Page 37

THIRTY-FIVE

SWEETHEART

“We said we wouldn’t unless we had a day off,” I murmur against Nik’s insistent lips. We just arrived at my house after the late flight from Chicago, and as soon as we stepped into the room he attacked, and I was more than his willing victim.

“I don’t care,” he growls. “We couldn’t fuck at Beau’s place, so we’re fucking now.”

His words send a delicious thrill down my spine, but I have to try again...

“What if you’re sore tomorrow?” My voice sounds like a whine as he trails kisses down my throat.

“I’m a thirty-three-year-old hockey player, sweetheart,” he says with humor in every word. “I’m always sore, and I’m still the best.”

“You said— oh, God —you said I was the best,” I remind him while he keeps stroking my dick expertly .

“The best wouldn’t be making me beg for his dick in my ass.”

That does it.

I push him until he’s flat on his back and straddle his hips, kiss him until he’s breathless, then leave tiny bites on his torso, all the way down to his dick.

I get to work on loosening him up, quicker now since I know what I’m doing, and when he’s ready for me, I open the condom with my teeth and put it on in record time.

It’s been two weeks of blow jobs and hand jobs, and that’s more than enough, believe me, but there’s nothing like sinking balls deep into him and having him moaning and begging under me.

Nothing.

I don’t torture him like he does to me; I set an unrelenting pace right from the start.

“Get yourself there, Nik,” I growl, and I love how quickly he goes for his thick cock, how desperately fast his hand moves. As fast as my hips snap forward and back. I lift his legs until I can hook my arms under his knees and lift him just right so I hit that spot with every thrust.

“Charlie,” he whines in a way that tells me he’s almost there.

“Squeeze me tight, Nik. Make me come,” I command—something I’ve learned makes him go insane.

It’s fast and dirty, not strictly romantic, but it’s fucking perfect for us.

His mouth goes slack when jets of come spurt out of him and down his hand, and he tenses all around me, so tight I can barely move, but it’s the exact pressure I need to get myself over the edge with him.

“You love my hole,” he says without prompting, while I’m still inside him.

“I do,” I admit through a laugh.

And I love you , I add silently.

For now.

I’ll tell him eventually, I will.

We’re at the practice rink bright and early the next day—two hours earlier than anyone else since we missed yesterday’s practice. We know we have to make up for it today even if Laney didn’t explicitly say so.

We’ve been around for a while, though, and we know how this goes.

I realize how much I like working out with Nik in the gym. We spot each other and egg each other on while we’re on the bikes.

He makes little competitions while we’re at the weights, though I don’t know why I agree since he obviously wins every time. But it’s fun, so I don’t mind always having to blow him first when we get home.

Even though that means I’m hard and aching for way longer than him, since he always tortures me after he comes.

I can’t deny I like it, though, and that coming after what feels like an eternity of begging is always more explosive and satisfying. But I’m never admitting that to him.

It’s a stark reminder of our reality, though, when Gab comes into the gym an hour in.

“And this is where you can find them if they’re not on the ice or in the locker room,” she’s telling someone behind her, and suddenly I feel like I just went back in time thirty years.

“Oh,” Gab says, clearly surprised when she sees us next to the rack of free weights. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. But it’s just as well.” She smiles warmly at us—both of us—and isn’t that convenient. She hasn’t talked to Nik since she fucking benched him two weeks ago and now she’s smiling like nothing’s wrong?

“Silas, these are Santa and Sweetheart?—”

“King Charles,” Nik interrupts her.

“What?” she asks, clearly confused.

“He has a new nickname.” And that’s all the explanation he’s going to give it seems.

Gab recovers quickly.

“All right, then,” she drawls, and rolls her eyes. “Nikolay Brotnik and Charlie Heart,” she amends. “This is Silas Wayne.”

“Uh, yeah,” I deadpan. “You look just like your father.” I walk over and offer him a hand.

“A fan, I take it?” he asks with an amused smile.

“Isn’t everyone?” Nik pipes up and shakes his hand as well .

“That’s what I hear,” Silas says simply. “I also hear my sister gave you a hard time just the other day,” he tells me, with a crooked smirk that shows just how funny he finds that.

“Well,” I drawl. “I am a fan.”

“She tried to get into your head, huh? She’s sneaky like that.”

Nik grumbles next to me and Silas just laughs at him.

“Anyway,” Gab says, wanting to get back on track. “Silas is our new head of PR. He came highly recommended by Sterling’s guy, so I expect you two to do everything he says.”

Nik scoffs, clearly about to riot, but Silas puts him at ease.

“Not to worry. I know you don’t do interviews.”

“Good.”

God, he’s so grumpy.

“But you.” He turns to me. “Reporters love you. As do the fans.”

“Fans love me too,” Nik grumbles.

