Chapter 33
Mickey
W here the hell have the last three months gone? I swear I blinked, and then poof, New Year’s, my January of misery, Abby and Gail, the pregnancy—it’s all blurring together. Each event highlighted by the way it’s made me feel, and the fact that I’m going to be a dad is by far the best of all the things that’s happened in such a short time.
Me, a dad, to a little baby girl.
Fuck me!
Most of the time, I can barely believe it. But since we got the news three days ago, when I go to sleep with Gail in my arms and my fingers in her pussy, there’s no denying how overwhelmingly right it is. With her sandwiched between me and Soren, I know I’ve found my family.
As I lace up my skates, I grin as I think about how fucking perfect life is right now.
“Hey, Mick, you spacing out on us?” Sawyer’s voice booms, snapping me back.
“Just thinking about Gail,” I grunt, giving him an eye roll.
“Ah, the soon-to-be mama,” he winks. “How’s she holding up now that she knows the kid’s yours?”
“Ours,” I snap. “She’s all of ours.” I don’t need to say Soren’s name for Sawyer to know what I mean.
“Man, you’re glowing more than she is,” Soren chuckles as we walk onto the rink.
“Fuck off, Soren.” But I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. Truth is, I can’t remember feeling this hopeful for the future. Used to be I’d see a glass as half empty with a good chance of shattering.
Now? It’s like I’m learning the glass can be refilled or some philosophical crap like that.
The ice beneath my blades is a blank slate. Each carve, each cut into the frosty surface, a testament to the grind of the season. We, the Sabertooths, have already clinched a spot in the Stanley Cup playoffs, so even though we still have two games left, one home and one away, we’re in it.
“Keep your heads in the game!” Coach bellows from the bench, the echo bouncing off the rink walls like a warning shot. I take a breath, let it cloud in front of me. This is it—push hard or go home.
Practice winds down, bodies slamming against the boards, pucks ricocheting like rapid-fire. It’s controlled chaos, a symphony of grunts and shouts, the scrape of steel on ice—a sound that’s become my pulse. Tomorrow night, we face the New Jersey Jaguars, and shit, if there wasn’t bad blood brewing before, there sure as hell is now.
Jared Frank. Just thinking his name makes my blood sizzle, my grip tightening around my stick. He’s the face I picture when I’m throwing punches at shadows, the ghost of betrayal that fuels my drive. Used to be he and I would tear up the ice together, but that’s a memory as cold and dead as the stare I plan to give him when we line up on opposite sides.
“Nice hustle out there,” I grunt to the rookie as we clear the ice, the tension in my gut winding tighter than a triple overtime.
The locker room hums with the energy of warriors prepping for battle, the stench of sweat an oddly comforting perfume.
“Frank’s gonna eat shit,” Soren says, slapping my back, his voice a growl of solidarity.
“Let’s make sure he chokes on it,” I shoot back, a smirk twisting my lips.
The room vibrates with nods and muttered agreements, a pack ready to defend its territory. But for me, it’s more than just a game. It’s redemption. It’s proving that the past doesn’t get to write my future.
“Yo, Mick, think you can keep it in your pants long enough to score on the ice tomorrow?” one of my teammates shouts as he chucks a tape roll at me, his shit-eating grin as wide as the goal Soren guards like a damn fortress.
“Only if you promise to quit hogging the puck like it’s your last meal,” I shoot back, catching the roll and tossing it into my bag. I zip it up with a satisfying rasp, feeling the camaraderie of the locker room wrap around me like a second skin.
“Boys, boys,” Soren interjects, his voice that deep rumble that commands attention even when he’s not decked out in pads and helmet. “We all know I’ll be the one to save the day when I block all their pathetic goal attempts.”
“Alright, wrap it up!” Coach bellows from the doorway, his whistle clenched between teeth that have seen too many hockey fights. “Focus on tomorrow. We win as a team, we lose as a team. Don’t forget that.”
“There’ll be no fucking losing tomorrow,” I mutter under my breath as we file out of the locker room.
The drive home is quiet, the kind of silence that’s heavy with anticipation. Soren’s hands grip the wheel like he’s strangling the life out of an opponent’s scoring chances—not that anyone gets past “The Wall” easily.
“Frank’s gonna be gunning for you, Mick,” Soren says, breaking the stillness. His green eyes flick to me briefly, a silent question hanging between us.
“Let him come,” I reply, leaning back against the leather seat as a cold smile stretches across my lips.
Normally, I’m a fucking mess when it’s time to face the Jags, especially since we’re pretty equally matched. But this year, it’s all overshadowed by the fact I’m going to be a dad, and this time, no one can take it from me. It’s mine.
Home finally greets us, and our pre-game rituals kick in. For most, it’s superstitions—lucky socks, a specific playlist. Getting our shit ready, eating like there’s no tomorrow… the works. Although Gail isn’t really a part of this, I’m disappointed when she doesn’t join us for dinner. I know she’s here, her car is in the driveway. But if she’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her up.
