Well, except for my pre-game nap—and not for lack of trying. I loved sleeping, never struggled with insomnia, and normally, I would have been sound asleep twenty minutes ago. Instead, I was obsessing over plays and daydreaming about inflicting severe bodily harm on Morrison. Would it be another open-ice check, or would I smash him into the boards like the pest he was? I’d planned for either scenario so I’d be ready when either opportunity arose. Hopefully, I’d take him clean out of the game again so I didn’t have to see his stupid, smug face a moment longer than necessary.

Sleep crept farther out of reach as my rage climbed another notch. Fuck. Morrison was living in my head rent-free when I should have been resting and recharging. Or fantasizing about Bailey naked, at the very least.

Finally, I slid out of bed and sank down into my desk chair, grabbing my Urban Economics textbook. Studying was the last thing I wanted to do before a game—and was something I’d never done—but I didn’t know what else to do with myself.

That lasted all of three minutes before I gave up and looked up hockey stats online, rearranging my fantasy hockey lines. I was still in the lead, and I wanted to keep it that way. This occupied my restless brain for a while, but the low hum of resentment lingered in the back if my mind, nevertheless.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, snapping me back to reality.

“Ready?” Dallas pounded on my door.

I glanced at the clock on my desk, electricity shooting through my veins. Go time. “Yeah,” I called. “Be right down.”

Body buzzing, I stood, pushed in my chair, and grabbed my stuff on the way out. I jogged down the stairs and found the guys waiting in the hallway, their faces tight. The atmosphere was so heavy it was like we were heading to a funeral rather than a game.

“Are you ready to fuck some shit up?” I asked.

Dallas nodded. “You know it.”

Tyler eyed me warily. “I know you want to crush Morrison, but don’t let him take your head out of the game.”

“I won’t,” I said.

* * *

Bailey: Good luck tonight. I love you.

Chase: I love you too. See you after.

* * *

As the clock ticked down to puck drop, Miller gave us a legendary pep talk in the dressing room that none of us needed—we were more than amped to play our biggest rival. By the time we we burst out of the dressing room, we were ready for a bloodbath.

Another overdose of adrenaline hit my veins as soon as the ice came into view. So much so that I feared going into cardiac arrest before the game even started. Knowing Bailey was watching made me want to win that much more too.

Scratch that. I didn’t want to win—I needed to.