Chapter 2 #2
“And that, folks, is what you get when one of the most decorated figure skaters in the world marries into a hockey dynasty.”
“It’s definitely a rare combination, Jared. Trey Malachek possesses all the hockey power of his father and grandfathers as well as all the figure skating grace of his mother, Oksana Petrova, who has more medals and championships to her name than we could list before the puck drops.”
“The power is always there. Trey’s a menace on the ice. The epitome of a two-way player, but it’s when his playful side comes out of hiding, like it just did, that’s when you can really see his mother’s beauty and grace.”
Nothing. Not one motherfucking thing would ever be mine. It didn’t matter what the fuck I did. It belonged to either Mom, Dad, my grandfathers, the team, or the school.
I literally landed a double axel and a backspin in hockey skates in full fucking gear. Not one of my family had ever done that. I did.
Would I ever be or do anything that didn’t get attributed to someone else?
My head down, I headed for the bench, stumbling with my blade guards at the gate before disappearing into the tunnel beyond, despite knowing dinner with my parents after the game would be a nightmare. I needed a moment or twelve.
“Trey!” Coach Grigor yelled, but I ignored him.
Coach Storm said, “Leave him be, Will.” His voice was loud enough that it carried to me.
I ignored him, too. At this point, a fucking week wouldn’t be enough minutes for me to get my head sorted. My gloved hands smacked the locker room door the minute it appeared in front of me. My helmet flew across the room, hitting the back of my cubby and bouncing to the floor.
“Holy fuck!”
My gaze spun across the room and locked on the startled face of Matty, the equipment manager, and I advanced on him. His eyes dropped to my feet, then climbed my legs, to pause at my hips.
“You game?” I asked, my hand cupped over my crotch.
“You’re gay?”
Swearing under my breath, I gave the simple answer because it was the easiest path to what I wanted. “Obviously. You?”
He nodded, then glanced around. “Here?”
A smirk and a shrug accompanied my “Why not?”
“I need this job,” he said while licking his lips and staring at my dick.
“I know a place,” I said, pushing him into the back corner of the showers, away from prying eyes coming in from the tunnel or the bathrooms and offices in the back hallway.
“How…umm…all the gear…”
I smirked and dropped to my knees. “It’s your lucky day,” I murmured, parting the guy’s pants and swallowing him whole.
“Jesus fuck. Definitely my lucky day.”
Coach’s eyes bored into my head when I returned from the locker room. He waved me over, and I sighed. His tablet came to rest behind my head, and he tucked his face between it and my ear.
“That’s a first.”
“The axel?” I asked.
Laughter blew across the side of my head. “Yeah, kid. We’ll go with that, but I think we both know that’s not what I meant.”
“Shit,” I whispered, the word slipping out between barely parted lips. How the hell did I not hear the door? The guy’s cock nearly made me come in my gear but…
“Not the first I’ve seen in the locker room, but usually it’s the other way around,” Storm said with a laugh.
“Fuck,” I sputtered, doing my best to keep my affect as flat as possible since the cameras had the two of us on the jumbotron. “Coach…”
“No worries, kid. I’m queer too. I don’t care who you fuck. However, it does kind of fly in the face of the advice I gave you earlier.”
“I know, Coach, but…umm…”
“Listen, no explanations needed, but if you want, then once we get this game in the win column, you and I can sit down with Coach Grigor to talk. Okay?”
The jumbotron screen split, showing Coach Storm and me, then my parents. I smiled and waved, playing the dutiful, happy son even though I never really filled that role. At least not well.
“Looks like some last-minute game strategy going on between The Storm and the Maulers’ Captain.”
The announcers’ voices cut through the music still playing overhead. I knew those would fade away for me when the puck dropped. And I couldn’t wait.
The last notes of the anthem faded away. Coach Storm nodded at Coach Grigor. “You know the game plan. You know what they’re bringing to the arena. Trust the guys on your line to be where they should be and bring this one home.”
“You heard ‘em, boys. Let’s bury their asses. Maulers on three. One, two, three!”
“MAULERS!” The cries of my teammates mingled together, not synchronized, but definitely a harmony I loved to hear.
I skated from the bench to center ice, settling in on the right wing. I’d given up the center spot for Aiden without complaint. He was the better center. And I played a damn good wing: better on my strong side as most of us were, but I could play just as well offhanded. My father bitched about it—
“I’m so glad your daddy is such a supportive parent.”
I rolled my eyes at the chirp. Will Davies from Rainier was a cunt-faced little bitch who I’d wanted to smack on more than one occasion.
“Oh yeah, why’s that?” I asked, while wishing these assholes would get new, better material.
“Because you play like shit every time he sits his entitled, cheating ass in the stands.”
“Oh, so you’ve met.”
Davies growled, just as the puck dropped, his center taking the face-off.
“Move, asshole, I’ve got a puck to steal.”
“Isaiah, Malachek, you guys have media,” the communications director yelled.
“Fuck.”
“It’s fine. The calls were bullshit,” Isaac said.
A glare landed on his face when I turned to him. “First, no, they weren’t. Don’t fucking lie. I played a shitty, dirty game. We all know it, and so does the media. And two, my fucking father is in town. Do you think he gives a damn about anything other than winning?”
Pity dripped from Isaac’s face for a split second, and I seriously considered punching him in the face, but I wanted to get laid.
After a game like that, getting something soft and pretty under me that wanted me to be gentle and considerate left me soft.
No, I needed big, hard, and manly with a thing for rough sex.
Isaac wasn’t the only guy I could lay pipe to, but he was one of the two handiest since I lived with him and his twin brother, who was also queer.
So, yeah, punching Isaac wouldn’t only close his bedroom door; it would also slam shut Isaiah’s, and vice versa.
Those two were freaking protective of one another.
They’d throw down with each other, but any idiot who stepped up to one or the other was lucky if they didn’t get their teeth kicked in.
So.
Deep, deep, deep breath.
Hold.
Release.
No, I would not be punching Isaac’s fucking face, and not just because I wanted to get laid. I spent nearly half a period in the box tonight after coach told me to quit being a fucking hothead.
My ass left the bench, pulled off the last of my gear, grabbed my shower caddy, and stalked out of the room. The whispers started the minute the room had my back. There was nothing I could do about it. There never was.