Page 48 of One Good Puck (Denver Bashers #5)

Gavin

I mutter a curse as Abby works my shaft in her soft hand.

My head spins. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m fooling around with Abby in an alley behind a dive bar. I can’t believe she’s my girlfriend.

My heart thunders in my chest just thinking about it.

This incredible woman is my girlfriend.

I almost come right then and there. But I grit my teeth, tense my quads, staving off my orgasm.

I can’t come just yet. I want to savor this wild and amazing moment.

It’s been years since I’ve done something this exciting, this reckless—not since I was in my twenties.

But Abby brings out this side of me. This side that would do anything and everything for her.

The things I would do for her are endless. Make her come in an alley, fight a war for her, capture a piece of the moon and deliver it to her. Anything in the world. All she’d have to do is say the word, and I’d make it happen.

I grab her face and kiss her, hard. With her other hand, she plays with my balls. I almost collapse at how good it feels.

White heat shoots up my spine as the pleasure coursing through me kicks up.

“Fuck, I can’t take it when you’re like this,” I mutter.

She smiles against my mouth. “Like what?” Her voice is so sweet and innocent, it makes me fucking feral.

I tug my hand through her hair and gently pull. She moans softly.

“You’re a sweetheart. But you have this dirty side. It’s so hot.”

She smiles, then keeps kissing me as she works me faster in her hand.

Heat blasts through my entire body. My balls tense and throb. I’m gonna come really, really soon.

Not even thirty seconds later, I blow. Abby jerks me fast and hard. I grit my teeth to keep from being too loud, but a wild noise rips from my throat anyway.

Reams of hot come paint the brick wall behind her. My muscles are tight, and my chest heaves as I catch my breath. My head feels dizzy and heavy, and my dick and balls are aching from release. It’s fucking heaven.

I look at Abby, taking in the giddy smile on her face.

I lean down and kiss her, soft and sweet.

“That was hot as hell, sweetness. Now let’s go home so I can fuck you properly in my bed.”

I glare at the ice, trying to keep my anger under control. It’s damn near impossible though.

We’re playing Calgary tonight, and I’m watching as McCoy attempts to lay another dirty hit on one of my players.

It’s been like that this whole game. He had a late check on Theo that the refs didn’t bother calling, and he committed blatant goalie interference on Blomdahl in the first period. The goal he scored shouldn’t have counted, but the refs didn’t seem to give a shit about that either.

I watch as Theo passes the puck to Del. He takes off across the ice with McCoy trailing him. As Del gets closer to the Calgary net, McCoy hooks him. The refs finally blow the whistle, stopping play to call a penalty.

“About damn time,” I mutter.

Jason nods. “Right? Jesus, what the hell is going on with the officials tonight?”

McCoy shoves Del, then Del turns around and punches him. The crowd goes wild as the two scuffle and throw punches. I’m not the kind of coach who gets amped up about fights. I understand that they have to happen sometimes, but I don’t want my players going too crazy.

But I have to admit that it’s pretty damn satisfying to watch as Del slams his fist into McCoy’s face over and over until he falls to the ice.

The linesmen pull them apart and lead them both to the penalty boxes.

The ref announces the penalties for both Del and McCoy. When he gives Del more time for initiating the fight, I shake my head, pissed off.

“Are you blind, ref? McCoy started this whole thing by hooking my player. You just gonna ignore that?” I holler at the official when he skates by our bench.

The players I’m standing behind turn to look at me.

I’m not the kind of coach who starts shit with the officials.

If I have an issue with their calls, I speak with them respectfully.

I get heated sometimes, but I manage to keep it under control.

Not after all the bullshit I’ve observed tonight though.

The ref skids to a stop, then turns to me, glaring. “I’m gonna let that one slide since you don’t normally give us attitude. But if you keep that up, Coach, I’m tossing you out of here.”

Jason lays a hand on my shoulder. “Easy.”

I grit my teeth, my jaw aching with how hard I’m biting down. This is fucking infuriating.

I turn around and see Abby sitting behind the Bashers bench, looking concerned as she watches the game with Bella and Maya.

When she looks at me, her expression eases. “The refs suck,” she mouths to me. I let a small smile break free, and the tension in my muscles eases a bit.

Play resumes with two minutes left in the second period. The score is three to two with us down a goal.

After scuffling with a Calgary defenseman, Ryker takes possession of the puck and heads for their net.

Another defenseman checks him, throwing him off balance, but Ryker recovers and manages to keep the puck.

A second later, McCoy comes up behind him and checks him with his stick.

Ryker falls forward, losing his balance.

He falls head-first into the boards, his neck landing at a weird angle.

He lies flat on the ice, his face twisted in pain. The refs blow the whistle.

“What the hell was that?” I holler.

Theo goes after McCoy, tossing his gloves off, grabbing his jersey, and punching him.

