Page 21 of Total Assist (For Puck’s Sake #13)

DASAN

We’re playing an amazing game tonight. My team is in the same head space, and we’re taking up the same energy. We’ve made two amazing goals, and I wouldn’t change anything about the way we’re playing.

However, Washington is on fire tonight. They’ve managed three goals, and we’re halfway through the second period. I’m not worried about the time. We have plenty of time to tie and then overcome them.

I’m just sitting on the bench, looking Felton’s way, when Washington number eight glides backward into Felton’s crease.

Felton pushes him forward and out of his crease.

It’s not a shove. It’s not rough at all.

It’s almost gentle like, here, let me help you.

The whistle blows from the ref. I’m nodding because no one is allowed in the goalie crease unless the puck is in play there.

It’s not. It can’t even be mistaken for being close since it was near the blue line at the time eight slid in. It wasn’t just the heel of his skate either. Both feet were completely inside Felton’s goal zone.

“Number one, Winnipeg. Goalkeeper delivering body check. Two minutes,” the ref calls as he skates to the face-off near Felton.

Felton’s standing there, looking at the ref as if he’s blind. I’m on my feet, and I’m not the only one. The entire audience is throwing a fit.

“That’s bullshit,” Zenia says. “Fucker was in the crease.”

“What the hell?” I mutter.

We watch as the other ref and one of the linemen talk with the ref who made the call. I’m not sure any of them agree with it, but the ref isn’t backing down. I imagine backing down probably wouldn’t look good for him.

When it’s clear the penalty stands, Coach scowls. “Willow,” he calls.

Denny nods and heads for the penalty box.

“Bullshit,” Zenia hisses again.

“It’s fine. Just a power play,” Coach says. “Keep focus.”

Not going to lie here. I’m so fucking pissed, I’m vibrating. That’s absolute shit. Like outright obvious singling out our goalie for something that didn’t happen.

The commentators are replaying the scene over and over on the big screen as they speculate as to why the penalty was called. They obviously don’t agree with it either.

Taking a breath, I drop back to the bench and watch the face-off. Ren and Willits are right outside Felton’s zone, making damn sure no one can come near him. The puck drops. It’s in play for maybe thirty seconds when a ref blows their whistle.

I groan. “What now?”

The ref doesn’t bother to consult the other or the linemen as he glides into the position to make the call. It’s not the same ref who penalized Felton. It’s the other.

“Number eighty-three, Washington. Tripping. Two-minute penalty,” he calls then skates away.

Nason cackles beside me. Washington’s eighty-three looks around as if asking if this is truly a thing. The other ref comes straight for the one who just made the call, and while I can’t hear the confrontation, I can almost imagine what it sounds like.

“What was that? There was no trip.”

“There was no goaltender body check, so I thought we were just making bullshit calls.”

“He put his hands on another player.”

“Another player in his crease when the puck was fifteen feet away. And his touch wouldn’t have hurt a fucking newborn.”

Okay, I’m probably wildly exaggerating, but I think I’m near the right track.

The ref who penalized Felton skates away, and it’s clear that he’s not happy.

The crowd is yelling “ You suck, ref twenty-eight,” over and over again.

I appreciate the numbers they wear around their upper arms. It makes cursing them in our offtime more direct.

With the two teams evened up, there is no power play. We’re playing four-on-four, and I jump back in when Jackson Troy makes his way to the bench. My feet hit the ice and I dig in, shooting off toward the puck in our zone. It’s Ren and Zenia now, making a barricade in front of Felton.

I dive in for the puck. My stick hits it a few times, but Washington is being a good obstacle and getting in the way of freeing it. It takes what feels like a year before the puck is loose, having been spit out and toward our goal.

Ren takes a whack at it and sends it flying toward the other side.

We make it through the two-minute penalties without scoring but also without another incident. However, if we think the bullshit is over, we’re wrong. Ref twenty-eight is out to be an asshole, and the other ref keeps trying to balance it out.

