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My gloves are off, and my fist flies toward Conor’s face. “You piece of shit. Is that your solution? To take me out before the first game even starts?”
“Guys, come on.” Henry joins in with Tweetie’s effort to keep us apart, but Conor drops his gloves and swings, his fist colliding with Henry’s jaw.
“Fuck, man!” Henry shouts.
“Taking us all down, huh, Nilsen?” I pull him closer to me with my fist on his jersey.
Tweetie and the rest of the team huddle around us, everyone grabbing to pull us apart. But this has been a long time coming, and it’s about time we hash this out the hockey way.
Forty-Two
Kyleigh
I sitdown in my seat, waiting for my dad to join me.
“Holy shit. Did you see that?” someone behind me says.
“What?” another guy says.
“Conor Nilsen just chest-bumped Rowan Landry onto the ice. And now it looks like…oh man, they’re fighting.”
My gaze flies to the rink. Sure enough, Rowan has Conor by the jersey and is punching his side. The fact that Conor is in full gear gives him the advantage, especially since Rowan doesn’t even have his helmet on yet.
I can’t see Conor’s face, but Rowan’s red, and he’s clearly pissed off.
Tweetie gets between them, but they somehow fend off every other teammate trying to get them to stop. I bang on the glass, but that’s useless. They’re not paying one lick of attention to me, only each other.
I cringe, watching two men I love so much being so violent toward one another. The fear inside me that I’ll have to choose between them rises to the surface. What if Conor never comes around?
The fans around me are cheering and yelling, laughing, thinking this is entertainment. It’s sickening.
Shouldering my way through the crowd, I watch Conor take off his helmet. Rowan doesn’t come to his senses but waits for Conor to remove it before they start up again, which pisses me off.
The coaching staff come out onto the ice and the players divide into two groups, one pulling at Rowan and the other at Conor.
I run up the stairs and try to make my way to the locker rooms. I stop and talk to a security guy standing by the entrance, telling him who I am, but he looks at me as though I’m trying to pull one over on him.
My phone rings in my purse, and when I pull it out, I see that it’s Rowan. Thank God.
“Rowan,” I say purposely loudly so the security guy can hear me, but he rolls his eyes as though I’m playing some game.
“It’s Henry. Rowan is in Coach’s office getting his ass chewed out. Listen, I was talking to Tweetie?—”
“Get your ass in here!” Tweetie shouts in the background.
“I’m trying to, but no one will let me through.” With narrowed eyes, I glance at the security guy.
“Hold on.” It’s muffled, but I hear Henry telling someone to come get me and bring me to them. “Okay, a guy named Ron is on his way. Meet him by the front entrance at the bottom of the stairs.”
I nod even though he can’t see me, and I start walking. “Are they okay?”
“If you’re asking if they’re injured, another black eye apiece, but no broken bones or anything. Probably some bruises you can nurse back to health. On Rowan, not Conor. Obviously.”
I grit my teeth. “Obviously.”
“Well, the rest of us have to go back to warm-ups. I expect they’ll be out by the time you get here. I hope you can talk some sense into them. We’ve tried everything on our end. Good luck, Kyleigh.”
Henry hangs up, and I feel as though he’s sent me on a mission he doesn’t think I can accomplish. Not that I blame him. These two men are some of the most stubborn alive.
