Page 58 of Fresh Ice
Alonso didn’t know if Levy meant Alonso belonged in his bed, or with him, or under his hands, but he agreed to all of it. He was desperate with the need to be filled after all the touching and teasing Levy had been doing.
When Levy finally pressed inside, Alonso groaned as if he’d blocked a shot. Every one of his nerve endings were tingling, the way Levy was crowding him into the mattress driving him crazy.
“Come on, Alpha,” Alonso goaded. “I know you can do better than that.”
Levy’s eyes went even darker and he pummelled into Alonso, hard and right where he needed him.
**********
As April approached, it became clearer that the Hounds weren’t going to make the playoffs.
It wasn’t like the team gave up—they were still giving it everything they had on the ice. The locker room was tight-knit, but the tension between the players and the coaching staff rapidly worsened.
There was only so much Alonso could do. He still had to live through the day-to-day of playing—the gruelling travel, the way injuries and sore muscles were piling up, how just trying to keep the weight on was like having a second job. It was all made more challenging by the fact that, no matter how hard they tried, they could barely get a win.
It was strange, really—sure, Alonso had wanted the team to win, but at the beginning of the season, he’d mostly been preoccupied with provinghimself. And he had, in a way—he was still a top contender for the Calder, described as the future of the franchise alongside Levy.
And yet, it was impossible to find joy in his own game when the Hounds weren’t performing. Alonso had come to realise that he was bigger than just one person. The number of points he got was irrelevant if it didn’t end in victory for the rest of his teammates.
Even if he’d wanted to revel in his own success, his dad would have made it impossible, still calling after every loss. Alonso picked up the phone again, and again, and again. Not doing so would just make it worse. He’d sit there and listen to his dad break him apart, gritting his teeth through it…until the game in mid-April when the Hounds were mathematically eliminated from the playoffs.
Alonso sat on his bed, watching his phone ring for the third time. He was going to answer it. He just needed a moment. Just a single fucking moment to—
Alonso startled as Levy stepped inside his room. He squeezed the phone guiltily in his hand, not knowing what he was trying to hide.
“Hey,” Levy said quietly. “It’s late. Come eat something.”
Alonso shook his head. “I have to…” The screen quieted as the call dropped.
“Nah, you don’t. Come on.”
Alonso swallowed. He was just so fuckingtired.
For the first time in his life, he turned his phone off after a game, letting Levy sit him down at the kitchen bar and feed him.
After, Alonso went straight to Levy’s room. He couldn’t lie to himself tonight—couldn’t pretend the feel of sleeping in Levy’s arms wasn’t his biggest comfort.
**********
They limped to the end of the season.
Alonso tried not to feel like a total failure, especially as Gabby got more and more questions from the press about another failed year.
“We’ve got a good core group of guys,” Gabby said in his last presser. “We all know that there’s a lot that needs to change, and I know you’re going to give me grief about this, and I’m not saying we’re not accountable for what happened this season, but I’m proud of the guys we have here.”
Gabby caught Alonso on clean-out day, stall by stall emptying out for the offseason. “You good, kid?”
Alonso nodded even as he grimaced guiltily. “Yeah. Sorry we couldn’t do it for you, Cap.”
“Hey, none of that,” Gabby admonished gently. “Look, we all appreciate how much you obviously care about the team, but…trust me, you’re gonna have plenty of time in your career to worry about carrying a team on your back. You don’t have to deal with that shit now. Just…enjoy that you’ve made the league, kid. Go drink in the sun, get laid, maybe learn a little something, but enjoy the process, eh?”
Alonso laughed. “Wow. Great advice.”
“I’m thirty, not fifty. Loosen up a little. We’ll return stronger next year, all right?”
“All right.” Alonso believed him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