He even stopped at our bench after the second intermission and apologized to Coach for the bullshit, though not quite in those words.

I saw him head to Washington’s bench too and talk to the coach there.

It seemed amicable. Even though the bullshit calls are aimed at us, it appeared that Washington’s coach understood what was happening.

In the end, we lose 2-5, and I’m pretty sure that’s in large part because of the ref. Not just the fucked-up calls he was making, but because all the bullshit targeting was certainly messing with our heads.

The locker room is quiet as far as voices when I step inside. There’s a lot of slamming around because everyone is pissed. But otherwise, there doesn’t seem to be anything to say. I stop beside Felton on my way to my cubby and grip his shoulder.

“You good?”

He looks up at me and shrugs. “I didn’t body check him.”

“We all know that,” I assure him.

“This wasn’t a game between us and the Hermits. It was between the refs,” Denny says, shaking his head.

“That one—twenty-eight—should be fired,” Marion says.

“He should be penalized,” Zenia agrees. “Fined. Put on suspension. Whatever.”

“Something,” Felton agrees, nodding as he continues to strip off his gear.

I study him as I head toward my cubby. Felton has a habit of taking losses on himself as if he’s the only one on the team so it’s his fault. He’s gotten better since Ren shut his family out of his life, but there are still times when he takes losses personally.

That doesn’t seem to be an issue tonight for which I’m thankful.

Coach stops in the locker room, and while we expect some kind of pep talk, he leans against the door and frowns. Not at us. I’m not sure he knows what he wants to say, but he shows his support by being here and sharing in our aggravation.

“Please tell me something can be done about that,” Willits says.

“The game is over,” Coach says.

“No. We’ll take the loss. It’s whatever. I mean the ref. That was absolute shit, and the fact that we were always on the receiving end is clear targeting.”

Coach nods. “It is. Reno and I are looking into it. Put it out of your head for now. Go home and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

No one feels better. We’re still largely irritated as we move through our after-game routines. I head to the shower and stand under the water for a long time before washing. I try to imagine that I’m letting all the negativity surrounding this game fall away with the water and run down the drain.

It’s just one game. It’s fine. This doesn’t make or break our season. The stupid ref just means we need to work harder and smarter.

And maybe look into how we can report a ref to the league for bullshit calls and targeting our team. That’s a thing, right? When the game stops being between the teams and is dictated by shit plays from a ref instead, there should be a penalty. Like being fired.

I head over to Shively’s after the game, but I’m not surprised that I beat him there. He’s usually a little later than me when we’re at home games. There’s more things to do at home. More people to talk to. More fires to put out. More press to supervise within our space.

The house is dark. Besides taking off my shoes at the door, my presence is almost nonexistent as I make my way into the living room and take a seat to wait for him.

I enjoy the silence and the dark. It provides me with the environment to find peace.

Sitting in the silence, I absently roll the small key to Shively’s dick cage between my fingers while I wait for him.

The neighborhood is so quiet at this time of night that I hear Shively’s car as it pulls into the driveway. It’s faint, but I hear it all the same. I don’t hear the doors open and shut. I don’t hear anything else until the front door opens.

It’s minutes later that Shively steps into view. He’s entirely cast in shadow since I didn’t turn any lights on. There’s the moonlight from the window behind me and a dim light from the kitchen. Otherwise, it’s dark.

He pauses, maybe looking for me, then steps forward. He stops just inside the living room and begins stripping down until he’s naked save for the chastity cage around his dick. While I’m not feeling particularly horny tonight, a thrill runs through my body at seeing him like this.

On his way over to me, Shively picks up a pillow from the chair he passes then drops to the floor on his knees, the pillow under him. I wait until his hands are behind his back before meeting his eyes. He’s watching me. Silent. Waiting.

