8. Hunter
8
Hunter
I was in the penalty box again. It was the second time this game, but I was fucking pissed. The team was playing like shit again, and Gomez kept pissing me off because he wouldn’t pass to me. He was only passing to Webber or taking stupid shots.
I knew why he was being an ass, but he needed to grow the fuck up. He had been coddled his entire career, and no one had had the guts to tell his stupid face that he sucked under pressure. I drank some water to cool down, watching the time go down so fucking slowly.
The other team was not playing that great either which was the fucking break we needed; we had to beat these guys. Our guys were so much more talented than their team and this should have been an easy win. My timer went off and I was charging on the ice so they lost their advantage.
I heard the coach yelling at me to get my ass back, but I saw an opportunity to steal the puck. Zooming by, checking their left wing, I grabbed the puck, shot it down and hoped someone was there. Webber was hauling ass, reaching for the puck, flicking it to our other left wing, Bennet.
Bennet flicked it back to Webber to psych them out as he rounded the goalie and it was perfect. Webber acted like he was going to slap shot, but drop passed it to Bennet who hit it in th e goal.
Fuck Yes!
I skated to Webber and Bennet.
“That was fucking great!” I yelled, knocking our heads together and I pushed Bennet to make a lap around to celebrate.
“Get your ass back on the bench!” Coach yelled at me and I went willingly. I stepped in to make room for Webber and Bennet. Gomez was still on the bench looking sour and it served him right. He needed to play better.
Coach put Gomez out with us again, and as he skated out, I looked at Coach.
“Put Bennet with us next time,” I said skating, rushing for the puck when Gomez body checked their defense, stealing the puck.
He passed it to Webber who passed it to me as I skated toward the left side of the goal. Gomez was open, but I was going to give him a piece of his own medicine and I took the shot. The goalie blocked it and with faster reflexes than I had seen all game, Gomez hit the puck in.
I heard Webber yelling as he raced towards Gomez. Webber and Johnson joined their celebration. Gomez made his lap, the team congratulating him and his smile grew bigger and bigger. I clenched my jaw, looking away, hating that my mistake had given him a goal. We did a line change and Gomez was riding his high, sitting down as Coach said good job.
We were up by two at the start of the third period. We were struggling to keep our lead and our goalie, Clark, was getting tested more times than I would have liked. We were losing steam and with four minutes on the clock, they scored.
Shit.
I let my anger fuel me as I skated onto the ice. Gomez passed me the puck and we skated fast to the goal. We passed it back and forth working together, for once. Hope burned through me that this might be it, this was what we had been working towards.
As I passed it to him, he missed the catch, and it was stolen from him. I growled, getting angrier because if they scored here, then I was going to be pissed. Leave it up to Gomez to fuck it up. Webber ended up stealing, passed it to Gomez and my frustration was at an all-time high.
Then, someone body checked Gomez hard enough that his head snapped back, his feet flew up and his helmet came off. I immediately saw red, body checking the asshole who had hit him, letting all my anger out. We dished out punches until we fell on my bad shoulder.
I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out. I was still holding onto him, punching wildly until I was pulled away by someone. The ref got in my face, and I was sent to the sin bin. Gomez wasn’t on the ice anymore and for a moment I was worried he had gotten a concussion. That is, until I spotted him at the bench with a cut along the bridge of his nose.
He looked pissed as the doctor checked on him, but he was watching the game and it looked like he was searching for the guy who had body checked him. As I was in jail, they scored and when I was let out of the sin bin, I raced out again, the adrenaline of the fight still with me. There was only a minute and a half left and we were so fucking close to winning. We desperately needed it, except that was not in the cards for us tonight; they sank one more goal. It was such a close game it stung more than it should have.
We reluctantly said “good game” and as I got off the ice, Gomez was right behind me. The urge to start shit was itching at me, but I thought better of it, maybe I needed to take a different approach because this was not working for us and we needed to start winning.
“Maybe the next practice we can work on?—”
“Don’t fucking start with me, Riggs,” he snapped, walking past me.
“Hey, I’m trying to be helpful?—”
“Since fucking when?” He turned around and got into my face. “All you do is fucking nitpick when you fuck up too, man. I don’t need your shit tonight. Leave me the fuck alone.”
“I’m trying?—”
“No, this isn’t you trying, this is you feeling superior,” he snarled, pushing me back.
“Guys, stop,” someone said.
“I fucking got put in the sin bin because of you, a thank you would be nice, you entitled little shit.” I pushed him back.
“I don't need you to fight my fights especially if you throw them in my face afterward.” He grabbed my jersey. “So, save me whatever hero complex you have and go fuck yourself.”
“Maybe if you played well I wouldn’t have to be saving your ass,” I growled, pushing him away, but he didn’t budge.
“Guys, seriously.”
“Oh, fuck you. You think putting Bennet on the line with you is going to make it better? You’re an ass to work with and we know it’s not all my fault,” he sneered. “You’re washed up.”
“At least I don’t have to be embarrassed with my shitty playing where everyone has to pick up your slack and fight your battles because you fucking suck at playing hock….” I hadn’t finished saying hockey when he sucker-punched me.
I pushed him, throwing a punch he blocked, getting another hit in before I tackled him to the ground, and I straddled his hips punching him in the face, rearing back for another hit when I was hauled off him.
“Stop!” Cap yelled glaring at us. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but coach’s office now!”
