Filed to story: Luci Forrester and Easton Reed: Hockey Romance Story
“Hmm, I don’t have to answer you. I don’t fawn all over you Reed kings of campus. Scared there, Icebreaker?! Thought you were unbreakable. Looks like I found your weakness-a tiny, helpless blonde boy. I can’t say I blame you for going after that little mouse. She’s got a mighty fine ass…”
My fist connects with his mouth and jaw, and he crumples to the ground. He swipes at his bleeding lips, trying to stand, but I hit him again, the sound of his jaw cracking on the third punch doing nothing to quell my rage. He swings at me, but I slam my other fist into his nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as he falls to his knees. I grab him by the neck, lifting him just enough to make sure he hears me. “You come near my son ever again or put your filthy hands on her, I will gut you like a fish with my skates.”
“Easton?” Luci’s panicked voice filters through a crack in the equipment room door. Maxton dares to snarl at her, though it’s weak.
I let my fist fly into his face once more before turning my attention to the door. Maxton lies on the ground, bleeding. Suddenly, I hear someone sprinting down the hallway. “Shut the door, Luci, and only open it for me. Now.” I command. She obeys, slamming the door, her eyes wide with fear.
“Maxton Porter! Campus police, we have a few questions for you.” A flashlight beams in my direction as I stand over him, fists clenched, ready to deliver another blow.
“Not over Reed,” he sneers weakly as a second officer helps him to his feet.
Mr. Trinka approaches, his expression serious. “Hey Easton. Jackson called me. I heard we had a major issue. Where is she? Did he hurt her?”
“I don’t think so. I need to get her out of here. She had nothing to do with this.”
“I know, we already watched the security footage on the way. We can show him that side of the arena only,” he offers kindly.
“I appreciate it. Could I get you some tickets to next week’s game as a thank you?”
He smiles, a hint of warmth in his eyes. “You don’t have to, but I won’t argue. Four would work, so I could bring my boys.”
“I’ll drop them at the office on Monday for you. Thanks again.”
Mr. Trinka leans in closer, his voice low as another officer enters. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes to get her out of there, Easton, before Humphries arrives. Call me anytime. I owe your family plenty of favors.”
I wait until the hallway clears before knocking on the door. “Luci?”
“Easton?” Her voice is tiny, almost lost in the air.
“It’s me, sweetness. Only me. Come on out.”
After a minute, the door creaks open, and I see her eyes peeking through before she opens it wider. I watch her relief wash over her as she steps into the corridor. My gaze narrows immediately as I take in her appearance.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I growl, alarmed. She’s wrapped in a towel, part of her sweater hanging off.
“My sweater got caught on something when I walked in here, and he grabbed it while I was running, unraveling it more. It basically unthreaded,” she explains, holding up the remnants of the fabric.
I grab her arm, panic flooding through me. “You’re bleeding too. What the hell did he do to you?!”
“That room was dark before I found the switch, and I ran across some skates.”
Those damn skates again…
Without thinking, I reach back and grip my hoodie, yanking it off in one swift motion. I hold it out to her. “Here.”
She hesitates, her eyes lingering on the tattoo on my bare chest. Finally, she averts her gaze and takes it. I turn around to give her some privacy. “Let me know when you’re done,” I say softly.
“You’ll be cold,” she protests.
“Hockey player, sweetness. I live on the ice and will be fine until I grab my extra clothes from the truck,” I call over my shoulder.
A minute later, she calls my name quietly. “Done.”
I turn back and chuckle; my hoodie swallows her whole. “What should I do with this?” She holds out the towel.
“Wrap it around that cut,” I instruct, gently pushing the sleeve up. “We need to clean this. Time to get you home. Give me your sweater pieces.” I hurry her down the corridor, knowing Humphries is on his way and I want to spare us both that ass-chewing. On our way out, I spot the thick yarn from her sweater snagged on a hook. She probably didn’t even notice until he grabbed it. I start looping it around my hand, determined to leave no evidence of her being here.
The wind picks up as we step outside, and she pulls away from me. “Where the hell are you going?”
“I need to get home,” she gestures toward her car.
“No. You’re shaking like a leaf, and you’re not driving. I’ll take you home and check that cut,” I insist, opening the passenger door to my truck and lifting her inside before grabbing another hoodie from the backseat.
“My purse and coat are in there,” she mumbles.
“Keys,” I demand, holding my hand out, and she yanks them from her pocket. I park next to her car and grab her things quickly. As I drive toward her apartment, she suddenly says, “My apartment is over here.”
I remain silent as I park nearby. “How do you know where I live?” she asks, a hint of surprise in her voice.
“I just do.” I let her unlock the door, using the time to calm my racing heart. She steps inside and gasps, “Umm, someone’s been here.”
“Yes, for a ruined surprise. It was me, before you panic,” I say, trying to ease her worries.
“Surprise? What are you talking about? Wait, how did you get in?” She stares up at me, her mind clearly racing.