Chapter 15 Archangel
FIFTEEN
ARCHANGEL
Wolfe corners me in the locker room.
“Can we not do this here?” I don’t want to show weakness before the game.
Wolfe gestures toward one of the empty training rooms. I follow him in and shut the door.
“What do you not want me to say in front of the team?” Wolfe asks, crossing his arms.
“I just don’t think it’s good to look like we are divided before this game. Especially with the Seaborn issue. What if he can’t keep up with Ktytor or doesn’t?”
“Do you really think he’d do that?” Wolfe considers it.
“We don’t know. What if Ktytor is in his head?”
“What if he’s in Ktytor’s head?” Wolfe counters.
“Do you really think that’s the way it’s going to go? Ktytor is a dick.”
“You’re right, he’s going to eat our sweet baby alive.” Wolfe takes a seat on one of the patient tables. “You’re going to have to take Ktytor if he can’t hack it.”
“It’s on me and you if he can’t handle it.” I didn’t want to think about it. We’d need to crash him every time he gets near the goal if Seaborn is off his game.
“He’s a great fucking shot. It will take all three of us to keep him shut down.” Wolfe looks at his hands, and I’m nervous. If he gets in his head, we’re really fucked. The soda water incident could already destroy his fragile state of mind.
“I know. How is Ridgeway?” I ask, knowing the entire team is in shambles.
“Depends on if Coach puts Forest in.” Wolfe tips his head back, rolling his neck. “This season is going to be a disaster unless we all get our heads out of our asses.” He’s right. But how do I agree without saying we might be half the problem.
“I know.”
“You changed rooms.”
“Talk about hitting me while I’m down.” I don’t look at him. I can’t.
“You? I had static panic this morning, and then my emotional support person fucking switched rooms on me.” His words stab my heart.
“That was yesterday.”
“It’s all game weekend so it counts.”
I’ve gone over and over in my head how to explain this to him since I asked Coach Hawke to switch us.
“I’m just trying to make this look less bad.” The words burst out before my brain catches up.
“What are you talking about? Why would anyone think we’re bad? Ktytor is fucking the enemy! At least we’re on the same team.”
“If it gets out to the rest of the team.” I keep going, but nothing comes out right. “I don’t want to be the reason we lose.”
He frowns and doesn’t speak right away. I stay quiet, letting him process. “What we do doesn’t have anything to do with them?!”
“You know how finicky those bitches are.” How the fuck does he not see that if this comes out, the team will blame every win or loss on how we are? We need at least a little separation.
“I don’t want every fucking thing put on me.”
“You of all people should know how superstitious the guys are. Can’t you see how they will take any micro act between us—”
He cuts me off. “The entire team can shove it and put it on themselves.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything else because he throws open the door and stomps out.
This game is going to be a disaster.
The game isn’t going as bad as I expected it to.
Seaborn is all over Ktytor, shutting him down almost entirely.
Wolfe and I take care of the rest of their offense, and Boston is getting more frustrated by the minute.
Being on defense has never been so satisfying.
The only thing I’d like more would be if I could score on Mark.
The stuff with Wolfe feels like his fault, and taking out my sister’s life-long shittiness to me on him probably isn’t healthy, but it feels good right now.
At least Wolfe’s mood seems to have improved. He’s wearing a massive smile under his mask. The closer we get to winning, the more physical Boston gets, but the team seems to be handling it well, keeping them shut down.
We sit in the locker room, and Wolfe strips to just a towel and heads to the showers, which isn’t good. He goes to the shower to fix his headspace, but not in a healthy way.
That mother fucker better not be. I hesitate. He’s going to be mad if I yell at him, but can I really let him go hurt himself?
I force myself off the bench and stalk into the showers. There’s no doors on the showers, and I glance side to side, looking for which stall he’s hiding in.
“You better not be smoking in here,” I call and then freeze.
Wolfe freezes too, mid-stroke with his massive hand on his rock-hard cock. His eyes snap open, but he doesn’t drop his dick. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see him hesitate, but only for a second, then he rolls his hand over his thickness.
What the fuck is he doing?
There’s no expression on his face except lust.
“Do you want to see me cum”—his voice hitches—“or are you going to let me finish in peace?” His words are barely more than a moan.
I don’t want to leave. I have to.
“Finish,” I say against all my good judgment.
His brow ticks up, but he keeps going, squeezing his cock.
To my shock, he doesn’t close his eyes. He keeps them locked on mine. The heat already creeping up my throat flushes to my cheeks. The corners of his lips quirk up.
I can’t take the judgment I feel from him, but I know I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t watch. I drop my focus to his perfect dick. It’s better than I could have imagined. He was right when he said it’s proportional, even in his massive hands his cock looks big.
