Dump and Chase (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 1)

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I feel myself glaring as I watch him move with such confidence. Like the most gorgeous girl known to man just did him real good. My blood starts to boil. I don’t even know if they did anything, but I assume so by that shit-eating grin on his face.

“BB, why’s your face like that?”

I look up at Boon and shake my head. “I hate that fucker.”

He looks to where I am glaring and scoffs. “Nico Merryweather? He’s a great goalie.”

“He’s a jackass.”

“Well, tell me truly how you feel,” he teases, and I glare up at him.

“Pretty sure he had sex with Shelli.”

He shrugs. “So?”

“So—” I pause and shake my head. “Fuck it.”

I get up and head off the ice, needing to clear my head. Once at my locker, I lean my torso on my thighs and close my eyes. I try meditating, and it works for maybe a minute before my anger gets the best of me. I want to go out there and beat that fucker’s ass. What that will do, no clue, but I’ll feel better.

Who am I kidding? I won’t feel better until I talk to Shelli.

I try to pay attention to Coach’s talk. I even try to be excited when they call my name for the starting lineup. I try to get in the game, but my gaze is on that bastard in goal. I know him. He’s stolen plenty of my goals, and it only makes me hate him more. He’s a Vezina trophy favorite, for sure, and Shelli smiled at him in the way I want her to smile at only me. He’s basically the scum on my shoes.

The chip on my shoulder is real, and I find myself slamming my body into everyone with no cares in the world. I play the puck with urgency, but no matter how much I shoot, I don’t score. Merryweather is everywhere. He’s a brick wall, and it’s pissing me off. When I head to the bench, going through the door, Coach smacks my shoulders. “Love the play, the aggression! Keep it up.”

Oh, I will.

When my line is called, I rush the zone just as Sinclair passes it up to me. I take the puck into the zone and pass it off to Boon as I crash the net. I’m screening Merryweather, but somehow, he is making blocker saves like I’m not even there. When his stick comes into my back, I hit the ice.

“Move, fucker.”

“Kiss my ass,” I say, and I get back into position, closer to him but not in his crease. The goal will come, I know it. Reeves shoots a beauty, and I jump so I don’t block it, but this dude somehow blocks it! But then, it’s back in front of me. Without even turning, I backhand it between his legs.

Goal.

“Fuck yes!”

“Thataway, BB!”

“Way to be there.”

“Let’s go!”

“You’re not shit,” I hear him yell at me as my teammates hug me, tapping me on the head.

The boys break, ready to go tap gloves with the rest of our team, but I look back at Nico. “That’s why I just scored on your punk ass.”

He glares at me through his helmet. “And that’s why I fucked your girl.”

“Holy shit,” Wes says, his eyes wide.

Boon presses his hand into my chest. “Come on, BB.”

But I don’t move. Blood is rushing to my head. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he says, his eyes on me. “And she wanted it. All fucking night long, she rode my dick. She wants me, not you.”

“That’s enough, boys. Go on, Brooks!” the ref yells, but I feel as if something snaps.

I drop my stick and throw off my gloves at the same time he does.

And it’s fucking on.

Chapter Twenty

Aiden

I wince as my trainer, Ryan Justice, tapes up the wound under my eye. I had to have it restitched since I busted the first set of stitches during the third period. After my ten-minute major penalty, five for fighting and five for unsportsmanlike behavior, I thought I would get my head in the game, but I didn’t. Hell, I’m still pissed the fuck off. I’m pissed about what Merryweather said, the fact that I believe him, and that he landed two hard hits and all I did was bust his nose.

“Man, he got you good,” Ryan says, spreading some cooling cream along my jaw.

I wave him off. “You should see him. Pretty sure I broke his nose.”

He grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a player fight a goalie.”

“Dafoe vs. Kolzig.”

He grins. “I mean live. Did you know that they were each the best man at the other’s wedding?”

I laugh. “Yeah, my dad always told me that when I watched the highlights of the best fights.”

“Mine too,” he says, knocking fists with me. “But for real. This is totally going in my highlight reel.”