I don’t speak as I admire him. He’s simply the most stunning man. I’ll never get tired of looking at him. His hair is rumpled right now, as if he’s run his hands through it several times. Otherwise, he looks… breathtaking.

“Come here,” I say.

He gets to his feet and stops in front of me.

Almost always, the first thing I do is take his cage off him.

I’ve modified the chastity rule a few times because while I love that he wears it out of my presence, I don’t want to hurt him.

I don’t want to cause him stress or discomfort.

So I’ve modified it to being worn at hockey-related events.

It’s the only time when this is “off.” When we’re living outside of this relationship. This is a way that I’m still a part of that life, so we feel like there’s a connection between us even though we’re not together whenever hockey is concerned.

Shively sighs when he’s free of it. I take a minute to gently rub around the base of his cock where it’s the tightest and try to fight a smile as his dick hardens at my touch. I get to my feet and pull him into my arms.

He immediately wraps around me, and I just breathe him in. “Are you okay, Alpha?” he asks quietly.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t respond for a long time while I continue to hold him. I’m surprised when the next thing he says is, “Can I talk freely, please? With no… punishment?”

Taking a step back, I meet his eyes. It’s too dark to truly see them, but I study him as best I can. “Yes, Shiv.”

“I think it’s only fair that if I can’t lie to you, then you can’t lie to me. This isn’t meant to be disrespectful, but it’s really hypocritical to expect complete honesty from me but not offer me the same respect.”

I sigh and rest my forehead on his. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“So… what’s wrong?”

“I’m just frustrated, Shiv. That game was bullshit.”

“It was,” he agrees. “Is that really all that’s wrong?”

I think about the last few days since bringing up the trip to Kala and meeting with the kink group.

“Are you angry with me?” Shiv asks, his voice low.

“No, sweetheart,” I answer. I press my lips to his and feel him sigh. “I’m not angry at you at all. Tonight, I’m seriously just furious at the game. It’s frustrating that there won’t be anything done about it.”

“Reno is looking at the clips to see if any of his calls were founded at all. We’ll go from there.”

“Refs shouldn’t be interfering with the game, but that’s what he was doing. He was interfering with the outcome by constantly trying to award Washington power plays. More than half his calls were absolute fucking shit.”

“I agree. That’s why Reno is reviewing the plays. It doesn’t help that Lincoln, Saul, and Troy were making calls to counter his, most of which were also shit.”

“They were trying to put us on an even playing field.”

“They were, but that might hinder our case.”

“Can we refuse to play with the one ref—what’s his name?”

“Matt.”

I scowl.

“And no. But tonight, we can let go of the game. Tomorrow, we’ll see what we see and what to do about it.”

With a frustrated huff, I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie by omission. No more,” I promise.

Shively nods. “Can I take care of you tonight, Alpha?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He smiles. It’s fucking cute. Shively takes my hand and leads me down the hall, through his bedroom, and into his bathroom.

He turns the water on in the shower then faces me.

There’s a soft glow from the light behind the mirror.

It’s bright enough to see as we move through the space without running into walls and shit without fully illuminating the area. It’s ambience if there ever was any.

“Can I undress you, Alpha?”

I nod.

His hands are slow as they move over me, slowly divesting me of my clothes.

He sets them neatly aside. His fingers brush over my exposed skin, almost teasingly, while he does.

The touches can almost be convincing as incidental.

Of course his fingers are going to brush against me as he takes my clothes off.

By the time I’m naked, my idea of not needing intimacy tonight has long since fled.

My cock is hard as I stare hungrily at Shively.

Once naked, he takes my hand and leads me into the shower.

Instead of washing me, he pulls me down to the tile floor where he guides me into his lap, my back to his chest.

And that’s it. We sit under the warm spray as he holds me close, running his hands over my chest, arms, and neck, and hums quietly. This man is simply… everything.

My eyes close as I let my head fall back and relax into him, handing him the reins to do as he pleases. Tonight, my omega will take care of me.