And it came near the end of the second period.
The Bombers struggled for the first thirty minutes of the game, barely managing to get one on the scoreboard. Tyler had struggled right along with them, allowing two on Bridgeport’s fifteen shots. His head wasn’t in the game, not even close. He’d had his ass handed to him by Kolchak during the first intermission. Fair enough—the rest of the team had received the same treatment in the locker room. It was the same shit they’d heard the last seven games: stick to the plan, strengthen their defense, don’t let the lines break down. Get in there and fucking win, dammit.
Rah rah, yee-fucking-hah.
Tyler didn’t give a shit. Not tonight. Tonight, he wanted blood. As long as Torresi didn’t pull him. As long as Tyler did just enough to stay in the net. That’s all he wanted—stay in the game long enough for a chance to take Krasnoff down.
Play moved out of the neutral zone as the puck raced toward him. Tyler bounced on his feet, crouching low before swinging the stick behind him and tapping the pipes. The second line was exhausted, they’d been out on the ice for too long, unable to make a line change because they couldn’t fucking clear the puck. Ben, red-faced and dripping sweat, raced after the puck. Got his stick on it, knocked it loose.
Couldn’t clear it.
Tyler shifted, watching as play moved behind the net. Jason and Harland struggled, each one digging for the puck as it shot into the corner. Still not good enough. And here came Krasnoff, fresh from a line change, adding his bulk to the fight for the puck.
He got it loose, spun around and shot it toward the net.
Not this time, fucker.
Tyler reached out with his glove hand, snagged it mid-air, brought it to his chest and huddled over it. The whistle blew, stopping the play, moving the face off right in front of him.
Now. Now was his chance. Just a few more seconds—
Both teams lined up for the face off, Jason and Krasnoff going head-to-head. The Russian had been chirping Jason all night, getting into Jason’s head.
No, not chirping. This was beyond chirping. Tyler could hear him, the heavily accented words carrying to the net.
“Your sister have sweet pussy, yeah?”
“Fuck you.”
A laugh, cold and filled with ridicule.
“You know how your sister scream for me? Always scream. Always ask for more.”
“Go to hell you little fucking Russian prick.”
“Not so little. That why Jenny scream.”
The ref muttered a warning, the words nothing more than an empty promise. Aaron tapped Jason on the back of the leg, muttering his own warning.
Krasnoff laughed, said something in Russian, then leered at Jason. “I have pictures. You want, no?”
Jason threw his stick to the ice and lunged at Krasnoff, catching the Russian on the chin with his fist. That was the only swing he got in because Krasnoff was faster, bigger. All hell broke loose on the ice. Equipment went flying as players went after each other. Grunts and insults hurled as fast and as loud as the punches being thrown. Tyler ignored it all, his eyes narrowed on Krasnoff. Watching, waiting.
Krasnoff got Jason in a headlock, holding him still long enough to yank the hem of his jersey over his head. Then he drew back and landed a solid punch to Jason’s jaw, sending him to his knees.
Tyler raced out of the net, lunged at Krasnoff. The Russian spun around, laughter in his eyes as Tyler caught him in the shoulder. He didn’t stop, kept swinging, each blow harder than the last until Krasnoff stumbled, lost his balance.
“Not yet, fucker.” Tyler fisted one hand in the man’s sweaty jersey and let loose. Teeth ripped the skin of his knuckles when he hit Krasnoff in the mouth. Tyler felt nothing but fury, his anger fueling each punch. Bone and cartilage crunched under his fist as one punch connected with Krasnoff’s nose. Another punch caught him in the eye, forcing Krasnoff’s head to snap to the side. Anger boiled in Tyler’s veins, erupting in a frenzy of flying fists and hissed warnings. One after another, never stopping. One last punch, aimed for the man’s already bloodied nose. Another one, aimed at his jaw—
Hands grabbed Tyler, pulling him away as something big and heavy tackled him to the ice. Tyler bucked, his back arching as he reached, tried to push off whatever the fuck was holding him down.
