Blades of Glory (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 4)

The whistle blows, and I throw up my hand. “Embellishment!” I protest.

The ref gives me a look. “You tossed him two feet, Adler.”

“What!” I look down at where Boon is lying, looking up at the jumbotron. “I didn’t even hit him!”

“Dad!” Posey is leaning on the railing, her belly between the two rails. My baby is pregnant by this jackass. I don’t feel bad. “Really!”

I shrug. “He ran into me.”

“Really! You guys are supposed to play a friendly game.”

Boon holds his hand up to mine, and I smack it away. “Who said that?”

“Mom!”

I shrug my shoulders. “I didn’t hear that. Did you hear that?” I ask the ref as he guides me to the box with a look that says he knows I heard it.

I did.

I’m just choosing to ignore it.

Chapter Three

Second Period

Aiden

“I’m pretty sure Shea knocked me into next week,” Boon complains, rolling his shoulder to relieve the pain in his arm.

“My dad has cup checked me twice. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want grandchildren,” I say with wide eyes, repositioning my cup to contain my goodies.

Boon looks at me in pure panic. “Hopefully he doesn’t tell Shea that.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Boon waggles his brows at me. “It’s okay. I have super-strong sperm that burst through condoms and knock my girl up.” Everyone looks over at Boon, and he grins. “True story.”

Peca laughs loudly as he leans his long body out from his locker. “It’s rough out there. These guys aren’t playing.”

Boon exhales loudly. “I think he broke my toe. Do you think Shea kicked me on purpose when we were fighting for the puck?”

“Yes,” Wes and I answer, and we all chuckle together as we lean back in our lockers, taking in soothing breaths. Everyone pretty much mirrors the action, but unlike a real game, we are more relaxed. The guys are joking, bullshitting, and enjoying one another. A lot of our team flew back in from vacation for this, and they plan to fly back out tomorrow before coming back for the wedding. We’re such a huge family, and it means so much to me that my brothers want to be here for me and to celebrate this next chapter in my life.

Marriage.

It seems kind of crazy that it’s finally here. I proposed to Shelli almost a year ago, and I’m ready for her to be Mrs. Shelli Adler-Brooks. Yes, she is keeping her last name, and no, I don’t care. She’s an Adler through and through, as is Posey. But Boon must have this magic dick he keeps talking about, because she quickly changed her name to Hoenes without looking back. Okay, maybe I am a little salty about it.

Eh, who am I kidding. I just want this over. Not the game—I love this; this is a blast—but planning this wedding has been absolute hell. I have never in my life gotten into a fight with someone about flowers. Yes, flowers. I felt the red went better with the whole whimsical theme, but no, it’s the white. I was supposed to choose white. I fought, gave her one hell of a battle over those red roses. But in the end, she held out for a week. She didn’t have sex with me for seven days. She didn’t even kiss me. Just gave me a high five or a smack on the butt that only woke up my cock.

It was completely and out-of-this-world insane, so disrespectful, and I told her so. I don’t think she cared. And you better fucking believe I’ve agreed to everything else about this wedding ever since.

Wes sits beside me, stretching his groin. “Why are we only up by one? We should be beating those dinos.”

Wes isn’t wrong. I think I underestimated my dad and his buddies. For one, I was told this was going to be a fun, friendly, soft-contact game. I was lied to. Shea and my dad have come out of the gate ready to plow me under. Even my uncle Tate is giving me a look that says he’s coming for me. Shea still has one hell of a shot. I got pinged with it in my thigh, and I’m pretty sure I’ll feel it a year from now. I’m also pretty sure Erik Titov hasn’t been in Russia on vacation but instead to play over there, because he’s still fast as hell and has a lethal shot. I should have known better when Monroe got in goal; he’s only been out a little over a year. He’s as badass as he’s always been. Then Phillip Anderson’s got his wicked wrist shot, and Jordie Tomas is ruthless with his hits. They are all still so damn good.

Oh, Karson King—he blocked my shot and sent it up the ice to my dad from his knees.

They are seasoned legends, and I want to be just like them someday. I’ve always wanted to be like them. This is a dream come true, which is why Shelli pushed so hard for it. She knows how much I respect and admire the older Assassins since I grew up watching them. Now…to play against them? It’s unbelievable. The perfect reward for dealing with the woman I fell in love with, who is now a WWE version of Bridezilla. The only thing keeping me from calling off this whole thing is the fact that I love that girl something insane. So damn much.