Breakaway for Love (Hockey & Love #1)

2. A Rough Start

2

A ROUGH START

Nico

That was so cool!

It was as if I could see into the future and know exactly where Miller was going to be. It was almost spooky. And when the puck sailed unobstructed into the goal … It was one of the most fulfilling moments of my life. I was about to hug my teammates when I suddenly remembered where I was. And more importantly, who one of those teammates is. Suddenly all the warmth, all the euphoria, left my body.

Daniel Miller.

The orphan boy.

The golden boy.

The son of the best hockey player this country has ever had.

The son of the greatest political opponent my father has ever had.

They were always at loggerheads, but it didn’t start there. There has been hostility between our families for centuries. Apparently, one of my ancestors cheated Miller's ancestors out of a piece of land … in 1553! The court document recording the “transaction” is one of the oldest documents in the family archives. And knowing my family, the Millers probably have us bang to rights. Even back then, the family business dealings could be considered morally gray at times and often crossed the legal line.

This bad blood was carried over generations, over centuries even. Then in 1826, a Miller wanted to marry a Hovenberg. It was a love match, apparently, but instead of using it as an opportunity to bury the hatchet, the woman’s parents forced her to enter a convent. They’d do anything to prevent uniting their families even if it meant breaking their daughter’s heart. What happened to the prospective groom, my family chronicle doesn’t say — they’d hardly waste time on a Miller, would they?

The whole family feud thing got even worse thanks to my father. Our import and export business stayed largely on the legal side for the hundred years before he took over as chairman. My father could never resist a quick buck, and if only half of the rumors circulating about him are true ... Well, let’s just say there doesn’t seem much he wouldn't do for a decent return.

It’s not just a few shady deals either. I heard that he might have had something to do with a human trafficking ring that got busted by Terengian police six months back. It was a huge coup for the Terengian police and security forces when they caught and detained the masterminds despite some of them being taken hostage along the way. Apparently, though, there wasn’t enough evidence to convict my father.

The deal between us and the Millers specifically, though, flared up twenty-five years ago, when my father tried to use his position in the government to impose new laws. Laws that would have given my family various business monopolies and turned Terengia's ports into holding docks for all kinds of illegal goods — weapons to drugs, you name it — without the police retaining the right to search. The bill he’d drafted didn’t say that in so many words; instead, it was hidden underneath lots of complicated phrases. It didn’t fool Daniel's mother, though.

Bile rises in my throat as the images and rumors about Daniel's parents flood my mind. I spin on the spot, turning my back on my team, and skate to the faceoff point. I pretend to be totally focused on the next puck drop.

We play on, but the mood has shifted. It seems like we forgot who we are for a few moments, and now that we’ve remembered, there’s an invisible barrier stopping us from playing so freely.

It's incredibly frustrating, but I have no idea what to do about it. The golden boy seems to feel it too, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing right now.

Thankfully, the head coach calls time on the training session about ten minutes later. He looks so worried none of us can look him in the eye as we sneak into the locker room.

As always, I take my time sorting out my gear. It’s a bad habit I’ve had since I was a kid. At least that's what my father says. I know better. It's a survival tactic. I'm pretty sure the guys wouldn't feel so comfortable around me if they found out that I'm into men.

But now I can’t hide it anymore. At least not from myself, even if I’d never tell anyone. Not that it’ll make any difference. Sooner or later, my mother will find a suitable match for me and I’ll be coerced into marrying her. Yes, her . The thought immediately makes me sick to my stomach, but for the moment, Mom still accepts my excuse for not dating — that my entire schedule is taken up with ice hockey.

How much longer can you put her off? my subconscious asks.

Oh, shut up!

The locker room slowly empties. That’s my cue to grab my towel and head into the showers. But as I cross the tiled threshold, my feet are rooted to the spot. A sound — a whimper — comes from my mouth, although the shower is loud enough to muffle it. I’d thought that the few guys left in the locker room were getting ready to leave and that everyone was done with the showers. How wrong could I be?

