Page 25 of Bite of Vengeance

So, we do that—and end up with candy and sodas and nachos for our trouble. And by the time we’ve pushed into the suite and taken our seats, the main lights are dimming over the arena and the announcer’s voice is booming over the speakers.

“Put your hands together for tonight’s performer of the national anthem—none other than Song of the Year winner, Jade Cantrell.”

My pulse is thundering through my veins, echoing through my eardrums louder than the crowd’s cheers—and they’re pretty fucking loud, the applause radiating through the arena as Jade walks down the red carpet that’s been rolled out to center ice.

She’s wearing skintight jeans, thigh high boots, and a SoCal Vipers jersey that I want to rip off her.

Hell, I want to rip every bit of clothing off her, and not just because the jersey she’s wearing has Banks’s fucking last name emblazoned across the shoulder blades.

“Uncle Royal!” Frankie says, jumping up and down, scattering popcorn this way and that.

Aspen is going to kill me when she sees this mess.

But Frankie is far too excited at the prospect of watching Jade Cantrell to realize she’s wasting her treat.

I snag it out of her hands and set it, along with the rest of the snacks, on one of the high top tables.

“Is she gonna sing, Uncle Royal? Is she?”

I nod, and even though my voice is steady when I say, “Yes,” my heart is anything but.

Even the way she walks that carpet to pause in the spotlight is something special.

And when she opens her mouth and starts belting out the words to ‘The Star Spangled Banner,’ I’m captivated.

Lost in the effortless way her voice carries through the arena, completely taken by the minuscule movements in her expression, the emotion in her frame.

She feels every word.

And she’s fucking incredible.

Just like she was in that hotel room, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her tight cunt clamping around my cock as we came together again and again andagain.

I’m supposed to forget that night.

Move on.

Go back to normal.

But…I can’t fucking tear my eyes away from her.

I hardly realize that the song’s over, and it’s only the lights coming on and her disappearing into the depths of the arena that bring me back into myself.

Frankie is vibrating with excitement, dancing around like a kid who’s never going to sleep tonight (even though I’m almost positive that she’ll crash the moment we hit the highway, like she always does), and that excitement ramps up when the guys take their positions and line up for the start of the game.

There’s a whistle and ref releases the puck, and then my niece is hyper-focused on the action below.

Banks corralling the puck and skating with it on his stick, deking around some traffic to move hard into the zone. The Sierra are on him, though, the contact hard enough to make me wince.

I remember those days, the body-on-body collisions stealing my breath and making my head ring.

I loved playing hockey, was lucky enough to continue that through college.

But I wasn’t a lifer.

I wasn’t good enough, for one thing.

I didn’t have the drive, like Banks does, for another.