Page 128 of Ice Rebel

Cole

“Back off. Now!” Coach Stryker snarled as he jumped into the fray a second before I lifted my fist. You bet I was angry. I’d been angry. I planned on remaining deeply enraged for as long as it took.

Until I got her out of my system.

Chelsea.

My mate.

The most gorgeous girl on the planet and the only person who’d gotten under my skin.

Traitor.

It had been over a week since I’d seen her, a week with no sleep, aggressive playing, and too much alcohol and still all I’d been able to think about was her. I should hate her, not crave touching her.

Kissing her.

Tasting her.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

When I threw my fist into the air toward the guy from the other team, the coach was in my face. “I told you to back off.”

“That asshole is to blame,” Jagger tossed out.

I threw him a look before shaking my head. Did the guy actually think I gave a shit what he said? Not a chance in hell.

Hudson steered me away with his arm around my shoulder. “Relax, bud. Save it for the ice.”

“Tell that to the assholes.”

“Cool down, bubba. We’re going to win this.”

“Like hell we will.”

I glared at the scoreboard just before ripping the bucket off my head and wiping the sleeve of my jersey across my face.

We were a point down. Sure, we’d come from behind before, but tonight it felt as if everyone was walking on pins and needles.

Plus, we’d had several penalties, but at least for this game, so far, they hadn’t been attributed to me. But we had one more period left.

“What an incredible game, Jack,” one of the announcers was saying. “Now, if the Wild can come from behind for the win, that will make for nine wins in a row. Almost unheard of in a streak.”

“Yeah, but cooler heads need to prevail, Kyle. Both teams are at each other’s throats.”

Just before I jerked away from Hudson, I noticed the Jumbotron operator was enjoying the fuck out of himself in finding the hottest girls in the stands. There were plenty of them. I’d even tried going to a party to get my mind off Chelsea but had only gotten lit and spent the time talking about her to some girl named Bunny or Bridget or something.

This shit needed to stop.

I threw on the blade guards, stomping toward the locker room. There was way too much testosterone on the ice.

“Hey, you need to talk to me.”

Hearing Jagger’s voice didn’t necessarily create warm fuzzies. He was a reminder of what I’d lost. Plus, I couldn’t trust him. For all I knew, he was reporting back to his father about every damn thing.

“What the fuck do you want?”

He pushed me hard against the block wall, which wasn’t the smartest thing for him to do. I almost came out swinging.