Page 1 of Two Guys One Puck (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #2)

ONE

SEABORN

Boston: Last game of the regular season.

“ N ice to see you, pretty boy,” Ktytor’s Ukrainian accent reaches my ears as the first period starts, and I find him with a huge smile on his face. Smug fucking bastard. “Have you missed me much?”

“Fuck you, Ktytor.”

“You learned how to say my name! I knew you liked me.” His entire personality grates like nails on a chalkboard.

“I don’t know how you’re even making that sound,” his teammate says. “I just call him K-pop.”

I laugh. “It’s bad if your own teammates don’t even try.”

He gives us both a flat look. “Kai-tea-tor. I know you’ve taken a lot of pucks to the head, but is not really that hard.”

“That’s not English.”

“That’s the point.” Ktytor carries himself with a superior indifference, one that bleeds into every aspect of his play.

He knows he’s one of the best players to ever play in college.

He could have been drafted to the NHL right out of juniors, but he went to college to make my life hell.

“Now where were we?” He shoves me out of the way, trying to get a better angle on the goal.

He’s the best player in the league right now, and I want nothing more than to shut him down.

“You’re not getting to me tonight.” I’m the enforcer, and he’s my only focus tonight, and if this game is anything like our past ones, I’m going to spend a lot of the time in the box.“Go fuck yourself.”

“Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.”

“You wish.”

“If you let me by you, I’ll get on my knees and thank you properly.”

His teammates funnel the puck into the center, and he slams against me, looking for an opening.

“Not on your life.” I block when he tries to spin around me, not letting him keep the puck.

He loses control of it, and Wolfe, my goalie, snatches it.

Ktytor seethes, and I grin, giving him a pinky wave before skating off towards the other side of the rink. He growls on my heels, getting back while trying to steal the puck. I shoulder into him, keeping him away from it.

Hit after hit, every position is a war, and we’ve escalated every game we’ve played this season. I’ll come out of this game more bruised than any other in my career. All because this asshole loves to push my fucking buttons.

Ktytor skates circles around most players, which is why Coach told me to not give him an inch for the rest of the game, and with every minute that ticks by, he grows more frustrated.

It shows up in all aspects of his play. He’s not used to it and resorts to playing physically, deteriorating his skills.

I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do, but getting to him feeds something inside me.

“Been working on your cardio, angel baby?”Ktytor snarls. He’s trying to put on a teasing face, but frustration bleeds through.

“Mad I can keep up with you?”

“No, just impressed you improved so quickly. You were quite slow the first time we met.” He shrugs, but it’s eating at him.

“It’s a shame you haven’t improved.” I flip around to skate backwards.

His upper lip pulls in a snarl, but no matter what he tries, he can’t get around me.

His coach finally pulls him off, and I go to the bench to take a break. But it doesn’t last long. Every time the Monsters put him back on the ice, my coach puts me in.

I’m fucking beat by the time we get to the first period break. I lay on the floor in the locker room, needing to conserve all my energy for the second period.

“Good job keeping up with Ktytor, Seaborn,” Coach Hawke says, toeing me with his dress shoe.

I give him a thumbs up, too tired to talk.

“You going to be able to keep up with him the rest of the game?” Logan asks, sitting on the bench next to where I’m lying.

I nod, closing my eyes.

“Let him be,” Wolfe says. As our goalie and captain, his word shuts everyone else up.

“If we can keep doing what we’re doing, we will win this game. This is a good preview of what we can do if we make it through the Frozen Four to play them again. It is not all wrapped up. They don’t have the championship in the bag.”

I mostly tune out Coach Hawke. I can’t have all of that on my shoulders. I need to just focus on playing and not let Ktytor get to me with all his nicknames and shit.

The break is not long enough, and I’m still red-faced and overheated when we get back on the ice.

Ktytor is different. Like someone gave him speed.

He’s got a new burst of energy, and I’m barely keeping up.

We’re both usually aggressive with one another, but he’s snapped.

Ten minutes in, and he’s already been in the box, which is hard to do as an offensive player, but he’s slamming me into the wall any time he can.

My only advantage is having about fifty pounds on him.

“Slowing down, pumpkin pie?” he snarls in my face.

“You fucking wish.” I shove off the wall, but I am tired and hurting.

The last time he hit me, he caught me in the same place I got hit a few days ago.

He had to have watched the tape of me getting injured to know.

What a cheap fucking shot, and if he didn’t break one of my ribs, they are at least bruised.

With every movement they ache, and it’s making me angrier by the second.

He knows it, too, because he makes sure to keep jabbing me in the same spot.

“You’re sexy when you’re angry, sunshine.” He snaps his teeth, and my blood boils.

I’m not even skating to try and stop him from scoring anymore. I’m only on the ice to make him as mad as he has me.

I don’t even let him touch the puck.

I’m everywhere.

The third period begins, and I’m at his fucking neck. I might be fantasizing about slitting his throat with one of my skates. But then I’m thrown in the box, and he scores.

Motherfucker. He baited me.

Coach Hawke pulls me out.

“I’m fine.”

“You need a break.”

“No, I don’t.” I’m breathing hard even after sitting in the box for two minutes.

