Page 4 of Two Guys One Puck (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #2)

FOUR

KTYTOR

Frozen Four Championship

Semi-finals.

I shouldn’t be staring at their bench, waiting for Seaborn to look up, but here I am.

He never replied to my message, and I didn’t send another because I do have some shame. Only a little, though. He didn’t unfollow me, and we both watch each other’s stories. I’d like to think we’ve both stewing in silence, waiting for when we play each other again. And here we finally are.

I want a repeat of our last game, and I’m not sure if that means the fight, the kiss, or both.

Which means I need to win the game because nothing will piss off Seaborn more than me outplaying him.

There’s nothing he hates more than losing, except maybe losing to me.

Which spurred me into a recent practice obsession that was over the top even for me.

I’d spent the last two weeks working on my speed and handling so I could get around him easier.

A great defender only motivates me to be better, and he is one of the best.

Finally, Seaborn looks up, and I pinky wave at him just like he had at me.

He scowls.

I smile. The thrill of his anger buzzes in my chest, giving me even more energy for the game.Every glare is like an extra little bit of free joy.

Why does his anger taste so good?

“You ready?” Happy asks, putting a hand on my shoulders.

“That’s a silly question. I’m always ready.” I boop his nose.

He wrinkles it, drawing even more attention to his cute little freckles. “Even after…” He gestures his head at the other bench and raises his eyebrows. He’s a little too obvious, but I’m glad he refrains from actually saying it.

“Why would that affect my play?”

“Because…” Happy’s eyes go wide. “You may want to be less physical.”

“Do you mean even more physical?” It’s a little sad to me he doesn’t understand my dedication, but I guess most guys think with their dicks.

“Even after…” He glances around. “You know!” He’s such an innocent little bean. I’m still not sure how he ended up as my best friend.

“Is called foreplay. Maybe you should try it. I’m sure the ladies would like you better.”

Happy’s mouth drops open.

I pat his cheek. “Is a real shock you are such a baby after spending three years on this team.”

“It’s honestly impressive none of us have corrupted him yet, especially you, K-pop,” our goalie, Dopey, chimes in.

“You failed geography, yes?” I ask, still not enjoying the nickname they’ve given me. I was hoping they’d get over it, but here we are at the playoffs, and it’s stuck.

“No one can say your name, and I have to call you something.” Dopey huffs.

I roll my eyes. “Use your imagination, please.”

“I don’t have one.”

Half the team turns to stare at Dopey.

“What?” he asks.

“Everyone has an imagination,” I say, not sure if this is a translation error.

Dopey shakes his head. “Nope. Can’t picture nothing in my head.”

“Nothing? Not a picture, sounds, or an inner monologue?”

Dopey thinks for a second. “Nope.”

“Close your eyes. You can’t picture a hockey puck?”

He closes his eyes for a long moment, then opens them and shrugs. “Nothing. People can’t really do that.”

“What do you think imagining is then?” I ask, a little scared of the answer.

“It’s a metaphor,” he says, self-assured.

“Is not.”

“So you’re telling me people can just see stuff in their heads?” Dopey narrows his eyes in disbelief.

“Yes.” I knew these types of people existed, but I wasn’t ready to be faced with one. “So what is it like in your head?”

“What do you mean, what is it like? I can’t just go hang out in there.”

Even Happy looks astonished. “So it’s just empty?”

“I guess so.” Dopey doesn’t at all seem bothered, while the rest of us are horrified.

“It’s just quiet? That can’t be real,” Happy asks.

“I turn it off sometimes,” Dopey says. “Other times, it’s just ticking along.”

“What do you Americans call it…?” I searched my brain for the phrase. “Fake news? I don’t believe this is possible.”

Dopey shrugs again. “How do you think I focus so hard on the goal?”

I take a step away from him. “No wonder they call you Dopey.”

“His ability to nap anywhere make a lot more sense,” Happy adds while fixing the tape on his stick.

“No, they call me Dopey because I’m cute. Duh.” Dopey grabs his bottle and pours water into his mouth, then pushes to his feet. “Y’all better do a good job defending my house today.”

“Just keep the score low, and I’ll make sure we win.” I hold out my gloved hand.

He bumps it with his, then shoves his retainer in his mouth. “Let’s fucking go.”

Coach gives us last-second instructions as our line hops over the wall.

I’m riding a high as soon as my skates hit the ice, but Seaborn isn’t on me. I’m double-teamed by two other defensemen. They couldn’t have changed-up their entire defense just for this game…could they?

