Page 38 of My One & Goalie
“You’re late. Again.” I growl the words and the angry sound echoes off the ice, bouncing around the empty arena.
He pauses, tucking his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket.
“Where’s Jett?” His head swivels around the rink, searching. “Rachel didn’t pick him up, did she? That would be on-brand for her. Interrupt me at work only to have her show up and snatch him.”
“No, Rachel’s not here.” I stalk toward him, Jackson lurking in the background. He stays put on the bench, but I know he’s witnessing the exchange.
I square up with Charles, toe to toe, straightening to my full height. I’m easily six inches taller than him and a whole helluva lot bigger and stronger.
“It’s just you and me right now.”
Charles narrows his eyes at me. “Where’s my son?”
“He’s with Harper. We need to talk, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want your son to hear what I’m about to say.”
“That you’re fucking his mom?” Charles leers at me.
I press my lips together, white-hot anger rolling through me. I don’t like this guy and his attitude’s really pissing me off. Taking a deep breath, I maintain hold of my barely-there composure.
“What I’m doing with Rachel is none of your damn business and not a topic for discussion.”
“Cut the bullshit, hockey boy. Where’s my kid? I’m busy and it’s late.” Charles flicks a glance at his watch.
I take another step forward, inching into Charles’ space. “Keep your hands off Rachel.”
“What?” He frowns, acting innocent. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. She has bruises all over her arms and I know they’re from you manhandling her.”
“She’s always been a klutz. I’m sure she ran into something. I didn’t touch her.”
“Stop lying. Be a fucking man and own up to your shit. You hurt her and if you do it again, I promise it will be the last time.”
“Or what? What are you going to do about it?” he sneers.
In one quick move, I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and lift him off the ground an inch. His heels kick at the air and his face reddens.
“Put me the fuck down!”
“Good, I have your attention, fuckface. You will not touch Rachel again. Understand?”
He takes a shuddery breath, nostrils flaring. “I’m not saying I touched her. And if you don’t put me down right the fuck now, I’m pressing charges.”
I shake him a little, his perfectly coiffed hair falling out of place. “I don’t think you’re hearing me, asshole. Rachel’s not your little rag doll to toss around. Keep your fucking hands off her or you’ll regret it. I promise you that.”
A vein pops on his forehead as anger flashes across his face. But he knows he’s in no position to argue at the moment.
“Fine. You can have the bitch. She’s a lousy lay anyway.”
Tightening my grip on his jacket, I lean in so close to his face I practically have a microscopic view of his pores.
“Shut your fucking mouth. Rachel may tolerate you, but I sure the hell don’t have to. Stay away from her. And if you ever hurt her again, you won’t be able to make a fist for a long damn time. Maybe ever. Are we clear?”
“Whatever.”
I rattle him one more time. “I said, are we clear?”
“Fine.”