In Love With the Hockey Master

CHAPTER 4

Mia POV

I saw him before he saw me.

Marcus Webb stood outside my father's office with his phone in his hand and his weight on one hip and an expression that was just relaxed enough to look like someone who had nothing to hide.

That was the thing about Marcus, he always looked like he belonged wherever he was. He had spent years perfecting it. In public he was easy, warm, the kind of man other men wanted to be around and women thought they understood. In private he was something else entirely.

I stopped midstep. My heart was beating so fast I thought I would vomit.

Not here, not now, not after everything.

My brain started running calculations the way it always did when Marcus appeared thinking of the fastest exits, who was nearby, and how long before someone would notice if I disappeared.

I turned around, fast. My shoes squeaked on the floor, I didn't care. I just needed to move, to disappear, to become invisible the way I'd practiced for two years.

I was faced with two options. Taking the stairs which were too long and far away or a long flight down to the lower level. If I ran, he'd hear. If I walked, he'd surely see.

Fuck it. I chose the stairs.

My hand gripped the railing, as I began to skip flights of stairs, my breath came in shallow gasps.

The memory slammed into me immediately. Memory that I had spent years trying to lock away. The first time he backhanded me across the mouth. I'd dropped my phone. He'd stepped on it, a big smile on his face as he crushed it under his heel. "You're not going anywhere," he'd said.

I spent years loving him. I believed that one day he would change and every day I woke up with bruises. Any time I tried to leave, it always got worse until one day that I had added sleeping pills into his drink as I sneaked out.

Two years of me being free but of course, it was just an illusion.

“Mia.” His smooth voice called from behind me. I didn't turn around. I took another step.

"Mia, wait." I heard his frantic footsteps, faster than mine. "I know you heard me."

I broke into a run. My ankle twisted on the fourth step. I caught myself on the railing, pain shooting up my leg, but I kept going.

He was faster.

His hand closed around my elbow, firm enough that I knew...I knew...he could snap my arm if he wanted to.

I squeaked.

"Where are you going?" He barked, pulling me to a stop on the landing between floors. The stairwell was empty, just the both of us and my legs shook. "You didn't even say hello."

"Let go of me, Marcus," I whispered.

His hand tightened on mine. He stepped closer. His cologne, the same brand he'd worn for years, filled my lungs like poison. "I came back for you. You know that, right? This whole trade, the new team...I did it for you."

The worst thing about Marcus was never the anger, the anger I could brace for. It was moments like this, when he looked at me with something that actually resembled love and expected me to be grateful.

My throat tightened. "I didn't ask you to."

"You never had to ask." His free hand came up to my face. His fingers traced my jaw. My skin crawled. "You look good. Tired. But good. Stressful job?"

I flinged his hand away. "Don't touch me."

He chuckled. "I've touched every part of you, Mia. Don't act like a stranger now."

He pushed me against the wall. Concrete scraped my back through my shirt. His body pressed against mine, heavy, familiar, sickening. His hand moved to my hip, gripped hard enough to cause a bruise.

"Stop." My voice broke. "Stop it."

"You used to like this," he drawled.

"I used to be afraid of you."

"Same thing." He smiled. That left-tilted smile that made everyone think he was charming. "You're still afraid, I can feel you shaking."

I was. My whole body trembled. My vision blurred at the edges, the stairwell spun. I was twenty-two again, locked in his apartment, watching him pace because I'd looked at another man for too long.

But I wasn't twenty-two anymore.

"Get off me," I said. Louder this time. "Get off me now."

He leaned close, his lips brushed my ear and I closed my eyes and thought about the stairs. About the door at the bottom and about how many steps.

"Scream," he said pleasantly. "Go ahead, your father is upstairs choosing which of my press photos to use. Your assistant coach is down on the ice somewhere trying to pretend his knee isn't finished."

He pulled back just enough to look at me. "I asked around about Ryder, by the way, sad story. Coaches who can't walk fast enough to get to you aren't really much of a plan."

The smile never left his stupid lips. "No one is coming, Mia.”

I screamed anyway. "LET GO OF ME!"

Marcus laughed, actually laughed with his hand moved to my throat. "That's not going to..."

For a second, just one, nothing happened. My scream echoed off the concrete and died.

Then I heard footsteps, slow and uneven. The sound of someone climbing stairs.

"Step back."

The voice came from below the stairs. Cole.

Marcus turned his head but didn't move his body. "This doesn't concern you, old man."

"I said step back."

Cole climbed the last few steps. His limp was worse than this morning. His face was pale from the pain, but his eyes were on fire.

He had heard me from the bottom. He had come up anyway, on a knee that had already been through enough today to justify staying down, and he was looking at Marcus the way a man looks at something he has already decided to destroy.

Marcus finally pulled away from me. Held up both hands in mock surrender. "Relax. I was just catching up with an old friend."

"She told you to let go. I heard her from the bottom of the stairs."

He scoffed. "She plays hard to get."

Cole's jaw twitched.

Marcus faced Cole fully. "What are you going to do, Ryder? Blow out your other knee trying to fight me? I've seen you walk. You're a cripple. Always has been. You couldn't..."

Cole's fist connected with Marcus's face. The crack echoed off the concrete walls. Marcus stumbled back, hand flying to his nose. Blood dripped between his fingers.

Cole didn't say anything. He just stood there, breathing steadily, and waited.

"You hit me," Marcus said, eyes widening.

"Get up," Cole said.

Marcus got up and swung back.

His fist caught Cole in the ribs, the same side from the practice fight. Cole grunted but didn't fall. He grabbed Marcus by the collar and slammed him against the opposite wall. Marcus kneed him in the thigh. Cole's bad leg buckled. He went down on one knee.

"No!" I grabbed Cole's shoulder. "Stop, both of you, stop!"

Marcus lunged. Cole caught him by the throat. They crashed into the railing. I pulled at Marcus's arm. He shoved me aside. I hit the wall, my head cracked against concrete and slid down.

Cole saw me fall and something in him snapped.

He drove his forehead into Marcus's nose. Blood sprayed. Marcus roared. They traded punches, ribs, and jaws.

"COLE!" I screamed his name, he didn't hear me or didn't care. Then footsteps pounded from above.

"What in God's name is going on here?"

My father.

He stood at the top of the stairs, face red, tie loosened, eyes wide. Behind him, the assistant GM, and two security guards.

Cole froze with his fist raised. Marcus shoved him off and staggered backward, blood pouring down his chin.

My father looked at Marcus, at Cole, then at me, as I slumped against the wall, crying, my shirt torn at the collar.

"Someone," my father said slowly, "had better start talking. Now."