Page 90 of Trade It All

Then Tyler hops over the boards for his first shift. My breath catches. I hate that it does. Hate that one glimpse of him still makes my body tense before my mind can remind it where I am. He’s twenty feet away. On the ice. Surrounded by players. He cannot hurt me here. I know that.

But my eyes lock on him anyway. Track him as he pushes off. As he glides toward center. As he—Something happens. So fast I don’t process the beginning of it. One second Tyler is skating. The next his body is airborne. He slams into the glass with a crack that rattles straight through my feet.

The arena erupts. I blink, trying to catch up, camera lowering uselessly because suddenly I’m not filming—I’m just staring. Everything blurs. A helmet spinning away. Players shouting. Linesmen rushing. Then I see it clearly.

Jake.

Jake’s fist draws back and connects square with Tyler’s face.

“Oh no.” My hand flies to my mouth.

Another punch. Tyler swings back. The crowd is losing its mind, screaming so loud the entire arena feels like it’s vibrating. I turn instinctively.

Toward Dean.

He’s behind the bench, absolutely livid, one hand braced on the boards while he screams something at the officials—at Jake—at everyone, I don’t know. His face is hard with fury, neck muscles straining, eyes darting between his captain and the officials trying to get control.

And for the first time all night—real panic slides into my chest.

Because this is not stopping with Jake.

Jake gets hauled backward by two Mustang players before he can climb back on top of Tyler.

At least—that’s what it looks like at first. But then my eyes narrow. Because it isn’t Grady. It isn’t Jasper. It should be one of them. They are Jake’s shadows in moments like this, the ones always first to drag him out before he gets himself suspended for life.

Except they aren’t touching him. They’re a few feet away, shoving Denver players back, keeping everyone else out of the pile while Jake gets in one more shot.

My stomach twists. Something isn’t right.

Jake finally lets the officials drag him away, and when he skates toward the penalty box he should look furious.

He should look wild. He should look like a captain who just lost his cool. Instead— he is grinning. Actually grinning. A big, unconcerned, almost smug smile as he steps into the sin bin like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

My pulse jumps. No. No, no. This was planned. Maybe not planned play by play. But an understanding between the four of them.

Denver heads to the power play. Four minutes. The arena announcer drones something I don’t hear because my focus is split between the ice and the Denver bench where a trainer is pressing a towel to Tyler’s nose.

He’s bleeding.Good.I hate myself a little for thinking it.Maybe not that much.

The puck drops. Denver settles into formation. We are barely a minute into the four-minute power play when Tyler comes back over the boards. My body goes rigid.

He pushes off toward center. And before he can even make it fully into the zone—Grady destroys him. There is no other word for it. He slams Tyler into the glass so hard directly in front of the benches that the crowd gasps before exploding again. The puck is nowhere near them. Not even close. This isn’t hockey. This is targeted.

Grady drops his gloves like he’s been waiting his entire life for permission and starts throwing punch after punch. Tyler gets his arms up this time, protecting his face enough to avoid the bloodbath Jake gave him, but Grady keeps going until officials are physically hanging off him.

My mouth falls open. This is insane. Absolutely insane. Grady skates to the penalty box. And he is smiling too. He taps the glass once as he goes in beside Jake. Jake fist bumps him.

I stare. We are now down five on three.

Dean is behind the bench screaming at Grady, face red, hands thrown wide in what I know is part real anger and partwhat the hell are you idiots doing?

But Grady just shrugs like he accidentally tripped. Tyler stays on the ice. He turns and starts skating down toward our goal.Toward me. He has to pass right in front of the section where I’m standing, and even knowing there are boards and glass and ten other players between us, I still feel every muscle in my body tighten.

I hate that. Hate that he can still do that to me. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t even know I’m here. His focus is on the puck moving into our zone.

Right before he reaches the crease—Jasper shoves him. Hard. From behind. Not a hockey shove. Not a fight-for-position nudge. A full-force launch. Tyler goes flying straight into Luka and the net.

The goal frame rattles off its moorings. The whistle blows. Chaos detonates. And Luka—sweet psychotic Luka—takes one look at Tyler sprawled in his crease and starts wailing on him.