Another Calgary player tries to go after Theo, but Del tackles him.

A full-on brawl breaks out between all the players on the ice.

The officials struggle to break it up, but after a couple of minutes, they finally separate everyone.

The trainers from our team rush out to help Ryker, who’s still lying on the ice, groaning.

My heart pounds as I hold my breath. The way his neck took the brunt of that hit looked brutal. This could be a serious injury.

The trainers help Ryker to his feet. When I see him skating on his own toward our bench, I let out a breath. It’s a good sign that he’s moving okay. That means it’s probably not a spinal injury. He’s still cradling the side of his neck though.

Ryker sits at the end of the bench while one of the physical therapists examines him. Ryker winces as the PT presses around.

“You need to see the team doctor,” he trainer says.

“I’m fine. My neck’s just a little sore.”

The trainer shakes his head. “We don’t mess around with neck injuries, St. George. You need to see Dr. Porter.”

“Fine,” Ryker mutters before walking down the tunnel toward the medical room.

One of the refs heads to center ice and announces that McCoy has been thrown out of the game.

“Fucking finally,” I mutter.

When the second period ends, both teams make their way down the tunnel and through the hall to their respective locker rooms.

I walk by the visitor locker room and see McCoy standing in the open doorway.

“Hey, Coach Porter. How’d you like my performance out there on the ice? A little rough, huh?” He smirks.

I don’t say anything in response. I just glare at him and keep walking, flanked by my players .

“Will you tell your girlfriend hi for me?” I stop walking and turn back to look at him. Every muscle in my body twitches with the urge to kick the shit out of him.

He just laughs. “Actually, why don’t you give her a kiss for me?”

In a split second, I clear the space between us and slam my arm against his throat, pinning him to the wall, then punch him in the gut with my other fist. He falls to the floor with a groan.

“Watch your fucking mouth, McCoy,” I grit out.

Around me, chaos erupts. Players from both teams are shoving and punching each other in the crowded hallway.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryker running out from the medical exam room and joining the fight.

Someone pulls me off McCoy, and I stumble back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” someone yells.

“McCoy, you’re such a piece of shit.”

“What the hell is wrong with your coach? He thinks he can punch a player?”

“Maybe if your boy would keep his fucking mouth shut.”

The hallway is a chaotic tangle of maroon jerseys and blue jerseys. Fists are flying. A few helmets get tossed around. The only words I can make out are profanity.

I try to push through the wall of brawling bodies so I can get back to McCoy and finish him off, but Jason pulls me off and holds me back.

“Stop this shit right fucking now,” he screams out at everyone. He’s so loud that my ears ring.

Only about half the guys stop fighting.

“Right fucking now!” he hollers again. “Denver players, get your ass to the locker room now, or you’re not playing the rest of the game. ”

Everyone finally stops fighting. The guys exchange insults as they all walk off. When we make it to the outside of our locker room, Jason aims a hard frown at me.

“What the hell was that?” his tone is bewildered and pissed off all at once.

I shake my head, adrenaline pumping through me. I feel like a caged lion desperate to break free.

“You need to get it together before you address the team,” he says.

I huff out a breath, then walk to the middle of the locker room.

The heat of embarrassment finally hits. The skin on my face feels like it’s on fire.

I’m supposed to be an example for the players on this team. I’m supposed to inspire them to play their hearts out. I’m supposed to be a steady and confident leader, not some hothead who loses his shit on an obnoxious player.

“I’m sorry about that.” I rest my hands on my hips. “I lost my cool. I shouldn’t have gone after McCoy. But it’s been a tough game with some next-level shitty officiating, and I guess it finally got to me.”

The guys are quiet as they nod their heads, like they understand completely.

“That’s no excuse though. I should be better than how I acted just now.

“Um, Coach? Can I say something?” Xander asks, his tone hesitant. I nod.

He wipes his sweaty brow with his forearm and lets out a breath. “I think it’s badass that you went after McCoy. He was being a dick. He deserved for you to punch him out.”

I lift my eyebrow, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. The rest of the guys do too.

“He crossed the line,” Blomdahl says. “And when you cross the line, you deserve to be put in your place. That’s what hockey is all about.”

“We wanted to fight for you back there, Coach,” Sam says.

“Yeah. We’ve got your back no matter what,” Del says.

All the players nod and murmur in agreement. It takes me a moment to process it all. My players don’t think less of me for fighting back. They respect me for it.

“That means a lot, guys.” I huff out a breath. “When we’re back on the ice, I wanna see you give Calgary hell. Understood?”

“Yes, Coach,” they say.

We’re not out of the clear yet. We’ve got a game to get through, and then we’ll have to sort out the mess from the fight that just happened in the hallway. I’m probably going to catch hell from Alan for it.

But that’s fine. I’ve got the support of my players. That’s what matters most.