Daniel Miller is standing right in front of me in all his naked glory. Rivulets of water flow down his perfect body. They run over the mountains of his biceps, trickle over his fucking six-pack, and between the scattered hairs that thread a line downwards …

Stop! I mentally scream.

Abort!

My gaze flies to the ceiling in panic and I barely suppress the moan that has brewed in my throat. The only way to stop it is to bite my tongue so hard that I taste blood. And that’s not the only place blood is collecting. My cock has gone from zero to rock hard in milliseconds. My whole body has conspired against me, it seems.

No, no, no!

The last thing I want is to get a boner in the shower at the sight of my teammate! I’d never survive — the others would lynch me. Why didn't I go back to my hotel room to take a shower? And why am I only thinking of that option now? I could have avoided this whole issue, considering we're only staying in the building next door. Showering in the locker room has become such a habit, I didn’t second-guess myself.

I can hardly back out of the showers now! A few colleagues are still in the locker room, and they’d certainly notice if I came back out so quickly and quite obviously unshowered.

I start to panic but manage to bunch my towel up, holding it in front of my erect cock to hide it as best I can. Then I notice a movement out of the corner of my eye. My heart threatens to stop as Miller turns around. Luckily, his face is turned upward into the shower stream. He doesn't seem to have noticed me at all!

One small vestige of hope bubbles up into my consciousness. When I entered the room, Daniel was washing his mop of hair. When I wash my hair, I always close my eyes so no soap gets in. If I’m lucky, Miller does the same and hasn’t seen a thing.

It won’t matter if he has or hasn’t seen me yet — if I don't manage to move soon, he'll notice that I'm standing here like a statue staring at him. This thought finally makes my legs work.

As I lunge towards the nearest shower, I slip on the wet floor, catching myself just in time. That would be all I need — to fall down here and break my neck!

My heart is beating wildly as I try to regain my composure behind the small privacy screen between my shower head and the next. I turn on the shower and turn my front to the wall. It spurts out ice cold water and I grit my teeth. I don't back away. The coolness clears my head and brings my stupid prick back in line.

It feels like hours before the water finally warms up, but was probably only a few seconds. Then I notice someone passing behind me. I stubbornly ignore him and pretend to be completely absorbed by the water raining down on me, when in reality I'm holding my breath. My cock has thankfully gone soft, but I have no idea if it would get just as hard just as quickly as it did last time if I turned around right now and Miller was standing in front of me in all his glorious nakedness.

Of course, my mind starts drifting back to the snatched images I caught of his perfect round and muscular butt. The fact that I was panicking didn’t stop my brain from registering that.

Registering ? Bullshit! I think that masterpiece of a butt is burned into my memory forever.

The familiar smacking sound of sliders on wet tiles interrupts my thoughts. He’s still in here! When the sound of his footsteps dies away, and I know he must have left the tiled bathroom and gone out into the locker room, all the tension drains out of me. My body feels weak enough for my shoulders and head to fall forward. I’m alone at last. For a moment, I let myself be weak, allowing myself to slouch in a way that would give my father a fit.

We Hovenbergs are strong, the backbone of the nation. Never forget that! My father's voice echoing in my head leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

My father is a master at hiding every emotion behind an arrogant facade, and he made it his mission to mold me in his image from birth. What he doesn't know is that I’ll never be able to be the model son he expects.

With this depressing thought, I turn off the shower. I've been in here long enough to know the locker room will be deserted. And I’m right. The only thing that greets me is the smell of sweat.

I dress quickly and retreat to my hotel room. I don't even go down to the dining room for dinner. No doubt the coach will yell at me for it tomorrow, but right now, I'm just too confused to face my team.

The next few days are an ordeal. Nothing works. It doesn’t matter how the coach rearranges the lines, it's as if I curse every combination I'm put in. The few friendly faces that welcomed me as a substitute a few days ago become guarded. I pretend not to hear the whispering behind my back, but it cuts deep.

I wrap myself in the protective cloak of arrogance my father trained me to wear so well it fits like a second skin. A second skin that my coach and my team in Canada managed to crack through. They managed to coax the real me out from behind the facade and showed me that I'm a better player without this supposed protection. Or maybe a better person. Who knows?

