The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 54

PROTECTIVE RAGE BURNS THROUGH ME.

We never should have come here. We should have gone straight to Hazel’s place so I could tuck her into bed and keep her safe.

I take in the angry flush coloring her cheeks and the way her nostrils flare, and the urge to make it better fires through me like a bullet.

I was supposed to prevent stuff like this. That was the whole point of our agreement.

“I’m okay,” she says. Her throat works again. “Pissed off, but fine.”

Everyone in the bar is either staring at us as I help her to her seat or at McKinnon, still trying to shove Owens and Streicher off as they hold him like sentinels. They’re almost as furious as I am, and beneath the jealous rage, a pulse of gratitude hits me. Even if I wasn’t here, they’d stick up for Hazel. They know what she means to me, even if I’ve never told them explicitly, and they care about her.

When she’s seated, I give her a kiss on the top of the head. “You okay here for a moment?”

She nods, and I give her another kiss before straightening up and stalking over to McKinnon.

“Wrong move, McKinnon,” I call as I approach, shaking my head, feeling wild and out of control.

He hurt my Hazel. My Hazel. He thought he could help himself to her. He sent her lingerie.

This ends now.

He shakes his head, wearing a stupid grin that makes me want to break every bone in his body. “She’s got you fucking whipped.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Streicher growls. “She’s your physio, and he’s your captain.”

McKinnon burps. He’s fucking wasted. “Whatever.”

I grab the front of McKinnon’s shirt, hauling him up straight so I can look him in the eye. Everyone in the bar is silent, listening and watching as tinny Christmas music plays.

“You don’t fucking touch her,” I tell him in a deadly calm, lethal voice as my pulse races. “You don’t go near her. You don’t look at her. You’re nothing to us. This stuff?” I gesture at the bar. “You don’t show up for these things anymore. You’re going to pull that shit? You’re not part of the team.”

He’s breathing hard with the ugliest, most resentful expression.

“I can’t kick your sorry ass off the team but I can make sure you never bother Hartley again,” I continue. “Ask for a new physio or I’ll do it for you.”

Silence stretches between us, and in McKinnon’s eyes, I see something settle. Defeat, I think.

“Understand?” I give him a shake, and he stumbles.

“Fuck you,” he spits.

My blood simmers, crackling with energy. Every primal, male instinct in me wants to hit him.

He’s wasted, though, and it’s not a fair fight. Captain, Streicher called me. I’m trying to be the guy Ward wants, and I can’t hit a guy who can barely stand up straight. Hazel watches with a worried look, and that settles it.

“Go home,” I tell him in that same deadly calm voice before letting him go. Streicher and Owens escort him out of the bar but I’m already at Hazel’s side, leaning down.

“Rory, what are you—” She lets out a yelp of surprise as I haul her over my shoulder, careful not to bump her ankle.

I’ve got one arm wrapped around Hartley, holding her steady, and Volkov places the crutches in my free hand. “I’m taking you home and you’re not going to argue,” I tell Hazel.

I need to get her out of this place. My blood is pounding with the need to get Hazel home, get her safe, and get her all to myself.

She doesn’t say a word, and Pippa’s eyes are wide as she watches us leave. Even Jordan’s eyebrows are at her hairline.

“Have a great break, everyone, and nice work today,” I announce to the silent bar, carrying Hazel out the door. “And Merry Christmas.”