Page 21 of The Hockey Stud

Ryland, catching the cue, speaks up. “I’ve worked with him a couple of times since I’ve been here,” he says, his voice calm and measured. “Other than that, I don’t know anything.” His admission is honest, revealing that while he has some experience with Steven, their relationship is limited and he cannot offer any deeper assurance about Steven’s character or intentions.

“Whatever,” I sigh. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go.” I head toward the elevators and wait for Steven to catch up.

“So,” Steven says once we’re inside Levi’s apartment. “You and Levi, huh?”

“No one’s business.” I want him to wait outside the apartment, but manners are holding me back from suggesting that. I’m too uncomfortable with this guy to leave myself vulnerable in the shower and then the bed, so I drop onto the couch.

Steven raises a brow but shrugs my surliness off with a roll of his shoulders. He joins me in the living room and stares. Ignoring him, I shoot off a text to Levi: Steven Wayne is wired. Is he on the up?

I don’t get an immediate reply.

“Put the phone down,” Steven says, which has my eyes shooting to him.

“Go fuck yourself,” I snarl. “You know what, I want you to wait out in the hallway.” I get to my feet, and I find Steven can move as quickly as a cat, and he knocks me back onto the couch.

“You shouldn’t be on the team,” he practically spits the words at me. “The Vikings were a good team before your gay ass got signed.” He pauses. “I’ve been a Viking fan for a long time, and then you came along and ruined it all. It’s not normal.” He paces in front of me, and as I move to get to my feet, he pulls a gun. “Sit the fuck down.”

The cold steel of the barrel anchors me to the cushions. My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic, trapped animal.

"You're crazy," I breathe out, staring at the weapon. "The notes. The car. That was you."

"You don't deserve the jersey," Steven sneers, his hand trembling slightly as he aims at my chest. “Wyatt Peters is blind. The fans are blind. They only care about the team’s wins. They don't care that you're ruining the culture by fucking men. You’re disgusting.” He spits.

“I earned my spot on the ice with blood, sweat, and goals. You are a pathetic coward. I am a Viking. You are going to prison, and I will be back on the ice in two days as part of the team.” What the fuck are you saying, Dover? You’re pissing him off when he’s already unhinged.

Steven blinks rapidly, his eyes darting around the room as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The tension in his posture is unmistakable—he’s clearly agitated.

I press him further. “What about Maria Cole? Where did she go?” My voice is sharp, demanding answers.

He narrows his eyes at me, his jaw tightening as he responds. “My girlfriend left the building ages ago. I told her where to go when the cameras were focused elsewhere.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice, as if he thinks he’s outsmarted everyone, but I don’t let up.

“And Matthews?” I ask, pushing for more information.

He hesitates, confusion flickering across his face. “Huh? I don’t know any Matthews,” he says, but I can tell he’s trying to think, searching his memory for any connection to the name.

While he’s distracted, his mind occupied with the unfamiliar name, I seize the opportunity. I lunge forward, tackling him. We grapple fiercely, struggling for control of the gun clutched in his hand. The weapon discharges unexpectedly, sending a deafening shot into the ceiling and showering us with dust and debris. In the chaos, his grip loosens and the gun clatters to the floor. I waste no time, pinning him down with my full weight, making sure he can’t reach for the weapon again. His resistance weakens as I secure him, the adrenaline still surging through my veins as I ensure he’s finally subdued.

The door splinters open with a deafening crash.

"Dover!" Levi’s voice roars through the apartment.

Before Steven can even twist his head, Levi throws his entire weight into the room, followed closely by Ryland and Weston. Levi doesn't hesitate. He drops to his knees, his massive frame flattening Steven completely, while Rylan secures Steven’s thrashing legs.

"I've got him," Levi pants, his knuckles white as he pins Steven's wrists to the floor. "I've got him. Get up."

I stumble backward, my sneakers slipping slightly on the fallen plaster. My hands are shaking, a delayed reaction to the adrenaline crashing through my veins. Within minutes, the flashing blue and red lights of police cruisers reflect off the living room walls. Officers swarm the space, barking orders, lifting a cursing, spitting Steven off the floor, and dragging him out in handcuffs. Weston and Ryland follow them down the hall to give their statements to the sergeant.

Then, the apartment goes completely still.

The front door hangs loosely on its hinges. Plaster dust settles over the mahogany floor like snow.

Levi stands in the center of the wreckage, his chest heaving under his jacket. He turns to me, his eyes sweeping over my face and my shoulders, checking for blood.

"Are you hit?" he asks, his voice rough and stripped of its usual bravado.

"No," I say, though my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. "The shot went wide. It hit the ceiling."

Levi takes three long strides, closing the distance between us. He stops just inches away, looking down at me. For a second, I think he’s going to grab me by the jersey and shake me, or maybe yell at me for tackling a guy with a gun. Instead, he just breathes out a long, ragged sigh and pulls me into a crushing hug.