Torn Apart (Torn and Bound Duet 1)

“You suck, Coach,” she sasses. “Watch a girl kick ass.”

I watch in amusement as the two trash talk each other hard. When Mia ends up getting Ashton killed because she wasn’t covering him like he wanted, he tosses the controller and tackles her. She squeals as he tickles her ribs.

“Help! Drew! Help!”

I stand, earning a devilish grin from Ashton over his shoulder. As I approach—to do what? I don’t fucking know—he turns on me. I grunt when he tackles me down into the recliner. The fucker is strong and pins me in the chair. Problem for him is I’m not ticklish. His fingers dig into me like he’d been doing to Mia, and when I laugh at his efforts, he stops to stare at my mouth.

My eyes drag down his bare chest, noting his red claw marks Mia gave him. It’s awkward with him sitting on my lap, yet I don’t push him away.

“His thighs,” Mia chirps. “Get him, Drew.”

Ashton starts to bail, but she’s already tattled on what his weakness is. I grab onto his thighs, cracking up when he howls out obscenities at me. He busts his ass on the floor, scrambling to get away from me. When he’s safe, Mia and I laugh at the way he breathes heavily from his back on the floor next to the coffee table.

“Anyone ever tell you that you suck at Call of Duty,” Ashton says, his words breathless.

“Put on some hockey. I’ll kick your ass then.”

“Pass,” Ashton says. “Hockey is boring.”

Mia nods, agreeing with him.

“Are you for real?” My gaze darts between them both. “Have you ever even watched a game?”

When they both shake their heads, I scoff.

“Unbelievable. If I’m going to live here, you better believe your asses are getting schooled in the best sport in existence. Come to the game on Saturday night.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “The only hockey I’m interested in is naked hockey.”

Mia giggles. “I mean, I’m interested in that too.”

“Okay, horndogs,” I grumble. “Hockey isn’t played naked, but you get to see hot, sweaty guys fighting on the ice. Tell me that doesn’t entice you a little.”

“Maybe a little.” Ashton flashes me a deviant grin. “You buying dinner afterward?”

Mia’s brow is lifted, waiting on my answer.

“Uh, I guess,” I mutter. “Again.”

“We’re in,” Ashton says. “Under one condition.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” I deadpan.

Ashton’s eyes glimmer with wickedness. “We get to cheer for the other team.”

Oh give me a fucking break.

“I’m not cheering for Bratty Brayden,” Mia agrees. “Take the deal, Coach.”

“Nope. No deal.”

Ashton’s brows fly up. “What? Really?”

Mia frowns, her brown eyes darting between Ashton and me.

“Dinner after, but you have to cheer Bray on.”

“Nah,” Ashton grunts out. “We’re busy.”

“Whatever,” I say as I stand. “I’m headed to bed.”

They whisper as I walk away. I’m annoyed that they want to cheer against their own school. Not that Brayden deserves their cheering, but he certainly doesn’t need someone actively rooting against him. He already does that enough to himself as it is.

“Fine. We’ll take the deal.”

Ashton’s words soothe whatever burn that ignited only moments before. Brayden might be an asshole a lot of the time, but there’ll always be a part of me that wants to protect him.

“Good answer,” I grunt out and wave over my shoulder. “Night, kids.”“Seal the wall, Murphy! Seal the wall! Seal the damn wall!”

Brayden stops in his place and chucks his stick across the ice. He removes his helmet and then skates over to me, getting in my face. “I’m sealing the fucking wall!”

“You need to use your body more. Focus on blocking the pass coming up the boards.”

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” he argues, his face contorted in rage.

“It looks like you’re having trouble trapping the puck with your stick,” I explain, trying to keep my cool. I’m the coach. It’s my job to guide. But right now Brayden isn’t welcoming my guidance. “Try blocking with both feet.”

“How about you try focusing on another fucking player instead of riding my ass.”

The entire teams goes quiet, their attention moving to our argument. It’s been like this for the last two hours of practice. Me, trying to run drills, and Brayden arguing every step of the way.

“Fine,” I quip. “Holden, you’re in. Murphy, sit down.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brayden barks, throwing his helmet and stepping closer to me, until our noses are almost touching. This close, I can smell his sweat mixed with his signature cologne he’s been wearing for years. It reminds me of happier days, before shit got messed up and I lost everyone close to me, starting with Brayden.

“If you aren’t going to be a team player, then your ass isn’t going to play on this team,” I tell him, needing to make it clear to the other guys this shit isn’t going to fly. “Hit the shower. Practice is over for you.”