Chapter 11
JACK
Again. We did this again.
On the way to the rink the next morning, Devon’s laughter carried from a few rows behind me on the bus.
He was chirping and carrying on with the other guys, and though he was no louder than anyone else—especially guys like Hairs and Lens—every time he spoke, his voice ricocheted off my senses like a puck hitting the boards.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and bit back some curses. It was like fucking Groundhog Day with Devon, and I didn’t know how to talk myself out of it. This had to stop. It had to. Again.
Maybe what needed to happen was a reality check. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself alone with Devon, but for God’s sake, something had to give.
So once we were at the rink and the guys were gearing up for the morning skate, I called out over the noise, “Devs.” When he turned my way, I jerked my head toward the hallway.
I thought some color left his face, but he schooled his expression and clomped toward me, still fussing with his elbow pads as he walked.
“Yeah, Coach?” he asked, and I wondered if I imagined the emphasis on Coach. As if he were reminding me who and what we were and where we were.
I gestured for him to follow me. The visitors’ locker room had a couple of rooms designated for temporary offices or other uses by away teams, and I let us into the first one.
“What are you doing?” he demanded as soon as the door was closed. “Someone’s going to—”
“No one knows anything,” I snapped. “I pull players aside all the time. No one has any reason to suspect this is different.” The uneasiness in his expression gave me pause, though, and I asked, “Do they?”
Devon shifted his weight. “They, uh…”
Ice formed along the length of my spine. Stepping closer—but not too close—I lowered my voice. “Does someone know?”
He swallowed and met my gaze. “Claus figured it out.”
My knees almost dropped out from under me.
“He’s cool, though,” Devon said quickly. “He told me because he didn’t want us to get caught or something. He’s good.”
“Still. He knows. And… Look, it shouldn’t matter going forward because there can’t be anything for anyone to know about. We can’t do this.”
“We shouldn’t. We’ve known that from the start.”
“I know. But this time… Devon, we really can’t.” I glanced toward the door, then lowered my voice a bit more. “Listen, a lot of people on high in Vancouver have their eye on you right now.”
He stiffened, eyes widening. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that when a defenseman inevitably gets hurt—hell, when one so much as gets a hangnail—I would bet my left nut they’ll be asking for you.”
His lips parted. “They… really?”
“Yes. Which means you need to shine on the ice. And you’re already doing that. But you need to keep your nose clean off the ice, too.”
He gulped. “So… not fooling around with my coach.”
“Exactly.”
Devon nodded slowly, chewing his lip.
“I won’t pretend I don’t want you,” I said, barely whispering, “but I can’t be the reason your career gets derailed.”
Avoiding my gaze, he nodded again. “I, uh… I appreciate that.”
“So we’re on the same page, then. We’re going to cool it. For real this time.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”
“All right.” I gestured toward the door. “You should finish getting your gear on.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he looked right at me. Though we were the same height, I hadn’t put on my skates yet. He had, and they pushed him to just above my eye level. I hated how much I liked that. How much I wanted to be looking up at him.
Devon’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You know we shouldn’t do this. But if I texted you tonight and told you to jack off for me… you would.”
“Then don’t text me.” I tried for irritated but it came out pleading. “Please, Devon. Something tells me you’re a lot stronger here than I am.” I swallowed hard. “Don’t. Text me.”
The nod was subtle, but there.
He still didn’t move.
I shifted my weight. “Devon…”
“I’m not going to do something you don’t consent to,” he said softly.
“If you don’t want me to text, I won’t.” He inclined his head a little.
“But there’s something here”—he gestured at himself, then me—“that you keep coming back for even when you know you shouldn’t.
Maybe you should think about what that is. ”
I searched his light-brown eyes. “Why do I feel like you know the answer?”
“Because I do. And I think you do, too.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t fucking breathe.
“I need to finish putting on my gear.” Devon brushed past me. “I’ll see you on the ice.”
Then he was gone. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I needed to put on my skates, too, but first…
First, I needed a goddamned minute.
He’d hit the nail right on the head. Yes, there was something I needed from him. Something he gave me as if it were the most natural thing and not some nebulous, undefined craving I couldn’t articulate.