What I do know is I’ve got no idea how to deal with the people here. I have no idea how to be the real me here in my home country, and it's tragic.

After the morning training session on the fourth day, I see the head coach and his assistants with their heads together having a muttered conversation. One or two look over at me. My stomach clenches painfully.

If they kick me off the team, my father will give me hell.

Daniel

I am disappointed! Bitterly disappointed.

I hurry across the parking lot of the hotel where we are staying. I’m well aware that I am running away from our problems right now, but I can't just sit around in the tiny hotel room and brood about the shambles our training has become anymore.

I had high hopes for Beijing. If not gold, we could have expected another medal. But Hovenberg came in like a wrecking ball, and now it feels like there is no team anymore. We're missing the kind of passes we haven’t muffed since we were ten years old. If we keep playing like this, we'll be annihilated.

The whole team is bemused. No one has any idea why nothing is working. As captain, I have tried to mediate between them and Nico, but even after the head coach told Hovenberg he had to join the squad for meals and all other team-building activities, it's as if he’s on a different planet. A planet undergoing an apocalypse.

Those damned Hovenbergs!

As my grandparents used to say, "Stay away from the Hovenbergs, they’re trouble!" And I have tried my best, but they seem to pop up all over this damned country when they’re least wanted. You’d think it was enough having my parents on their conscience.

The snow crunches promisingly under my gray winter boots. I left the hotel parking lot a way back and I’m now wending my way through a snow-covered forest. The ice rink named after our head coach is located on the very outskirts of Terenberg which happens to be a great starting point for hikes in the snow and bike rides in the summer. Today, though, I don't have an eye for the beautiful nature surrounding me. I just need a breath of fresh air to clear my head. I need to get out!

I follow a trail in the snow, and as I look around, the terrain is vaguely familiar. I’ve spent so many weekends in these woods, first with my grandparents, and then with my friends. It might seem a bit of a strange activity for teenagers to enjoy, but Elisabeth was always a big fan of hiking and lured Benjamin and me along with her by promising us it was a great way to build up our fitness for ice hockey. She was probably right about that.

The thought conjures a smile to my lips, and the cold air in my lungs and the glittering landscape do their part. I notice my worries start to slide away.

When I come to a frozen pond, I stop. Someone, probably a group of hockey-mad kids, has uncovered the ice from the snow — just like we used to do. Gingerly, I place one foot on the ice and press until I’m sure it’ll take my body weight. Perfect!

There’s a pinecone on the edge of the ice, and with a well-aimed kick, it zooms across the frozen surface. Grinning, I slide after my improvised puck. The rough soles of my winter boots give me just enough traction to slide a good few feet without much effort, and before long I’ve reached my pinecone and kicked it again.

Benjamin and I used to love this game! But even on my own, it's incredibly fun. The last few years I've been training so intensively that I've almost forgotten how much fun it can be just to fool around on the ice.

With my winter boots on, I'm much slower than with my ice skates, but that doesn’t matter as the pond is so small. I wonder if I could get my cone to flick back off a ridge of ice — like an oversized pool table? And no sooner has the thought popped into my head than I try my luck. I quickly figure out which chunks of snow and ice at the edge of the pond are hard enough for me to use. The pinecone bounces off a large ridge of ice and darts at a thirty-degree angle toward a large hard snow mound. My heart leaps in anticipation but then sinks immediately. Instead of bouncing there as planned, it slides up the mound of snow and flies in a high arc toward three dense fir trees. I groan in disappointment. Not only did my plan fail but I’ve lost my toy too. It’s one of those days where nothing is going right!

I feel like storming off the ice and sulking, but just then my eye catches a figure moving in the shade of the big trees. Maybe I can at least get my pinecone back!

"Hey," I call out loud, "can you throw that cone back, please?"

Nothing but silence greets my request. It's as if the person has melted into the forest or that I only imagined someone was there. Maybe it was just an animal, or was the outline I thought I saw just an optical illusion? But wouldn't I have scared off an animal by calling so loudly and then heard it running away? Clearly, it's time to go back to the hotel. Not only am I acting like a three-year-old — I'm obviously hallucinating too.