“You’re such a child,” I admonish, then turn back to Silas. “I’ll be happy to help any way I can.”

“That’s what I love to hear,” Gab cheers and claps her hands once. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I’m still giving him the grand tour.”

“Silas Wayne,” Nik whispers in wonder when they walk out the door.

“I know.” I shake my head. “Wonders never cease. ”

“It’s gonna get interesting,” he says cryptically, and I don’t get a chance to ask him why he thinks so because a couple of our teammates arrive.

But an hour later when we’re on the ice ready to get this practice started, I learn what he means.

Eagle stumbles on his skates—something I’ve never seen him do—when Silas and Gab step onto the ice, carefully since they don’t have skates on.

I remember how Eagle greeted Charlotte—Silas’ older sister—and what happens this time couldn’t be more different.

Eagle’s face crumbles with too many emotions and then he shuts down and he’s like a statue. I’m not even sure he’s breathing while Gab gives the same introduction to the whole team. When they leave, Eagle goes over to Laney and talks too quietly for me to hear, but he rushes off the ice when Laney nods, and Nik goes after him.

Laney doesn’t protest, or tell Nik to come back, so I guess everyone knows something I don’t?

“They were best friends their whole lives,” Spiderman comes over and tells me. “Then Silas shattered his knee and Eagle went off to the Juniors without him. All we know is that Eagle hates talking about it or him.”

That makes things clear , I think sarcastically, but keep my mouth shut.

It’s none of my business.

After all, who knows if I’ll even be playing hockey next year?

We’ve been back in Vegas for two weeks, and since it’s April, shit is getting real with the playoffs getting closer.

Nik and I are good, solid as a wall on the ice, and just as in sync off it.

The whole team has been buzzing all day as we got ready for our game against Phoenix. If we win tonight, then we’ll have clinched a playoff spot for good.

I repeat the words as Spiderman lines up for a face off on our side of the ice. Sweat beads down my face but I tell myself just five minutes more.

Just five more and we can officially say we turned a losing season into another chance at glory.

The center forward for Phoenix slaps the puck to the net the second it hits the ice, and I watch in horror as it flies toward the top left corner.

Bear’s glove bats it away and then we’re off to the other side of the ice when the puck lands in front of Nik’s stick.

They stop us, so we rush back, then we stop them, and Laney calls a time out and sends the first line out. They battle for a minute, neither team getting any luck, and then it’s our third line out there, Brick doing a fantastic job, but it still doesn’t help us get any closer to finishing this.

Then Laney sends the first line back out, and I see the play forming in my mind before it actually happens.

Bates steals the puck right from the left wing’s stick and flicks it over to Jules, who barely catches it as he has a defenseman all over him. But he manages to send it to center ice where Benny is waiting.

And man, does that boy fly across the ice. It’s him and the goalie, no time for anyone else to get there since he somehow managed to shake off the defenseman who was trailing him.

It’s simple and beautiful, right in the five hole but so fast you can barely see it.

Benny jumps about a foot in the air and then he’s buried under our teammates.

“You two,” Laney shouts, and drags my attention away from the celly. He’s pointing at Nik and me. “You better impersonate a fucking wall in front of Bear, you get me?”

“Fuck yeah,” I shout, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

There’s only one minute left on the clock, and Phoenix wants it .

They go hard on the attack right away, but we stay put, not letting them get near the net, and our baby forwards are all on defense too.

The crowd of our fans start counting down the seconds, and I can already taste the victory when they get to two seconds and Phoenix’s right wing slaps the puck beautifully to the right side of the net.

Bear’s too far away, having just defended the left side, and so am I.

I see it happen in slow motion, the puck flying so fast that no one could ever stop it, but then I see Nik, crossing over to stand right in the puck’s path. He crouches and lifts his stick to try and bat it away, but he’s not fast enough.

The puck bounces off his helmet and lands right by Milkman’s skates when the horn goes off and the game is over.

Nik’s on the ice.

Motionless.

And my heart stops.

In the waiting room, again, I can’t help but be bitter about how little the nurses will tell us.

Nik didn’t wake up while the paramedics were working on him, and Laney got in the fucking ambulance with him, leaving me to find my own way to the hospital.

Good thing that every single player was coming here, so I got a ride with Jules. A million hours later I still don’t know anything. All Laney told us is that he was passed out and didn’t wake up when they got here.

I fucking hate that I can’t tell the nurse I’m his boyfriend, that I’m all he has and she has to let me know what’s going on.

I hate that I have to act like my heart isn’t shattered in front of my teammates.

I hate everything and everyone.

Especially the doctor who comes in wearing a grim expression .

He holds up both hands in defense when twenty-five big-ass men all stand in unison.

“He’s going to be okay.” His words don’t bring me any type of comfort.

