Page 23 of Breakneck Hockey

And it’s not just the Stanley factor, it’s the MercandStanley factor. Jack’s doing dishes at the sink. Merc wraps his long arms around them, kissing Jack’s shiver spot—y’know that sensitive patch of skin on a neck between jawline and collarbone? Shiver spot.

Sutter likes to suck me there.

I shiver.

Fuck.

I check my phone. No message. Good. I hope he never texts me again. I shouldn’t answer even if he does text. But I have major issues. He messages, I go running like he’s Pavlov and I’m his dog. It’s been weeks since he got back into town. We’vefucked a lot. About every second night. I keep telling myself it’s gonna wear off soon, but I can’t stop thinking about him. My brain invents wild ideas, ways he could fuck me, things he could say.

At least I get to talk about all this crazy shit with Jack. He’s my bestie and he gets me in ways even my brother Stacey doesn’t. Plus, he’s going through his own shit. With every day that creeps closer to the hockey season, his inner brat’s panicking. He’ll have to leave his new little family, and he loves it here.

But he also loves hockey.

“They’re kinda gross but cute, huh?” Rachel says. She’s picking at her breakfast beside me in full teen mode. Was I ever that moody as a teenager? Mom would say so, I guess. I like Rachel, though. She doesn’t take any shit, and she’s fucking hilarious.

“So gross and so cute,” I agree. I hold my fist up, we bump knuckles. I shovel the rest of my cereal into my mouth and pour another bowl.

“I’ll tell you what’s gross,” Jack says, making his way over to the breakfast table with coffee.

“Don’t say Sutter.”

“Sutter.”

“I told you not to say it.”

“Has he, uh, planned a visit for today?” Jack says, trying not to say “booty call” in front of Rachel.

“I know what sex is, Jack,” Rachel says. “Can’t you play hard to get? You running to him is so cringe. Tell him you’re busy next time he texts you.”

That wouldn’t sting so badly if I didn’t agree.

“How do you know what sex is, young lady?” Merc says in full dad mode, taking a seat beside Jack.

She laughs. “First of all, I’m fifteen and don’t live in a hole. Second, Dad sat me and Dawson down, told us all about the birds and bees. Even if he hadn’t, the internet’s full of?—”

“Alright. Alright. Wish I hadn’t asked. You and Dawson need a lot more supervision,” Merc says. “And no, Dad doesn’t count as supervision.”

“There are apps for that, Merc,” Jack says. “At least for the internet.”

Rachel’s jaw drops. “You fucking traitor. He didn’t know about those.”

Mercy is technologically inept, which is funny because he’s not the age he should be for his level of ineptness.

Jack shrugs. “I’d be a traitor if I didn’t tell my man. My loyalty lies with him. Always him.”

He smiles into Merc’s cornflower blue eyes. Merc smiles back.

“I changed my mind. You guys are just gross,” Rachel says.

My thoughts exactly.

Logan’s next to join us, hair wet from the shower. Jack gets up just so he can serve him his specially cooked egg whites, with avocado, tomatoes, and fruits low on the glycemic index. Coffee, black. It’s his weird-ass ice skater diet. I don’t get it. I couldn’t last five minutes on what he eats.

But, huh. If Merc is Logan’s brother-dad, Jack’s kinda his step-brother-dad. Jack funds a lot of bills around here, especially for Logan.

Logan smirks when he sees my face at the table. “Rough night?”

“I haven’t seen Sutter in over twenty-four hours, I’ll have you know.” I’m proud of my restraint. At least I don’t call him, he calls me.

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