Page 74 of My Pucking Crush

Max looks Carter up and down. He’s a forward, but not on the same line. “You want to sit this out, Damien?”

The comment stuns me, and I don’t know what to make of it. For some reason, I thought Max would come out right there and then.

Fuck, how do I feel about that?

Carter’s face scrunches. “What? Are you kidding me?”

“We have playoffs coming,” Max talks like a team captain and not a player with something at stake. “We’regoing to kill these brats. I need you healthy.”

“Me? What about you?”

Max straightens. “What about me?”

“You don’t know?” Carter pauses to shoot me a look. “That night in the Vegas lounge, you looked chummy with a dude.”

“Oh shit,” I mumble, and get on my phone to start searching for Max Ryan hits. Sure enough, there’s a photo of Max and the guy he was with at the bar.

How fucking ironic.

“Here.” I show Max, and hate that it seems like I’m rubbing it in his face.

“I was having a drink with a fan,” Max bites out.

We share a look, but protecting his rep or going after people who try to hurt him online isn’t part of my job. I thought that faced with a blatant attack on a teammate and questionable photos, Max would confess to his team to stand in unity with Carter.

That was a fucking fantasy.

“Quinn was a dickhead. And apparently still is,” Max grumbles, dealing with the unruly opposition instead of owning up to his lifestyle. “We can deal with a little taunting.”

“The organization has a stance against racial slurs,” I say, thinking out loud.

“Exactly,racial,” Carter clarifies. “They haven’t expanded that to sexual orientation.”

“Well, they need to.” I’m faced with stares.

“We have to be realistic. Not everyone is okay with homosexuality,” Max says. “It’s a fact and no matter what, no team will ever shove it down the fans’ throats.”

I swallow thickly and give him a sly look. Carter catches how we look at each other, and his entire body changes.

He knows.

Shit.

The meeting comes to a halt with no resolution other than the plan to ignore Asshole Quinn. I wouldn’t be surprised if Carter sends the guy flying into the boards a few extra times tonight.

Richmond hits the ice first, and I get an extra bitter chill just from their steely gazes. Stamford takes the house down, though. Max raises his stick in the air skating loops around the entire rink, and the crowd goes berserk.

The puck drops, and Max shines as team captain. He’s everywhere on the ice. I have a hard time keeping track of him. The Crushers are all over the Richmond players.

I whisper to Duncan to watch the stands for anything extra suspicious while my eyes focus on one target. Jake Quinn. He’s third shift. So he doesn’t get near Max on the ice.

They can only get you on the ice.

That doesn’t happen.

The argument plays in my head.

Max and Quinn are only on the ice at the same time for seconds each period. I catch him arguing with their coach, who only answers with a shaking head. He’s asking to be moved up.

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