His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 21: Zane's Pov

ZANE’S POV

Watching my car pull away from my house seconds before Ryan's loud-ass voice echoed through the kitchen made something dark and violent twist in my chest, and I turned toward him with every intention of making him regret ever setting foot in my house without permission.

"Damn, Zane, I was searching for you all over this massive place," Ryan said, grinning like he hadn't just interrupted the most important thing that had happened to me in months, maybe years.

I didn't think, didn't hesitate, just lunged at him and grabbed him by his collar, shoving him back against the wall hard enough that his head cracked against the plaster and the grin dropped off his face instantly, replaced by fear that spread through his eyes as he'd just realized he might've fucked up.

"How dare you walk into my property without calling first, screaming my name like some kind of maniac?" I said, my voice low and dangerous in a way that made most people back off, but Ryan was too stupid or too shocked to do anything except grab at my hands uselessly.

"I'm so sorry, fuck, you're going to kill me, are you doing this because of a girl? Damn, please—" He was rambling now, words tumbling out in a panic that might've been funny if I wasn't so fucking angry.

"Zane, I think—" Hunter started from somewhere behind me, but I cut him off before he could finish whatever useless thing he was about to say.

"Don't you dare," I shot back without even looking at him, and from the corner of my eye I saw him raise his hands in surrender.

"I'll be leaving," Hunter said, and I heard his footsteps retreat toward the front door like he couldn't get out fast enough, which was smart of him considering I was about two seconds away from putting my fist through Ryan's face.

I shoved Ryan away from me hard enough that he stumbled, nearly falling on his ass, and I had to resist the urge to follow through and actually knock him down.

"Leave my damn house now," I said, my voice cold and quiet in a way that was somehow more threatening than yelling would've been.

Ryan pulled himself up, straightening his shirt with shaking hands, and glared at me with all the impotent rage of someone who knew they couldn't do shit about what just happened. "Fuck, I hate you."

Good.

He spat the word like it was supposed to hurt me, then turned and left, and finally—finally—the kitchen was quiet again, the air feeling cleaner without his presence polluting it.

I sighed, grabbing my phone from the counter where I'd left it, and stared at my call logs without really seeing them, my mind still stuck on the image of Olive running out of here like she couldn't get away fast enough.

I'd asked the staff to distract Hunter and Ryan so she could slip out without being seen, but watching her go, watching her flee like what we'd done was something to be ashamed of instead of the best sex I'd ever had—that had done something to me I wasn't ready to examine.

Just as I was about to think too hard about my short-lived first experience with a woman I was never even supposed to have in the first place, my phone rang, cutting through my thoughts like a knife.

My father's name flashed across the screen, and instantly my jaw tightened, my brows scrunching together as my free hand curled into a fist because talking to him always, always, ended with me wanting to break something.

I answered because ignoring him would just make things worse, holding the phone to my ear without saying anything, waiting for him to start whatever lecture he'd prepared.

"Zane," his voice came through cold and sharp, the tone he used when he was disappointed, which was basically his default setting when it came to me. "I watched the game."

Of course he did, I thought, but didn't say, keeping my expression neutral even though he couldn't see me, years of practice making it automatic.

"And?" I said it because I knew he wanted me to ask, wanted me to give him an opening to tell me everything I'd done wrong.

"And I'm not happy," he said, like that was supposed to be news. "You had multiple opportunities to score in that final period, multiple chances to be the hero, and instead you passed the puck to Grayson Sinclair's kid. Hunter fucking Sinclair."

There it was, the real reason for his call, and I had to fight back the smile that wanted to break across my face because yeah, I'd done that intentionally, had passed that final shot to Hunter specifically to piss my father off.