Ruined on Ice

Chapter Two

~Maverick~

“f*****g bastard.”

I slammed my stick against the boards as I skated past the bench, ignoring its already fragile state. The crowd was losing its mind, but all I could hear was the blood roaring in my ears.

Rory Calloway was out there grinning like the entitled prick he was, waving to the Linden fans like he hadn’t just destroyed Taylor Jensen.

I had found out in the locker room right before we took the ice.

“Yo, Stone,” my linemate, Dex, had said, shoving his phone in my face. “You see this s**t yet? Video’s blowing up everywhere.”

I had watched ten seconds, more than enough. Rory pounding Taylor’s roommate in their dorm, that stupid wolf tattoo flexing on his shoulder while he moaned like a porn star. Caption: Thought you should know.

My gloves had tightened so hard around my stick I nearly snapped it.

Now we were ten minutes into the first period, and every time Calloway touched the puck, I wanted to erase him from the ice.

I had known Taylor Jensen since we were kids. She was a cheerleader now, and I knew that. But it was different then. Back when I lived three houses down from her in that quiet neighborhood before my family moved. She was always the quiet one, cute as hell with those big blue eyes and that soft laugh she tried to hide behind her books. She never missed a beat. Always watching. Always steady. Something about her presence used to settle the constant noise in my head. I hated how much I noticed it. Hated how often I looked for her when I was shooting pucks in the driveway, hoping she’d come outside.

But that was years ago. Before my ex turned my life into a f*****g war zone. After that mess, I swore off dating. Swore off women entirely, honestly. At this rate I would probably die a eunuch and I was mostly fine with it.

Mostly.

The ref’s whistle blew. Face-off in the neutral zone. I lined up across from Calloway, staring straight into his smug face. He smirked at me as if he hadn't just ruined a girl's confidence.

“Better luck this season, Stone.”

I didn’t answer. I never did. Words were his weapon. Mine were different.

The puck dropped.

I won the draw like I had been possessed, shoving my shoulder into his chest and sending him sprawling. The crowd booed. Northwood fans cheered. I didn’t give a f**k about either.

All game I played like a man with nothing to lose. I threw hits that made the glass rattle. I pinned Wolves against the boards until they gasped for air. Every time Rory touched the puck, I was there, forechecking like a demon, stripping it, laying him out.

He was flashy. Always had been. Deking, dangling, looking for highlight-reel goals. I was brutal. Simple as that. And tonight I was meaner than usual.

By the end of the first period, the score was tied 1-1. Coach was yelling something at me on the bench, but I barely heard him. My blood was still boiling.

Dex skated up next to me during a TV timeout. “You good, man? You’re playing like you’ve got a personal vendetta.”

“I do,” I muttered.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Good. I wasn’t in the mood to explain that every time I looked at Calloway, I saw that video. Saw Taylor’s face in my head, the way she must’ve looked when she first found out.

Second period started and the tension snapped.

We were on a power play after one of their defensemen tripped our captain. The puck came to me in the corner. I saw Rory coming to pressure me, too aggressive, too cocky. He wanted to make a big play in front of his home crowd.

Big mistake.

I faked a pass, then drove straight at him. He tried to pivot, but I was already there. I cross-checked him hard into the boards, legal enough at first glance, dirty enough that everyone knew better. The glass shook violently, and his head snapped back.

Then I dropped the gloves.

My fist connected with his face before the refs could react. Once. Twice. The third hit landed perfectly. I felt the cartilage give under my knuckles. Blood sprayed across the ice.

The arena exploded.

Rory screamed, clutching his face. Refs swarmed us. Players from both teams started pairing off, gloves dropping left and right. Chaos descended like it always did the few times I lost control. The officials were yelling, trying to pull us apart. Someone grabbed my jersey from behind, but I shook them off.

Calloway was on his knees, blood pouring down his chin, staring up at me with pure hatred.

Good.

A ref finally got between us, shoving me toward the penalty box. “You’re done, Stone! Five for fighting, two for cross-checking, game misconduct! Get the f**k off the ice!”

I didn’t argue. I skated toward the tunnel slowly, blood on my knuckles, chest heaving. The Northwood fans were chanting my name like I had just won them the Stanley Cup. The Linden side was screaming murder.

I didn’t care.

In the tunnel, one of our assistant coaches, Wilson, was waiting, red-faced. “What the hell was that, Maverick? You just handed them the f*****g game!”

I wiped blood from my split knuckle onto my jersey. “He had it coming.”

Wilson stared at me like I had grown a second head. “You better hope his family doesn’t sue your ass. Rich kids like Calloway don’t let s**t like this slide.”

Let them sue. Worth it.

I sat in the locker room alone while the game continued without me, helmet off, hair damp with sweat. My knuckles throbbed. My shoulder ached from the hit. But none of it compared to the image burned into my brain: Taylor Jensen running straight into me earlier tonight, tears streaming down her face, voice cracking as she told me to mind my own f*****g business.

She had looked shattered.

I’d wanted to say something—anything—but she had bolted before I could. Part of me was glad. What the hell would I have said? Sorry your boyfriend’s a cheating piece of s**t?

No. She didn’t need that. She didn’t need me.

I had sworn off this s**t for a reason. Women complicated everything. They left. They betrayed. They broke you when you least expected it.

But Taylor……

She had always been different. Quiet calm in a loud world. Even now, after all these years, seeing her broke something loose inside my chest I thought I’d buried.

The locker room door banged open. Dex walked in, shaking his head. “You f*****g broke his nose, man. Clean break. He’s out for the rest of the game at least. Coach is pissed but……some of the guys are saying you did what a lot of us wanted to do.”

I grunted.

Dex paused. “You know her personally or something? Taylor Jensen?”

I looked up sharply. “Why?”

“Because you’ve never gone after someone like that. Not even last year when Calloway cheap-shotted you into the boards and cost us a playoff spot.”

I didn’t answer. I just flexed my bruised hand and stared at the floor.

Taylor Jensen didn’t need a knight. Especially not one like me, bruised, angry, and barely holding onto the one thing I was good at.

But if Rory Calloway ever went near her again…

I’d do a lot worse than break his nose