Page 8 of Hot Ice, Tennessee (Hard Spot Saloon #2)

8

JESSE

“Puck’s mine. Back off.”

“Keep dreaming, Daniels,” I growled, cutting over and protecting it, keeping possession just by a centimeter.

I got out away from him, beelining for Robbie as I eyed the potential pass.

Easy in. We get this, we win the game.

I made a break for it. I cut my blade across and slammed the puck toward Robbie, praying to high heaven that he could connect.

And a split second later I watched as one of the guys from Indiana darted in, trying to intercept but just missing as Robbie controlled the puck like a king.

“That’s it!” I screamed as I watched him take it to the end.

Robbie hit, scored, and the crowd around us broke out into a roar as we won the game, 2-1.

All around me, TNU green and gold shimmered in the crowd. I met up with the other guys who were crowded around Robbie, smacking him and telling him he was the man.

“ Fuck , yes,” I told him.

“All you, Sanocki,” he told me.

“Nah. You were totally clutch in that moment. Enjoy the win.”

My eyes went out to scan the crowd another time.

Throughout the whole game, I’d periodically been looking for Mason in the stands. I knew it was a small possibility that he’d show up, but something inside me liked the idea of it. Out on the ice I’d made every move hoping he was seeing it form out there.

But so far, the only familiar face I saw in the crowd was Kane.

After we won the game I showered off in the locker room, got dressed, and came out into the stands, finding Kane and giving him a bear hug.

It was the first game of mine that Kane had attended in two years. I felt a surge of pride, knowing that he’d seen us play a good one, and that maybe he could come to more games in the future… not that he usually got nights off from the bar.

“I forget how good you are on the ice sometimes,” Kane said. “You only get better, you know that?”

“Shucks,” I said. “Seriously, though. Thank you. Did you come alone?”

“Yeah,” Kane said. “Why? You expecting someone else?”

I glanced around, realizing that Mason definitely hadn’t come. “Nah,” I lied.

“You guys owned Indiana,” Kane said. “Dinner’s on me. “Hank’s BBQ, Barbecue Den, Down Home BBQ, or Red Fox?”

I snorted. “Only in Tennessee.”

“Hey, we know how to cook meat.”

“Let’s go to the Red Fox, actually,” I said. “I need that chicken sandwich again. I don’t know what they do to their bacon, but it’s like a drug.”

“I think they glaze it with a tiny bit of maple syrup, every time,” Kane said. “It’s on another level. Let’s do it.”

We headed down to the diner in our separate cars. When we got into town, Kane went to park at the Hard Spot across the street, because he was going to be heading there afterward, anyway.

I stood outside the Red Fox Diner, waiting for him, looking all around. The street was pretty quiet on a weekday night, without too many crowds on Laurel Ave. I waited, leaning against a brick wall, watching the night go by.

When I glanced through the big windows of the diner, though, my heart did a little flip in my chest.

There, all the way at the big red corner booth, I saw Mason.

He was with other people. Quite a few of them. There were a few guys his age, but also more—on one end of the booth there was an old woman, even, rounding out the motley crew of people.

I realized that they were all looking down at the table, playing some sort of board game.

Mason was smiling as he reached for a big pitcher of water, refilling everyone’s glasses. He seemed like he was conducting the board game, helping everyone out around the table, maybe even teaching them how to play.

They looked happy. Really happy.

Yeah, Sanocki. Mason has a lot of friends, because not everybody hates social interactions like you.

Just because you invited him to a hockey game doesn’t mean that he didn’t have other plans.

Even if I was a little disappointed, I still liked something about it. Mason was practically acting like a doting mom, helping everybody else out at the table, constantly making sure they were happy.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” I heard from behind me and I jumped a little.

“Scared the shit out of me,” I told Kane. I’d been in a trance, watching Mason.

“Chicken sandwich time?” he asked.

“Um,” I said, “I was thinking maybe I do want Hank’s BBQ after all. If you don’t mind? It smells really good coming from down the street.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I could destroy a pulled pork sandwich right now, actually.”

The only messages Mason and I exchanged that week were short.

After sending me a thought-out thank you text the morning after he took the allergy meds, I’d asked him how he was feeling a couple of times, and he told me he was all good. In the middle of the week, he sent one picture of his Clydesdale, Hopper, but when I invited him to grab dinner at the diner, he said he couldn’t.

It was a full week later, right before my next summer league game, that he even mentioned coming to one of my games.

For seven days, I’d been letting it simmer, taking the hint more and more with each passing day that there was no shot of anything happening with him. I had kept busy with the flood of homework for my classes and had been putting in extra time working out.

I could lone-wolf it.

Doing things on my own? That was my specialty.

I was in the locker room at the rink, ready to gear up for the next game, when I checked my phone and saw a text from him.

Mason : Is this the right one?

