War (Boston Bolts Hockey #3)

25. Tyler

TWENTY-FIVE

TYLER

Ava: No, this is good. We needed this reminder. You do you, and I’ll do me. Or maybe other people. We’ll stick with focusing on the kids. That’s our marriage contract going forward. Got it?

Oh, my wife is really looking to push my limits. I gave her one last night to pout, but I’m done with the distance. We are going to talk today, whether she likes it or not.

And to be honest, I’m a bit pissed off. Ava’s a reasonable person. And although her anger over the ridiculous contract was justified, if she’d answered her damn phone, I could have explained Hall’s stupid joke and smoothed things over.

But she obviously believes I’m not worth the effort of working through our issues. What pisses me off the most is that she really thinks I would have a contract like that one drawn up and sent to her. That I believe a woman should be treated like that.

When have I ever given her any reason to believe that’s the kind of guy I am?

Should I have signed the contract and held it over her head ?

Maybe not.

But I do love fighting with her. Especially if the option of kissing her is off the table. And I think it’s safe to assume that if I tried to kiss my wife right now, she’d punch me in the face.

“Hey, Cap,” Hall drawls, leaning over my shoulder. “You excited to be reunited with the wife tonight? She gonna take the hardware for a ride?”

I stand from the bench and give Hall a hard shove. When he lands on his ass, he grimaces up at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Anger simmering just beneath my skin, I grit out, “What’s wrong with me is that my wife found the damn contract you sent to me.”

From across the locker room, Brooks looks up, brow furrowed. “What contract?”

My stomach knots. Fuck, so much for the guys not knowing the marriage is fake.

Still on the ground, Hall guffaws. “No way.”

“Yes way.” I have to fight the urge not to kick him while he’s still on the floor. “And she fucking signed it.”

Hall gapes, then sputters, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Yeah, now you get why I’m so fucking pissed.”

“I don’t,” Brooks grumbles, “and I’d rather be focusing on my pregame visualizations than playing twenty questions, so spell it out for me.”

We all have pregame rituals. Brooks puts on headphones, closes his eyes, and visualizes every play an opponent could use to get past him and into his goal. Aiden follows along with whatever spicy book his wife is reading—this is a new routine and one I’m still not sure I’m on board with, considering he cloned her phone in order to do it. Hall and Camden play cards with a few of the rookies.

I bounce between the guys with AirPods in place in case I want to listen to music and a deck of cards at the ready if the mood strikes. It usually becomes clear to me pretty quickly where I’m needed. Sometimes guys just need help getting out of their heads. Other times they need to be amped up so they’re ready to fight for a win on the ice. Helping my teammates is what keeps me focused. Tonight, though, I don’t have it in me to be of any help to them. Not when I’m so livid. Not after the text my wife sent, implying that she thinks she’s going to screw other people.

One way or another, I’ll make it clear that the only person she’ll be going near is me, whether it’s by wooing her or pissing her off by enforcing the damn contract.

I think she secretly likes the idea of being bound by me. Of being controlled by me. And god, what I would do to see her as she hurtles over the edge. Witness the way her cheeks flush, how her teeth sink into her lip, how pretty she sounds crying out my name.

It will happen.

Maybe not tonight, but eventually, her orgasms will belong to me. Just like she does.

“Forget it. Go back to your visualizations. I’m fixing it,” I grit out.

With a shake of his head, Brooks turns away from me, likely thinking I’m an idiot.

Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” the Bolts song for this season, blares as we take the ice for warm-ups. Every year Aiden picks a new one, and this one might be my favorite so far.

Normally I keep my focus centered around the game during warm-ups. The adrenaline buzz kicks in, giving me a high that I’ve never been able to replicate. I love this game in a way that most wouldn’t understand. It gave me a purpose during a time when I had none. A family when I’d lost my own. Nothing in my life has ever come close to competing.

Until now.

Tonight, another kind of excitement courses through me. The impending battle off the ice keeps my heart pumping. Finding my wife in this arena is my first priority. I have to confirm that she’s here—even if I had to strong-arm her into coming. Then I can put 100 percent of myself into the game. Later, we can figure our shit out for good .

Pushing off the ice, I propel myself forward. The bite of the cold within the rink only strengthens my resolve. Out here, I’m the captain, the king. And right now, all I want is to find my queen.

