Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(63)

The air crackled around them with a low, mean energy that made the hairs on her arms stand up. Adrenaline poured through her as she stared at him, her breaths coming in fast bursts as if she’d just run at full speed down a mountain. From that angle, she had the perfect view to see the change in Caleb’s expression as he shut down in front of her, leaving only a mocking sneer in place of genuine emotion.

“That’s a low fucking blow, Zara.”

“I’m short; that’s where my punches land.” She hopped off the couch and stalked over to the front door, yanking it open. “If you can’t take it, why don’t you just leave?”

He strode to the door, his long legs eating up the space between them until he was right next to her, looking down. “Don’t worry. I’m already gone.”

She slammed the door shut behind him and made it three small steps away before she crumpled to the floor, her chest heaving with tears coming so hard and so fast that she couldn’t even make a noise.





Chapter Eighteen


Caleb was at home in the penalty box. Tonight, he’d spent a good chunk of the last home preseason game against Philadelphia in there, snarling about that high-sticking asshole on the other team who’d drawn penalty after penalty. And after the game, he was still salty enough that his teammates gave him plenty of space in the locker room—everyone but Blackburn, Phillips, Christensen, and Petrov.

The nosy foursome crowded in front of him while he was tying his shoes. He ignored them. For once, his mouth wasn’t moving faster than his brain, because he wasn’t talking at all and didn’t have any plans to change that.

“What in the fuck was wrong with you?” Petrov asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s the last preseason game,” Caleb said, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Bullshit,” Blackburn all but growled. “It always matters when you have that A on your jersey.”

So much frustration was boiling just under the surface that it took everything he had not to step to his captain. So instead, he straightened up, giving the other man his full attention and letting just how much he did not give at that moment show on his face. “Then take it back.”

Blackburn’s jaw tightened, and the vein in his temple bulged. He didn’t move, not even an inch, but Caleb knew if he could push just a little bit more, he’d get a reaction. That was what he wanted. He wanted to brawl. What he’d left out on the ice tonight wasn’t enough to cancel out all the angry dark swirling around inside him.

He stood up, but instead of getting in Blackburn’s face, Christensen put his pretty-boy mug in between Caleb and the captain.

“What’s wrong, Zara decide she’d rather date me?” Christensen asked. “I heard you telling Coach that a fifth Bramble date wasn’t going to happen. I’m thinking I’ll give her a week and then go tap that a—”

That was as far as Christensen got before Caleb snapped. He vaulted forward, taking the other man down to the carpet right on top of the Ice Knights logo. They rolled, battling for superiority, but Christensen wasn’t a fighter, had no idea how to brawl, and Caleb not only had the skills, he had enough pissed-off in reserve to take on the entire first line. The forward didn’t stand a chance. Caleb had the other man down on his back and his fist pulled back ready to let loose when an unmistakable voice cut through the angry red haze.

“Caleb Stuckey, treat that logo with some respect and get the hell off it,” his mom said.

Britany walked in like she owned the joint—then again, that was pretty much how his mom entered any room. No doubts. No panic. No fear of failure. She didn’t fuck up over and over and over again until she ended up sprawled out on the floor of the locker room trying to take one of her friends’ head off.

Caleb got up, hands still curled into fists, and looked around at the men who made up his line. Usually they watched over one another on and off the ice. Last season when the world found out about what Blackburn’s parents had done to him, it was their line who got him furniture and refused to let him lone-wolf out anymore. And now every one of those men was looking at him the way they’d all looked at Blackburn: not with anger or pity but with sympathy.

“You’re all a bunch of assholes,” Christensen said, brushing himself off as he stood up. “Why did I have to be the one to push him until he snapped?”

“Because out of all of us, you’re the one who needs to be popped in the head most often,” Phillips said.

All the fury whooshed right out of Caleb. “What are you talking about?”

“Psychology,” Blackburn said, looking too satisfied by a mile. “You were so busy thinking about whatever it was that fucked up things with Zara that resulted in no date number five that you couldn’t concentrate on how to move forward and fix it.”

Stunned at how well he’d been punked, Caleb just stared slack-jawed at Blackburn. It took about three seconds for the reality of what he said—and how right he was—to sink in.

“Zach, you just might make a good coach someday,” Caleb’s mom said before giving the rest of the guys in the room the look that sent her players scurrying for cover. “Now, do you boys mind giving me some time with my son?”

She didn’t have to ask twice—everyone scattered. Caleb sat back down on the bench in front of his locker, letting his head rest against the wood frame. Now that he didn’t have the anger to fuel him, weariness seeped in, dragging him down.