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THIRTY

TEDDY

W e play the Gods again tomorrow.

All week we’ve been watching tapes of their other games. You can learn a lot about a player by how he handles pressure on the ice, how well he shares the puck, and how quick he is to start a fight. I’m absorbing everyone, even their goalie, Wolfe. He’s amazing and I’ve picked up a few little things here and there from studying him and other goalies.

But can I block against Rhys?

That’s the ten-dollar question.

I don’t want the Gods to win, but I don’t want Rhys to lose either. My sense of loyalty is fucked. Is this what being on one of those stretch machines feels like? From the olden days when they rip people apart. It’s awful.

I hate it.

I kind of hate myself.

Shouldn’t you know where your loyalty lies? These guys depend on me to do a good job, to do my job. I can’t let them down. But what if at the last second, Rhys takes a shot on goal and I hesitate because I want to see him smile at me?

There’s no one I can talk to. Not really. Tobi still doesn’t know about me and Rhys, so I can’t talk to him. Lancelot knows but I’m so nervous he’s gonna tell someone, so I don’t want to talk to him more. Rhys is dealing with his brothers and has the game coming too. Is he okay with it? Is he nervous? I don’t know. I think I’m scared to ask him.

My knee is bouncing a gazillion miles an hour by the time we’re done. I have to talk to Coach. I have to tell him I can’t play this next game. Tell him I’m sick or something, so Lancelot plays.

My body is shaking like I’ve been in the ice bath too long when I knock on Coach’s door.

“Come in,” his gruff voice comes through the door.

“Hey Coach,” I start and don’t know how to say the next part.

“Ellis, what’s up?” He looks up from whatever papers he’s got on his desk. The man is about the same age as my dad, but not my dad. He didn’t play NHL, but he did play DI and his team went to the Frozen Four every year, and won three of four years. “You okay?”

“I’m a traitor,” I whine and drop into the chair on this side of his desk, slapping my face into my hands. “I’m fucking the enemy and no one can trust me not to throw the game.”

He sighs heavily, pretty sure he says “fucking goalies”, and I hear his chair scoot back. “Start from the beginning, Ellis.”

I look up at him, tears threatening to fall. “I can’t play tomorrow.” I’ve never said those words. Not ever. Not one time in all the years I’ve been playing. The knot in my throat is as solid as a golf ball. “You can’t trust me.” Hearing the sentence out loud is so much worse than thinking it.

Coach comes around the desk and sits in the other chair, pulling it up next to me. I have his attention now. “Why can’t I trust you?”

Is he not listening? Is he losing his hearing? Brain damage from one-too-many pucks to the head? I’m two seconds away from spilling my guts, and I don’t think they’ll ever fit right again.

“I’m fucking the enemy! I think I might love him!” I bury my face in my hands again with a sob. “Oh god, who even am I?!”

“Let me get this straight?—”

“Are you straight?” My words are muffled by my hands.

He stops mid-sentence and waits a second. I peek at him through my fingers, tears leaking through the empty space.

“Otherwise you can’t get anything straight,” I whisper.

He stares at me now, not blinking, and sucks in a deep breath through his nose, then lets it out with an audible sigh. “My sexuality is not in question here.”

“I’m not straight so I can’t get things straight,” I yell, past the knot threatening to choke me.

“I figured that out, thanks.” He covers his mouth with his hand for a minute before continuing. “You’re having sex with someone on another team. Am I understanding that correctly?”

I nod miserably.

“On the Gods?” he asks.

I nod again. “I’m a traitor. Well, my dick is a traitor. It’s his fault.” I use the knife hand gesture to point to my crotch. It’s a serious matter. A single finger isn’t enough emphasis.

Coach holds up a hand. “I do not need to know any more about your dick than I already do.”

“Lancelot should play tomorrow. You guys can’t trust me. If we lose, everyone will wonder if I did it on purpose.”

“Tell me something?—”

I open my mouth to tell him about breeding, but he covers my mouth.

“Let me finish.” He waits until I nod to continue. “When we played the Gods earlier, did you let them win?”

“I don’t know!” I throw my arms in the air and stand, pacing the small space. “I blocked everyone else like normal, but did I let Rhys score on me? Not every time, but that winning shot? Did I let him have that?”

Coach watches me from the chair as I lose my mind. “Rhys, as in Godfrey?”

