Page 47 of Your Pucking Mom

“Who is it?” I asked when I climbed over the boards.

“Just Coach,” Ledger grumbled, adjusting his pants before turning back toward him. My heart thundered in my chest. This was exactly what I was trying to avoid.

“It’s okay,” Ledger assured.

“No.” I shook my head. “I know I said it last time, but please. No more. I can’t. It’s his career. I risked?—”

“I can’t let you go, Sunshine.” Ledger’s voice had a desperate edge to it.

“Cole? Is that you?” A voice echoed from the other side of the rink. I ducked behind the boards, not wanting to get caught. Ledger looked down at me, and he knew what we had—or never got to explore—was not possible.

“I can’t risk this again. I don’t know what this is between us, but it can’t be. This was a mistake.”

Ledger cracked his neck, briefly looking away. But this time his eyes were different. There was no affection or concern for me. There was an icy glaze instead. “A mistake? You think that’s what this is?”

“It has to be.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. That sounds about right.” Turning to skate toward Coach, he paused. “Bye, Auburn.”

After grabbing the jersey, I ran as fast as I could, not daring to look back. I ran until I hit the doors, then took a breath before opening them.

I had to keep it together. As tears threatened to fall and my heart felt like it was tearing, I kept it together. That was what I did best for everyone else. I was the foundation of the house, knowing exactly how to hold the structure up. The problem were the cracks inside me, and Ledger was opening them up, making me terrified I’d crumble if I allowed him in.

23

ledger

The next month was the slowest of my entire life. It was a monotonous routine as I drowned myself in my own reruns after practice, forcing myself not to think about her. When that didn’t work, I’d pump my cock raw in the shower imagining the way her eyes widened as I taught her how to take me perfectly in her mouth. I was fucking red, swollen, and numb when I imagined the way her hips bucked against my mouth.

I begrudgingly spent time with the kid, whose talent on the ice was undeniable, but marred by a lack of teamwork. Before practice, I devoted hours to coaching him on basic techniques, emphasizing the importance of passing and collaboration. Each painful moment was accompanied by the reminder that his mom thoroughly fucked my face in our shared locker room space.

All this left me in a foul mood, exacerbated by Alex’s constant nagging during family dinners about finding someone new to hook up with. As I handed my bag to the equipment handler and thanked the driver, I followed Alex onto the plane.

“You need a stiff drink when we land,” Alex remarked.

We were on our private airstrip right outside the city as the guys loaded onto the plane. We were off to Colorado and our away game tomorrow night, then back home with two days off.

“I don’t drink before a game,” I huffed out. Though I came from the heart of the Midwest, the onset of winter had never been a cheerful time for me. It signified the busiest stretch of the year, and while I typically found solace in being out on the ice and playing hockey, the familiar ache in my knee served as a constant reminder that this season would be my last.

“Come on, Cap,” Alex teased, “lighten up, will you?”

I hoisted my garment bag over my shoulder and slung my carry-on over the other.

“You going to make us all sit in our unofficial assigned seats?” Alex asked, and a few members were already in their rightful spots, waiting to board the plane without me asking.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I had always been a paranoid motherfucker. Before each game, I would jack off in the shower, put on the same socks, and call my mom. It was a weird ritual, but I was convinced it worked. Then a couple of years back, we had all sat in the same seats and won a championship game, and I hadn’t changed a thing since.

Coach and staff sat in the front of the plane, then it went rookie to more experienced. Dirks complained that I made everyone take their assigned seats so I could get the best on the plane, but the truth was, I was too superstitious to change anyone’s seats. I hated the back of the plane because there was more turbulence back there, but I couldn’t move, not without risking the team’s winning streak.

“You going to make us sit in our assigned seats?” another offensive member of our team, Matthews, shouted from behind me as I assessed the plane.

The beauty of flying this jet was that the seats were in pods of four versus rows. It made it so the coaching staff could figure out plays in the front of the plane and we could chill. I sat in a pod with just Alex, the other two seats were always free unless we had guests, then the rookies would sit back there so the guests could sit up front.

“Yup,” I said, popping the p for effect.

The team groaned while waiting to board the plane. As I passed the flight attendants’ setup and opened the curtain, I was surprised to see Coach wasn’t in his seat in the front of the plane. He was as superstitious as I was, which meant he was likely running late.

“Coach isn’t here?” Alex chimed in as he leaned over my shoulder.

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