Page 39 of Fresh Ice
“Notweird.Just. Surprised. I should have handled it better, I’m sorry.”
“So it wasn’t bad?” Alonso hated how tentative he sounded, but he needed the reassurance.
“No. Definitely not. Just. I’ve never slept with a friend before, you know? Caught me off guard. But I’m good now, I promise.”
Alonso nodded slowly. He wanted to keep pressing, to dissect everything that had happened last night, but it would only do more harm than good.
One thing was clear, though—there was no way they could do it again.
Not that Alonso had been planning to.
Which didn’t explain the disappointment filling him up at the thought.
**********
Life went on. They lost most of their games, although they pushed for every win they got. There was travel—an endless procession of hotel rooms and unfamiliar rinks. There was domestic life, Levy and Alonso cooking much more often after discovering they weren’t completely useless at it.
The itch under his skin that flared deep at night didn’t disappear, but it became bearable as he accepted that what had transpired between him and Levy was a one-off thing. He tried to not even jerk off to the memories, knowing it would make it more complicated in the long run.
Alonso would watch Levy flirt with Omegas at bars and tried not to make the envy he felt obvious.
Because it was envy, not jealousy.
He’d arrive home early from nights out, lying awake in bed until he heard Levy return home. It was an unwilling torture, Alonso’s mind refusing to quiet.
It didn’t matter who Levy spent his nights with. He didn’t belong to Alonso.
Despite the internal turmoil, he and Levy were still magic on the ice.
Alonso couldn’t say he liked going to overtime—it meant that the team hadn’t played well enough to get it done during regulation, and it put an ungodly pressure on the goalie.
What hecouldsay was that he loved the three-on-three play. There was so much open space, ripe with the opportunity to make plays that weren’t normally available to them. It was the perfect forum to prove yourself, and Levy loved doing nothing more.
It was crazy how hot it could get under the pads, even in the freezing cold rink. Alonso was tense on the bench, watching the first line forwards—Gabby, Slim, and Mads—snap the puck to each other, skating slowly in a game of keep-away with their opponents. They slid easily into the offensive zone, the open ice allowing for smooth transitions. The crowd came to life as Gabby burst forward, making his way behind the net as he received the puck from Slim.
Quick like an angry dog, he tried to wrap around and stuff the puck into the bottom corner of the goal, but the opposing goalie was too quick. He slid across the ice, blocking the shot with his skate and then pouncing on the rebound.
Play stopped, and Alonso startled as the coach tapped him on the helmet.
“Killer, Olive, Levy, you’re up. And Killer—get that fucking face-off, yeah?” the coach ordered.
Killer saluted him as the three players hopped onto the ice. “You got it, boss.”
There were no ad breaks during OT, so they all skated to their spots. Killer made his way to the face-off circle, Levy behind him to catch the puck if Killer won.
As promised, Killer knocked the puck back as soon as the referee dropped it, and they were off.
The most important thing in overtime—apart from getting the winning goal—was possession. With only three players on the ice and five minutes on the clock, play had to be sharp, straddling the line between safe enough to keep the puck and risky enough to finish the game with a victory.
Levy retreated to the neutral zone to steady the puck, Killer and Alonso following him to avoid being offside—it was a central rule that players couldn’t enter the opposing side’s defensive zone before the puck.
The Salem Ghosts kept their distance, protecting their blue line, venturing out only when Levy skated backwards into the Hounds’ own defensive zone and passed to Killer.
Killer moved near their own goal, and the Ghosts took the bait. They were drawn deep into the neutral zone, and it was what Killer had been waiting for. With a satisfying slap, he made a cross-ice pass dangerous enough that the coach would chew him out if it didn’t work.
Luckily for them, it snapped right to Levy’s tape at centre ice.
Alonso’s heart pounded as he waited a second at the blue line for the puck to cross first, and then sped towards the opponent’s goal, only one of the Ghosts impeding the way.