They’re leaving open our guys on top, and it’s working. I can’t make any moves with the puck because as soon as it’s passed to me, they trap me between them and knock it away.

Seaborn is on Happy, and this is all fucking wrong.

Happy is a great player, but he’s shit against Seaborn.

He’s the best enforcer in the league. Almost no one can outplay him.

It’s a no-brainer for them to have him on me all night, but this is worse.

I wasn’t expecting it, and we’re having trouble fighting it on the fly.

Coach isn’t doing a much better job. He takes out one of our defenders and puts in another winger, switching us to a 1-3-1, but we’re having trouble converting it.

So the next time Dopey steals the puck, I take off, trying to get a fast break, using my speed.

I get away from my defenders easily and glance over my shoulder, looking for the puck.

Dopey sends it down the wall, and I dart over to grab it, already tasting my first goal, but their mountain of a goalie moves faster than any human should be able to and checks me before diving on the puck.

I land hard on my ass and swear in Ukrainian before shoving to my feet, expecting the ref to call it, but they don’t.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re not going to call that?”

“It was inside the crease,” the ref says.

I growl.

A distinct laugh reaches my ears.

Motherfucker.

I turn, finding Seaborn grinning as he takes the handoff from his goalie.

Now I’m annoyed.

Seaborn skates up and, in a weird turn, doesn’t pass it up. He takes it past half like he’s going to play offense.

What the hell is fucking happening?

The first period ends, and by the time we sit down in the locker room, Coach is seething.

We’re on our third coach this year, and I’m just glad we got rid of the last nightmare, but Coach Kingsley still needs to prove himself.

It’s a fucking miracle we’ve won as many games as we have with the inconsistencies.

But until this guy figures out the rest of the team, I’m going to keep playing the way I always have.

I put in one AirPod and lay back on the bench, closing my eyes. I need to tune everything out for a few minutes, but I’m quickly interrupted.

I half-sit up, pausing my music. “What?”

“What can you do about the double teaming?”

“Enjoy it?” I say, and a few guys laugh.

Coach pops an eyebrow. “Maybe you should save that for off the ice.”

“If no one else is going to do shit, why should I? We have a whole ass open player because they are double teaming me, and what have you all done?”

Coach’s brows pull. “He has a point. Anyone want to comment?”

“What do you expect us to do? Shoot from fucking half?” Grumpy scoffs.

“I’d love for you to try something. How many shots do we even have? Four?” It isn’t enough. Not if we’re going to win this game.

The coaches and other guys toss out some ideas. Not bad suggestions.

“And how can you free yourself up more?” Coach asks me directly.

“I’m working on it.” Top of my list is punch Archangel in the face, but I don’t think he’ll like that answer.

“We need to get more physical with them. When we played them before, you guys dominated them with physicality, that’s how we won.

I know we’ve been through a lot this year, but I need every one of you to remember that if we lose this game, our season ends.

Do you want our season to end?” Coach leaves us with those words for the last five minutes of the period break.

When we get back on the ice, I go for Seaborn. He can avoid me, but I’m going to be a fucking problem.

“Miss me, love bug?” I say before checking him into the wall.

“You’re not getting to me this game.” He’s so smug, and strangely, I love it.

“Is that a challenge?” I ask using the annoyance from the last period to fuel me.

He shoves away from me. “You can’t get to me.”

“Bet, pretty boy.” I’m left to Archangel and the other fuck, but rage fuels.

My entire team finally gets their shit together, and we play as a unit. They start taking shots, too, but it’s not enough for us to score.

Maybe this makes me a bad person, but I’m going to get to Seaborn, no matter what it takes. I’m a stubborn bastard.And now it’s fucking personal.

The next time I get the puck, I check Archangel into the wall, then accidentally-on-purpose elbow my other defender as I turn.

“Oopsie daisy,” I say with utter glee as I line up on their goalie and sink my shot right to the back of the net.

I’m finally feeling alive.

Our next possession, I out-skate them both, flying down the ice. Wolfe comes out, but he doesn’t intimidate me. I fake right, and as soon as he lifts his glove, I flick it under.

The light above the goal flashes, and with a minute to go in the second, we are finally in the lead. The icing on the cake is when we line back up, Seaborn is on me.

“Well, hello there, cupcake.”

“Fuck off.”

“But I’ve missed you, sunshine.”