11. Chapter 11
Atlas
I time my warmup lap perfectly, catch Jenkins at center ice, and clip his shin with the toe of my stick on the way by. “My bad. Didn’t see you down there.”
“The fuck, Trembley?”
I circle back, skating backward. “New stick? Shame it won’t help with your game.”
Jenkins closes the distance. “Talk all that shit now because I'm putting you through the boards the second the puck drops.”
“Last time you tried that, I think you bounced off me.” I spread my arms wide. “But hey, you're welcome to try again. I could use the entertainment.”
“Jenkins! Get your fucking ass over here!” The Titans' coach jabs his finger toward their bench.
Jenkins backs off but doesn’t look away, his gaze burning right into mine. “See you out there.”
“I'll be the one you're looking up at.”
He gives me the finger. I grin and blow him a kiss.
This is going to be fun.
Hunter glides up beside me, his gaze locked on Jenkins, who’s getting chewed out by his coach.
I bump his shoulder. “Can't wait for him to find out it's us.”
He stares at me.
“Come on, it's perfect. Two for one. He finds out, gets in his head, and it takes him out of the game. It’s a win-win.”
“He tells someone, we have a problem.”
“What’s there to tell?” I lean on my stick. “First time he was stalking his girlfriend. Bet he doesn’t get past explaining how he was about to throw hands with Cap. And last Friday, what’s he going to say? That we chased him?”
Hunter just keeps staring.
“Dude, if anything, he attacked me. Maybe I have a concussion with all those punches to my head.”
“You were wearing a helmet.”
I smile widely. “But I didn’t hit back. See, nothing to worry about.”
He shakes his head, turning to glide away. But he stops mid-stride and growls. “The fuck is he all chatty with them for?”
Coach Reed is at center ice along the boards, talking to Walsh a few feet away, Rua smiling like a deranged clown at his side.
Walsh smirks at our assistant. “Fucking traitor. Can’t believe you’re coaching them now.”
“Assistant coach. And it's part of the graduate assistant program.”
Honestly, didn’t even know South Shore University had a program like that. Kinda cool.
Walsh rolls his eyes. “This has your boyfriend written all over it. Could’ve done the same shit at Crestwood.”
Rua laughs. “He’s gonna give us all your secrets. Help us kick some Titan ass.”
If only.
Walsh huffs. “You sure he isn’t giving you bullshit information, ensuring you assholes keep losing to us?”
Hunter grunts.
Ah, fuck. Does he really think Coach Byfield would let some shit like that fly?
Coach Reed huffs. “Now you sound like Killian. Beat his ass this morning for saying the same shit.”
Rua chuckles, throwing his shoulder against Walsh’s. “Imagine if the Rangers knew he held up so well during training camp because he and his boyfriend think fighting is a form of foreplay?”
I shake my head. “Rua knows way too much about their sex life.”
“Ooh, looky looky.” Shaw appears beside me, jutting his chin with that too-wide grin already in place. “Their giant is doing splits and staring at Rua. Think he’s trying to impress him? Maybe I should go lick him.”
Cap makes his way over. “The hell are you all standing around for?”
Hunter growls, nodding toward Coach Reed.
“Otra vez lo mismo. He’s here for the season. Move on.”
I smirk at them both. “Not just this season. Next year too.”
Hunter’s upper lip twitches. “We’ll see.”
I point at Henneman as Rua heads our way. “What’s that all about?”
He chuckles. “Oh, the big guy is just jealous I hooked up with his husband.”
I spin so fast, my edge catches, and I nearly fall on my ass. “What? Married? Who?”
Rua laughs even harder. “Damn, Trembley. Walsh and Henneman.”
“And when you say hooked up, you mean,” Shaw mimics sucking dick.
Cap slaps Shaw upside the head. “Of course that’s what the fuck he means. Whose cock hasn’t Rua sucked?”
I raise my hand. “Mine.”
Rua winks. “We can fix—”
“Enough. We have a game to win.” Hunter grabs the back of my neck and steers me away.
The buzzer goes off. Warm-ups are over. We skate over to the bench. Coach Byfield keeps his pep talk short. Win the corner battles, stay disciplined, don't take stupid penalties. Then he looks directly at me. “Trembley, stay out of the fucking box.”
“I'll do my best.”
His eyes narrow.
“Trembley, you and Kincaid start us off. Watch out for Walsh and Jenkins. They're fast,” Coach Reed says.
I snort. “No shit.”
Hunter knocks into my shoulder as he makes his way to line up. I follow, smirking when I spot Jenkins crouched, waiting for the puck to drop.
Cap gains possession, sending it back to me. I pass to Hunter, who skates it past the red line, then dumps it in.
Henneman chases the puck into the corner and sends it along the boards to Knight. Knight finds Jenkins, and the little Titan takes it into our zone, cutting hard inside. I time his angle, extend my stick, and hook his ankle.
