War (Boston Bolts Hockey #3)

26. Ava

TWENTY-SIX

AVA

It all happens so quickly, and it knocks the air from my lungs. One moment, I’m teasing Tyler and laughing with the girls, showing off the Hall jersey Hannah brought for me to wear. The next, I’m being swallowed up by my husband’s legit hockey jersey—not a replica like fans purchase—still stupidly stunned by his tattoo.

A tattoo of our freaking wedding date on his ring finger.

Then, in front of the entire arena, he slams his fist into Daniel Hall’s face.

“Holy shit.” Hannah claps a hand over her mouth.

Sara instantly jumps over the seats and heads for the ice. Crap. She wasn’t wrong about having to clean up this mess.

“What the hell did Hall say?” Lennox is still beside me, fanning herself.

Hannah thumbs over at me. “Probably something about this one.”

I’m not focused on their words, though. All my attention is fixed on the ice, where Aiden and Brooks are holding Tyler back while Gavin and the training staff check in with Daniel.

The hit came out of nowhere, so the minute Tyler’s fist connected with his jaw, he crumpled to the ice.

“Stand up,” Hannah hisses. She’s biting her thumb and chanting those words over and over .

When Daniel finally stands, with the help of Gavin, the crowd around us erupts in cheers, and I finally take a breath.

Tyler is fighting against Brooks’s hold, distress written all over his face. He knows he fucked up, but by the way he watches Hall, I think he’s more worried about his friend than he is about the consequences of his actions.

Despite the bitterness between us and how irritating he can be, my heart splinters at the devastation plastered on his face. He’s distraught and wants to apologize, but the second time he tries to break free of Brooks, Gavin points to him and yells.

That’s all it takes for Tyler to simply nod and head for the bench.

“This is bad,” Lennox whispers.

“No shit. Fuck, I feel bad.” Hannah turns to me, her lips downturned. “I think we pushed too far this time.”

“Me too,” I whisper, feeling small beneath my husband’s jersey. And oddly protective of him. This is all my fault.

“This is a really bad idea,” I mutter as I tug on the fabric of the jersey. My legs are bare, and I’m not wearing anything other than the giant article of clothing my husband forced over my head earlier.

When the garage opens, my nerves riot. “Such a bad idea,” I whisper to the empty bedroom, but I don’t move. I stand beside the bed, waiting for Tyler to appear.

The Bolts barely won tonight, and Gavin benched Tyler for the first period. Camden Snow did a decent job in his place, but the entire team was off. Teammates don’t fight, and captains are supposed to lead by example.

And Tyler never would have punched Hall if not for my stupid decision to wear the guy’s jersey. So here I am, prepared to apologize.

As enraged as I was at how he acted like he could control what I wore to the game, it was hot, the way he lost his cool. How the idea of me in another man’s jersey riled him up. Sometime tonight, my thoughts drifted to what it would be like to do other things with my husband, and that’s where they’ve stayed.

Sex with my husband. Would it really be so bad? We could channel all that rage into something we’d both enjoy.

Like I said, this is a really bad idea.

The bedroom door swings open, and Tyler, clad in a bespoke suit, appears in the doorway, head down, tie loosened like he was working at removing it as he came up the steps. That War swagger is still there, but along with it, palpable anger emanates from him.

“Hi.” My voice is small, but it halts him in his tracks.

Glacier blue eyes spark as they widen and take me in. Just as quickly, they narrow again. With a scoff, he pulls at the tie around his neck and tosses it to the floor. “You’re playing with fire, Vicious. I’m not in the mood.” He slams the door, keeping his attention averted.

I blow out a breath and fist my hands to keep my fingers from trembling. With my chin lifted, I will my voice to remain steady as well. “You tell me you want something real. Kiss me like you’d give me your last breath. Then send me a marriage contract obliterating it all. Then you fight with one of your friends, your teammate , over me in front of thousands of people, and now you’re here telling me you don’t want me again? The hot and cold is getting old, Tyler. Make up your mind.”

His chest expands as he takes in a long, loud breath. After he’s let it out, he gives me a sideways look, his jaw rigid. “Once again, you’ve got it all wrong. I told you I didn’t send you that damn contract.Hall sent it to me as a joke, and somehow, I printed it, thinking it was the document Madi sent over. I’m tired of hoping you’ll listen to a word I say, and I’m sick of trying to convince you that I’m a good guy.”

He roughs a hand down his face, looking more haggard than I’ve ever seen. Crap. My heart cracks even further, knowing I’m the cause of it.

“I’ve got a split lip,” he goes on, holding my gaze. “As does one of my best friends, and my coach is pissed at me. Now, I come home and find you still wearing someone else’s jersey, as if you haven’t taunted me enough.” He stands tall, chin jutted, and throws his arms out wide. “You win. You wanted to punish me, I’m punished. ”

I spin on my heel and stalk toward the bed, making sure he sees the letters emblazoned on my back. “I’m wearing our last name, asshole.” Grasping the hem of the jersey, I whip it over my head. Then I toss it at his feet. Some type of spirit must have taken over my body, because gone is the woman who hides behind layers of clothing. I’m completely naked, but I don’t cower. Instead, I stand tall, whip my head over my shoulder and glare at him. “I’ll never make that mistake again. But you want to punish me?” I press my chest to the mattress, my head tilted and my cheek flush against the bedding. Arms flung out. Ass up. Taunting him. “So punish me.”