Page 88 of Breakneck Hockey

Oh. Well, shit. He’s still ridiculous, but his “I love poutine” tattoo is actually an “I love Mom” tattoo. It’s so endearing that it’s a tad heartbreaking.

I give him the same space he gives me when I tell him something and let that settle between us rather than coming up with a meaningless platitude.

“That’s what you did tonight with Milton,” he says after a while. “You were protecting me.”

It’s not the only thing I was doing, but let’s go with that. I nod.

“I can take care of myself, Sutter, but I don’t mind. It’s like having my very own guard dog. Maybe I’ll get you some doggie treats for when you’ve done a good job.” He laughs at his own joke.

I smack his tender ass. He laughs harder into my neck.

“Oh, c’mon. It was funny. And now you have my permission?—"

“Wasn’t asking your permission, and the knife is non-negotiable,” I say, almost able to hear what he’s thinking. My heart beats too quickly, thinking about him out there unprotected.

“I know, Jeez. I didn’t say that out loud—that’s fucking eerie, Sutter.” He huffs. “I told you I would. Don’t know how to use one, but guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Good boy.”

“Sutter,” he complains, hiding his face. That makes him shy because he likes it.

“Do you like good boy or good kitten better?” I say, forcing him to look at me.

He bites his lip barely able to breathe. “Fuck, I like ‘em both, okay? But back to you and your protection fetish, is it appropriate to give state-of-the-art door locks to someone like that for Christmas?”

“Alderchuck—”

“Or maybe a new alarm system. I can afford it now—mmph.”

I can shut him up by kissing him. Why am I only realizing this now?

Chapter 16

Defining Worship

Casey

Sutter’s been quiet since that last fuckfest in Boston. I’ve figured out his pattern—I think. Anytime he gets the least bit vulnerable, he flees for a bit. And I know my fingers work as well as his do—I can text him too—but my pride won’t let me. We’re postgame in New York and I’m at Jack’s apartment. Logan’s at school, and I was told that Rhett’s showering in his apartment upstairs, getting ready to head over to Columbia University. He’s going to get there past curfew, but Rhett doesn’t think the rules of this universe pertain to him, convinced he’s a hockey God, walking among the mortals.

Jack and I showered at the arena like normal people. Logan and Rhett have a weird fear they’re gonna end up with athlete’s foot or something. I’ve never caught anything from a locker room in my life.

As soon as I walked in the door, I traded my hat for Jack’s. Merc doesn’t love when I do that, but he’s not here. Plus, these days it’s only a half-hearted grumble about our hat-sharing ways. I think he’s come to understand that it’s a family thing forme, so he’s less jealous about it than he was originally. Jack’s part of my packandhe’s my bestie. That makes him more like a brother.

He’s poured us a couple beers and he’s got water boiling for the mac ‘n’ cheese. He knows how to make a guy feel at home. I’ve thrown myself on his overly comfortable couch, sinking so far into it that it might swallow me. Stace and I need to get one of these. He’s out with the guys from the team, getting blitzed. Dash and Syd didn’t break up. If anything, they’re closer than ever. He’s pretty sure Dash will marry Syd and he’ll have lost his chance forever.

“What’s a chance you never had?” I’d said to him. Partly because I’m in a bad mood, but partly because it’s true. He could have been with Dash forever ago. He’s in his own damn way on that one, and I hate seeing my brother so fucking miserable.

He grumbled something to himself and went to the bar. He’s supposed to meet us here after.

Before long, I feel the judge-y Jack eyes. They don’t come out often, but when they do I know he’s on to me. “What?”

“Nothin’. You’re quiet. You’re never quiet. I thought you and Sutter were on again?”

I’m quiet because I’m afraid of what might come out of my mouth. A knock at the door saves me or, more like, prolongs the inevitable. Jack’s gonna make me talk one way or the other. Rhett struts in the door. Turns out it was only a cursory knock because he has a key.

“Logan left something here. Just grabbing it,” he says, not bothering to say hello to me.

“Hello to you, too, Elkington,” I call. But he’s either out of earshot or has elected to ignore me. “Are they always like that?” I refer to RhettLo as a collective now. They’ve ceased to be one person.

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