He rubs his thumb through his pre-cum, spreading it over his tip.
My ears ring and time slows down. I cannot believe I’m just standing here watching and he’s letting me. Blood rushes to my cock, and I’m painfully hard in a second.
He’s rough with himself, and it flexes his arms, giving me the perfect view of his beautiful body. He’s so fucking hot. I might explode just watching him.
He rolls his hips, thrusting into his grip. My mouth waters and I’ve never wanted to be on my knees more.
It’s not long before his body flexes and tightens on the edge of pleasure. He gasps, stroking himself in rhythmic movement with his hips.
If he doesn’t want to continue with hockey, he could make a fortune on OnlyFans. Hell, I’m willing to spend my entire inheritance to watch him for another hour.
He grunts deep in his chest, then lets slip a moan, and he erupts, spilling cum all over his hand and abs. Finally, his eyes close, and his head falls back.
My cock is so hard under my cup, I’d barely need to touch myself to get off. I want so badly to lower down and clean him up, but I can’t cross that line.
He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks the cum off them.
What is he doing?
“I needed that.”
“Why?” I don’t even know why I ask.
He gives me a look, like I should know.
“I haven’t been with anyone in weeks.”
I swallow hard. “Me either.”
He trails his gaze down my body. “You should really take care of that. It helps.” Turning into the water, he rinses off before reaching around me to grab his towel, almost brushing against me.
I remember I have legs, and step back, giving him more space. What do I even say?
“We need to get back on the ice,” Wolfe says like nothing happened.
“Right.”
“Should I tell coach you need another minute?” Wolfe says suggestively.
“No,” I say, adjusting before following him back to the locker room.
The third period starts, and Boston plays like a different team. Not only are they physical, but they are all talking shit. I laugh, knowing this is their usual crap. Coach pulls our line out for a quick break, but Ridgeway gets in my face, not letting me sit down.
I hold out my hands. “Can you move?”
“Are you shitting me?” he snarls, putting his helmet right next to mine.
“What’s your problem?” I square up to him.
“Ace said you’re sucking Wolfe’s dick.”
I blink, processing what he’s saying, then it clicks. Ace is Mark’s last name. I knew that mother fucker would talk shit.
What can I even say to him? If I deny it, what will he do? I’ve never thought he was homophobic, just a dick. But I don’t know.
“Why are you letting the fucking Monsters get in your head?” I shove past him and grab a water bottle before saying, “And I can suck anyone’s dick I like.” I take a seat.
He grunts, scowling.
We’re put back in, and everything goes downhill fast. On top of Mark talking trash, something lit a fire in Ktytor, and he’s dominating Seaborn. I don’t know if Ridgeway has an issue with me or what, but he and Forest are completely out of sync.
Wolfe doesn’t even know what’s going on, but Ktytor scores on him.
We’re tied with six minutes to go.
Ktytor gets the puck, and I shove off my player, going to help Seaborn crash. We both slam into him as he fires off a shot. Wolfe shifts in the wrong direction.
Fuck.
He corrects, throwing out a glove, but he’s not going to get there in time.
In a feat of physics, he knocks the puck just hard enough to not allow it in.
Wolfe growls triumphantly, like the truly terrifying beast he is on the ice, while keeping control of the puck. He locks eyes with me and smiles, passing it over. I take the puck, spinning around the Monster’s player, before sending it to Cox.
A flicker of hope ignites in my chest as we all watch Forest take the puck and slap it toward the goal. Mark gets his hand up easily, poised to block, but instead of knocking it away, he doesn’t fully block, deflecting it into the goal.
The light goes off, and we all wait for the last few seconds to count down. I throw a fist in the air, and Wolfe slams into me, pressing his face into the side of mine as he picks me up.
“Everyone is watching,” I whisper, but Wolfe ignores me.
He finally lets me go, setting me on the ice, and we go to shake the Monsters’ hands. They glare and snarl in the line like we were the ones who played dirty.
“Sore fucking losers,” I mutter when I get to Mark at the end of the line, giving him a fake smile.
He rolls his eyes and refuses to shake my hand, bypassing me for Wolfe. If I cared, I could get him in trouble with the league, but I don’t need my sister going to my parents or to give Steph more reason to harass me about Wolfe.
I skate toward the exit and step off the ice, glancing behind me to find Wolfe, but he’s still locked hand in hand with Mark.
The fuck?
Finally, they release each other, and Wolfe comes toward me.
“What was that?” I ask when he’s close enough.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing.” I block the way to the locker room.
“He’s going after you next game.”