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I don’t answer him—or not with my words, anyway.

I match him, brutal, violent hockey energy for brutal, violent hockey energy, and I do it…by winding up and punching him in the face.

It hurts almost as much as his tackle did.

But I’m not paying attention to the pain in my hand.

I’m grinning as his head flies back and he stumbles, falling to one knee.

“Fuck you,” I say cooly then wind up again—to kick him this time.

And yeah, my Conrad temper is definitely running the show right now.

Ace wraps an arm around my middle and draws me back before I can make contact again. “Enough,” he mutters when I claw at his arm.

“Not enough,” I snap. “I played four years of powder puff football and that hit was all kinds of illegal!” I struggle against him. “I didn’t even have the ball!”

Noble chuckles.

“It’s not funny!” I glare at him.

Beck steps up next to me, smirking. “What’s funny is that Oakes tried to take you down and instead you landed a blow that likely means he’ll have a black eye for his wedding day.”

His. Wedding. Day.

Shit.

I punched the groom, and he might have a black eye.

Oh, my God.

I’ve lost my damn mind.

“Nah,” Noble says, grabbing Oakes and yanking him up. “We’ll borrow some makeup and fix him right up.”

“You come close to me with a makeup brush and I’ll fucking kill you,” Oakes mutters.

“It doesn’t need to be a brush.” Beck grins. “I think they come in sticks now. Right, Vi?”

I’m too busy having a mental breakdown to respond.

Which is fine by the Ambroses, apparently.

They don’t need me to keep sniping at their brother.

Noble taps a finger to his lips. “Maybe we can get Jenny’s makeup artist to⁠—”

“Enough.”

And this time it’s not from Ace.

It’s from Steve, and it ripples with authority.

Thus, everyone shuts up.

Hell, even my Conrad temper quiets down (along with mental spiraling).

He waits a beat, glaring at all of us before turning to Oakes. “That was a dick move and you know it.”