Page 13

THIRTEEN

TEDDY

I t’s game day. The first time we’re playing the Gods in the regular season. I’m so nervous, my hands are shaking as I hold the fluffy hat I made as I wait for Porter.

We’ll start our off ice warm-ups here in a few minutes, but I haven’t seen our captain, which is weird. The captain is usually the first guy here, especially for game days.

My knee is bouncing like it’s powering the Indy 500 as I watch the door.

Come on, Porter. Where are you?

“You good, man?” Blondie sits next to me, wraps his arm around my shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, I take the comfort he’s offering. I guess I needed a hug. This isn’t the guy I want to be hugging, but Rhys isn’t here. Not that I could hug him in front of everyone, even if he was. Especially today.

Why does he have to be the enemy?

Why do I want him so bad?

Maybe I should call my mom. She always knows how to make me feel better.

Porter finally walks in, and I jump to my feet.

“Captain!”

Porter jumps at the yell that was louder than I meant it to be.

“What’s up, man?” He starts pulling his suit off and hanging it up.

“I made this.” I shove it at him, giving him no other option than to take it. “For you.”

“Uh, thanks.” He takes it and looks at it, but his eyebrows are pulled together like he’s confused.

“It’s a hat.” I take it from him and shove it on his head. The stitches are too loose so it flops on his head and hangs down to his nose. Pretty sure he can see through the stitches too. But I smile.

“Right. It is. Thanks.” He pushes it up and smiles, though it looks forced.

“It’s for good luck, so don’t let anything happen to it and don’t lose it. It has to come to all the games. Got it?” I point at him and raise my eyebrows, so he knows I’m serious.

“Got it.”

I clap his shoulder and feel a little better. Maybe once warm-ups are over, I’ll feel better.

We get dressed, drop off our skates, wrap our hockey sticks, and do our off-ice warm-ups but my stomach is still jumble-y. Maybe I should have had more than an energy drink and a bag of cookies for breakfast…

I check my phone for the hundredth time before pulling on my gear and see my parents are here. That makes me feel a little better, but the cold fear of letting my team down is still there. Twisting around my insides until I shiver.

One of the assistant coaches comes around and helps with any pad or uniform adjustments. Coach gives us a pep talk that I hear part of, but I’m too wrapped up in seeing Rhys and what it’ll all mean to pay attention.

We hit the ice, everyone skating around the perimeter, warming up their muscles and getting used to the cold in their lungs. The bite in the air centers me. Focuses me on my job. Out here, nothing but the game matters. Keeping the puck out of the crease, out of my net, is my only job.

Lancelot and I stretch out by the goals. He probably won’t see any ice time, but he has to be ready just in case. Hockey is a wild ride and you never know what will happen. From fights to accidents, no one is immune to injuries. Not in this sport.

I love how fast it goes. How I’m able to slow it down in my head and predict the next move so I’m ready for it. Most of the time I’m right.

Out here it’s me and Netty White against the other team. Sure, my team helps by keeping the puck down the ice but when it comes down to it, it’s me. If we lose, it’s my fault.

I can’t let them down…

The game starts with a bang. Our guys getting a goal in the first two minutes means the Gods are out for blood. I don’t have to see their faces clearly to know it. They’re like sharks when a drop of blood hits the water. They sniff out the weakness and push until it breaks.

All hockey players do it. If there is a weak link in the chain, they’ll break it. Every. Time.

“Come on, Netty, don’t fail me now.” I tap the uprights with my stick and fill as much of the space as I can with my body. The blue and silver bastards are racing toward me, looking for my weakness, trying to read me, but I’m focused as fuck.

In the last thirty seconds of the first period, the Gods rush the goal, it’s a mad dash of sticks and skates. I can’t see shit, I’m hit about a dozen times, and I’m frustrated as fuck when Rizz falls on me, allowing the Gods to get a fucking goal.

“Good fucking job, asshole!” I yell at the kid. Anger and guilt building to explosive levels before I can get it through my head. “Way to fuck up my stats! Keep your fucking skates on the fucking ice!”

The buzzer for the end of the period sounds and we trudge to the locker room. But I’m fuming.

Taking my helmet off, I drop it on the bench and suck down some water.

Get it together. Getting mad at the kid isn’t going to fix anything. Own your shit.

I roll my neck and take some deep breaths. I want to see if Rhys has messaged, but I don’t dare. If he did or if he didn’t, both could fuck me up more. This game just needs to be over so I can get away from the temptation he is.

“All right boys, all right.” Coach stands on a bench to get our attention. He starts in with his pep talk but I have to piss, which is the worst when I’m all geared up. There’s a bunch of layers I have to get off, but I do since I can’t be distracted by a full bladder for the rest of the game.

I take a piss and get myself put back together when Coach is about done. The trainers are checking in on everyone, making sure no one is bleeding, and checking on sore spots. Not that anyone complains about pain. We’re all too high on adrenaline to notice anyway.

We get the two-minute warning and head back to the ice. I toss my water bottle on top of Netty White and give myself a stern talking to.

“Keep your head in the game. Blue jerseys are not sexy. And no matter what happens, don’t kiss anyone while on the ice.”

I hit my helmet and shake my head, ready for the puck drop.

The second period goes by in a blink but crawls at the same time. The lines switch out every sixty seconds, keeping everyone as fresh as possible. Our boys are hungry for the win. Their boys are too. It’s a battle to the death. A few fights break out and I have to hold myself back when Rhys is part of one. The little shit started it and I wanted to choke him for it.

Doesn’t he know I’m protective?

It will make me look bad to the boys if I get involved!

Five minutes in the penalty box was apparently not enough because he’s got that petty I’m about to fuck something up look on his face. For a split second, it’s aimed at me. My heart pounds and I watch the way he moves, anticipating his plan.

He’s fucking with me. Playing with me. Trying to psych me out. And if I’m not careful, he’s going to succeed. I can’t let him. I can’t let my team down.

Twice he takes a shot on goal but is denied. I swear it makes him more determined.

By the third period, we’re still tied at two to two, but the boys can’t keep them out of our attack zone. I’m sweaty and exhausted and ready to snap. Shredder gets tossed in the sin bin, giving the Gods a fucking power play and here comes the bane of my existence and the inspiration for my hard-ons. The glint in his eyes tells me I’m fucked, but I square up against him.

He passes the puck back and forth between the other guys on his line, toying with me, and looking for an opening in our defense. Blondie trips, giving them exactly what they need. Rhys flies up the ice, the puck is passed to him. He fakes me out, then flings it home. The lamp lights up and the buzzer sounds.

My heart thuds painfully in my chest.

Fuck.

My stomach churns and I might be sick. I keep my ass on the ice for a second, just to breathe. Did I let him score? Did I intentionally misread him and let him have that? How can I ever know the real answer?

“Tendy, you good man?” Porter stops in front of me and offers me a hand up.

“Strawberries and cream.”

“Is that some kind of code, or did you hit your head?” He looks me in the eye, like he could tell if I have brain damage.

“It’s like saying peachy, but I don’t like peaches.”

“Sure, I guess that makes sense.” He nods and pats my helmet with his glove.

I hit his ass with my hockey stick as he gets ready for the puck drop. The next four minutes and thirty-seven seconds are a blur of guilt, shame, anxiety, and sadness.

I don’t think I can see him anymore. I can’t risk my spot on this team.

And it breaks my fucking heart.