When my pinecone flies onto the ice right in front of my feet, my heart skips a beat.

"Thank you!" I exclaim peering into the trees.

There’s no answer, but then I see a familiar head of white-blond hair through the leaves. How Hovenberg can be out in this cold without a hat is a mystery to me!

An idea comes to me. But should I?

Indecisively, I bite my lower lip.

Stay away from the Hovenbergs, my grandfather's voice booms in my head.

I hesitate for a moment but then kick the cone high into the air. The next moment I hear cursing and my grin becomes so wide there’s a serious risk my face will explode.

The slender figure of my arch-enemy steps through the trees and stops at the edge of the pond. In his right hand, he’s carrying my new favorite toy as if it were something incredibly disgusting. In the dim light, I see that his face is contorted with rage. His ear-length hair is a bit disheveled.

Did I hit him in the head? Oops! I should probably apologize, but I’ve always loved winding him up, even back at school — he’s cute when he’s angry.

Whoa! Where did that thought come from?

I feel a little heat rising to my face, and I hope the poor light and my cheeks being red from the cold will hide my blush. Instead, I try to keep the defiant grin on my face.

“Have a go if you think you’re tough enough," I tease.

Why am I provoking him? I’ve no idea what I'm doing. I should just apologize and let him go back to the hotel, but as captain, don't I have a responsibility for him? Shouldn’t I at least try to get him on my side — nemesis or not?

Then Hovenberg swings his arm and throws the pinecone at me. I take it deftly with my chest like a soccer player and even manage to bounce it back and forth twice on each knee before it lands on the ice again. Now, that was impressive, even if I say so myself.

Hovenberg hasn’t moved from the edge of the pond. His arms are folded in front of his chest and he’s glaring at me. I'm sure if the light were better, I’d see storm clouds collecting in his eyes. He's so easily provoked. That's why it's so much fun, and why, even in our school days, it was so hard to follow my grandparents' advice.

I kick my recovered cone so that it lands right at Hovenberg's feet, but he doesn't move an inch.

"Is the big bad hockey player suddenly afraid of the nasty ice?" My voice drips with sarcasm.

Nico’s stern expression becomes even darker. If he were an animal, he’d be growling at me by now. In fact, I do hear a rumbling sound, although I'm not entirely sure because of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees.

My nemesis sets a foot on the dark ice surface. He looks totally unsure of himself, and I wonder if he’s never been on natural ice before. I spent half my childhood on frozen ponds like this one. The ice is thick enough for safety which anyone who grew up here should know.

That consideration sparks another recollection of the rumors that were going around at school about him. Supposedly, Hovenberg's father had his own little ice rink built for his son on their property, and if that's true, it must have cost a fortune! My family is one of the richest in the country, but when I once suggested to my grandparents that instead of the tennis courts which nobody used, we could build an ice rink, my grandpa’s reply was to flip me the bird.

Hovenberg puts his second foot on the ice eventually and stands there in his white moon boots, his legs spread wide. His posture looks off. I can't read it for sure, but I wonder whether he’s getting ready to pounce on me, or if he’s just damn scared and trying not to show it.

Then the pinecone shoots across the ice toward me. I stop it with my right foot and shoot it back to Hovenberg. This goes back and forth a few times, but Hovenberg doesn’t move from the edge of the pond.

Is he really that scared?

Until now, I’d made sure the cone always landed at the feet of my impromptu playmate. Now, I decide to make this more of a challenge. I kick the pinecone past him towards an imaginary goal behind him, but Hovenberg skillfully intercepts the cone and flips it back to me just as I did to him. It’s like being back at school as we try to outdo each other.

My mood lifts as we play. It was fun playing on the ice by myself, but it's definitely more fun with two, and the longer we play, the more I forget who I’m having fun with. Forget that I actually hate him. Forget everything that stands between us.

My winter boots are being tested to their limits and my breath is coming out in gasps when all of a sudden, the pinecone flies toward me at an unexpected angle. Without a second thought, I dart to the right and jump to prevent the cone from sailing into my goal, but the ice gives way to snow, and I stumble over the edge of the pond and land in a soft pile. The breath is momentarily knocked out of me by the shocking cold that spreads over my face and trickles down my collar, then laughter takes over.

