Blowing out a breath, I twist my neck back and forth, slowly releasing the tension I was carrying. I’ve got this. I can push my worry about my brother to the back of my mind for a few hours.
Me: Thank you. I feel better.
Wraith: Good. I’ll be watching.
I put my phone away and shake out my shoulders, letting the rest of the tension slip away. Wraith seems to have some kind of insight into exactly what I need to hear to calm my chaotic thoughts. I clap Hen on the back.
“Let’s fucking do this.”
“Fuck yeah, man.”
Minutes later, we’re skating onto the ice, our fans shaking the arena with their cheers. Closing my eyes for a moment, I soak it all up, letting their excitement spur me on even more.
“We’re winning this fucking game,” Landham shouts. “We’ve beat Minnesota plenty of times and we can do it again. The cup is ours.”
The adrenaline is flowing now as I take my position on the line. The Minnesota players look tense, determined, out for blood. Good. Bring it on.
Landham wins the face-off, and then it’s on. I skate out to support the team, blocking shots and players from getting too close, and within minutes, Landham passes to Greene and we get an early score.
“Let’s gooooo,” Hen shouts, knocking his helmet against Landham’s.
The crowd goes wild, and it doesn’t take long before all my worries melt away and there’s nothing but the ice, my team, and this game. Hockey does this for me, and fuck if I know what I’ll do when it’s over.
Minnesota has the puck and they want to score on us bad. I focus on their center, ready to see what he looks like slammed against the boards, but I turn just in time to see a Minnesota D-man slam into Andres in an illegal hit. Andres is flat on the ice, and I see red, launching myself at the Minnesota player and laying into him.
“Fuck you, Troy,” I yell while tussling with him.
“Get the fuck off me, Bouche!”
“Make me,” I growl as I drop my gloves.
Some of my teammates join me, the Minnesota players jump in, and within seconds everything’s a blur of bodies, anger, and too many egos. I pummel Troy, but he definitely gets a few hits in. The refs aren’t even trying to break up the fight yet, and even if they were, I wouldn’t back down.
The game is paused and loud whistles screech in my ears, but by the time I’m pulled off Troy, bloodied and sore, my grin is a mile wide, despite my busted bottom lip.
“Get in your corner, Bouche!” the ref yells, and Landham drags me by the arm to the penalty box.
The crowd is chanting my name and the arena shakes with their stomping and cheers. I’m not exactly known for keeping my cool, and the fans love it.
“How’s Andres?”
“Medics are checking him out.” Landham wipes a smear of blood from his forehead. “Fucking hell.”
“If you’re waiting for me to apologize, you know I’m not going to.”
“I’m not,” he grunts.
I sit out my five-minute penalty, pumped to get back in the action. While I’m waiting, I scan the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Boone I know isn’t happening, but instead, my eyes find Wraith. He’s not in a seat but near the boards not far from where I’m at. He’s so close I can see the curve of his lips as he studies me. My body reacts to his attention, little dots of electricity skittering up and down my spine, my cock twitching, my mouth literally watering.
I want to fuck him.
Want to be fucked by him.
Want his cock down my throat.
My penalty time is up, and I nod at Wraith as I get to my feet. The fight shifted the momentum in our favor and we scored again while I was in the box. It’s time to bring this home so I can get my reward later.
I skate onto the ice to deafening applause and cheers from our fans, and I let the sound bolster me. I’ve got this.We’vegot this.