“Stop it. Just fucking stop it. Now.” Zach’s voice, low and furious, shattered the veil of red seizing Tyler. He stopped fighting, forced his body to remain still as he nodded, just once, to show Zach he understood. Seconds went by, each one marked by the pounding in Tyler’s chest. Zach finally moved off him, grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Tyler grabbed the hem of his jersey and wiped it across his face, not surprised to see it come away smeared with red.
He looked around, his eyes quickly assessing the carnage spread around him. Damn near every player from both teams had been involved in the melee. Equipment was scattered everywhere, from the bench all the way to the bin. Blood smeared the ice, drops and puddles marking each individual fight. A cracked tooth rested near one puddle, close to where Krasnoff was being helped to his feet. Was it the Russian’s? Tyler sure as hell hoped so.
He skated over to the net to retrieve his equipment, mildly surprised the fight had travelled to center ice. The refs were going to have a fucking field day sorting this one out. Tyler didn’t give a shit. He’d done what he set out to do. Fuck everything else.
He skated over to the bench, not even bothering to look at Torresi as he stepped off the ice. He was out for the game, maybe out for the last few of the season. Who cared? It was worth it.
He paused before heading into the tunnel, his gaze searching the seats behind the bench. Jenny sat there, between Courtney and Megan, tears in her eyes.
Fuck. All three women had tears in their eyes. And Noah was huddled in his mother’s arms, his face buried in her shoulder. Great. Just fucking great. Harland would make Tyler pay for that later, no doubt about it.
Whatever. Fuck it. He’d deal with it later. Right now, all he was worried about was Jenny. His heart slammed into his chest when their gazes caught and held. Horror filled her wet eyes, but there was something else there, too. He didn’t know what, couldn’t figure it out.
He’d worry about that later, too.
He held her gaze for a few more seconds, wondering what was going through her mind. He offered her a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement then hobbled his way down the tunnel.
Regretting nothing and knowing he’d do it all over again if given the chance.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tyler winced, the pain of his cut mouth morphing from dull throb to sharp stabbing as soon as Jenny touched the antiseptic wipe to it. She pulled her hand away, frowned, then touched it to the corner of his mouth once more.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Liar. It should.”
“It doesn’t.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. It was more like stretching the truth—just a little. But he took the wipe from Jenny’s hand anyway, just so she’d quit making it worse. He swabbed it across his lower lip then balled it up and threw it in the small trash bag hanging from the back of the passenger seat.
They were sitting in his car in the parking lot outside of Mystic’s. A handful of the guys were already inside. A few, like Harland, had gone home. A few more would straggle in here and there over the next hour. There was no rush for them to get inside—but he could feel Jenny’s anxiety and nervousness in every little move she made. In the way she squirmed in the seat. In the way her glance darted to the front door of Mystic’s then scanned the parking lot. In the way she twisted her hands together in her lap.
Tyler reached over and grabbed one of those hands, surprised at the way her fingers shook in his grasp.
“Nervous?”
Her head twisted to the side, her eyes wide with surprise. “No. Why?”
“Because your hands are shaking.” He flattened her hand against his and lightly traced her
fingers. Long and lean, the pink fingernail polish almost invisible in the nonexistent light inside the car. Tyler lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles. Her fingers stiffened and she pulled her hand away, curling it into her lap once more.
Tyler frowned and shifted in the seat, turning sideways so he could watch her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s wrong, Jenny. I can tell. Are you nervous about tonight? About telling Jason?”
She shook her head then reached up to pull a stray tendril of hair from her face. “No.”
He didn’t believe her. Hell, he was nervous, too. There was no telling how Jason would react when he found out they were dating—that they’d been seeing each other for a couple of months. Would he be pissed? Probably. But Tyler was counting on the night’s earlier fight to pave the way, to ease some of the tension that might otherwise be there.
He didn’t tell Jenny that, though. Something told him that she wouldn’t believe him.