I nod but keep talking. “What if the world is my guy-stir, but he’s the spec of sand that will annoy me to the point I make him a pearl? Huh? What then?”

He blinks at me, looking confused, but doesn’t say anything.

“My loyalties are fucked. Sometimes literally! And I’m not mad when that happens. It’s awesome! But now, I have to face him on the ice and how do I know? How do I know if I gave it my all?”

Coach stands and stops me with his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me. On that ice, you are loyal to the team colors you’re wearing. The Olympians. You’re our goalie. If your boyfriend or fuck buddy or whatever he is, is a hockey player, he knows that. He knows you’re not going to let him have shit. And he wouldn’t want you to just give it to him.” He takes another breath and stands up tall. “Hockey players are competitive. And if I’m remembering correctly, Godfrey is a winger. Wingers are hungry for the challenge?—”

“He’s hungry alright. For me!” I wail in agony. Why does my body betray me like this?

Coach ignores me and keeps talking. “If you made it easy, he wouldn’t want the score.” He points his finger at my chest. “Just like you.”

“Yeah but?—”

“No buts,” he cuts me off.

I snort.

He glares but keeps going. “You want to be able to say you’ve blocked the biggest scorers, right?”

I nod. The tears in my eyes recede a bit.

“Right. To be the best, you have to beat the best. So, be the best.” He squeezes my shoulder again. “Lancelot isn’t playing tomorrow. You are. I have all the confidence in the world that you aren’t a traitor. Not to this team, and not to Godfrey.”

“You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Thanks Coach.” I scrub my hands down my face then look at him again. “Can I have a hug?”

He snorts and pulls me into a hug, a very dad-like hug. “Damn goalies,” he says, but sounds amused this time. He ruffles the back of my hair before he lets me go. “No more talk of being a traitor, you hear me?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“It might also be a good idea to talk to Godfrey about this. Clear the air so you both go into that game with a clear mind and a clear conscious. Especially if you think you love him.”

The blood drains from my face.

Oh shit. I did say that didn’t I?

I nod in agreement and leave his office. My thumb hovers over his contact. I want to see his face. Hear his voice. Smell his skin.

My cock starts thickening as I head into the locker room for my stuff. I have a few more rows on the hat I’m crocheting, so I have to finish that tonight. This one is bright orange so I’m going to give it to Osha since he’s a safety hazard.

Walking past one of the full-length mirrors, I catch my sexy ass in the reflection and get an idea. At my cubby, I find a jock and strip down until that’s all I’m wearing then position myself in front of the mirror to get a good angle on my ass. The pouch on the front doesn’t hold my halfy very well and rubs against me, making me harder as I move.

Damn. Hockey really does give us the best asses.

I snap a picture to send to Rhys but am interrupted before I can send it.

“Jesus Christ!”

I turn to find Lancelot, looking at my dick with horror and Osha nodding in approval.

Lancelot’s voice is so small I almost don’t hear it when he says, “Please tell me you bottom.”

Osha laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m hoping he tops.”

Slowly, Lancelot turns his head to look at Osha. “How would that thing not cause permanent damage?”

Permanent damage?

I look down at my cock, confused at what he’s seeing. It looks normal to me.

Osha puts his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders and pulls him into a side hug. “Don’t worry, young one, you’ll learn all about foreplay and prep.” Osha looks at me. “You sure you and your boy aren’t into sharing?”

I growl at him, lifting my lip. “No!”

“All right, all right.” Osha holds his hands up in surrender. “Can’t blame a size queen for asking.”

“You’re a size queen too? Lemme see!” I turn to face him fully now.

“See what?” Osha looks at Lancelot, then back at me. “Like pictures?”

I roll my eyes because clearly he doesn’t know what it means. “No, your dick.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does my cock have to do with anything?” Osha crosses his arms and gives me a look I can’t decipher.

“I want to see who’s the size queen. What’s your deal?” Why does he look confused?

“That’s. That’s not. What?”

Lancelot starts laughing. “Isn’t a size queen someone who prefers to fuck big dicks, not someone who has one?”

“Oh. I’m still a size queen then.” I shrug and go back to my cubby.

Osha and Lancelot are cackling behind me, and I don’t care why. I need to see Rhys, and I know the best way to get him.

Tendy Bear: am i a top or a bottom

I send the picture and wait.