When was the last time I had this much fun?

I turn onto my back slowly but when I do, the laughter dies in my throat.

I’m alone!

The makeshift ice rink is deserted.

Nico

I hurry away from the dangerous surface of the ice. I’ve just risked my life on it for a stupid game. I made sure to always keep to the edge, but still! My mother would have died of a heart attack and come back as a ghost to kill me if she’d caught me — even before she saw who I was on the ice with.

My breath is becoming ragged as I push my body faster, running as if the devil himself is after me. I just have to get away. Away from him! Away from the unconscious joy in his face as we played! Away from how unbelievably attracted I am to him.

Although my room is on the fifth floor of the hotel, I ignore the elevator. At a pace that absolutely pushes me to my limits, I run up the stairs two at a time. When I pause in front of my room door for the few seconds it takes to swipe my key card over the lock, I almost buckle. There’s an agonizing stitch in my side, too.

I should have known better. I should have paid attention to my breathing, but my mind was focused on escaping from the pond as quickly as possible. I don’t even consider the reason why right now.

The door has barely locked behind me before I unzip my pants as fast as I can and push them down with my underwear. The pain in my side is forgotten as my stiff cock springs out — my mind contracts to one need.

When Miller jumped after the pinecone, I was afraid for a moment that he’d hurt himself. I wondered what our coach would say if we lost our star player because he was messing around with me. Not that I dwelled on these thoughts for long because when Daniel was face down in the snow, his perfect butt was on full display, outlined by his jeans. A very tight pair of jeans. A pair of jeans that showed off his full cheeks almost as well as when ...

I groan out loud as I remember Miller's plump, bare butt in the shower on Monday. How the water ran in gentle streams over his peachy mounds. I bite my lip, imagining what it would be like to nibble on those tempting forbidden fruits.

My right hand has a firm grip on my cock but the pace I’ve set is tantalizingly slow. It takes all my willpower not to jerk myself off hard and fast, but as my mind lingers on the splendor of Miller’s buttocks, my left hand wanders unbidden to my own. I gently stroke over the fleshy globes and slowly my hand slides towards my crack before moving down to the area that I teased with my dildo on Monday morning. The place that made me explode.

As soon as I realize what I’m doing, I quickly pull my hand back. I’m not like that! My mind immediately drifts to my dildo. When I was throwing everything I needed for training camp in my suitcase, my dildo just happened to sneak in. If I unpack it now, surely that would do the job. But should I? Wouldn’t that be like acknowledging I’m perverted?

Instead, I sink to my knees. I close my eyes and imagine being back in the shower at the rink.

Miller and I are alone in the tiled room exactly as before, but this time I don't scurry behind the shower screen. This time, I don’t get as far away from him as possible. This time, the towel I’ve hidden my hard-on behind falls to the floor and I stand proud and erect in the middle of the shower room.

Daniel suddenly opens his eyes and his gaze wanders covetously over my body. A moan comes out of my mouth as I imagine his green-gray eyes examining every inch of me. Then he turns around and stretches the full butt cheeks towards me without his eyes ever leaving mine for a second. His gaze holds an obvious challenge.

Unconsciously, I jerk myself off faster, but I try with all my might to hold back.

Not yet!

When I'm reasonably sure that my body is obeying my command, I let my mind wander to the showers once more.

I take a few short steps forward and then drop to my knees — just as I am now. Some of the water flowing over Miller's muscular body splashes onto me, and a tremor runs through me. It could be the cold air from the locker room, the warm water caressing my skin, the hot body in front of me … who knows?

My hands greedily grab Miller's narrow hips, forcing him to stay still, then I place a gentle kiss right in the middle of his full right butt cheek. The skin is warm and soft. His muscles tense and I feel their power under my lips. My tongue slips out slowly, and I foolishly try to lick the water flowing over his pert mound, but the constant stream from the shower makes it a Sisyphean task. A task that would make me the happiest man in the world if Zeus would order me to do it.

