Page 57 of Breakneck Hockey

“Can’t say I wouldn’t be doing the same. How does your man-not-man feel about all this?”

“He doesn’t know.” Casey and I fuck when we’re together. We don’t talk about feelings—except for the last time when he pulled that ultimatum bullshit on me—and we definitely don’t talk about childhood trauma. What for? It’s not going to help anything.

“Are you afraid it’ll change his perception of you?”

“Not really.” Casey knows who I am. If anything, that event made me this way.

He taps his fingers on the table. “You don’t trust him not to use it against you.”

My heart races. My palms clam up. He’s right, which doesn’t make any sense. Alderchuck’s broken my nose five times, he’sattempted to murder me on the ice multiple times in a game, but I know he wouldn’t use something like that to hurt me. He’s like a puppy—will bite your hand off if necessary, but would rather be told he’s a good boy and obey prettily. So why would my inner demons worry that he’d use the information against me?

“You’re like a wild animal, Sutter. Just because you know the zookeeper gives you nice food and won’t hurt you, doesn’t mean your instincts can’t be triggered when he moves too suddenly.”

“Don’t like being compared to a zoo animal, but I get what you’re saying. My fear isn’t rational, so I need to see proof.”

I know Alderchuck wouldn’t use something like this against me, but I don’tknowhe wouldn’t. The only way to know for sure is to trust him with it. Have faith. My body trembles just considering the idea. Hell fucking no.

“Not just see proof—you have that, and it just barely keeps you from the edge. You need to see it over and over, using the thing that could break you. Walk the tightrope without a net. You need to feel the certainty like a second skin.”

“I can’t do that, not with this.” The tension drifts away. Fuck that. I don’t have to do anything. Don’t have to relive that horror again. Never again. “Good talk, Nic.”

He leans back, judging me, crossing his arms like he knows something I don’t.

“You told me for a reason.”

“No.”

“I dare you. Tell him, Mitch. See what happens.”

“What part about no don’t you fucking understand?”

The smugness in his smile could outdo Rhett right now. He taps the table. “That’s what you’re really scared of.”

“What?”

He shrugs, refusing to tell me. One of those “you’ve got to figure it out for yourself” moments.

“You’re a terrible new friend.”

“Or one of the best ones you’ll ever have. Think about telling him. Oh! You could tell him bit by bit, one thing at a time.”

“You don’t know him. He’s got the patience of a toddler.” He does things like give ultimatums without understanding a fucking thing about me.

“If he’s the right one, he’ll let you tell the story in your own time.”

“Enough about me. Let’s hear something juicy about you.”

He downs the rest of his beer. “My life story will have to wait. It’s past my bedtime.”

Nic leaves me at the pub with the bill. Guess I’m paying for his consulting services. Fair enough. I put together what he’s said with what Rhett’s said. It all leads to the same road.

If I want to be free, I have to risk breaking the glass house of sanity I’ve built around myself. No, notriskbreaking it. I’d have to throw rocks at every wall and shatter it, leaving myself bare, ready to receive salt into wounds that have never healed.

But things are fine how they are. I have the hockey career Dad and I dreamed about. My family’s amazing. I’ve got great friends.

I don’t have time to date anyone, and I’m not committing to someone who thinks poutine is tattoo-worthy. Who thinks watermelon Jolly Ranchers are breath mints.

Besides, I’ve got what I want there, too. I call him, he comes running, I fuck him, he leaves. I’m not risking my NHL career for good ass. I should beat on Casey next game just for sending me down this fucking rabbit hole.

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