Page 114 of Pucking Amazing

She’s back in Chicago, hundreds of miles away, probably not even watching the game now that she’s not on staff. The familiar weight of her absence settles like a stone in my gut.

Coach gives me a nod as I ease myself onto the bench, grimacing. “You good, DJ?”

“Always, Coach. Just need a breather.” I flash him a cocky grin that I hope masks the truth.

My knee is getting worse every day. The pain meds and cortisone shots aren’t cutting it anymore. But like hell am I gonna sit out when we’re this close to the Cup.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, trying to center myself. I picture Sydney’s face, her beautiful brown eyes, that crooked smile that makes my heart race.

God, I miss her. I miss the sound of her laugh, the feel of her body pressed against mine. I even miss the way she calls me on my bullshit. Keeps me honest.

The whistle blows and I push myself to my feet, ignoring the bolt of pain that shoots up my leg.

Can’t think about that now.

Can’t think about anything except the next shift, the next play, the next goal. We’re so close to everything we’ve ever wanted.

I just wish she was here to share it with us.

I collapse onto the locker room bench days later, my knee throbbing with a familiar searing pain. Another grueling practice in the books, but at what cost? Gritting my teeth, I bury my face in my hands. This injury is going to be the death of me.

Or at least the death of my career.

“Yo DJ, you alright?” Tyler’s concerned voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He plops down beside me, his solid warmth both comforting and unnerving.

I debate lying, plastering on a smile and cracking a dirty joke like always. But I’m so damn tired. Tired of pretending everything is fine when my body is betraying me and my future is balanced on a knife’s edge.

“No, Ty, I’m really not,” I admit, the words bitter on my tongue. “It’s my knee. I...I don’t know how much longer I can keep playing through the old injury.”

Tyler’s brow furrows as he listens intently. I lay it all out—the pain, the fear, the pressure.

If I can’t play, can’t earn that fat NHL paycheck, my mom is royally screwed. Her underwater mortgage, my little sister’s college fund...it all hinges on me. Some cocky, queer jock with a bum knee.

“Dude, you need to see the team doc ASAP,” Tyler insists, his large hand coming to rest on my shoulder. Sparks zing through me at the contact despite everything. “I get it, you don’t want to let anyone down. But running yourself into the ground helps no one. You’re always calling out the toxic masculinity bullshit around here...don’t fall into that same trap, DJ.”

I blow out a breath, hating that he’s right.

“I hear you, man. I’ll make an appointment.” The thought terrifies me, but the alternative is watching my body give out and my life fall to pieces. “Just...don’t say anything to the other guys yet, okay? Last thing I need is a bunch of pity looks in the locker room.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” His hand lingers another moment before he stands. “But you better actually go. I’ll sic Leah on your stubborn ass if I have to.”

I snort out a laugh in spite of myself. Tyler’s sister is a force to be reckoned with.

Must run in the family.

“Message received, you menace.” I flash him a weak grin, pushing to my feet with a wince I can’t quite hide. “Thanks, Ty. For listening and knocking some sense into me.”

“It’s what I’m here for, idiot,” Ty says affectionately. “We still on for later?”

“Count on it,” I say, holding his eyes with mine.

Tyler’s bed squeaks as we tumble onto it, a tangle of limbs and searing kisses. My hands race over his chiseled chest, pushing his shirt up and off, admiring him for the hundredth time.

Hockey bods, man. Nothing better.

“Need you,” Ty breathes between kisses, tugging at my belt. I help him out, shucking my jeans and boxers in record time. His eyes go wide as I spring free. That’s right, drink it in.

“Like what you see?” I smirk, stroking myself.

---