Miller must like what I'm doing because the whimper that comes out of his mouth can be heard over the sound of the drumming water echoing in the bare room.

That's when I realize the whimpering is really coming from my own throat because my hands have taken on a life of their own again. I’m spanking my cock at a merciless pace while my free hand is squeezing my ass cheek brutally.

I want to stop myself. Force myself to let go of my ass. Delay my climax for as long as I can, but it’s too late. The erotic images I’ve conjured have taken me past the point of no return. I feel powerless, at the mercy of my own body. I can't stop myself. I just have to let it happen. My gasp echoes in the room as I push my ass cheek to the side. Cold air caresses the tender skin within, making me tremble, and with a loud cry, I come hot and spurting over my fist.

My high is short-lived, followed as it is by infinite shame, and then the tears flow. I fall forward and lie crumpled just behind the door of my featureless hotel room on the rough, gray carpet. It scratches my knees and face uncomfortably as hot semen and bitter tears drip onto it.

Why am I like this? Why can't I be normal? Why do I have to be into men?

And yet, despite all this self-loathing, I want nothing more than to touch a man in … unspeakable places, or even better, if he’d caress me there. Penetrate me. Take me.

I curl up as desperate sobs shake my body.

At some point — it may have been minutes or hours — I manage to drag myself into the shower. Afterwards, I curl up in bed. I feel burnt out and empty. My head feels like it’s wrapped in cotton wool. Why are these feelings so strong right now? I've always had them under control … haven't I?

The next day is the worst of my life!

First thing in the morning, the head coach made a beeline for me and roasted me good and proper. He was furious that I missed dinner last night. It wasn’t the first time during the training camp that he’s hauled me up for this. I just stood there and let him roar. Remembering I should have been somewhere yesterday at some point was not something my brain was capable of after meeting Miller in the woods and … what happened after.

Things only got worse during the training session this morning. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the golden boy. I was frightened he’d somehow know what I got up to yesterday after our chance meeting. The thought of him knowing I jerk off with him in my head almost makes me choke. I know it's irrational, but my body doesn't seem to understand.

Every move I make is cramped, not a single pass lands where it should, and the sounds echoing round the rink feel strangely muffled. A fact I only realize from the frustrated reactions of my teammates — clearly, I missed a call from one of them.

When practice is over, there’s no sign of our head coach. He must have left the rink at some point without me noticing. That’s never a good sign. Edvardsen is known for yelling at players when they’re letting things slide, so his leaving without doing that is totally uncharacteristic and I should probably be worried.

Before I can sneak off the ice, though, my teammates’ shouts of surprise make me turn my head. The door for the ice-cleaning machine has opened, but instead of the Zamboni waiting there to do its job, Prince Leo and his husband are standing there grinning.

They push strange metal sleds onto the ice with the help of the ice master as Miller skates over to them laughing his head off. Guillaume’s voice booms across the ice that he’s challenging us to a match. Only then do I realize that there is another group of people behind the royal couple, many in wheelchairs.

Finally, the penny drops. Guillaume was part of the French national sledge hockey team, so the other guys must be players of the Terengian national sledge hockey team.

Do they want to play against us now of all times?

Miller lowers himself onto the first sled with so much ease that he’s clearly done it before. So, it looks like we're supposed to play in these things too, and of course, the golden boy has experience! Unlike me. I've never done it before, and after the disastrous training session I’ve just had, the last thing I want to do is make a fool of myself again.

Avoiding eye contact with my teammates, I turn and skate off the ice. Gabriel calls my name, but after I don't respond, he gives up — thankfully. I rush into the locker room, get out of my gear as quickly as I can and leave the rink without showering. Dodging a team activity again is hardly the best move, but what's the worst that can happen? Edvardsen could kick me off the team of course, but if I’m honest, wouldn't that be a mercy?

I know I shouldn’t think like that. This could be my one and only chance to play in the Olympic Games. And without fulfilling that role, there’s little chance I’ll achieve my lifelong dream of playing in the NHL. If I don't manage to pull my head out of my ass soon —

I feel all the color drain from my face. Even thinking about that body part after all my fantasies yesterday makes me feel sick.