Page 76 of Delayed Offsides

I was that kid walking home alone through the streets with a hockey stick and gear over his shoulder for an hour because nobody bothered to pick me up.

So, really, I don’t know the meaning behind any of those words.

I’ve also heard someone, I think it was Ami, tell me once, there’s a strength in letting go. You’re allowing yourself to move on, and that’s the hardest part. I let go of the idealism of family a long time ago.

“You know, I made something of myself,” I tell my mom, needing her to know before our conversation ends. “At least you could fucking say you’re proud of me for once in your damn life and acknowledge the hard work I put into it. I was the number one draft pick the year I was drafted. And now, I’m one of the youngest captains in the league. Just because I’m starting a family with a girl I love doesn’t mean I’ve given all that up.”

My mom sighs. I can almost picture her sitting there with that cigarette dangling from her lips and the red lipstick stains on the glass of vodka she claims is water. She coughs, her lungs crackling. “Fine, Leo. I’m proud of you.”

I snort. “Yeah, fuckin’ say it like you mean it.”

And then I hang up.

Fuck her.

I’m not mad at her. Maybe she did do the best she could have done, I suppose. When I look at Patrick, and the way his life has turned out, I’m not so sure anymore.

Half the time I had no parental guidance at all growing up. If it weren’t for hockey, I would have ended up like Patrick. A pill-popping little shit living off his brother.

Lucky for me, Patrick is in jail now and should be for a while. Selling pills to kids usually doesn’t go over well with the police. It’s a relief really, because now he isn’t constantly asking me for money to support his habits.

* * *

The morningafter the game against the Coyotes, we fly to Minnesota. Then it’s back home for two games and then a week on the road. We’re all over the place in March, with eight away games sprawled over the east and west.

Callie wants to wait until the end of the regular season before she moves in with me because her lease on her apartment is up in April. She also claims we shouldn’t rush into this, which I agree with her about.

Once I asked, you know, right after sex, it felt like a perfect idea.

Then I realize I’ve never lived with anyone I like. I lived with Remy for a year when I was drafted in Chicago, and it was a goddamn miracle we still talk to each other now. We fought constantly living together and never did get that deposit back on that apartment. I’m sure you can understand why. Think multiple holes all over the walls. So I have some apprehension about living with someone again. Especially someone who’s pregnant and hormonal.

After a while, games and cities blur together like the weather. It’s raining, it’s sunny, windy, foggy… I can’t tell the difference anymore, the geography passing me by onto the next arena.

Our last game of the season is a home game against the Red Wings. We lose both but still manage to make it into the playoffs to defend our Stanley Cup title as the eighth seed.

Callie moves in that Monday following the game, and then I’m off to Vancouver.

But, before I leave, I have one thing on my mind, and it’s the perks of living with my girlfriend now. Sex in the mornings. Might as well take advantage of it, right?

My legs shift under the sheets, meeting Callie’s. By the way, she stole my side of the bed. So rude. Anyways, we’re naked, and I’m about to wake her up with my stick. Since we’re naked, I think, what better way to wake her up?

I start kissing her, my hands roaming over a body that should be fucking worshiped by every man, but really only me. She’s most certainly awake now and then rolls over to face me, kissing my lips and shoulder and then reaching between us to palm my cock. “Looking for a good-luck fuck?”

“I’m always looking for a fuck.” My hands slide over her curves, over her bump, and then between her thighs. I’m met with a wet and willing pussy. Living together is lookin’ pretty fuckin’ good. Too bad I won’t be in this bed with her tomorrow night too.

Callie rocks into my hand, moaning in pleasure as she tangles her arms around my neck.

Only problem is she let go of my dick in the process. He isn’t happy about that, so I take the head and glide it over her clit.

“Fuck me.” She moans, gripping my hair with both hands.Needing no more invitation, I angle her right leg up and slip inside her dripping wet pussy.Have I mentioned I really like going bareback? It’s my favorite, and I might never return to the sheathed world.

Now that Callie has a bump in the way, positions like this don’t work out as well. Rolling over, I pin her into the bed, careful not to let my upper body weight on her. With my hands on the headboard, I move inside her again.

That position seems to be what she wants, her legs falling open as she threads her hands in my hair once again. Callie’s always been a hair puller, and I fucking love it.

“Fuck me. Harder.” She moans, tossing her head against the pillow.

“I am,” I pant between thrusts, shaking my head. How hard does she want it? “Jesus.”

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