Cold.

That was a word you could describe not only the way you felt right now, but also your relationship lately. Your boyfriend played for San Francisco and for the last few months he was off. He came home late, yelled at you, he was hitting things or slamming them so many times you stopped counting. He even hit you a few times, but you still hoped it would get better — until today.

They played against the Boston Raiders and San Francisco got beaten pretty badly. Jason was furious, of course. They lost the opportunity to win the Stanley Cup.

You waited for him in the main hall when he finally got out of the locker room, looking, well… mad and humiliated.

You: "Hey… smile a little. You tried. It could be worse…" you said gently, trying to lighten up the mood, but it only seemed to pour more oil on the fire.

Before you could react, he slapped you so your head snapped to the side, then pushed into you as you stumbled.

Jason: "You think you’re so clever or what?!" That your dumb smile fixes everything? he snarled, reaching to hit you again, but before he could do it someone grabbed his wrist pretty roughly.

It was one of the Boston players. Brown hair, tall, blue eyes, number eighty-one — and he looked furious. Ilya: Don’t you dare. Touch her again and I will break your legs. he snarled, gripping Jason’s wrist so hard it was sure to leave a mark.