“If you’re not nervous, then what is it? You’ve been acting skittish ever since you got into the car.” Which was about fifteen minutes ago. Jenny had driven separately, had already made arrangements to meet him here after the game. Probably a good thing, too, since Coach had kept them late.
Giving every single one of them a piece of his very loud mind.
He was still waiting for Jenny to answer, still wondering why she was so quiet. She finally looked over at him, her eyes filled with sadness—and fear.
“Why?”
Tyler frowned, not understanding what she was asking. Did she want to know why he thought she was nervous? Or something else? “Why, what?”
“Why were you fighting? What happened?”
“Nothing. It was just a fight, that’s all.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know better. What happened?”
Should he tell her? No, she didn’t need to know. Maybe she suspected, if the fear and anxiety in her eyes meant anything. But she didn’t know—and Tyler couldn’t tell her. But he couldn’t lie to her, either.
“It was building the entire game. Just a bunch of chirping that got out of hand, that’s all. You know how tense everyone’s been lately. It didn’t take much to set everyone off.”
“That wasn’t from chirping, Tyler. I know better. What happened?” Her gaze held his, her eyes searching as the seconds ticked by. Tyler finally looked away, afraid she’d see the truth in his eyes. He was too late.
A strangled gasp escaped her, one filled with anguish and disbelief. Tyler reached for her but she pushed his hand away, her head moving back and forth in denial.
“He said something, didn’t he?”
“Nobody said—”
“He did. I can see it in your eyes. You know, don’t you? Everybody knows and now—”
Tyler leaned across the center console and pulled her into his arms, refusing to let her go when she pushed against him. His hands traced gentle circles along her back, his voice whispering words of comfort and reassurance. Minutes went by before Jenny’s body relaxed, the tension leaving her with one long shudder. Her hands moved between them, circled around his waist to pull him closer, her grip strong, almost desperate.
“Nobody knows, Jenny. I swear. He didn’t say anything, not like that.” At least, nothing that any of them believed. “He was chirping, trying to get into Jason’s head. That’s all.”
“If he didn’t say anything, how did you figure out who he was?”
“Jason.”
Jenny pulled back, her brows pulled low in a frown over gleaming eyes. “Jason? I don’t—”
“He knows you went out with him, Jenny. I don’t know how, I didn’t ask. I just—I put it together, that’s all.” And as far as he was concerned, that’s all Jenny had to know. The rest was nothing more than chirping, just like he had said. Not a single guy who had overheard Krasnoff believed a word he said.
“Is that why you went after him?”
“I told you I’d kill him if I ever found out who he was.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and pulled back. “It’s over. No more worries, okay? Let’s go inside and grab a drink and have some fun.”
“You go. I’ll meet you inside?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I just—I need a few minutes, that’s all.”
Tyler wasn’t sure he completely believed her. Was she still upset? Or was she getting cold feet about telling Jason? He hesitated, almost told her he’d wait for her, then changed his mind. If she needed a few minutes, he’d gladly give them to her. He’d give her whatever she wanted.
He leaned in for another quick kiss then climbed out of the car. The night air still held a hint of chill but he could feel the first fingers of Spring reaching out, barely discernible, teasing. Another two weeks and hockey season would be over for the year. The Bombers hadn’t made the playoffs this year, hadn’t even come close. And for once, the idea of a shortened season didn’t bother Tyler, not when it meant more time to spend with Jenny.
He pulled open the door of Mystic’s, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dim lights. Everyone was at their usual table in the back corner, waving him over as he stepped inside. The atmosphere was relaxed, maybe even a little celebratory. Not just because the Bombers had won—they had, but only barely during the shootout in overtime. No, this was more because the tension of the last several weeks had finally snapped.
Yeah, nothing like a good old-fashioned ass whooping to work out your frustrations.
Every single one of them would be feeling the pain of cuts and bruises tomorrow, but tonight? Tonight was all about having fun. Starting fresh.
