Hooked by Love (Bellevue Bullies 3)

The way his face changes from smug to shocked to scared, ending in anger is almost comical. Standing up, he glares, his words coming out as venom as he seethes, “She’s a bitch.”

I move toward him, glaring too, my shoulders back, and my blood bubbling in my skin. “Watch your mouth before your teeth end up on this ice.”

“Whatever, dude. You can’t touch me—not when so many scouts are here. You might be dumb, but I doubt you want to ruin your career. Well, wait… You kinda are by being with that cunt of a sister of mine.”

He’s right, people are watching, but that doesn’t stop me from cross-checking him in the chest, my stick knocking him to the ground. Markus is there within seconds, pushing me back. As calmly as I can manage, I say, “You can talk all you want on the ice, you little fucking bitch. But off the ice, say it again and see what happens. You won’t speak badly of her in front of me. Not the woman I love.”

“I’m not scared of you,” he laughs, standing up. “You think I care about you or who you are?”

I shrug. “I’m surprised, since I’m a dude and all.” His eyes widen as Markus looks confused, but I shake my head. “Watch yourself, Haverbrooke.”

He gives me a quick nod. “You too, Sinclair.”

Skating away, I fix my gloves as Markus looks over at me. “This is going to be a shitshow, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Just watch my back.”

“No problem,” he says as he sends the puck over to me, and I feel Matty watching me. Looking back, I see he is while he skates around, his eyes full of hate. He may think he scares me, but he doesn’t.

And that doesn’t change once the game starts. Since we are both star players, we almost always play at the same time. I had forgotten how fast he is.

But I’m faster.

Rushing for the puck that Boston’s defense lost, I send it over to Markus just as Matty comes crashing into me, his shoulder hitting mine. But I push back into him, knocking him the other way, before I zoom up the ice, trailing behind Markus and Gordon as they crash the net, shooting one after the other. Going to the front of the goal, I watch as my teammates pass the puck back and forth. Boston is trying to steal as Matty comes right for me, putting his hip into mine, trying to get me out of the way. But I’m not going anywhere. While I push into him, Markus tries a wrist shot but it doesn’t go in, coming right on my stick. But when I shoot, Matty’s stick comes down hard on mine, snapping it in two.

“Fucker!” I yell, pushing into him before looking at the ref for a call, but nothing comes as the goalie covers the puck and the whistle is blown. “He broke my stick!”

“Aw, you gonna cry? Hope you have another one. Or are you broke ’cause you have a wife and a baby and my dad cut y’all off?” Matty sings, and when some of his teammates laugh, I’m confused.

“How is that funny, you douche? Especially when it’s your sister who’s my wife. Get your life together, fucker,” I sneer.

“It’s funny ’cause you’ll fuck up, you will, and she’ll off herself. She has tried before.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Markus yells and I shake my head. “You are a piece of shit, you know that?”

Matty laughs. “You don’t know her like I do. She’s pathetic.”

“She’s your sister,” I yell. I mean, I knew he was a dick to her, but really? This is the person she is forced to call her brother? What a fucking asshole, and I’m not sure I’m going to make it through this game without killing the dude.

“That’s enough, boys!”

“She’s a waste of space, believe me.” His eyes are so serious, so full of hate, and it really just hurts me. Who can hate a person that they share blood with so much? It’s insane and sad.

Shaking my head, I pin him with a look. “She is the best thing to ever happen to me—”

“Then you need to reevaluate your life.”

“Dude, Matty, that’s enough,” someone says, pressing him in the chest, but he knocks his hand away as the ref pushes me back. All I can do is look into his eyes as I shake my head. When I skate back to the bench for another stick, Coach is glaring.

“Don’t let him in your head, Sinclair,” Coach yells and I wave him off.

Not going to happen.

But it’s hard. Especially when he is on me like white on rice. It’s like he has set out to break me, and it’s really trying my patience. The game is tough—no one scores in the first or even the second, which is unusual for us. But their goalie is badass and blocks all thirty-three shots he’s been faced with. Ours is kicking ass too, but I want a goal. Hell, I don’t care who scores as long as we beat these fuckers. As long as we beat Matty.

When we hit the ice for the third, my eyes are on the prize, but Matty is relentless.

“Do you know how easy it was for her to do it? It only took a couple days before she tried. She’s weak, pathetic.”