“I guess part of me feels like it’s my fault.”

My fault for dating Luke in the first place; my fault for not handling him correctly and provoking him; my fault for going to the hockey game alone.

“James.” His voice softened. “That’s not even a little true.”

“How is it not?”

“You’re not responsible for anything that fucker does.”

It didn’t feel that way.

“That and I don’t want you to get yourself into trouble,” I said.

“One of these days I’m going to have to make good on my threats to him or they won’t mean anything.”

“Can you limit beating him to when you’re on the ice so you don’t go to jail?”

“Trust me when I say that I am trying very, very hard to do that. Counting down the days until I can demolish him,” he said. “But if he pulls something like that car thing again, he’s leaving in a body bag.”

“Chase.” I groaned.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can afford a top-notch lawyer. Call it self-defense or something, whatever.”

He paused. “Or maybe I should hire a hit man. It would be money well spent.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

* * *

CHASE

Bailey dozed off after she spilled the ugly truth, which gave me fifteen minutes to breathe deeply and cool down before we got home.

Or at least to shift into quietly planning Morrison’s dismemberment while attempting to behave like a normal human, outwardly speaking.

I wasn’t upset with her—especially after she told me she felt like it was her fault. That admission had guilt smashing me in the face like a slapshot.

I hated him that much more for making her think that.

And I really fucking hated him for scaring her.

Tomorrow was supposed to be my rest day, and now Morrison had fucked that up too, because I had serious amounts of aggression to work out on the ice or in the gym. Maybe both.

Or I could find his address and take it out on the source…

Also planned to consult Ward and Ty about orchestrating the most damaging on-ice hit possible that wouldn’t land me a suspension or expulsion from the league. Still needed to mull that one over. Maybe get out the whiteboard and draw up some diagrams evaluating potential plans of action, optimizing speed, and leveraging angles. Watch some videos online, like compilations of the NHL’s most devastating hits. You know, research that shit and really get it right.

I pulled into the visitor parking for Bailey’s apartment building and shifted into park. As I did, the truck lurched slightly, causing her to stir. Bailey let out a tiny, adorable groan and pushed herself upright, stretching sleepily.

“Sorry,” I said quietly. “We’re home.”

She unbuckled her seat belt and turned to me, still bleary-eyed with sleep. “Are you okay?”