Page 19 of Overtime Goal (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #4)
With three minutes left, the second line was on the ice, with Danny Jackson filling in my spot.
One of the Barracuda wingers caught a no-look pass from his center.
The winger’s release was lightning, and Gabe barely moved before the puck screamed past his blocker.
The crowd surged to its feet, and Cuda Arena shook with the roar.
We were tied again. With the score 3–3, it looked like overtime was in our future.
Neither team scored in the remaining regulation time, and Criswell came in during the intermission to give us a few pointers. He seemed eerily calm, and I tried to “channel his chill” as Riles once said. After I scarfed down half a banana and guzzled a bottle of water, it was time to go back out.
We almost took it on the first shift. Our line was on the ice with Jackson still filling my spot, and we pinned the Cudas in their zone. Brody got the puck near the hash marks and ripped a wrister through traffic. Sadly, the puck hit the post, which rang like a funeral bell.
Two minutes later, both first lines were on the ice, trading hits and possession so fast it was hard to keep up.
Johnson got the puck and took off on a breakaway.
His shot hit the post, just as Brody’s had, but Jensen was in the perfect position to fire off the rebound.
The puck was going wide until it clipped Johnson’s skate and changed direction.
Gabe was already sliding the other way, and the puck crossed the line before he could recover.
The goal horn blared as the Cudas’ bench exploded, and their fans shrieked like they’d seen a miracle. Jensen and Johnson grabbed each other in a celly, and the rest of the Cudas swarmed the ice.
Our men were frozen in place. Dog hunched over, his helmet hanging low, and Harpy stared at the jumbotron as if he could will it to change. Abby dropped to one knee with tears running down his cheeks.
Riles and I stood side by side in front of the bench. He made a choking sound, and when I looked over, his eyes were shiny. We’d all given everything we had, but it wasn’t enough.
We endured the excruciating post-game handshake with forced smiles and murmured congratulations to the men who’d ripped our dreams away.
From the moment we left the ice, Riley stayed by my side.
In the shower, he waved Dog off to another nozzle so he could stand next to me, earning a sharp look and an annoyed grunt in response.
After we got into our suits, we slipped out to the bus while Criswell and Harpy handled the press.
Riley reached for my hand on the quiet ride to the airport. It startled me because the other guys were so close by, but the bus was shadowed enough that no one would notice. Riles’s fingers wrapped tightly around mine, warm and steady, a silent reassurance that went deeper than words.
On the plane, the cabin crew dimmed the lights to match the team’s somber mood. Conversations were hushed, no more than meager attempts to find comfort. Riley held my hand again after takeoff, and I glanced over, surprised by the deep concern in his eyes.
His voice was low and husky. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Doc said I might be sore, but what else is new after a game?”
Riley leaned closer, and his voice dropped even lower. It was thick with emotion, something I rarely heard except on those nights he woke shaking from nightmares. “If something happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”
For a moment, I considered making a joke to break the tension, but I didn’t want to trivialize what he was feeling.
So I matched his seriousness. “We’re hockey players, Riles, and risk is part of the game.
I hold my breath every time you take a hard hit, thinking exactly the same thing you just said.
I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, either. ”
He squeezed my hand, almost painfully. “I get it, but we have to be careful. I need you.”
I need you. The words detonated in my chest, and my heart somersaulted while Riley’s unwavering gaze held mine.
My throat tightened as a swell of emotion threatened to make me cry.
The game, the loss, and the aching muscles all faded in the glow of Riley’s words.
In the shadowy quiet of the team plane, after one of the most devastating losses of our careers, warmth spread through me and soothed the sting of defeat.
I wasn’t just Riley’s teammate or friend or fuck buddy. He liked me more than he realized, and whatever we were becoming, it was real. I took a deep breath for the first time in weeks.
Back in Buffalo, we went to my house. We were both exhausted, mentally and physically, and after guzzling a Gatorade each, we took off our clothes and went to bed. In the dark, we lay side by side, too exhausted to speak.
“Would you get on top of me?” he asked. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for sex, but I need to feel you.”
“Me too,” I said, crawling onto him.
The drapes weren’t quite closed, and his eyes glistened in the dim light. “Let all your weight down. I can take it.”
When we were skin to skin with no space between us, he moaned and wrapped his arms around me.
“This good?” I asked. “You feel amazing.”
“It’s perfect. You’re okay, and I feel safe. Fuck the game because this is way more important.”
Overcome with emotion again, I kissed him.
His body was warm underneath me, and I loved feeling every inch of him.
Our cocks were touching, but they didn’t go more than half-mast. Though everything we were feeling made the kiss hot as fire, it wasn’t the incendiary, got-to-get-off-right-now heat we usually shared. It was something much more profound.
Even after our lips parted, he wouldn’t let go when I tried to roll off. “Not yet,” he said. “I need you like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere, babe.”
Later, we shifted into a loose tangle of limbs, then settled into a spoon, with his back pressed to my chest. When I wrapped an arm around him, he let out a soft, contented sigh that warmed my heart.
His breathing slowed as sleep took him under, and I held on, wondering if I could ever let go.
This was more than comfort; it was connection.
Whatever came next, things would never be the same.