No Pucks (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #1)

31. Logan

THIRTY-ONE

LOGAN

“ C an I punch him?”

“ No .”

“At least I’m asking,” I mutter, taking a seat to unlace my skates.

Anthony laughs, and the whole team looks. “What?”

“You’re laughing…” Savage side-eyes me. “He losing it?” he leans over to whisper.

“I’m not losing it.”

“I was whispering. You shouldn’t be able to hear me.”

“You’re six-six, Savage. It’s impossible for you to whisper.” Anthony shakes his head. “It’s not that big of a deal. Calm down.”

“Coach, not to contradict you in front of the team, but you’ve never once laughed in front of us. Some of us were starting to think you’re depressed,” Wolfe says.

“I’m not depressed. I’m serious.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Anthony glares in my direction but doesn’t say anything.

“We’re glad you’re not depressed and also not a cyborg,” Archangel adds. “We were concerned.”

“All of you need to get off the internet—” Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose. “—before you guys keep me on a damn tangent for this entire break.”

“Mental health is important.” Archangel throws his hands up.

“That’s not what I’m saying…” Anthony looks at the ceiling. “We have twenty minutes left in this game. We are down by one goal. I don’t just want to tie this. We need to get two goals and prevent them from scoring. This isn’t the position I wanted to be in, but we’ve been in worse and come back. We’ve done a good job of fighting back, but we need to stop giving them time in the box. Keep it clean. We need to take advantage of as many power plays as possible and be smart with the puck…”

I put one of my headphones in and turn up my music. I go through my play in my mind. I slow my breathing and walk myself through shots, running them over and over in my head until I can taste it.

“Cox, come on.” Ridgeway slaps my shoulder. “Wake up. We need you.”

“I’m not sleeping. I’m visualizing, dickhead.” I sit up and roll my neck.

“It’s okay. We all need a quick nap sometimes.” Savage pushes my shoulder as he walks by.

Ridgeway lingers as I get my skates laced up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

He sits next to me. “My brother isn’t playing like he should be.”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He looks away. “But I’m going to need to rely on you to feed it in to the hole. I’ve talked to the other guys, and they are going to pass it up to you.”

“Why isn’t he out?”

Ridgeway puts a hand on the back of his neck. “He’s not bad. He’s just not with me today. He’s in his head. I don’t know, but we need to win this, and I know you won’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

He holds out his hand, helping me up.

The crowd is deafening as we step onto the ice. I take the left wing and hunker down, eyes glued to the puck.

The ref drops it, and Ridgeway clashes with his opponent. He gets possession and passes it back to Archangel. We sprint to the line while our defense moves it up. I glance over my shoulder, fighting for position, looking for the puck.

Archangel launches it up to me. I cradle it in, giving Ridgeway a minute to set himself up before flicking it to him. His defense slams into him, knocking him forward. Ridgeway grunts but recovers, sweeping around the goal, sending the puck along the wall as his defense fights for it.

My father is screaming something, but I can’t make it out. I glance around to make sure I’m not about to be crashed as I dart for the puck. I pass it to Archangel, and he redirects it to the other Ridgeway, who loses position.

Anthony swears from the bench.

They take a quick shot on goal with their fast break, but Wolfe catches it. We change direction, sprinting back down the ice. I turn ahead of my defense, and Seaborn slaps it down the ice. I lift my stick, bringing the puck down before flipping around, charging the goalie.

I have a second to hold and see Ridgeway coming up and out. I fake a pass to him—his defender is tight, and their goalie falls for it, trying to move to cover us both, giving me just enough open net. I shoot and hold my breath.

The light ignites.

I put my fist in the air, looking right at my father. “Yes.”

He avoids my eyes, switching out a few guys. Anthony makes a couple of changes, calling me in.

“Nice fucking shot, Cox.”

“Thank you.” I grab a water, still breathing hard.

We hold them off from making another goal, but it’s close.

I’m back on the ice, and we have less than a minute to make something happen.

We’re moving the puck, looking for a shot, and Ridgeway on the wing gets it. His defense charges him, knocking him into the glass. His brother snarls, going after the guy, but I grab his jersey as the ref calls it.

“We’re getting a power play. Don’t fuck this up,” I hiss into his ear. “Fight him later.”

Ridgeway stops fighting me, breathing hard.

Their player goes to the box, and Anthony switches out the Ridgeway who got hit to make sure he’s okay. In comes Lovelace. He’s a menacing figure, massive, and the center for our second line.

What the fuck?

“It’s cool. Take the middle and give them hell,” Ridgeway tells Lovelace. Then, he looks at me. “It’s between me and you. Don’t fuck this up.”

Lovelace gets in the middle, and I see what he’s going to do. He’s big enough to play blocker to give us more time on the outside to get a shot off.

We set back up, and the puck is live. Archangel passes it to me, and I barely touch it with my stick before I’m redirecting it to Ridgeway. He takes it but doesn’t shoot. Fuck. He turns around as his defender catches up to him and gives it back to Seaborn. We keep working it around, but the defense keeps crashing the middle, clogging the center.

“We’ve got to spread it out,” I call.

