Page 18 of My Pucking Crush

With Belova owning a team in this division, I have to leave the Crushers at the end of this season. It’s only a matter of time before Ivan or someone from his brotherhood recognizes me. I need my end-of-season bonus. I don’t dare touch my fortune socked away, in case someone found it and is waiting for me to make a withdrawal.

Swallowing my pride, I call Bronwin.

He picks up immediately and says, “Why am I looking at Max skating, and you’re nowhere to be found?”

“He snuck out of his penthouse early,” I hiss, my dick aching. “I’m still adjusting to this arrangement.”

Max is not exactly cooperating, but I can’t let that jerk get me fired. I’ll tell him tonight what’s at stake. Preferably with my cock in his mouth, punishing him. Whether he likes sucking off guys or not.

“Beck’s on the ice with him, giving him a hard time. He wants Ryan to take it easy. I’ll cover for you. Get here as soon as you can.”

“10-4.” I hang up.

I take a quick shower, skipping the beard trim I really need, and use the time to make myself come so I can think straight. Dressed up in slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a tie, I throw on the team-emblazoned zip-up jacket I wear at practices.

In the garage, I gasp, spotting my Honda Pathfinder with two flat tires.

That prick!

ELEVEN

Max

Iget to morning skate, and Coach tries to keep me off the ice, but I fake being one hundred percent. I’ve pushed away the dizziness and ignored the headaches. I get slammed against plexiglass walls on a nightly basis, land flat on my back, and I’mexpectedto get up and skate away.

Why is what happened any different?

The ice is the only place that invigorates me. The only place I feel like myself. The version of myself that I know best. The guy I trust the most. The eager, greedy defenseman who crushes hopes and dreams of centers and wingers coming at me with their pucks.

After a trainer looks at me, he approves short rounds of ice time. Just to keep my legs loose. Christ, that sounds dirty in my head. I never realized how so many innocent words to describe the game can be turned around.

A sense of dread washes over me, thinking of Luca and the hell I’ll pay for sneaking out early. Okay, sneaking is an exaggeration. I quietly left my bedroom, packed my cooler bag with Gilda’s high protein shake, a wrapped egg breakfast, and my special electrolyte waters.

The full security staff doesn’t show up for morning skate. To be honest, I have no clue what their rotation is. Only, as Luca pointed out yesterday, they dress in suits during a game, and team jackets for practice. Some post behind our benches, some monitor the corridor near the owner’s boxes, and there’s usually a guy hovering over the penalty box.

Are they short a man now that someone is guarding me? Am I putting my team or owners and their families who watch the games from the boxes at risk?

Lost in thought, I skate right into Troy Madison, my already sore wrist exploding in pain.

“Fuck, Ryan. Watch where you’re going. You okay? Should you even be on the ice today?”

I’m ready to throw down my gloves and ring Madison’s neck for talking to me like that when I realize I’d zoned out before we collided. I’m still skating drills while everyone else is done and stretching on the ice.

Nearing the first break, a whistle blows. I wave off Madison, clearly, he’s not hurt.

The locker room buzz is palpable. We’re looking forward to the game tomorrow and heard one of Cape May’s wingmen got injured last night. We have a whole coaching department who strategizes based on that information, but we’re the ones on the ice, so it’s hard to ignore.

The scent of male sweat warms my chest, as it has my whole damn life, but I don’t dare glance around. It’s been that way since my high school teammate and I started messing around.

That ended badly enough.

Then it got worse.

After Jake broke it off with me, his father called my mother and said I forced myself on him. I felt so alone and betrayed. I waited for days for cops to show up, but they never did. Maybe Jake came around and told the truth.

But the damage was done as far as my parents’ disappointment in me. I tried to explain to my father that I wasn’t interested in girls. He told me I was confused, and chose to deal with my ‘confusion’ another way.

Feeling I had no one to talk to, I broke down andconfessed to Coach Avalon about Jake and me. We had an intense one-on-one. He didn’t judge me, but brushed off what happened between us as kids experimenting.

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