If Sara isn’t down in the box with us, then she sits in the stands. Always in the same place. She doesn’t like to be in the owner’s suite with the Langfields because she wants Brooks to hear her screaming like a freaking lunatic. Now that Lennox joins her for home games, their shouts are ridiculously easy to pick out. If I know my girl, she’s with her girls. So Sara’s regular spot is where I look first.

The flash of red catches my attention quickly. Waves of autumn that frame her pretty freckled face. She’s laughing, happy. I dig my feet into the ice and slow to a stop, mesmerized by her.

Though I’m stunned by her, my teammates are still flying across the ice, and Hall barrels into me from the side before he can stop.

“Fuck.” I grunt and catch my balance before I fall, which, for the record, never happens.

As I straighten, catcalls from the stands echo around me.

“Focus, number seven,” Sara calls with a maniacal laugh.

Beside her, Hannah grips my wife by the upper arms and spins her, joining in on the laughter as she points at Ava’s back.

When the sight registers, my blood runs cold.

I push Hall off me with more force than necessary. “What the fuck is my wife doing wearing your jersey?”

All logic leaves me as I glower at the 18 on my wife’s back and those four letters, H-A-L-L , above it. I skate to the edge of the ice and pound on the plexiglass barrier with my stick. “Ava Warren, get over here right now.”

Even with the music blasting, the words carry. I can tell by the way she zeroes in on me.

Tilting to one side a fraction so she can see me beyond the fans filing in and finding their seats, she looks one way, then the other, then points at herself in a teasing who me? way.

“Go play your game, War,” Lennox yells.

Aiden appears at my side. “Come on, dude. She’s just riling you up. ”

Hall grins from my other side. “Just a little foreplay, Cap. She’s teasing you. Thought you liked it.”

Teeth gritted, I shake my head. “She’s pushed too far.” With a whistle, I drop my stick. “Mrs. Warren!”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Gavin yells from our box.

My gloves get tossed to the ice next. Then I rip off my helmet and shove it into Aiden’s chest. “Remember when I kept your stupid fucking stalking to myself?”

He nods.

“You can’t say shit.”

“Fuck, you’re really crazy about this girl,” he mutters.

There’s no denying it.

“Homicidal.”

“What do you need?”

“Just hold that.” Without waiting for him to agree, I skate to the gate and launch myself over the boards.

Skates still on, I march in front of the stands, headed straight for my wife. The adrenaline fueling me now is because of this game she and I are once again playing. When I reach the girls, I stop and yank my jersey off. Ava’s green eyes flare as she stands stock-still.

People in the row in front of her look up at me with their mouths hanging open.

“Could you give me a moment alone with my wife?” I ask as politely as I can.

They skitter over to empty seats down the row, mumbling unintelligibly.

In front of me, my wife’s eyes are blazing and her jaw is locked tight. She’s furious, but I don’t give a fuck.

Welcome to my perpetual state, wife. Play stupid games, win unhinged prizes .

I hold up my left hand and point to my fourth ring finger. Her eyes widen as she takes in the wedding date inked onto my skin in a green that matches her eyes.

“My wife. My jersey.” Angling in close, I force the oversized garment over her head .

“Tyler Warren,” Sara hisses. “I’ll be cleaning up this mess for the next week.”

I ignore her. I ignore everyone but Ava. “Remember the contract, Ava. I own you . Now lift your arms and show everyone what a good wife you are.”

“Fuck you,” she whisper-hisses.

I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve ever heard my girl curse. That fact shouldn’t have me smirking like this. “Yeah, Vicious. You can do that too. But right now, I have a game to play.”

I don’t push my luck by stealing a kiss. I simply spin and head down the steps.

There’s already a jersey waiting for me. One of the coaches probably sent a minion to the locker room for it. I throw it on as Gavin yells at me. He’s pissed, and rightfully so. Keeping my mouth shut, I lower my chin in acknowledgment. Because yeah, I am a fucking idiot, and I’m sure I’ll pay for it by doing suicides all week.

As I get back on the ice, Hall skates up next to me, wearing another fucking cocky grin. “Guess the glitter wasn’t enough to keep your wife satisfied, huh?”

I can put up with a lot of shit, but tonight, I’ve reached my limit. So I let my fist do the talking.