He’d attached a map location of the indoor ice rink.

Jesse : You got it. You coming? 7 o’clock tonight.

Mason : I’ll be there. Understanding absolutely nothing about the game.

I snapped a selfie of me blowing him a kiss, then sent it with a message.

Jesse : Thanks, fanboy.

Maybe this was good.

Maybe a steady, kind-hearted friendship was what he needed, and if that was the case, I would be willing to give it. I craved his body like a drug whenever I thought of how good it had felt that night—the way I’d felt that click —but if he was done, then I had to be done, too.

I was about to put away my phone in the locker for good when I saw another message come through.

Mason : Truth or dare?

A flare of curiosity lit up inside me. A few of the other guys were streaming into the locker room now, and I tucked away into a corner for a second.

Jesse : Fuck it. Dare.

A few moments later, his next message came in.

Mason : Win tonight’s game and I’ll suck your cock afterward. On my knees, no questions asked. Zero strings attached. Pretend my mouth is a glory hole, for all I care, but I will absolutely fucking worship you, Jesse.

I suppressed a groan. I pushed a hand up against a locker nearby, biting down hard on my lower lip.

Fuck .

My cock was hard in an instant. All week, I’d been clear-headed and getting used to the idea that our brief fling of attraction had to end.

And now this?

I tapped out a reply.

Jesse : You daring me or are you finally begging?

“Yo,” Robbie said, coming up from behind me and immediately clapping me on the back. “Nashville’s going to be pissed tonight. And, uh, I may or may not have said some shit to their new center, so be ready to bring out the full brunt of the Plow tonight, Sanocki. Ooo-wee! ”

Soon the locker room was a sea of pre-game rituals and stretches, and I put my phone away, getting lost in the rush of activity.

Less than an hour later I was on the ice, waiting for the referee to drop the puck for the opening face-off.

The crowd was peppered with a ton more TNU green and gold than red from the Nashville team, and they were already rowdy. More people had turned up for tonight’s game than any other summer league game so far. We were against the Bears from Nashville’s state school, and last time we played them in the actual season, they’d hosed us.

“Square the fuck up, Brenton,” the ref roared at the opposing center. I stayed focused on the puck, waiting for the drop. “Sticks down. Go time.”

In the background I heard the telltale chant that I’d gotten used to over the last few years: “ Plow ‘em down. Plow ‘em down.”

TNU crowds loved to chant it at me, and I fucking ate that shit up on a platter. This summer crowd wasn’t all TNU regulars, but they drowned out most of Nashville’s fans, which I secretly loved.

Mason was out there watching me, too. I tried not to think about it, because nothing could be more fucking distracting than thinking about his desperate plea of a text right now. I clenched my jaw, thinking of it now: I will absolutely fucking worship you, Jesse.

Good Lord.

Ice.

Puck.

Laser goddamn focused .

The puck dropped and before it even hit the ice I pounced like a tiger. It flipped between us and landed behind Brenton’s skates, ricocheting a little. I had the size advantage on Brenton, and I was going to use it. I moved in behind him quickly, bent low, and snapped the puck backward, gaining control and sending it right over to Robbie in a quick shot.

I glided off in an instant, cutting my skates into the fresh, slick ice.

I watched them like a hawk. Twenty seconds in, Robbie snuck out a breakaway. He faked a shot to Nashville’s goal, got the goalie to drop, then slammed it forward.

“That’s in,” I said in a low voice, my adrenaline rising. But I watched as the puck missed by what must have been a fucking millimeter.

Reset.

For our summer league games, our sophomore defenseman Henry Newberg was just starting to find his legs. In the last couple of games he’d been hesitant, but tonight, he was ratcheting it up.

“We fucking win,” I said to him as I skated past. “All you need to think about.”

It was only another couple of minutes before I had the puck back to Robbie. I went wide and played patient, pulling in again only when I saw Nashville’s defense get out of position.

Robbie sent the puck my way and the world went slow. I had all of about two seconds before Nashville knew exactly what I was planning, and I couldn’t let it happen. I turned at a 90- degree angle and let the blade come down, cutting the air and sending the puck out to the end.

I watched it go straight over their goalie’s shoulder and… in .

“ In! ” I screamed and my teammates came down on me hard, roaring, too.

“That’s him,” Robbie said, smacking me on the back. “That’s him. ”

I skated over to the glass and pounded it out, pumping my fist at the crowd as they all chanted: “ Plow ‘em down! Plow ‘em down!”

My heart did a little somersault drop when I spotted a pair of pretty blue eyes. There he was, a few rows back, wearing a green flannel. Mason was standing and clapping, doing his best to act supportive even though I knew damn well he was seeing that puck as a Hostess cupcake.

I nodded at him, winked, and gave him a little bump on the glass before I skated off.

