Hooked by Love (Bellevue Bullies 3)

Shaking my head, I try to ignore him as Markus yells, “Shut the fuck up. Play the game.”

“Aw, gotta have your friends stand up for you? How are you going to stand up for that wife of yours?”

My jaw clenches as I win the puck, sending it to Markus. But to my surprise, Matty zips by me, stealing it and heading down the ice. I’m on him, though, trying to poke the puck away, but he throws his hip into mine, sending me face first into the ice. Getting up, I’m too late, and he’s scored. Shaking my head, I slam my stick to the ice. I don’t know why I’m letting him get to me. I’m making mistakes. I’m pushing too hard into him instead of sticking to my game.

Fuck!

But it’s hard. I don’t like what he is saying because those are concerns I have for Avery. I don’t ever want her to feel the desperation she did. But man, I understand it a little better now after being on the ice with this bitch. Still, though, I’m shaking with anger and I can feel Avery watching me. I don’t know what to do, but I’m ten seconds away from ruining this dude’s life.

Coach is yelling at me, but I don’t listen as I go to sit down. Leaning against the boards, I watch as my boys rush down the ice, throwing shot after shot at the goalie, but he isn’t letting anything by him. Frustrated, Elliot hooks a Boston player and ends up in the box like a damn dumbass. When the tap comes for me, I jump over the boards and rush onto the ice after they clear it. But before I can even get the puck, we are called for being offside. Bullshit.

Setting up for the puck drop, I win it, sending it to Markus. And instead of clearing it, we rush their zone. He fakes, sends it over to me, but the goalie has read that, so I deke quickly, picking the puck up on my blade and sending it over his left leg pad. I throw my arms up, and my boys wrap me up in a hug as the crowd loses it. God, that felt good! Looking back at where Matty is screaming at the goalie, I shake my head.

Douche.

Going off the ice, I watch as the Bullies win the puck and go back into Boston’s zone, but someone steals it, racing back. It goes like that for the next two minutes. Getting on the ice when my line is up, I look down to see Elliot with the puck.

“Go!” he screams at me before sending it up, and I do as he says, Gordon at my left. Taking the puck, we enter the zone and I drop it back to Elliot, getting in position to not only block the goalie but also hoping for a rebound or something. But it won’t come easily, especially when Matty and I are jousting back and forth. He gets in front of me, and then behind me, trying to push me away. But I ignore him, my eyes on the puck as my boys try to keep it away from Boston. When Markus shoots, he misses and it goes back to Gordon, who sends it back to the new line of defensemen. One of them takes a shot, but it goes to the left, where no one is. Rushing to it, I beat Matty, sending it to the slot where, thank God, Markus is waiting. And in over the shoulder of the goalie it goes.

Throwing my arms up, I go to congratulate Markus, but Matty hooks me around my ankle and I crash to the ground. The cage of my helmet hits the ice hard, causing my head to jerk forward, but not crashing forward like I could have. Getting up, I go for h

im, despite hearing a whistle and even seeing the refs coming toward us. Slamming my stick into his chest, I get in his face, our cages clanking together as I yell, “Keep it up, you little bitch.”

“The only bitch I see is you. Who gives up his career for some pussy?” he yells back. Really, what the hell is wrong with this dude?

“Would you rather I give it up for dick?” I yell as the refs get in between us, and Markus pulls me back as Matty lunges for me. Laughing, I roll my eyes as I’m being pushed backward. “Keep it up, man. I got you once this is over.”

“You don’t have shit. Keep it moving,” someone with a Boston jersey says, and I laugh as Markus continues to push me. When I get off the ice, Coach is in my face, taking me by my cage and shaking my helmet.

“Get your head in the fucking game. You are making shit-ass mistakes, and I didn’t ask my friends to come watch you for that big contract just to see you acting like a punk-ass player. That dude does not matter. Your future does, though. Remember why you work hard, Sinclair, or get the fuck off my ice.”

He lets me go, and I sit down as everyone directs their gazes back to the ice. Looking up, I see Avery watching me, her hand over her mouth and the other on her stomach. Her face is red and she looks worried, which makes my heart stop.

She’s the reason I work so hard.

Shaking my head, I look down and regroup. That piece of shit is nothing to me. He isn’t anything to Avery either.

So why does he matter?

Because he hurt her.

And no one hurts my woman.

But I won’t allow him to fuck up my game. Instead, I do my best to ignore him for the remaining seven minutes of the game. I even ignore him when he scores once more and ties the game. I don’t hear him as he taunts me. Nope, nothing. I play my game, and when Elliot scores a goal on a sick-ass slap shot, winning the game for us, I don’t even spare Matty a look.

I just go off the ice.

And pray, for his sake, I don’t see him outside.

When I enter the lobby, Avery is waiting for me, a nervous look on her face, and of course, I go on high alert. I had hurried, not wanting Matty to beat me out there. The trainers said no one had left the Boston dressing room yet, so I’m unsure what is going on.

“You okay?” I ask as I stop in front of her, bringing her into my side.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine, no worries.”

“It looked bad out there.”