Page 76 of Wrap Around
"I'm botching it."
Poor guy. "You're not."
"You saw that first game, right? Ives texted me a picture of everyone huddled around the TV in the hotel lobby, so I know you and the whole rest of the team saw how badly I fucked my first big game."
"Idon't think you're giving yourself enough credit. Everyone knows that Landon would trip over his own skates and fall on his ass. And Valdez would chase the puck around like a golden retriever and end up giving it to the other team."
He scoffs, but I don't think the jokes are helping.
"You know what Dr. Shelton would say, don't you? She'd say that you're putting too much pressure on yourself to perform. Stop worrying about doing well and just play. It's what you were made to do, Silas. Playing hockey, and taking a cock, because no one takes a cock like you do."
That gets a small smile out of him, and my stomach unclenches a little. "Any cock?" he says, managing to pull some humor into his sleep weary tone.
"Hell no. That ass is mine. I marked it and everything."
"That you did. Thanks for that, by the way. I really appreciated the hickeys you left all over the backs of my thighs and ass. It definitely made my first NHL locker room and shower experience memorable."
"Aww, come on. They weren't that bad." Those hickeys were barely red when I finally let him up to shower before driving him to the airport.
"They're still there," he deadpans. I choke on the snort I unsuccessfully attempt to hold back. His lips quirk.
"I bet they all think your little wife is a freeeaak."
"Ew, gross. Dude, that's your sister!"
"I'm not talking about my sister, pervert. I've started referring to myself as your little wife to make myself feel better."
"Oh, well that's cute."
I feel like I've accomplished something by lightening his mood a little. "I love you."
"I love you too, little wife."
It's only three weeks. Three measly weeks.
How bad could it be?
"There you are."
The slight chemical smell of the ice burns as cold air saws in and out of my lungs. I turn towards the unexpected voice, mopping sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my hoodie. Dr. Shelton leans on the barrier between the ice and the player's bench.
"Hey, Dr. Shelton," I say uncertainly.
Did she have an appointment meeting her here today? Practice ended over an hour ago. I thought everyone had already left. I just wasn't ready to go home yet, so I put my skates back on and decided to work on some drills for a while to clear my mind. Not that it's really working. I've been coming early and staying late for the last two weeks, spending so much time at the arena that Coach and the trainers have started hounding me. I've upped my lifting schedule and weights, been throwing myself into cardio, doing sprinting and shooting drills until my exhaustion outweighs the doubts that have been plaguing me lately.
"Do you have time for a short breather?" Oh boy. When a blank stare is my only answer, she gives me a half smile. "I only want a few minutes of your time."
With a curt nod, I skate over to the bench and take a seat a few feet away from her.
"What's this about?"
"Coach Dempsey asked me to stop by. He mentioned you might still be here, so I thought I'd swing by." She smiles kindly at my wary expression. "Seems you've been putting in some extra effort lately," she says in an attempt to ease into whatever it is she came here to talk to me about. I'd rather she just get to the point.
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"Not when you might be taking things too far. Coach says you're isolating again as well." I grumble and call my coach a snitch under my breath, but Dr. Shelton hears it and chuckles. "He's just worried about you."
"You mean he's sick of my bullshit," I say pointedly. He more or less told me so today when I approached him about missing Friday's game. Not only did he not approve of me missing one of the last three games of the season, but he very eloquently suggested that I "get my head out of my ass" and shake off my "moody bullshit”. I can't blame him for being irritated. I feel myself shutting down with each passing day, but I don't know how to stop it. My head turns towards Dr. Shelton, where she's waiting patiently for me to say more.