“Going to be?” I demand.

“He just woke up, and he has one of the worst concussions I’ve ever seen in my career, but he will be as long as he doesn’t play hockey, doesn’t even stand quickly for at least three weeks.”

Silence settles over the room as his words sink in.

Three weeks, at least, could be more.

And maybe should be more.

This is the second time he’s been sent to the hospital this season because he decided his body will do against a puck at full speed. And I can’t handle another one, so he better get ready for the lecture of the century.

“He asked for, uh, sweetheart?” the doctor says eventually, and with enough hesitation as he looks around that it dissipates some of the tension in the room and a few of the guys chuckle.

I’m glad they’re distracted, because then they can’t focus on my flaming red cheeks.

I step forward and murmur to the doctor.

“It’s my nickname.”

He takes the explanation at face value and nods. “Follow me then.”

I do so blindly, afraid of what I’m going to be faced with and preoccupied with how I’m going to make sure he’s well taken care of, when the doctor speaks again. Calmly this time.

“He woke up only after the CT scan and he was really confused at first. It took two nurses to get him to settle down enough so we could explain what happened, and then he was asking for you. You can’t take anything he says personally,” he warns. “He’s really confused and he can’t remember the last day as far as I can tell. Try to be as quiet as possible and don’t upset him please.”

I nod, throwing my plan of screaming at him until my voice was gone out the window. For now at least.

The room is almost completely dark except for a low lamp on the far side of the room, as far away from the bed as possible. It’s enough for me to see the bandages around his head, though.

I frown at the doctor, a question on the tip of my tongue, when he nods at the plastic bag on the chair next to Nik’s bed, and I see his cracked helmet.

It has blood on the inside.

Holy fuck.

“That helmet saved his life,” the doctor says almost thoughtfully, but I’m already focused on Nik’s icy blue eyes, looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me for a moment too long.

The possibility breaks my heart into a million pieces only for him to put it back together with one question.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Come over here and kiss me. Everything hurts,” he whines .

I sigh, equal parts relieved and annoyed.

I turn to the doctor and wince.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” he assures me with a nod and a barely there smile, and then he walks out and closes the door behind him.

“Nikolay, you fucking asshole,” I whisper, every word coated with the emotion clogging my throat. My eyes damp, I rush to him and stop just an inch away from his face, my hands hovering by the sides of his head. I drop them and kiss him more gently than I ever thought I could.

“Why are you being mean to me?” he asks quietly.

“Because,” I start, barely controlling my tone. “You put your head in a puck’s way, you idiot. You could’ve died,” I cry a little louder, but step back and take a few deep breaths when he winces. “Sorry,” I mutter.

“I always said that if I die young I want it to be on the ice.”

“And you thought you’d give it your best shot tonight?” I demand in a furious whisper.

“No,” he defends himself, then pauses, frowns. But I guess the frown makes his head hurt—hell, everything probably makes his head hurt—because he forcibly relaxes his face. “I don’t remember anything after going to sleep last night.”

“Okay,” I say, still breathing hard. “We won and clinched a playoff spot because you stopped a puck with your head. ”

“That makes sense,” he mumbles, then amends quickly when he sees my furious face. “It makes sense why everything hurts, not that I did that, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” is all I can say. God, I could kill him myself right now. But I have to focus on something else, so I start with the most pressing thing. “Your brother and the whole world are thinking you might be dead right now. Do you want me to let him know you’re not?” He looks sad at my clipped words but I can see he understands what I’m saying. That has to be a good sign, right?

“Yes, you can tell him I’m okay.”

“My mother wants to come down here and kill you, what should I tell her?”

“Oh, no,” he whines a bit louder this time, and very slowly tilts his head back to groan like a baby. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her you’re already being mean to me.”

“All right,” I relent. “All of our teammates are in the waiting area as well as Laney. Are you up for them to come in and see you?” He takes his time thinking about it. “It can be less than a minute per person, Nik, they’re all really worried.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay,” I whisper back, and breathe, fully breathe for the first time. “I hate you so much right now, Nik. You scared the fuck out of me.”

He tilts his head down again, and must see how glassy my eyes look because he holds his hand out to me. I walk the two steps over and take it. He pulls me forward and kisses the back of my hand.

I blush, of course I do, and shift on my feet, uncomfortable with the romantic show of affection.

We’re not the romancy types, so yeah, this isn’t usual.

Then he shatters the romance—thankfully—by being a little shit.

“I think I really did try to use my stick, sweetheart.”

“You don’t even remember,” I point out, deadpan.

“It’s coming back to me now,” he tells me, clearly lying through his teeth. “In any case, I’m sure the clip’s already all over YouTube, so we can analyze it later.”

Yeah, sure, fat chance of that ever happening.