slap on the back for a job well done.

I play just as well when I get that quiet moment to myself beforehand as I do when I don’t. The difference is that, in the case of the latter, there’s typically more blood and the risk of broken bones.

After practice, I’m the first one in the locker room, stripping out of my sweater and pads so I can change into my regular clothes. I don’t remember the last time I skipped a shower directly after practice or a game, but I have to get out of here. The noise in my head is too loud, demanding more than what I’ve already given.

If I don’t leave now, that beast will take more for itself.

I don’t look at Callum, but I can feel his eyes on my back as I exit the locker room.

Shoving open the back door to the building, I march outside and toward the lot where my black Dodge Charger is parked. I yank open the driver’s side door and throw myself into the seat. The engine roars to life, and I peel out of campus and toward my apartment.

I don’t live far, less than a ten minute drive. I also live alone. So as soon as I climb the stairs up to the second floor and get inside, I once more strip out of my clothes, tossing them onto the floor on my way to the bathroom.

The water heats up quickly, and I step into the shower beneath the steaming spray. I bow my head, letting it beat against my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I let out a satisfied moan.

I don’t know what it is about Callum that has me so worked up. His animosity is seeping into me when that’s the last thing I should be allowing. I want to fight back, counter everything he throws at me, but at the same time, I don’t want to hurt him worse than he’s already been hurt.

I’ve always had strong protective instincts, and they’ve only grown over the years.

To dangerous levels.

It’s why I’m careful not to make what I do personal. I didn’t know Callum all that well, so it was easy enough not to make it personal when I murdered his stepfather. Okay, maybe not easy . But it’s what I had to do.

However, things are different now.

It is personal.

I’ve saved him once before, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else hurt him again.

I want to protect him.

But this other side of me?

It wants to fucking ruin him.

It wants to be the only one allowed to ever touch him.

Callum Hayes is the first person to make me think the two halves of me might be able to overlap.

When I open my eyes again, I see that my cock is half hard. No idea what the fuck that’s about.

Okay, I do. But I refuse to acknowledge it.

I’m tempted to finish what it’s started, but it’s not the release I really need right now.

After I finish with my shower, I dry off and change into clean clothes. Picking up my cell, I go into the living room and crash onto the couch.

It’s so quiet.

I love living alone.

My father passed away when I was twelve, leaving behind a considerable amount of money. My family’s not rich by any means, but we’re able to live comfortably. He created several software programs used by a lot of Fortune 500 companies and spent most of his life saving what he made. That money has paid for mine and my sister’s college educations—at least what my athletic scholarships don’t cover—as well as this apartment.

I might love living alone, but I don’t love living so far away from my mom and sister. However, I know that my scholarships help ease the burden on my father’s savings. When Coach Hill offered me a spot on the Lynwood Monarchs, I couldn’t turn it down. The goal was always to get my master’s as well as play one more year of hockey.

My father’s savings won’t last forever. I want to be able to help my family as much as I can. Preferably as a physical therapist, but I’ll take what I can get.

With my family on my mind, I dial my sister’s number.

“What’s up, punk?”

My mouth tilts up at the sound of Lacey’s voice. “Just wanted to check in. See how things are going.”

She sighs heavily. “Same as yesterday. Same as the day before that. And before that. And before that.”

I let out a low laugh. “I get it. Can you blame me? I’ve never been away this long before. How’s Mom doing?”

“Oh, you know her. Working too hard like usual.”

“Yeah.” I lean back into the soft cushions and run my hand over my face. “I wish she wouldn’t do that. Between you and me, we’ll always take care of her.”

“She doesn’t want her kids to have to take care of her. And I get it, Stone.” A bag rustles down the line followed by a crunch, and I can picture my sister sitting at her desk with an open bag of Funyuns. “Even when Dad was alive, she was always strong and independent.”

“But you know that’s not the only reason she overworks herself.”

Lacey sighs again. “Yeah, I know.”

Even after eleven years, our mother still uses work to distract herself from the loss of our father. She’s an ER nurse, and she spends far more time at the hospital than what’s demanded of her.

Between my father who always wanted to keep his family safe and provided for, and my mother who’s a natural caregiver, it’s no wonder where my protective instincts come from.

“How about you? How are you doing, Lace?”

This time, when she sighs, it’s long, loud, and dramatic. “Just over here wallowing in self-pity.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Lacey.”

“I’m doing great now that I have all these images in my head of me driving out to Connecticut to beat your ass.”

“Don’t you always have those images in your head?”

“Only about six times a day.”

We both laugh until she speaks again.

“Come on, Stone. You know me. I’m kicking ass and taking names.”

Lacey is an IT security analyst for some government corporation, a job she signed an NDA for and isn’t allowed to talk to us about. She knew she wanted to follow in our father’s footsteps in the tech industry from a young age. She’s two years older than I am, but I remember when we were both really little walking by our dad’s office many times and seeing her sitting in there with him. She’d be in front of one the three computers in the room, typing away like she knew what she was doing.

Now she’s the one who works out of that same office, five computers all running separate programs or whatever it is she does on them.

She still lives at home, but that’s because she and mom both need each other.

When Lacey was nineteen, she was raped by her boyfriend and two of his friends.

At the age of seventeen, I committed my first three murders.

The unfortunate accident was deemed a tragedy in all the papers.

“Speaking of names,” I say, “Tell me you have one for me.”

“You need one already?”

Now it’s my turn to sigh. “It’s been a long week.”

“Sure. Give me an hour or so. I’ll send the deets to your burner.”

“Thanks, Lacey. Give Mom a hug for me.”

“Of course. Be careful.”

“I always am.”

After we hang up, I throw my head back and rub my eyes.

I’m already feeling a bit better knowing Lacey’s working on getting me a name for tonight. I may have had ulterior motives for calling this time, but if I’m going to have to face Callum in class and practice for the rest of the week, I need something to help sway me toward one side of these conflicted urges I have.

I’d rather keep him safe than unleash the beast on him.