The first time he’d put me on my knees, my whole world had felt right in ways it never had. When he made me call him “Sir,” it gave me a thrill I’d never known before. When he got himself off on camera while my rock-hard dick was painfully neglected, he’d taken me higher than I’d ever been.
I didn’t know how to spell out to someone else what it was I needed or why I needed it. I didn’t even know how to explain it to myself. Since when had I wanted someone to bark orders at me or call me a “good boy”?
Since for-fucking-ever—I just didn’t know it.
Out in the hall, skates clomped on the floor. Voices carried through the wall.
Fuck. I needed to get my head together and my skates on. This weird dynamic with Devon could wait. The Abbotsford Grizzlies could not.
Practice went well enough. The team was gelling better than before, and they were adapting to the systems I was steadily implementing.
That last part wasn’t super difficult—their previous coach’s system had basically been “just go get pucks in the net or whatever.” Mine weren’t complicated but had more direction and structure than that.
These guys were hardly new to hockey, and they’d all played under numerous coaches, so they knew how to adapt to how we each ran our teams.
I’d worried on the way to the ice that Devon’s concentration would be off thanks to our conversation. I should’ve waited until after practice. Or after tonight’s game.
Way to go, Jack—fuck up your best defenseman’s head right before he has to play. Coach of the Year, right here.
But Devon was dialed in. All through the board battles, special teams, and shootout, he was laser-focused. He even got the puck past Saffron during the shootout; I made a note to put him on the list of shooters if a game came down to that.
Practice ended, and we returned to the hotel. In a conference room, the team reviewed film. I was impressed with our video coach; Tori was thorough as hell, compiling detailed analyses of our opponent’s strategies and our own areas that needed improvement.
“Blue liners, I cannot stress enough…” She looked pointedly at some of the guys. “Do not pinch against this team. They will get an odd-man rush. Guaranteed.”
On the screen, she showed a montage of Laval against various opponents. In each, an opposing defenseman left the blue line to make an offensive push, and in each, Laval immediately took advantage and broke out. Most of them resulted in scoring chances. Three resulted in goals.
“I don’t care how many opportunities you see,” she said. “Let your forwards do their job, and stay back in case there’s a turnover. Don’t hand them a chance to get behind you.”
Vadim, the goalie coach, chuckled from where he stood beside me along the wall. “Any goals against after one of you idiots pinches?” He pointed at Saffron and Lens. “You’re buying them dinner. Both of them.”
“What?” Leaps—Markuss Liepa, one of the bottom two defensemen—scoffed. “Shouldn’t they buy us dinner for letting the goal in?”
“Not if the scoring chance was your fault,” Vadim said flatly.
Leaps huffed. His D partner, Jan Adamcik, laughed and elbowed him. They exchanged something snarky that I didn’t catch.
“So are we clear?” Tori asked the blue liners. “We’re not going to pinch tonight?”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement. Chances were, they would pinch, though; especially the offensive defensemen like Devon and Leaps weren’t going to be able to resist the chance to add offensive pressure.
Leaps would probably be buying dinner for the goalies. Devon—well, he might actually make the risk of pinching pay off.
We’d find out tonight.
Tori wrapped up her session, and everyone was dismissed.
“Buses leave at four,” Amy called after them as they filed out of the room. “If you’re not on it, it’s a long walk!” She said it playfully, but there was an edge of seriousness too.
I turned to her. “Is missing the bus an issue?”
Groaning, she rolled her eyes. “Three times this season, we’ve had guys oversleep their pregame naps.
” She shook her head as we followed the players out of the conference room.
“Luckily they were able to Uber, and they can in this town too. But like, this is the minors—some of the towns we play in don’t exactly have robust rideshare systems.”
Tori fell into step beside us and took her wife’s hand. “It’s like none of them have alarm clocks in their pockets 24/7.”
“I know, right?” Amy tsked. “I’m going to start asking hotels to do wake-up calls, I swear.”
I chuckled. “They’re just getting their beauty sleep!”
She grumbled and rolled her eyes again. Tori patted her arm, and they headed for the hotel’s coffee shop while I continued toward the elevator.