Gomez and I were breathing hard, the cut on the bridge of his nose was bleeding along with his lip. We glared at each other before he scoffed and turned around to leave. I looked around at my teammates who had varying degrees of disappointment and anger on their faces. The last person I expected to see was looking at Gomez, who was walking away. Valencia then turned her hazel eyes at me, she shook her head before walking away from the crowd.
Guilt hit me hard, harder than seeing anyone else’s disappointment and I don’t know why. We walked into the locker room, and I headed to my locker to at least get my skates off before I got my ass reamed by my coach.
“Riggs, get your fucking ass in my office,” Coach Trevino said, red in the face.
I took a deep breath before I followed him. He stood aside letting me into the office first and mumbled something about losing patience.
“I don’t know what beef you guys have or what the hell is going on, but you need to pull your head out of your asses or one of you is getting benched,” he snapped, walking around his desk.
Gomez scoffed.
“You have something to say, Gomez?” Coach glared at him.
“You mean bench me, sir, because we both know you wouldn’t bench our veteran,” he clipped.
“I’ll bench whoever the fuck I want to because at this point, I’m tempted to bench both of you just to prove a point,” he said, sitting down. “You need to put this behind you and figure out how to play together. If you can't, you can sit your ass down for the rest of the season. I see the potential you have together. You guys are intuitive, fast skaters, but whatever is happening is getting in the way.”
I knew he was right, but that didn’t mean I wanted to admit he was right.
“So, until you start playing well together, you will need to come in on your off days and run drills together and you will also be bunking together on out-of-town games,” he said, with a small smirk.
“I won't be rooming with the rookie if you expect us to get better and be fine with each other. We will try, but daily drills and rooming together? You are asking for trouble,” I said, trying to come up with a good reason that he would actually consider.
“Fight, beat the shit out of each other, but you are putting your careers at risk, and I will fucking bench you. I don’t care what your contract says,” he snapped.
“Coach, I don't think this is the way to go, there?—”
“Well, the sooner you work on your shit, the sooner we can win games and you can stop your punishment of practice drills and rooming together. You don’t have to like each other, but you will play well together,” he said, getting up from his desk. “Now get the hell out of my office and go get checked out by the doctors. Last thing I need is for one of you to have a concussion that wasn’t even game related. Go!”
I got up from the chair making my way to the medical area. The doctors were waiting for us, and we got undressed so they could examine us. I could feel Gomez’s glare every so often, but by the time they let us go, all of the guys had left, and I was getting tired of his pouting and glares as we walked to the showers.
As much as I wanted to leave and go home to shower, I felt itchy and I knew I wouldn’t last the drive. Gomez picked the stall closest to the front and I got a peak at his muscular ass before he walked in. I walked a few stalls down, turning on the shower; it was fucking cold. I hated cold showers, but I was willing to suffer so I could get the hell out of here.
The shower got warm about halfway through my shower, making it a little more tolerable and I took my time letting the water soothe my muscles. I turned the shower off, running the towel quickly over my body still hearing Gomez’s shower on.
I wrapped the towel around my waist passing his stall, seeing him leaning against the wall with the water cascading down his back over his fucking amazing ass. A flicker of uneasiness ran through me, and I wondered if my punch had fucked with him more than he let on. I knew I shouldn't be watching him, but I needed to know.
“Fuck off, Riggs,” he said so low, I doubt I heard him right.
He pushed off the wall turning off the water and turning around. I looked away quickly, debating on whether to say something.
“Leave me alone, I’m fucking tired and I don’t?—”
“Would you shut up!” I snapped.
“I don’t have the energy to do this anymore,” he snarled, walking away from me.
“Don’t be a fucking ass and just listen for once in your life,” I said, grabbing his firm bicep, admiring the hardness and his muscular chest that had rivulets of water cascading down it.
“I said, walk away, and this is what you do? Why do you always have to antagonize me?” He pulled his arm away. “I get that you think you are better then everyone, but fucking get off your high horse. I’m tired of your shit.”
“Fuck you, Gomez, you and your fucking entitled attitude. I don’t think you even belong here.” I pulled him closer. “Did daddy pay money to get you here?”
“Fuck you, you don’t know shit, Riggs,” he growled, bumping his chest against mine.
“I've heard daddy was famous,” I said, pushing his buttons and I realized I liked that he was pissed off.
He was hot like this.
“My father has never done shit for me, I got here on my fucking own,” he snapped, closing the gap between us till we were nose to nose.
I don’t know if it was the adrenaline, the punch in the head or my lack of sex, but I grabbed him by the throat pulling him towards me. Our lips crashed together and for a split second I thought he was going to push me away except he didn’t. He kissed me back, pushing me against the wall.
My shock quickly went away as I licked the seam of his mouth and he let me in. Gomez moaned and the noise went straight to my cock that was already hard. He thrust his hips against my cock and he was just as hard as I was. I knew this was wrong, but the only head I was thinking with was the organ between my legs.
My hand trailed down his chest and abs, stopping at the towel that was tented. My fingers skimmed the edge when Gomez pulled away. He rested his forehead against my own.
“Fuck,” he said, stepping away. “This didn’t happen.”
He looked debauched with his swollen lips, the flush in his cheeks and his half- lidded gaze looking at my body. I wanted to see more of him like this, or on his knees looking up at me. We stared at each other before he walked away, leaving me even more confused and with a fucking hard-on. Dammit, this was bad, I didn’t think this thing between us could get any worse and it just had.