I’m pacing the living room, restless energy coursing through me. My mind is a whirlwind of strategies and plays, but it’s the image of Jared Frank’s smug face that gets my blood boiling. I need something to take the edge off, to center me before tomorrow’s game.
Okay, maybe I’m not as calm as I thought.
“Hey guys.” Gail’s voice slices through my thoughts. She waltzes into the room like a vision straight out of every man’s fantasy. Her see-through outfit leaves nothing to the imagination, her skin glowing like she’s been kissed by the gods themselves. Her belly, with the smallest hint of a swell, draws my attention.
Yeah, she’s fucking popped. I’ve heard it can happen overnight, but until I saw it for myself, I didn’t believe it.
“Damn, sweetheart,” I rasp, my silver eyes drinking in every inch of her. The sight of her, so confident and sensual, strikes a chord within me, one that harmonizes perfectly with the anticipation simmering in my veins.
“Thought you could use some help with your… pre-game rituals,” she says, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a knowing smile.
“Help?” Soren echoes from the couch, his tone laced with amusement and intrigue. “How much is that going to set us back?”
Gail pouts, striding over to us with the grace of a panther on the prowl. “It’s on the house tonight. I’m here to service you both,” she declares, her blue eyes shining with a mix of mischief and desire. “And I aim to please.”
Soren’s grin spreads across his face, devilish and delighted. “Well, we can’t let such an offer go to waste, can we?”
“Fuck no,” I agree, my body reacting instinctively to the promise in her words. This is Gail— our Gail—offering herself as the key to our focus, our success on the ice.
“Good,” she purrs, reaching out to trace a fingertip along my jawline, sending sparks of heat down my spine. “Because I plan on making sure you two are more than ready for tomorrow’s game.”
Her hands travel down my chest with a promise only she can make, teasing the hem of my t-shirt before slipping underneath. The touch of her fingertips against my skin is like fire, setting every nerve ending ablaze. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I catch Soren’s green-eyed gaze, his own arousal mirrored there.
“Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable,” I suggest, voice rough with need.
Shaking her head, Gail does a twirl so the skirt of her dress, if you can call it that, flares up above her hips. It’s the color of the Sabertooths, and on each tit, covering the nipple, are mine and Soren’s player numbers. The dress is held together by straps that are tied in a bow around her neck, and the v-cut is so deep her tits are close to spilling out.
Fucking perfect.
As we move closer to her, both reaching out at the same time, she drops to her knees and licks her lips as she beckons us closer. When we’re within reach, she wastes no time cupping both of our erections, squeezing them through our sweats.
“Gail!” I rasp.
“Such a good whore,” Soren praises, his breath hitching as she frees his hard cock from his pants and briefs in one movement. She pumps it a few times while looking up at him from beneath her long, dark eyelashes.
Then she turns her attention to me, lifting my shirt up so she can rest her forehead against my stomach while she pushes my sweats and briefs down. “What do we have here?” she asks excitedly, kissing her way down my happy trail all the way to the base of my throbbing cock. Just as I think she’s about to lick the head, she turns her attention back on Soren, licking the length of him from head to base, where she kisses his tattoo. “Tell me what you need for your rituals.” There’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice, like she isn’t sure what we need from her.
As much as I want to spend all night fucking her, that should be reserved for after tomorrow’s game, when we’ve won. Tonight is about the release more than the pleasure. “Make us come with your mouth, sweetheart,” I rasp.
“We’ll take care of you after,” Soren groans like he’s already imagining tasting her arousal.
Wrapping her hand around both of us, she shakes her head. “Nuh-uhh. Tonight is about you two, and if you win tomorrow, you get to unwrap your present. But not before.”
Fuck me, is she perfect or what!
All thoughts dissipate as she takes me into her hot mouth, snaking her tongue around my throbbing head while she pumps Soren’s cock with fast and hard strokes. She alternates between us until my nuts tighten, and I know I’m just about to erupt.
“Gail!” I groan, tangling my fingers in her hair, forcing her to swallow my entire length.
She continues to stroke Soren while I fuck her mouth, and she lets me, not even complaining as she gags and splutters when I force my way down her throat. I come with a roar, shooting my entire load down her throat.
“Thank you for letting me service you,” she says, bashfully wiping her mouth.
Before I can answer, Soren pats her head. “Such a good whore,” he groans.
Then she turns all her attention on him, sucking him until he unloads in her hot mouth. “Thank you for using your whore,” she says, looking up at him through watery eyes.
Her makeup is smeared, tears have streaked down her cheeks, and there’s a bit of cum on her cheek. But fuck me, she’s never looked more perfect.
“You did good, whore,” Soren says, sounding benevolent.
I don’t know what the fuck just happened, but I feel like something is changing inside me. The more I look at Gail, the more awestruck I become. This woman is… she’s mine—ours.