Page 76 of Pucked and Pregnant

It all threatens to spill out again but before it can, I slam the door closed and padlock it.

I can’t afford to be distracted, especially not with the finals right around the corner.

As of right now, we’re practically guaranteed a spot in the playoffs unless I royally fuck up. So as long as I avoid doing that, it’s just a matter of what type of spot the team gets.

If we keep going the way we’re going, we have a good chance at winning our division.

My mental locker seems unstable, so I picture a room around it and lock that, too.

When I do it feels like my brain splits in half. Weak, pathetic Connor stays in the room with the locker, leaving confident Connor in control, with undisputed reign over the rest of my head.

The sensation of it makes my brain itch but I stuff that into the locked-up room, too. I’ll deal with it all later, or better yet, it’ll stay locked in there so long I forget it even exists.

When I swap in for Berstein at the top of the final period, I burst out on the ice like a man possessed. All I can think about are hockey plays and breathing.

Max, Aiden, and I are going full bore, taking every opportunity to try and score.

The Ice Hawks aren’t making it easy. They haven’t scored a goal all game, Dimitri’s made sure of that. So now they’re out for blood.

The score is one to nothing, and I know they’re aiming to tie things up to force a shootout. That’s what they do every single time, because Ashnikov is one of the best shots in the league.

It’s actually how they’ve won twenty five percent of their games this season, especially during games where they were outmatched.

We’re not having it today, though. Every single shot they try to take is thwarted with extreme prejudice by our defensive line. It’s a tough third period but a successful one.

When we head back to the locker room, Aiden’s fingers are twitching, no doubt itching for his sketchpad. Dimitri’s face is speckled with blood, just the way he likes it, and we have another win under our belts.

I’m fine or at least I would be if my fucking gear would hang straight in my locker.

I know the equipment manager is going to be coming around and taking it all out to be cleaned, but it doesn’t fucking matter. I have to hang it exactly right or my whole day will be ruined.

I rehang my shoulder pads for the third time and step back to look at them.

They’re crooked.

It’s at this moment that all my safeguards fail. The locker in my head explodes and reduces that locked room to rubble.

I yank the pads out of the locker, throw them on the ground, and let loose a stream of curses so obscene it’d make a sailor blush.

When I come back to my senses, I’m breathing hard, the eyes of everyone in the room on me.

Max meets my gaze, and I swear in that instant, he knows exactly what I need him to do. He crosses the room and claps me affectionately on the shoulder.

“Looks like you need a drink.” He laughs. “Actually, you know what? We could all use a drink. We fought a good fight outon the ice today and we deserve to celebrate. First round at the Onyx Club is on me. Any takers?”

Just like that, all the focus moves to Max, and the energy of the room shifts. Most of the guys start making their way out, chanting “shots” as they go.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Any time.”

Then he turns to Aiden and Dimitri. “I know Connor’s going to need some alone time to decompress but what about you two? You’re not going to make me deal with our drunk teammates by myself, are you?”

“I can go out for a bit but I have a gallery opening tomorrow. I won’t be staying out late. I need to go in early to make sure they set everything up correctly.”

“I’ll take it. Dimitri?”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t overdo it like you did in Vegas. It might as well be me.”

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