We played like fucking beasts for the next two periods. We were still up by one at the start of the third, and if anything I felt like I had more stamina by the end. I only started to falter when Newberg let a pass get intercepted a few minutes into the third, and Nashville was able to get a clean shot and score.

And then they scored again . Just a few minutes later.

I leaned my head back, staring up at the lights above and hearing a different part of the crowd go wild.

No, no, no.

They only needed a few more minutes on the clock to win. Nashville’s team was known for some insane comebacks, and they even went into shootouts at their last game, so tying it up wasn’t a guarantee either. Coach wasn’t happy, and he was barking about our defensive play, telling us to shape the fuck up.

“They’re not getting another point,” I told Robbie halfway through the third. “No mercy.”

My heart was racing. Things got bad for a minute, and Nashville had possession for an uncomfortably long time.

“Goddamnit,” I muttered.

I’d been doing well with ignoring Elliot all night. Now, I couldn’t afford to pretend he was just another body out on the ice. We were going to have to seriously make something happen to stop Nashville from soaring into an easy win.

“You got time,” I yelled to Elliot as I whipped past him, seeing that none of their players were on his ass. His eyes darted around, and he juked right before going left. A few seconds later one of Nashville’s guys spotted us and cut over to block Elliot, getting the puck up against the boards.

“Fuck is wrong with you, Sanocki?” Elliot bellowed as he lost control.

“He wasn’t there ,” I said. “You had time, but you blew it.”

“ You fucking blew it,” Elliot said. “Where have you been lately? Need your head checked? Need to go home to Mommy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I told Elliot, trying to ignore him and keep focused on the damn game.

Soon after, I heard the ref’s whistle for something else. Someone on Nashville had gotten cocky with Newberg and pushed him to the ground, and a penalty was being called. The ref put him in the box, and as we waited, Elliot skated over to me like he was hunting me down.

“Not the Plow I know,” he yelled at me.

“What is with you guys?” Robbie said, coming up beside us. “Used to fuckin’ skip home after games because you guys played well together.”

“Don’t care,” I tossed back.

He doesn’t know , I reminded myself like a mantra. Robbie didn’t know about our history, and he really wasn’t meaning anything bad by his comment.

“Because Sanocki used to listen to me,” Elliot said.

“And I never will again.”

As I went back into position Elliot skated past just to toss another line my way. “Have fun in your room alone tonight,” he spat at me, “after you make us lose. ”

I was pissed now.

I was tired of Elliot’s bullshit, tired of playing with him. He had no idea who I was.

And I was tired of holding myself back from things I really wanted to do. Elliot was my past , and nothing more. He didn’t get to take up any fucking space in my mind anymore.

For the rest of the game I went back to thinking of him as nothing but a hockey player—a means to an end, a way to get to my goal of winning every fucking game I played.

I was laser-focused again. I watched the puck like a hawk, taking control of every opportunity I got and ignoring the shit the Nashville players said in my ear. My legs were burning like hell in the last minute, and even though we were losing 1-2, we had a chance to score, and the game wasn’t over.

The puck is mine.

There was only a moment for me to intercept Nashville. I moved in, doubting that I was even close enough to connect with the puck. But I went for it, and when the blade touched, I knew I was locked in.

The sound from the crowd changed as I took control. The puck was mine now, and I was going all the way back, in deep.

I searched for an opening, trying and failing to find any few inches of leeway on the ice.

Fuck. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go.

I tried like hell. I juked and dribbled as my eyes scanned the ice like a bloodhound. I spotted Robbie at the last moment and went his way, positioning like I was about to make a pass.

And then I went for the shot instead. It was a Hail Mary, all the way down into their net.

I watched the puck soar down the ice and…

Miss.

It was another millimeter-close graze, and in another timeline, it would have tied up the game easily.

Now it was lost. Bitter disappointment sank into my bones, knowing I hadn’t just lost the game, but that Mason had been watching it, too.

I didn’t want to talk to anybody afterward.

My blood was hot with frustration, and I went over a dozen different things I should have done differently out on the ice.

I went into the locker room, shoved off my gear, and showered quickly. I tossed on clothes and gave my teammates a few quick nods, heading out.

I wanted to be alone.

I wouldn’t have minded being alone for the rest of my life, honestly.

One-man island? Sign me the fuck up.

I sucked in a deep breath of air as I walked into the seats where the crowd was now rapidly dispersing. I expected Mason to be gone. But I took the long way out of the rink, passing around the area where he’d been sitting.

He was the only one still there in that section.

He was sitting there in the green flannel, and my heart did a little flip in my chest as he gave me a little wave.

You stayed.

Maybe that one-man island doesn’t sound that great, anyway.

Even after the bitter loss. Even after I’d fucked us on having a shot to tie up the game.

And even after I couldn’t even make good on the terms of the thing he’d dared me or begged me to do.