Tyler sat in one of two empty chairs across from Jason and Megan. Jason glanced over at him, offered him a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement. “Thanks for having my back earlier.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” Jason didn’t need to know that he’d taken care of Krasnoff for Jenny and not him, although Tyler was fairly certain he’d figure it out soon enough.
As soon as Jenny came inside. As soon as they told him they were together.
Zach pushed a stack of plastic cups and a pitcher of beer in his direction. Tyler nodded his thanks and quickly poured, then tried not to wince as he took a sip. Fuck. Yeah, his mouth was going to be sore tomorrow. Correction: sorer. And so would his jaw and his knuckles. Hell, even his right thigh was sore and he had no idea why. Maybe, if he was lucky, Jenny could kiss every sore spot and make it all better. He was willing to give it a try, anyway.
Tyler leaned back in the chair, his ears picking up snippets of conversation here and there. Travis and Aaron talking about the former’s crazy shot that had finally tied the game. Zach and Ben arguing who was sporting the biggest shiner. Ryan piping up from the corner and asking if Harland had managed to calm Noah down after the game.
Jason leaned across the table. “I don’t think it was Noah who was upset. Or if he was, he was getting it from Courtney.”
“You don’t think she should be upset? After watching what happened?”
Jason turned to Megan, frowning. “It was just part of the game.”
“Part of the game? It was a bloodbath! A vicious bloodbath!”
“Not really.” Jason shrugged and turned to Tyler, his mouth curling in a broad smile. “At least, not until Bowie here took down Krasnoff. Beautiful moves, by the way. The son of a bitch never saw it coming.”
“Hell, neither did I.” Travis piped up from a few seats down. “I didn’t think I’ve ever seen you fly so fast, Tyler. Impressive as shit.”
“What? You didn’t know my first choice was boxing?” Tyler deadpanned the question, then had to bite back a smile when Travis frowned, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. Laughter erupted around them, erasing whatever tension might have remained.
Megan rolled her eyes then turned back to Jason, once again serious. “I don’t care what you say. It was brutal.”
“It’s just part of the
game, babe. That’s all.”
“No, it’s not. I may not have been to many games, but I know better. Even Jenny said she’d never seen anything like what happened out there.”
“Speaking of Jenny, where is she? I thought you said she was on her way.”
Megan’s gaze darted to Tyler’s then quickly returned to Jason’s. Interesting. Did Megan know? Had Jenny told her? Or was Megan simply guessing?
“She is. She must have—”
“Looking for me?” Jenny’s voice drifted over the table, the sound a little too bright, a little too forced. Or maybe it was just Tyler’s imagination because nobody else seemed to notice, especially not Jason. He pushed his chair back and stood up, frowning at his sister.
“What took you so long? You should have beaten us here.”
“I had to stop somewhere.”
Jason looked like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind at the last minute. He glanced around the table, his eyes resting on Travis. “Move. Let Jenny sit there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jenny shot her brother a dirty look before her eyes drifted to Tyler. “There’s an empty seat right there.”
Tyler released the breath he’d been holding. For a heart-stopping second, he’d been certain she was going to take Travis’ seat. Did the relief show on his face? Or was he still wearing the frown he’d aimed at Jason for his stupid suggestion that Travis move? Probably the frown, judging from Jenny’s expression as she took the empty chair next to him.
It would be so easy to slide his chair next to hers, to drape his arm around the back of it and rest his hand on Jenny’s shoulder. Yeah, it was a typical guy thing to do, a gesture of pure male possession. He wanted to claim Jenny, to show everyone that they were together.
He was smart enough not to do it.
Instead, he grabbed the pitcher of beer, filled a cup, and handed it to her. She took it, her fingers still shaking as she sent him a silent look. Thank you—but not for the beer.
She was still nervous, still anxious. From telling Jason, or from what Tyler had told her about the fight? He wanted to lean over, reassure her again, but he couldn’t.
Playing For Keeps: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 3) Page 16