Chapter 22 Nico
nico
The cold air bit my lungs. Warrior Arena was packed with twenty thousand fans, and the noise engulfed me. The TV lights were too bright, and the ice was so clean it looked artificial. My body was on high alert, exactly how it should be before puck drop.
It wasn’t long until the announcer called out the Warriors’ starting lineup, which would be their second line.
Pack’s line. After the anthem, I took my position opposite Holcomb for the faceoff.
The ref stepped up, then hesitated and waved Holcomb out.
Grinning, he motioned for Pack to take Holky’s place.
Fuck the ref. When they’re in on something, you can’t win.
Pack glided in, set his stick, and looked down. I did the same, because if I didn’t focus, I’d embarrass myself on national TV.
The puck hit the ice, and I was half a second too slow. Pack snapped it to Holcomb, who sent it right back.
As Pack started moving, I caught a glimpse of his very fine ass. I hesitated, then turned in time to see him streak over the blue line. He weaved through traffic, burned Grant, and jinked around Castillo. Kai skated out to cut Pack’s angle, but it was too late. Pack buried it top shelf.
Pack’s linemates swarmed him, but through the chaos, his eyes found mine. He shot me a grin I’d known since college, an unmistakable challenge to keep up. My stomach flipped.
Great. I’ve officially become the idiot who got scored on because I was busy fantasizing about my… what? Sexy former enemy? Hot-as-hell friend?
Coach Murphy signaled for a change, and I coasted to the visitors’ bench, pretending to adjust my gloves so I wouldn’t have to look at anyone. Dropping beside Theo, I kept my gaze down.
He leaned in. “Get your head in the game, Rosco. Think about your boyfriend later.”
Yeah. Working on it.
The first intermission was a brutal chirp attack.
“I could’ve used your help,” Kai said. “Thought you’d be better at catching Packy’s ass.”
“Yeah,” someone yelled from across the room. “You could’ve bumped him from behind. Bet you’d have felt that ping through your cup.”
Jace dropped into his dude-bro voice. “Paquette wasn’t interested. He wanted to score on you. Make you mad enough to pin him down later and score on him.”
I raised my middle finger. “Fuck. Off.”
Noah hooked an arm around my shoulders. “Play hockey now. Bang your boyfriend later.”
“Appreciate the strategy tip,” I said, shrugging him off.
When the second period started, I felt like a different player.
We trapped the Warriors in their zone and ran a beauty of a keep-away game.
Blanton glued himself to me and did all he could to block my view and drive me nuts with his nonstop chirping.
Finally, one of his teammates shouted, distracting him long enough for Parker to thread me a pass. I snapped the puck into the net.
My linemates cheered, but our celly was cut short when the Warriors started yelling about goaltender interference. While the zebras reviewed the play, I went to the bench and grabbed a tablet. The play looked clean. Jace had been close to the crease but not in it.
Too bad the hockey gods weren’t on our side. The ref skated to the mic and announced, “Goaltender interference. No goal.”
The crowd went wild, of course, but it was a bad call. I slammed my stick against the boards and swore into my glove.
Pack’s line jumped over the boards for the Warriors. As he skated by, he looked at me and mouthed, “Bullshit.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I was lost again. I held on to my seat to be sure I didn’t chase him down for a kiss.
At the end of the second, we were still down 1–0. Coach Murphy came into the locker room looking calm, but he let us have it.
“You’re the finest team I’ve ever coached,” he said. “You’ve got it all. Speed, smarts, and the ability to create opportunities and turn things around. That’s what you need to do here.”
He paused and cleared his throat. I’d played for him long enough to tell he was trying hard not to lose his temper.
“To win in hockey,” he continued, “you need guts and follow-through. I’m seeing a lot of the first but not much of the second. Are you all so distracted by this Packo nonsense that you’ve forgotten how to win?” He looked at me and smirked. “I could almost understand it from Nico.”