He goes down.
Jenkins pops up, glaring at the ref when no call is made. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I skate past and tap him on the ass with my stick. “Refs must like me better.”
“Eat shit, Trembley.”
“Buy me dinner first.”
Walsh beats out Hunter, taking control of the puck, then wrapping around the net. Shin sticks his leg out and shuts the door. The rebound goes to Rua, who carries it up ice. Henneman closes fast and checks Rua so hard that he goes headfirst over the boards into the Titans' bench.
I snort. “Damn.”
Rua leaps up, grinning like he just went on a ride at Six Flags.
Knight gets the puck at our blue line. I close the gap, but his release is too fast, and the slap shot beats Shin glove side.
Fuck.
1-0 Titans.
We head to the bench, and the second line hops over. I grab my water bottle, squirt some into my mouth, and watch Jenkins hop over the boards onto the Titans’ bench. He's smiling, saying something to Henneman, and while I can't hear it, I watch his whole face light up.
My grip tightens on the water bottle.
Hunter nudges me. “Focus.”
“I am focused.”
“On the game.”
“That too.”
Our second line buries one off a rebound. I bang my stick on the boards and the bench gets loud. The Titans’ third line answers right back, putting them up by one.
By the time Jenkins and Walsh are up again, Hunter is doing what he does best—shutting everything down.
Silent, efficient, finishing every check.
But Jenkins keeps coming back harder every time we box him out, getting lower, driving wider, finding space that shouldn't exist. His compete level is ridiculous.
Second period, the pace picks up immediately. Cap wins the face-off and Rua carries it into the Titans' zone. The puck cycles from Rua to Shaw and back to Cap, who rips it past Novotny's blocker.
2-2.
“Wepa, puneta!” Cap punches a fist in the air, cutting too close to Walsh.
“Cute goal. Reed teach you that one?”
Cap stops, spins, then gets in his face. “What was that?”
“You heard me. Too bad no amount of coaching will help that psycho.” Walsh nods toward Shaw. “Someone needs to put him on a leash.”
Oh, shit.
Cap swings. Walsh answers right back. They go blow for blow until their helmets fall off. The gloves drop to the ice, then they grab one another’s jersey, both continuing to throw punches.
Henneman is skating over.
“Nuh, uh. Two-on-one isn't a fair fight.” I stay with him when he tries to get around me, my stick across his chest. “You want to go, we can go.”
He looks at me, nostrils flaring. Fighting the quiet guy was not on my list of things to do today. Not that I’m complaining. But the refs are already pulling Cap and Walsh apart. And the Titan’s defenseman goes back to their bench, too focused on his husband to give me a second thought.
The tie is short-lived as the Titans score again. Fucking hell. Just once, I want to kick their asses. Like win by a blowout, not by one point.
Jenkins is back out. And so am I. He cuts through the slot, and I step up, timing it, driving my shoulder into his chest and riding him all the way into the boards. My hips pin his, and I hold him there, my cage inches from his.
“Miss me?”
“Get off me, Trembley.”
“Make me.”
He shoves at my chest, but I've got sixty pounds on him. I'm not going anywhere. His legs churn against the ice, trying to push out, but I press harder, flattening him against the boards. I let up when he kicks the puck loose. While I love fucking with him, I’m not about to lose the game over it.
One of his teammates picks up the loose puck, passing it up to the point. Jenkins gets open, receives the puck, then shoots. Shin blocks it, the rebound going to the right. This time, Hunter pins Jenkins. Not sure what he says, but when my best friend lets up, Jenkins cross-checks him in the back.
The whistle blows, and Jenkins is sent to the box.
I snicker and wave to him on my way back to the bench.
On the ice Rua takes the puck into the offensive zone. But Henneman puts him on his ass again. Damn. Never seen the Titans’ defenseman play this aggressively before. The big guy must know his husband got a blowie from my teammate.
Two plays later, Jenkins is coming through the neutral zone with the puck. I step up and strip it clean, poking it to Shaw. Jenkins slashes my stick, and I spin on him. “Careful, Jenkins. That's a penalty.”
“Fuck your penalty.”
“What was that about my penis?” I step into his space, grinning widely. “Do you want my penis? Is that what you said? I mean, everyone wants it, so you may have to get in line. It’s a big line. You know, for a big dick.”
“I said penalty . And I want nothing to do with your ratchet dick.”
“Aw, you sure?” I tap his shin pad with my stick. “You could bump up to the front of the line. Get VIP access if you want. And it’s not ratchet. It’s pretty. Like your mouth.”
Oh, that did it.
He drops his stick and swings, nostrils flaring.
I laugh and swing right back. “Why so angry?”
“Shut up, you giant fucking dickhead.” He punches me again.
I hit right back. “Shh, or the refs will hear. You can get kicked out for that. Then how am I supposed to have any fun?”