Dirty Toe Drag (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 6)

It’s how I cope.

Not healthy, but at least I’m not doing crack.

We’re down by four, and it’s easy to say no one is handling the coaching change or our goalie loss well. It has not been a good month for the Assassins. When the whistle blows for offside, I glance over to Roocie, who plays for the Wild, and glare. “Hey, how’s your sister?”

“Fuck off, Mac,” he sneers, and I grin, sinfully and with all kinds of malice.

“Hey, she said something quite different. She wanted me to fuck her, and I did. A lot.”

“Dude, go fuck yourself.”

“Or should I call your sister tonight? If I remember correctly, she is wild as fuc—”

I should have seen it coming. I grew up with Roocie, which is how I slept with his sister a few times, and I know his temper. It’s exactly what I wanted. Pain. When he swings around, full rage in his eyes, I can’t even prepare myself before his gloves are on the ice and his fist is in my jaw.

Fuck, that hurts.

Man, I love it.

Soon, we’re throwing blows, and it’s a blast. While I love to score, I love to fight too. It gives me such a rush. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten the label of goon yet, probably because I do more than just fight. I’m the second-leading scorer for the team after Aiden Brooks. My assist points are insane, and my plus/minus is the highest in the league. I’m a fucking badass, but this part, the fighting, gets my engines revving. Lately, it’s all I have since I’m not having sex with anyone.

When he busts my nose, I’m thankful for the refs who break it up quickly.

As I head to the side of the rink, my teammates tapping the ice for me, I grab a towel from the trainer for my bloody nose before entering the box. When I sit down, I check my jersey to make sure I have no blood on it, and then I feel like an idiot. I realize that I’ve been doing shit like this for a while now. It’s gotten worse since Coach quit, and then we lost Peca, which is absolute bullshit. I feel for the kid. He was going to be one of the greats, and then, bam! A heart defect pops up. How in the hell? Such shit. I hate that bad things happen to good people. He’s a good kid, and I miss him.

As I hold the towel to my nose, Roocie yells over to me. “I’m not done with you.”

I scoff. “Funny, that’s what your sister told me last time.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and I don’t have to look at him to know he is shaking with anger. I lean my head back to stop the bleeding because I refuse to get off the ice. We may be down, but I am hell-bent on trying to win. But when I hear the goal song for the Wild, I groan loudly.

Well, that’s my fault.

I need to get laid. That’s the real problem. I haven’t been in the mood, which isn’t too surprising. I’ve been lusting over Stella Brooks, and I don’t feel like I’ll get what I’m craving from anyone else. I want her, and I know that’s not going to happen.

I had no problem fucking Roocie’s sister, but it’s different with Aiden. He’s actually a good friend. He accepts me for who I am and doesn’t question when I go through my phases. Hell, he and Boon are the only ones who even know I go through them. They don’t know why—only my therapist does—but they support me. I can’t lose that, no matter how badly I want Stella. Aiden has made it very clear—stay the hell away from his sister. Stella made it clear too. She won’t be with me unless it will lead to something and I’m willing to tell Aiden about it.

Two things are wrong with that. One, I could lose my best friend. And two, I could give my whole self to a woman, and when she finds out my past, she could leave me and destroy me.

That’s all way too many feelings for my liking.

When my time runs down, thankfully my nose has stopped bleeding. So I throw the towel in the trash beside the bench before taking a long pull of water. I notice Roocie stands, so I do the same, ready to hit the ice. When the box minder opens the door, I bolt out, hoping to get a sick pass from Boon. But Roocie comes out of nowhere and cuts off the pass, taking the puck to the net.

Scores.

Fucker.

I groan loudly as I skate toward our backup goalie, who is now our main goalie, Eller Vanski. He looks at me through his mask, totally defeated, and I feel for the dude. “My bad, bro.”