Everyone laughed, and I muttered “bullshit” into my hand. Coach shook his head. “If you get out of your heads and play like the team I know you are, we’ll win this one and head to Detroit on top of our division. If you don’t, it’ll be a different story.”
When the puck dropped to start the third period, everything sharpened. We were faster on the ice, and I could feel our hunger. The shift of momentum was undeniable.
Nine minutes in, things finally broke open.
My line was on the ice, and Kai had just blocked a low shot that nearly went through his five-hole.
Jace caught the rebound, and we rushed into Buffalo’s zone.
Jace dished to Parker, who circled behind the net and took a shot as he came around.
Donovan blocked it with his glove, and this time, the rebound came to me.
I snapped it without thinking and watched the puck sail past Donovan’s glove into the net. When the crowd erupted in anger, I almost flipped them off.
Tie game. 1–1.
We peeled off for a line change, and I ignored the look Pack gave me as I skated by. It was part pride and part dare, mixed with something else that went straight to my dick.
Bad boy! No thinking about dicks during the game.
The next stretch was chaos, all hard hits and relentless shots.
Both goalies stood on their heads while the fans yelled like lunatics.
We fed off the energy, and after a puck battle along the boards, Theo took a shot from the blue line that flew into the net so hard I was afraid it might tear through the twine.
2–1, Condors.
The crowd fell quiet except for a pocket of Condors fans losing their minds near our bench. We held on to the lead, and I thought we might actually win the game.
That held until the last minute, when Buffalo trapped us in our zone and threw everything they had at us.
Pack’s line came over the boards and turned the ice into a war zone.
Riley and Parker battled for the puck behind the goal, and when Riley shook free, our guys boxed him in as the clock hit ten seconds.
It was like watching in slow motion as Riley passed to Holcomb, who spun and sent it to Pack. Pack shot off the pass, and Kai barely had time to yell “fuck” before the goal horn blared and the crowd exploded.
2–2. Goddamn overtime.
I bent over, gasping for air. Pack glided up beside me and said, “You look hot with your ass sticking out like that.”
A rush of heat tore through me as he skated away. We had two minutes to regroup before five minutes of three-on-three play with open ice and nowhere to hide. I sat on the bench, gulping air and trying to get my legs to stop shaking.
Coach tapped my shoulder. “Rossi, Parker, Castillo. Get out there.”
I jumped over the boards, trying not to think about the Warriors’ overtime squad. It was always the same: Pack, Blanton, and Grayson.
Blanton won the draw and kicked it back to Grayson, who sped away.
Jace cut him off, but Grayson passed to Pack.
The three Warriors set up like champions, controlling the ice and leaving us to chase them around.
We tried to stay tight, but the puck moved faster than we could close the lanes.
A minute in, Logan carried it down the wall, drawing me toward him, then feathered a pass straight across the slot.
Pack caught it, and all it took was one smooth pull and a flick of his wrist. Kai moved, but the puck bounced off his skate and into the net. The goal horn barely cut through the crowd’s roar.
3–2. Game over.
While the fans went nuts, Pack’s teammates swarmed him.
Hats rained down from the stands, and I realized Pack had scored a hat trick.
Instead of being furious about how they’d robbed us of the win, I wanted to be part of their celly so much my chest ached.
When they broke up, Pack found me with his eyes, and his grin hit me in the gut.
I coasted toward him until I was a few yards away and then saluted. The crowd roared again. “Packo! Packo! Packo!”
Another voice, much closer, yelled, “Nico!”
As Kai guided me toward the tunnel, I glanced back for one more look at Pack, who was holding his stick up for the fans.
The guys were too frazzled to chirp me in the shower. Theo stood under the nozzle next to me, and after rinsing shampoo from his hair, he leaned in. “Your boy did well. You seeing him tonight?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe. I need to text him.”
As soon as I dried off, I found my phone. A message was already waiting.
PACK: You guys aren’t flying out until tomorrow, right? Come to my place? I want to see you.
A smile spread across my face.
NICO: Yeah. I’ll Uber in a few. What’s the address?