Page 17 of Knot Your Rebel

My ass slumps down in my locker stall. I need a few minutes to cool down. Sweat falls down my temples in rivulets. My pulse beats in my ears at the amount of exertion I put forth today. Looking up, I take in the one thing that tells me I’m supposed to be here, I made it. Some days, I’m still in awe when I see my name listed above the shelf. There were a few times I never thought I’d see the day.

“Are you all getting into anything fun over the break?” I don’t realize that Gavin’s talking to me at first, nor do I realize that Drake’s now standing beside me.

“Well, this guy…” Drake points to me. “Is probably planning on stalking his omega all week. Since we won’t have much practice, he’ll have all the time in the world.”

“Fucker,” I mumble under my breath, giving him a death stare, to which he just laughs. Drake may be an asshole sometimes. He may be too hyper other times, but I know at the end of the day, he’s got my back. We’re friends at this point. Well, we’ve always been friends, but now that we play for the same hockey team, we can actually hang out like good buds do.

My mind recalls Gavin’s curious gaze. Yeah, we won’t be telling him what we’re getting into on the break. Hell, he’s never even been to one of our All Stars week party nights, even before she dropped into his life like a gift-wrapped piece of cake. He’s got Presley and his best friend Arden. I swear, those two would never do an illegal thing in their life. And, yeah, Gavin used to have a reputation for being this badass playboy, but since meeting his omega, he’s turned into a fucking right pussy for her. Presley this or Presley that.

They’ve been through a lot, and I get why he’s so protective of her and in love. I remember last year, when she was kidnapped. Dude was sick with worry, shit at hockey, and almost got kicked off the team. Not that they would actually kick off our star forward. The thought of someone doing that to my girl has my pulse roaring in my ears and me gritting my teeth. I’d kill the person, and then I’d have Drake help me hide the body.

Dude’s got his own issues, though. He’s hung up on his foster sister. She moved in with them when she was fifteen, and I remember him talking about how he had to leave her behind. Didn’t want to, but at the time, he was only an eighteen-year-old kid and didn’t have a choice. He had a future with the NHL and knew it would support her. Support them. He wanted to be grounded, ready to make that commitment, but by the time he went back for her, she’d moved out and was seeing someone else.

For a while there, he was fucking every puck bunny who so much as smiled at him. I could tell he was hurting, but we don’t talk about feelings, never will. Feelings are for pussies like Gavin and Arden.

We weren’t on the same team back then, but we talked frequently enough. When he was in town for a game or if I was in his town, we’d always get together and have dinner.

We talk for a little while longer before getting back to work. Drake and I switch sides and move on to another set of drills.

Luckily, Coach is happy enough with our performance during practice that he doesn’t make us bag skate, and for that, I’m grateful. I’m more than ready to get out of here and see what my girl is up to today.

I quickly slip out of my gear - all my pads, skates, socks - and hit the showers, cranking the water up to scalding to soothe some of my sore muscles. I’ll have to hit my sauna later. I dress and head for the door. As I leave, for a second time today, my name is being called. Only this time, it’s Drake, not the cuntly journalist everyone hates.

“Party’s still on for this year, right?” My eyes dart around, trying to make sure no one else is paying attention. I don’t mind if some of the guys know, but there are definitely also a few I would never invite. My answer doesn’t come until we’re out of the arena and I’m heading to my car in the parking lot. “So…” He questions, and I see a flash of something in his eyes.

Drake isn’t as dark as I am. His brain isn’t nearly as fucked. Sometimes, the thought of being left out makes him crazy. Me? I could give a fuck less.

I smirk at him. “What? Didn’t get called up for the All Stars?”

He snorts before rolling his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“Yeah, my place. Bring a girl. Hell, bring two. Beer is free, liquor will be flowing, and I’ll get us hooked up with some joints so we can chill. I’m sure Gunnar will be leading the game this year. It’s always something crazy and depraved. Which reminds me… I’ll have to ask him to invite the girls. I’ll need my omega to be there. I have plans for her.

eight - tate

. . .

“Yo, you stalking mystery girl again?” I glare up at the person asking the offending question from where I sit. He’s caught me obsessing once or twice. Especially when we’re on road trips for games. I hate that I can’t have her with me constantly, but I will… eventually.

Drake clears his throat, grabbing my attention. It’s been nice having a backup goalie that wasn’t a one hundred percent dick. Riggens was the worst type of goalie; cocky with a horrible goal save percentage; the worst one in the whole damn league. I told Coach it was me or him, and he made the right choice.

“What’s her name?” he asks, nodding to my phone.

“None of your business.” My voice comes out at a low growl. Shit, this should not affect me this much.

His eyes widen briefly as he backs away with a chuckle, hands up in a non-defensive manner. “All right, lover boy… Does she know you have cameras on her? ‘Cause if not, she will not be happy to find out. Feels like you’re playing with fire, my friend.” The corners of my lips tip up, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to know she has no fucking clue, and it’s going to stay that way. He clasps his hands together before pointing over his shoulder. “So, anyhow… people are starting to show up. The trifecta of drugs, alcohol, and music has risen from the dead. Everyone’s all riled up.”

I’m hosting a party - well, letting people use my house, since we’re on leave until after the All Stars. I will never understand what the big deal is with that competition anyhow. If you ask me, it’s a big load of fanfare for nothing. I get that the fans are the ones who pay our paychecks because they’re paying to see us play, but still. Give me hockey, I live it and breathe it. But practice shots, slap shot competitions, and who can skate the fastest isn’t my thing. Not like I’d be fast in my goalie gear anyhow.

All the bedroom doors upstairs are closed and locked. I don’t need some fuckwit and his chick banging on my furniture, leaving behind cum stains you could definitely see under a blue light. Maybe even without one. Hell fucking no.

Although… I tap my chin with my finger.

It may be fun to fuck someone up and get a little bloody, especially if my girl is here to watch.

A sigh wheezes through Drake’s lips, reminding me he’s still here. He holds his paw of a hand out to me, a joint extended from his long fucking fingers, a grin on his damn face. Shit, has he always had weird ass fingers or am I just now noticing it? Shaking that notion away because it’s doesn’t fucking matter, I willingly accept it and take a hit. The smoke fills my lungs as I hold it in for a few seconds before breathing out. Good weed, finally. Finally, it isn’t skunky. Hell, they even have some weird ass flavors these days that mask the smell and taste of our favorite cannabinoid strands.

Since hockey is on break for the next week and a half, I decide that one joint won’t kill me. I need it to relax, or that's what I tell myself. I’m obsessing over Rebel and have zero chill. Longing after her is like trying to have a solid landing after jumping from a plane when you’ve never done it before. It’s been a few weeks since I saw her last. A few weeks too fucking long.

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