Chapter 34 Wolfe
THIRTY-FOUR
WOLFE
None of us is in the right state for a game, and it’s not going well. The Monsters are up on us after the second period by one fucking goal, and no one is playing well. I’m mad at myself and mad at our defense for letting them double-team me.
Something must have happened between Seaborn and Ktytor because the Monster’s star center is clearly getting to him.
Ktytor has always gotten under Seaborn’s skin, but he’s handled it a lot better this year, and now it’s all falling apart.
Archangel is an amazing D player, but no one in the Myth League can keep up with Ktytor except Seaborn.
And on top of that, both teams are at each other’s throats.
Ridgeway and his defender get into it, and they are throwing punches. They both get thrown in the box. It’s getting more volatile by the second. I’m left waiting for it to erupt.
Solace gets tripped into the boards, and he’s pissed. He doesn’t get a call, the refs either missed it or are so fed up with both teams they aren’t calling shit.
Great.
Solace is already a fucking hot head, and we have enough players losing their cool. I try to catch Coach’s eye to get him to give Solace a break, but he’s already yelling about something, and Coach Hawke is not a yeller.
On the next play, Solace takes down the guy from behind.
A bit of a dick move, but he deserves it, and of course the refs call that one, so he’s in the box and we’re a man down.
Ktytor and Seaborn are fighting for position while the Monsters move the puck around, trying to make me move enough for an easy point.
I’m shocked our teams haven’t broken out in blows yet.
One of their players gets around Ciro because Archangel is out on a break. I come out and check him, but he flicks the puck to Ktytor, who puts it right in the opposite corner. I never had a fucking chance.
I curse, enraged at how we’re playing, but don’t have time to even process it before Ktytor and Seaborn are going at each other. Ktytor pulls out some fucking martial arts throw, slamming Seaborn onto the ice. I cringe. That is going to fucking hurt tomorrow.
The refs don’t even give him a fucking misconduct. They call it like a normal fight. The whole team is irate, but if Ktytor is off the ice for five minutes, maybe we can pull something out of our asses.
We score and start to play more like a team. But it’s down to the wire.
Coach Hawke calls a timeout with two minutes left.
Archangel asks Seaborn if he needs a break from Ktytor, but he won’t allow it. I just need him not to lose his cool.
Against all odds, Archangel steals the puck, and the team takes off down the ice. He’s ahead of the pack and doesn’t have anyone to pass it up to so he keeps going, facing off against Mark.
Somehow, Ridgeway appears out of nowhere, and Archangel gets off a pass.
Mark won’t have enough time to change directions.
I wait for Ridgeway to slow, but instead of trying to change directions, Mark launches himself off Archangel, using the momentum to change direction and check Ridgeway.
Archangel cracks his head on the ice, and I’m sprinting out of the goal.
Mark is fucking mine. I don’t even make it all the way down the ice before he’s out of the goal and throwing down his gloves.
“Want a piece of me, shitbag?” Mark says when I get closer.
I charge him, decking him right in the face. He falls back but doesn’t stay down. Good. I’d be fucking disappointed.
He swings at me, but I grew up fighting off other kids and methheads for scraps, so I dodge it easily. Survival was learning to box as early as I could stand. I deck him in the jaw, then nail him in the chest to knock him over.
This time, he stays fucking down.
“Touch him again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”
Mark laughs while the refs help him up.
Other players take our penalty, but Mark is taken out of the game, replaced by his backup, but with less than a minute left, we can’t make anything happen.
We lose, and I’m pissed.
Pissed at Mark.
Pissed at myself.
Coach doesn’t keep us long. He’s disappointed, but he’s not the type of guy to go off. I’m sure we’ll hear all about how disappointed he is at practice tomorrow.
I take my time in the shower, not ready to face the team.
The locker room is empty when I come out with my towel wrapped around my waist. I stand in front of my cubby, just processing.
“Are you okay?” Archangel asks quietly, startling me.
I grab my chest. “Fuck. You can’t sneak up on me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” He puts a hand on my arm. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like shit.
“What did the trainer say?”
“Mild concussion.”
“Fuck.” I groan. “How long are you out for?”
“At least two weeks.”
“That takes us basically to the ECAC conference final?” Shit. Without Archangel, we might not make it to the championship game let alone win our conference.
“I’ll at least be back for the Frozen Four. Which we should qualify for.”
“Maybe. And what if we don’t qualify?” Most players are cleared in two or three weeks, but what if it’s worse? “How do you feel?”
“I have a headache.”
“Let me get dressed, and I’ll take you home.” I grab my towel, but he stops me.
“We’ve never been alone in the locker room like this.”
“Yes, we have.”
What is he talking about?
“Not since we started hooking up.” He tugs at my towel, but I grab his hand.
“You have a concussion.”
“That doesn’t make my mouth not work.”
“I don’t think that much head movement is recommended.”
“Are you a doctor now?” He fights my grip.
“How can you possibly be horny with a headache?”
“My love for your cock knows no bounds.” He looks up at me with his beautiful blue eyes, and I almost give in.
My dick hardens under my towel, and he looks triumphant. “That doesn’t mean yes!” I back up.
“I’m injured, and you’re so mean!”
“Right, caring about your brain damage is mean.” I take my clothes to change somewhere else.
“At least let me watch.”
“Are you going to behave?”
He pouts. “Yes…if you promise to fuck me when we get home.”
“I am not fucking you, but if you’re up for it, I will make you come.”
“How are you going to make me come without fucking me?” He acts like we haven’t had sex multiple other ways.
“I have hands and a mouth.”
His eyes go wide. “What?”
“You heard me.” I drop my towel and let him watch me get dressed.
Despite it being a short walk, we get a car back to our place. He lays his head on my shoulder and is nearly out in the three-minute drive. He gets out of the car and trips.
Shit.
I catch him, looking into his eyes. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No. They said dizziness is a normal side effect.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Look it up when we get inside.” He tries to get out of my hold, but I pick him up.
“What the fuck? I can walk!”
“I’m not risking you biting it on the ice and hitting your head on the fucking concrete.
” I shift his weight as I walk up the front stairs so I can type in our code.
Once inside, I take him right to my room; I don’t need to have him trying to navigate the stairs in a few minutes.
“Are you hungry? Can I make you something?”
He shakes his head and winces. “No, I’m too dizzy to eat now.”
“What can I do?”
“Get me some water and Advil.”
I feel fucking helpless, but at least this is something. I return to find him curled up, laying on his side. He sits up and takes the pills with some help and then lays back down.
“Want me to leave so I’m not moving you around?”
He reaches out a hand for me. “Stay with me, please.”
“Of course.” I take his hand, letting him pull me into bed.
“Your knuckles are so bruised.” He brings my hand closer to his face, examining it in the low light. “Did you get hit with a puck?”
“No.” I grin, because I earned those bruises, and I’m going to enjoy them.
He narrows his eyes at me. “How did you hit Mark hard enough to do this?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” I laugh, and he does, too.
“How are you going to fucking play?” He pulls my arm around him.
“It was fucking worth it. Too bad he won’t be bruised for the wedding.”
He laughs harder, then grabs his head. “Fuck, it hurts to laugh.”
“You need to sleep.”
He’s quiet for a while, then curls against me and mutters, “I’m not going to forget about what you said.”
“What did I say?” I’m pretty sure I know, but I have to check.
“About your mouth.”
“When you feel better,” I say, and just as he’s drifting off, my phone rings.
What could my fucking father want?