His second punch collides with the corner of my mouth.
I taste blood. I spit it out onto the pavement. “Get your punches in,” I tell him in a resigned tone. “If that’s what makes you feel better. But it’s not gonna bring Demi back and it’s not gonna change the fact that you’re a sack of shit—”
The next blow gets me in the ribs.
Fuck.
My side is already sore from a hit I took in the game tonight, and now my entire ribcage is throbbing and I’m goddamn pissed. The anger brings another jolt of adrenaline that enables me to scramble out of the iron-hold on me. I elbow one of Nico’s friends in the throat, manage to land a punch in another one’s stomach, but then my body is thrown back like a rag doll, and they all swarm again.
“What the hell!” someone shouts from the porch.
The cavalry has arrived.
Matt comes tearing down the frost-covered lawn. More shouts and angry curses fill the night as six more hockey players race toward the curb. Someone grabs me and shoves me aside. Nico and his cronies retreat, creating about three feet of distance as the two groups face off with each other. My bottom lip is caked with blood. Nico’s ragged breaths exit his mouth in rapid puffs.
“Go home,” I tell him.
“Fuck you,” he snaps.
“You really don’t want to stick around, Nico. You’re the one who’s outnumbered now, and there’s already been enough violence tonight, okay?” I drag my forearm over my mouth to sop up the blood. “Just get out of here.”
“Stay away from my girl.”
She’s not your girl, I want to say, but I resist the urge to provoke him.
Beside me, Conor takes a slight step forward. “Leave,” he drawls, and despite the laidback tone, his expression is deadlier than I’ve ever seen it.
It has the desired effect. Nico spits on the ground, and then he and his friends stalk off toward a nearby truck. I watch them go, hoping that the shitshow is truly over and this wasn’t just the first act.
I’m cleaning my face in the hall bathroom when I hear the commotion beyond the door. My shoulders instantly tense. Nico had better not be back—
“Is he in there? Hunter, are you in there!”
I relax at the familiar voice. “In here,” I call out.
I’d left the door slightly ajar, and Demi wastes no time pushing it open. She appears in all her fierce glory, hands on hips, eyes on fire.
“I’m going to kill him!” she thunders when she sees my face. “Are you okay? I cannot believe he did this!”
“How’d you find out what happened?” I frown. “And how’d you get here?”
“I called a campus taxi right after Brenna called.”
Frickin’ Brenna. With impeccable timing, she’d shown up just as we were all trudging inside after the fight. She must’ve phoned Demi before she’d even taken off her coat.
“You’re bleeding,” Demi frets. “Brenna said you weren’t badly hurt.”
“I wasn’t,” I assure her. “My lip split open again because I was laughing at something Conor said.”
Guilt floats through her expression. “I am so sorry. How did he even know you were here?”
“Apparently he was at Boston College earlier, asking random people where I was. I think he and his friends were drunk.”
Demi’s entire body vibrates with anger. “I’m unblocking him so I can yell at him.”
“Don’t. You blocked him for a reason. And it’s fine, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” She reaches for my face. I try to swat her hands away, but she’s not having it. “Let me look at it, dammit.” Her fingertips tenderly graze the side of my mouth.
A shiver runs up my spine.
Her bottomless brown eyes lock with mine. “This is it? Just the busted lip?” Her hand sweeps up my face to gingerly examine my cheekbone.
I wince. “He got me there too, but that one’ll just be a small bruise.”
“I can’t believe he did this,” she says again.
“Nah, I get it. He heard about our dalliance with the cops last night and jumped to conclusions.”
Her jaw drops. “How on earth did he find out about that?”
“It’s gotten around,” I admit. “Coach told Brenna, so now the entire team knows about it, and people talk. He lives in Hastings, right? Hell, he could’ve heard someone talking about it at the diner.”
“Maybe.” She curses. “Ugh. You’re bleeding again. Sit down, will you?”
I dutifully lower myself onto the closed toilet lid. If she wants to fuss over me, then I’m going to let her.
She shoves some toilet paper under the sink faucet, then presses the wet wad against my lip to soak up the blood.
“Let’s leave this on here for thirty seconds or so,” she murmurs. “Hopefully the pressure will stop the bleeding for good.”
I try not to smile. “You know I could be doing this myself, right?”
“Just let me do it, Hunter. Please. This is all my fault.”