Page 80 of Breakneck Hockey

“Alright, that’s extreme,” I agree, but I still say he’s overreacting. He’s as obsessed with that event as Sutter is with door locks.

“Just stay off social media the next few days and keep your head down. This is going to require some serious damage control.”

The gloomy hotel room comes back into focus when I’m off the call with Milton. The comforting sound of the shower beats from beyond the hallway. Stacey. We always share a hotel room. I make breakfast for us, ruminating, letting every worst-case scenario flit across my mind. My paycheck would be so much less if I went down to the minors, but at least I’d be with friends. If I were traded, my paycheck would be good, but I’d be alone.

I don’t know which is worse. I’m used to people. I’ve always had people. What if I couldn’t hear the sounds of Stacey in the shower? Or have the knowledge that someone was coming through that door eventually? What would it be like to be alone in this room?

My stomach turns over and over as if it’s churning physical melancholy.

Yeah, no.

Checking my phone again, I glare at the absence of Sutter’s name. I hate that I’m looking for Sutter’s name, especially when he was such a dick, leaving me to deal with this on my own. That douchebag better text me back. If he doesn’t, he’d better wow me with the best apology I’ve ever had the next time I see him, or this ass is closed.

I bite my lip thinking about him and his obsession with my ass. I haven’t missed the way he always thwarts my hook-up attempts, even from afar. I haven’t been successful in hooking up with other men since Sutter and I started hooking up more frequently, despite all my threats, and it’s fun as fuck when Sutter goes all caveman on my ass.

The man is fucking impossible, but at least I know exactly what to do to get his attention.

We fly home to play New York, so Jack’s in town. I tell all my Sutter woes to Jack, who’s spending the night at our house since his boyfriend and child aren’t here. They’re in Kelowna because his man Mercy still coaches the Kelowna Wildcats. He tells me all about how much he misses them. We’re two sad boys on a couch. Stacey walks in the door with groceries. Good thing because I’m starving.

“How do burgers and beers sound?” he says.

“Sounds amazing, especially if we don’t have to cook them,” I say because it’s something I always say, but then immediately cringe inside. I can cook, I do cook, but there’s just something nice about having someone do it for me. “Do you want help?”

“Nope. Kick back. I need some cooking therapy.”

Jack exchanges a look with me.Is he okay?

I shrug. I know what’s happening, kinda, but only because he’s my twin. Stacey won’t say shit to me. He thinks if he ignores his feelings for Dash, they’ll go away.

Because that’s worked so well for him so far. But I’m not touching that with a forty-foot hockey stick. I mean, I’ll talk to him about it at some point, now’s not the time.

“We should go out,” I suggest once we’re sitting around the table with burgers on our plates. “You can be our wingman, Jack.”

“Picking up some game so you’ll have something to antagonize Sutter with?” Jack asks.

“Forget him. He’s old news. We’re totally done-zo.”

“Boston’s playing tonight. I say we turn on the game,” Stacey suggests.

Okay, fair. Sutter and I have ended and unended enough times that they’re tuning me out by this point, but still.

“Wrong intervention. You two are supposed to steer me away from him, not toward him.”

The remote’s in Stacey’s hand, the widescreen flashes to life. We’re deep into the first period. Sutter’s on the ice and of course we tune in as he’s slamming someone into the boards with a high stick. No penalty’s called. How does he get away with this shit? I swear every ref in the league has a crush on him, and it pisses me off.

But I smile, even though he’s a dirty asshole. “The refs aren’t watching this game, we shouldn’t either.”

“Nah. You only smile like that for Sutter. Don’t deny it,” Jack says.

“I will deny it because it’s not fucking true. Whose side are you on?”

“Always yours, which is why I think you should text him. You’ve been miserable.”

Sutter catches the puck. He moves through center, lobbing it across the blue line, so he’s not offside. Another player crashes into him, but Sutter’s so big the guy bounces off him. My burger plate’s forgotten while I watch two hundred and thirty pounds of Sutter charge across the ice like a bull. He seems extra agitated tonight. Wonder if it’s because of the internet’s obsession with our dicks?

Jack puts an arm around me, and I relax into him, watching Sutter dominate the ice. The burn of arousal floods my muscles. Fuck. All I can think about is Sutter fucking himself on my dick, Sutter pounding me with his dick, the way Sutter’s lips suck their way down my neck.

“I think I need a cold shower. No one can say the guy’s not hot as fuck, am I right?”

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