Maybe Coach is right. But he only keeps me out another minute because not even Archangel can keep up with Ktytor.

“I’ve missed you, baby doll.” How is he still so upbeat when I want to strangle him and watch the life leave his eyes?

Does he ever fucking quit?

“I missed you so much. How can I live without preventing you from scoring?”

We’re tied, and I only need to keep him from scoring for another eight minutes to end this fucking game. Not that it matters.

“I love how delusional you are, buttercup.” Why do the pet names sound worse in his fucking accent?

“Try me.”

He pauses, an unusual thing in hockey. “All I have to do is hit your sore spot, and you’ll crumple.”

“So you have to resort to playing dirty to win? I guess that tells you who the better player is.”

He hisses and shoves past me, and I know I got to him this time.

“Love you too, darling,” I call to add insult to injury.

He whips around, but the puck flies by him, and he’s not distracted enough to not take the play. He intercepts it and comes at me. I skate with him and use my size to maneuver him towards the wall, giving him a taste of his own medicine. I slam him into the boards and steal the puck.

I pass it up and flash him a grin. “You must hate finding someone who can keep up with you. That’s your problem, isn’t it?”

“You fucking wish, princess.” His words say one thing, but his eyes tell me a whole other.

I drink it in, laughing as I take off to help my team work the puck up the ice. Logan drives the puck into the back of the net, and I turn just in time to catch Ktytor’s irises ablaze with rage.I pinky wave again.

We’re up one, and we’ve both already qualified for the postseason, so it doesn’t fucking matter if we win this game or not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to win just to stick it to him.

He’s on me the second the puck is back down, and he doesn’t get the fuck out of my face. He slams me into the wall over and over.

My ribs are on fire, and I back off him, seeing red. Five minutes left. I just need to shut him down for five more minutes. But he’s taking a page out of my book and not even trying to go after the puck. He’s solely focused on me.

We’re nearly fighting, and I’m shocked the refs haven’t called it.

Both teams are about to erupt. We’ve been brewing all season—I feel it in the air. They hate us as much as we hate them.

Ktytor throws me into the boards, and I’m not even near the puck. His elbow slams into my injured ribs, and I lose it. After three games of taking his shit while Coach told me to ignore it, this is too much.I’m done.

I shove off the ice, throwing myself at him and dropping my gloves on the way. He grins when he sees me coming for it. The fucking masochist. He’d been gunning for this. He drops his gloves like it’s an absolute pleasure.

I throw the first punch, and my fist connects with his cheek, snapping his head to the side.

He somehow keeps his skates under him and turns back on me, throwing one of his own.

I’m ready for it, blocking and using my right for a jab.

We can’t exactly get in any really good shots with this much gear, on skates and with as exhausted as we are after playing for almost three periods, but that doesn’t stop either of us.

I don’t care if I spend the rest of the game in the box.

It’s only a couple of minutes.He gets me in the lower ribs, right where my pads end, and I grunt as pain explodes.

“Motherfucker,” I say through my teeth, my vision narrowing some from the pain.

“Don’t like taking what you dish out, baby doll?” He turns his head, spitting blood on the ice while the refs drag us apart.

“Fuck you. You started this.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, sweetie.”

“I’m not done with you,” I throw back.

The refs get between us, dragging us apart enough to stop the fight.

We stand there for another second, both breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes are usually blue and as cold as the ice we’re on, but now, they dance with flames. It’s the warmest I’ve ever seen them.

“Want to continue this after, beautiful?” He flicks his tongue over his bloody teeth with his stupid accent, and I hate him for it.

“Name the fucking time and place, asshole.”

“Is a date.” Amusement curls in his words, wrapping around me, and I hate him for it.

I’m out of comebacks and being forced towards the box anyway.

Why does this motherfucker get to me?

The five minutes will take us through the end of the game, and it won’t change things since both teams are a man down.

Or so I thought.

We lose, and Coach Hawkes isn’t happy with me.But I do not give a single fuck. I’ve kept it off the ice all fucking year with that asshole, and hitting him in the face might just get me through a post season game against them.

Might.

I’m not making any fucking promises. Not after the way he’s been playing this year. Like being the best isn’t enough, he needs to be a dick, too.

By the time I’m showered and changed, my ribs are an ugly purple color, but I don’t go see the trainer.

I’m going to give them a few days so I don’t get put on the injured list for the Frozen Four.

I’m calmer as I walk out of the locker room.

I wish I could go home and sleep in my own bed instead of a hotel, but at least the flight home is short.

“Seaborn.” Ktytor’s voice hits me as soon as I step outside.

I glance around, finding a figure standing off to one side of the exit. “I have to get on the bus. I can’t fight you.”

“Meet me in the parking lot of your hotel in half an hour.”

“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”My anger had cooled some, but I still want a piece of him if offered. I guess that’s partly my upbringing. We solved problems with our fists growing up. It was the culture of the blue collar latchkey neighborhood I grew up in. There was no supervision.

“You said you weren’t done with me. I thought I’d give you a chance to get the rest of your anger out, baby doll.” His smug fucking voice reignites all the rage.

“I’ll see you there.”