#bh38

With 15:57 left in the third, the game turned primal. Tkachuk, desperate to stir something up, made a cheap shove at Kucherov while he was just waiting for the puck. Brandon didn't even wait for a whistle. He was a blur of blue, first skating straight for Tkachuk, getting intercepted by Forsling, getting pushed against the glass, and jawing at each other from a few feet away.

And then, whatever Tkachuk had said set Brandon off, shoving past Forsling, shaking his gloves off and beelining for Tkachuk before the refs could catch him. Y/N was already leaning over the railing. Brandon and Tkachuk had a bitter, ugly history, and seeing Brandon drop his gloves made her head spin. She loved it. She loved a fight, period. Especially if Brandon was winning it.

"Get him, Brandon! Beat his ass!" she screamed, her palms slamming against the metal ledge. "Get him! Come on, baby!”

The fight was brutal. Brandon’s helmet was ripped off almost instantly, skidding across the ice as he rained down punches with raw fury. Brandon got the red and yellow jersey over his head, still slamming his fist into the back of Tkachuk’s head. He kept trying to get the upper hand, but Brandon was better, faster, stronger. Even when Brandon went down, he still had the upper hand, jumping up and continuing his assault on the person he hated most.

When the linesmen finally swarmed him, trying to haul him back, Brandon fought against it. He was straining against the linesman’s hold, his skates churning the ice up into powder beneath him, locked on Tkachuk, his eyes filled with pure hatred. His light brown hair was a damp, chaotic mess, sticking to his forehead in heavy, sweat-soaked strands. He looked possessed.

Even with the official shoving him toward the penalty box, Brandon started gesturing for the crowd, welcoming the cheers. He frantically pumped his arms, gesturing for the crowd to get louder, and she was eating it up. Y/N was jumping, letting out a piercing whistle, her heart hammering against her ribs as she watched him own every inch of that arena as Tkachuk was sent off the ice.

The family lounge was a chaotic mess of post-game energy—kids running in jerseys, wives and girlfriends huddled with drinks, and players trickling in. Y/N stood by the wall, her skin still humming with the energy of the third period.

"God, Y/N, your man was incredible tonight," one of the wives said, nudging her. "I haven’t seen him that dialed in since the Four Nations last year. He was on fire."

“Yeah, it was like watching a bully get the shit beat out of them at the end of a movie.” Another added.

She nodded breathlessly with a grin on her face as her eyes fixed on the locker room door. When it finally opened, Brandon stepped out, and the air in her lungs seemed to vanish. He was freshly showered, smelling of sharp citrus and soap. He’d changed into his arrival suit, but he looked so beautifully undone. The jacket was unbuttoned, hanging loose off his broad shoulders, and the top buttons of his shirt were open, revealing the slope of his chest. His light brown hair was drying into thick, soft waves that brushed the back of his neck.

Ignoring the crowd, he made a straight line for her. He didn't just greet her; he claimed her. He draped a heavy, possessive arm over her shoulders, hooking his elbow so her neck was tucked firmly into the crook of it. It was a heavy, possessive hold that pulled her flush into his side.

"Hey," he murmured with a brief kiss to the hair on the side of her head, his voice low and vibrating against her.

Y/N reached her arm up, her fingers sliding into the wavy hair at his nape. "You were incredible," she whispered, lightly scratching his neck, her voice hoarse from screaming. "The way you handled that asshole... I love seeing you like that."

A slow, dark smirk tugged at his mouth. He tightened his grip, his arm a solid weight against her. "You liked that? I could see you jumping around like a maniac from the ice."

She leaned closer, her body molding to the heat of his. "Brandon," she whispered, her voice dropping to a low, suggestive lilt. "If you don't get me out of here and home right now, I'm going to lose my mind. I want you... all to myself."

Brandon’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening instantly as he looked around the room to see if anyone had heard her whispers. "We're leaving," he muttered bluntly, not uttering another word as he led her out with his hand locked firmly in hers.

They hit the exit, and the biting, unusually cold, Florida air hit their faces and made her shiver. Brandon’s arm wrapped around her shoulder again, rubbing up and down her arm to generate some level of warmth. When they reached his car, the parking garage was empty except for the sound of Brandon pressing her into the side of his car, his body acting as a shield against the cold, his mouth hovering just inches from hers. He was still burning hot from the game, his body a human heater, but they both knew that he didn’t want to be seen there. She was just for him, not for his teammates to gawk at or tease him for tomorrow.

A kiss was all he gave her before he opened the passenger door, letting her jump inside before slamming it shut, cutting off the world. When he got in the driver’s seat, Brandon didn't start the engine. He twisted in his seat, leaning over the center console until he was looming over her, his broad frame taking up all the space in the front seat.

In the dim light of the parking garage, he looked at her with a raw intensity that made her pulse skyrocket. He reached out, his knuckles, still red and slightly swollen with the skin ripped and torn at the crests, hooking under her chin.

"Tell me again," he rasped. "What you said back there."

Y/N pressed her palm flat against his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart. "I want you," she breathed against his mouth. "I want the guy who dropped his gloves and protected his teammate."

Brandon let out a low, guttural groan and surged forward. The kiss was desperate and demanding, his hands gripping her shoulder, pulling her as close as the seats would allow. "I haven't been able to think about anything else since I saw you up there," he muttered against her lips.

He finally started the car, driving with a quiet, lethal focus. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, while the other reached across the console to find hers. Their fingers intertwined tightly, their joined hands resting heavy on his lap as he wove through the Tampa streets, his grip firm and grounding.

The second they were inside the apartment, the door hadn't even latched before he had her pinned against the entryway wall. He didn't bother with the lights. He was a furnace in the dark, his hands sliding up her ribs, his thumbs skimming her cheekbones as he kissed her with a hunger that felt like it could swallow her whole.

"You know what Raddy and I were laughing about?" he rasped, his voice thick and heated against her mouth as she shook her head, whining at the fact that he wasn’t kissing her. "He said I was definitely getting laid tonight." He let out a dry chuckle, an evil smirk on his face as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

Y/N pulled him closer by the collar of his suit jacket, her heart racing as his heat radiated through her. "Then you better prove him right," she whispered.

Brandon scooped her up, her legs locking around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom before kicking the door shut.

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