Page 39 of Overtime Goal
The goal horn blared as the Cudas’ bench exploded, and their fans shrieked like they’d seen a miracle. Jensen and Johnson grabbed each other in a celly, and the rest of the Cudas swarmed the ice.
Our men were frozen in place. Dog hunched over, his helmet hanging low, and Harpy stared at the jumbotron as if he could will it to change. Abby dropped to one knee with tears running down his cheeks.
Riles and I stood side by side in front of the bench. He made a choking sound, and when I looked over, his eyes were shiny. We’d all given everything we had, but it wasn’t enough.
We endured the excruciating post-game handshake with forced smiles and murmured congratulations to the men who’d ripped our dreams away. From the moment we left the ice, Riley stayed by my side. In the shower, he waved Dog off to another nozzle so he could stand next to me, earning a sharp look and an annoyed grunt in response. After we got into our suits, we slipped out to the bus while Criswell and Harpy handled the press.
Riley reached for my hand on the quiet ride to the airport. It startled me because the other guys were so close by, but the bus was shadowed enough that no one would notice. Riles’s fingers wrapped tightly around mine, warm and steady, a silent reassurance that went deeper than words.
On the plane, the cabin crew dimmed the lights to match the team’s somber mood. Conversations were hushed, no more thanmeager attempts to find comfort. Riley held my hand again after takeoff, and I glanced over, surprised by the deep concern in his eyes.
His voice was low and husky. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Doc said I might be sore, but what else is new after a game?”
Riley leaned closer, and his voice dropped even lower. It was thick with emotion, something I rarely heard except on those nights he woke shaking from nightmares. “If something happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”
For a moment, I considered making a joke to break the tension, but I didn’t want to trivialize what he was feeling. So I matched his seriousness. “We’re hockey players, Riles, and risk is part of the game. I hold my breath every time you take a hard hit, thinking exactly the same thing you just said. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, either.”
He squeezed my hand, almost painfully. “I get it, but we have to be careful. I need you.”
I need you.The words detonated in my chest, and my heart somersaulted while Riley’s unwavering gaze held mine.
My throat tightened as a swell of emotion threatened to make me cry. The game, the loss, and the aching muscles all faded in the glow of Riley’s words. In the shadowy quiet of the team plane, after one of the most devastating losses of our careers, warmth spread through me and soothed the sting of defeat.
I wasn’t just Riley’s teammate or friend or fuck buddy. He liked me more than he realized, and whatever we were becoming, it was real. I took a deep breath for the first time in weeks.
Back in Buffalo, we went to my house. We were both exhausted, mentally and physically, and after guzzling a Gatorade each, we took off our clothes and went to bed. In the dark, we lay side by side, too exhausted to speak.
“Would you get on top of me?” he asked. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for sex, but I need to feel you.”
“Me too,” I said, crawling onto him.
The drapes weren’t quite closed, and his eyes glistened in the dim light. “Let all your weight down. I can take it.”
When we were skin to skin with no space between us, he moaned and wrapped his arms around me.
“This good?” I asked. “You feel amazing.”
“It’s perfect. You’re okay, and I feel safe. Fuck the game because this is way more important.”
Overcome with emotion again, I kissed him. His body was warm underneath me, and I loved feeling every inch of him. Our cocks were touching, but they didn’t go more than half-mast. Though everything we were feeling made the kiss hot as fire, it wasn’t the incendiary,got-to-get-off-right-nowheat we usually shared. It was something much more profound.
Even after our lips parted, he wouldn’t let go when I tried to roll off. “Not yet,” he said. “I need you like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere, babe.”
Later, we shifted into a loose tangle of limbs, then settled into a spoon, with his back pressed to my chest. When I wrapped an arm around him, he let out a soft, contented sigh that warmed my heart. His breathing slowed as sleep took him under, and I held on, wondering if I could ever let go. This was more than comfort; it was connection. Whatever came next, things would never be the same.
16/
riley
The morning after the loss,we got up late, still bleary-eyed. Logan made coffee, I burned toast, and we somehow ended up back in bed, jerking each other off. After being so scared the night before, I needed to reassure myself that Logan was okay, and we both had a lot of tension to release.
Since breakfast had been bitter toast, we hit up an Italian bakery in Williamsville for lunch. We sat at a table out front, sharing focaccia sandwiches, slices of pizza, and delicious pastries. A couple of fans stopped to thank us for the season, but most people left us alone.
Neither of us mentioned the game, and we talked about anything we could think of besides hockey. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. After a grueling playoff season, Logan still looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. But I’d seen the bruises while we were in bed. Hockey players get beat up. It’s a routine part of the game, but the mottled blue-black splotches across his ribs and back had made my stomach turn. After his shower, while I spread ointment on the worst ones, he winced and cursed under his breath.