Lovelace nods and gets to the side then darts up, opening some of the center. The defense doesn’t know to do, so he follows, but that prevents them from sliding between us effectively to cover the open man. I get the puck, and as one guy leaves Ridgeway to try and cover, another moves from the top. Still, we’ve caught them off guard. I slap it over to Ridgeway as he breaks for the goal. He redirects the puck midair right at the goal.

Time slows.

The puck ricochets off the goalie’s arm.

Fuck.

But the puck hits the cross bar, and we crash, swiping at the puck. My stick makes contact, flicking the puck. The goalie’s knee comes down but barely misses the puck. It slips in under right over the line.

The light blares.

Ridgeway slams into me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, quickly followed by the rest of the guys on the ice.

“Nice fucking shot,” Anthony says to me when we finally make it off the ice.

I’m sitting in a bar, hours later, piss drunk. We all are. It has been a good night.

But I don’t want to be here. I want to be in bed with Anthony, and that blows my mind. I made the winning shot of the game. The entire school is out celebrating with us, including a ton of people who would love to “reward” my efforts, and I’m the boring guy who wants to be home with his boyfriend. Old me wouldn’t recognize this me.

I don’t need to forget.

It doesn’t even matter if we lose the conference or championship. We’re ranked well, but it’s not as big a deal as this. I’ve wanted to do this to my father as long as I can fucking remember.

Evander sits on the arm of my chair. “I’m shocked you’re still here.”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have a curfew?”

“Mother said I could come find you, and James promised to get me home before midnight.”

James waves from behind my brother.

“Is he happy to have you back in the city?”

“I think? He’s been acting weird,” Evander mutters so James can’t hear him over the music.

“Weird how?”

“Like long hugs. And asking me weird questions. He’s been clingy but also pessimistic.” Evander throws his hands up. “Like Dad is going to kidnap me or something.”

I glance between them. “Does he have a crush on you or something?”

Evander makes a face. “We’ve been friends since pre-school. No.”

“Just checking.”

“He’s like you. He likes older guys, and I like women.”

“That’s what Anthony said too,” I mutter, but Evander doesn’t hear me, because a couple of the guys come over.

Wolfe fist bumps my brother. “Don’t even fucking think about playing for the Monsters next year. We can’t let the player of the year in the youth league go to them.”

“No shit. Go anywhere else, but not to those bastards,” Archangel adds and turns to me. “You better fucking make sure.”

“He won’t.”

“I’ve been thinking about playing for you guys if your coach will have me,” Evander says softly, like he’s shy. He has never been shy a day in his life.

I roll my eyes, but the guys eat it up.

“He’s gonna want you. Who wouldn’t?” Savage butts in.

“Thanks, guys. Like I need my brother out shinning me on my own team,” I tease, winking at Evander so he knows I’m kidding.

“Shit, get better?” Seaborn says. “Every one of us gotta fight for our spot.”

“True dat.” I grab my phone as it vibrates in my pocket.

Anthony: I can ’ t believe you ’ re still out when my dick is waiting for you.

I groan.

Anthony: Reading my messages but not answering… Maybe I should play without you.

A photo comes through, and it’s his beautiful, tattooed knuckles wrapped around his massive cock. I quickly close the messages so no one catches a glimpse. His tattoos are easily identifiable.

I scrub a hand over my face and get up. I need to go taste my boyfriend’s dick. I say my goodbyes.

Ridgeway grabs me before I can escape. “Can we chat?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

He nods toward outside, and we step out of the bar.

“We got to keep an eye on my brother. He’s not doing well. I don’t know if he’s coming down with something or what, but if he keeps playing like this, we’ve got to talk to Anthony.”

“Shit. Okay. What is he sick with?”

“I don’t know. He gets sick a lot. He always has, but this is worse.” Ridgeway glances over his shoulder. “He can’t get kicked off the team, so we have to be careful what we say to Coach. He’s got one year left and no other way to pay for school.”

“Damn. Okay.” A lot of guys can only afford to be here because of scholarships. “How long has it been going on?”

“A couple of weeks. But it rarely lasts this long. He won’t snap out of it.”

“How can I help?”

He kicks the sidewalk. “I don’t know, but we have to get him back before playoffs so he doesn’t get dropped.”

“Have you taken him to the clinic?” I ask, wracking my brain for ideas.

“Twice.”

“Take him again. Maybe it’s mental. See if they can get him a therapist or something.”

His brow creases, but he nods. “That’s a good idea. I know sports psychology can fuck a dude up.”

“Absolutely. Worth looking into.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good dude. Have fun with your mystery boyfriend.”

I lift my brows. “How do you know I have a boyfriend?”

“You haven’t gone home with a single person since the season started. I’ve heard about you from other guys. You used to be the king of hookups. That doesn’t just flip over night. Plus, we can all tell by midnight you’re itching to get out of here.” He laughs, releasing me. “We aren’t mad. Good for you, but you don’t need to hide it from us. You should bring him to meet the team sometime.”

I nod and laugh, because what the fuck can I say? “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“Good game.”

“You too.”

I text Anthony I’m on my way and decide to walk. It’s a nice night, and I need to decide how much about the Ridgeway issue I want to tell him, or if I should at all. Where should my loyalties lie? Is it okay to keep things from my boyfriend when they involve him as a coach?

This is a complication I didn’t expect.