FORTY-FIVE
Max
L uca has been quiet for days and staying out of my way. I don’t blame him. I’ve been an asshole since playoffs started. It may look like I maintain a rigid schedule during the regular season, but I’m a damn cyborg now.
Extra-long workouts at dawn.
A protein-packed hot breakfast cooked by Gilda, who starts earlier than usual.
Morning skate.
An hour in the weight room.
An hour of yoga to get loose.
Home for lunch and a nap.
Reporting back to the locker room by four p.m.
There’s a sense throughout the season that a loss isn’t catastrophic. We play so many games, there’s always a chance to catch up. That perpetual optimism keeps me going.
All of that evaporates and the world shrinks in focus to seven games per playoff round. To take the Cup, we must win four of those games. Four times in a row.
Luca and I make polite conversation like he understands I need to be a different person, and to his credit, he doesn’t give me shit about my steely and hyper-focused mood.
He’s been sullen, too. He looks worried. I’ve gotten to know this man. The stress in his eyes doesn’t have anything to do with me. But what?
I can’t deny how I feel about him anymore. Every night when I slip into my bed alone, I ache for him. With his room repaired, he’s sleeping back in there. He doesn’t come to me. But I know it’s mostly because right now, I’m totally unapproachable.
It’s clear. I want him in my life. One way or another. I have a connection to him I’ve never felt. He understands me. He knows everything about me. All my secrets.
And he still wants me.
I remember what he said about my uncle. We haven’t talked about it. Maybe he’ll let it go.
If he goes through with quitting the Crushers, it opens up possibilities. No more sneaking around. He’ll be living down in Manhattan. I can make that work. Especially if everything goes my way in the postseason.
Just like the last five days, Luca shadows me throughout my daily routine. I expect a man who isn’t athletically trained to drag his ass, but he is with me one hundred percent of the way.
I’ve been running on fumes for years. It’s time to let myself have something that will fuel me. That something is Luca. What we can have together. I’ll confess when the season is over. And hope he’s still crazy about me.
IT’S EXTRA BUSY TODAY . Game day. Game One against Albany. It’s also a Friday night. Those games are always extra packed and insanely loud.
I show up to a frenzy of activity, equipment people inspecting our gear, and trainers inspecting us .
Coach seals off the team once we’re all in the dressing room for his pregame talk. Luca stands near the locked door, his eyes behind shades. He’s hot as fuck wearing a flashy suit, an earpiece, and a gun on his belt that no one sees. But I know it’s there.
“You know I’m not a super religious guy,” I say, looking around at my teammates, kneeling in a circle, suited up like battle warriors. The transformation from human to machine never fails to take my breath away when we’re all in a closed space like this.
“But let’s thank God,” I continue, “or whatever higher power you believe in for getting us here. And let’s also give thanks for every breath we suck in tonight to play the game we’ve all loved since we were kids.”
Everyone quietly chants something, and I say, “Let’s send Albany home early and then cheer our asses off for Cape May.”
Voodoo, anything to not play Richmond.
“Here, here,” Willis, my center hoots, and the team thunders in agreement
Coach Beck says a few words, handing out specific shout-outs to players who got us here. He looks at me, but I shake my head. I don’t want any recognition tonight.
The others cackle in response to Coach’s pep talk as we line up at the double doors leading to the rink. It opens, and we roar down the narrow hallway. Muffled announcements from the ice vibrate the cement walls. Our march across the rubber floors is caught on a pregame show thanks to the cameras all around us.
I’m used to it.
The arena is dark but loud, with deafening howls from the crowd as I step onto the ice. My blade connects to the slick surface. I always sigh a little when the teeth of my front blade, that tiny groove digs into the ice and gives me the power to skate like I was born on blades.
My legs pump as the team warms up, skating in practiced circles before a crowd of eighteen thousand, not including media and the private corporate boxes or staff.
The cheers and foot pounding make the damn place shake. It hits me that we pulled it off. Richmond tried to keep us out of the playoffs, but here we are. And without anyone outside of the organization knowing I was hurt.
I survived. I thrived. Luca had something to do with that. As he’s done at all the other games we’ve played, he takes his position behind the players’ benches and watches the crowd.
He’s talking on a radio and pointing to the seats directly behind the team. Long rows, several deep for family are cordoned off with a black, red, and gold ribbon, the team’s colors.
Someone must have told Luca to seat someone important. My heart lands in my throat when I see...my parents.
Every year, I send them the family tickets I get for each game, usually giving the rest to other players with big families.
“It’s too long of a drive to Stamford,” Mom complains when I ask her about why they never come.
I’d offered to send limos and put them up in hotels. The excuses just evolve from there.
Now they’re here. Luca gets them settled and my gut twists seeing him with them. God, they’ll hate him. They hate me for giving in to my baser needs for a man. That I couldn’t pray away the gay, or suck it up, and just take a wife for appearances.
Instead, I chose to look like a manwhore to the hockey world. Something they hadn’t said boo about.
Singer Kris Peters, a Stamford native and Broadway star, belts out a version of the National Anthem that nearly brings me to tears. The refs go through the motions with the forwards before dropping the puck. I take my place with Hayden on my left.
Our forward, Willis, doesn’t get the puck, but it’s early. Like a thoroughbred thundering out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby, I won’t tire myself out, or kill my team’s stamina two seconds in.
During my first break, I get to my seat and look for my parents, expecting to see them looking for me. No, Dad is looking at the program, and Mom is scrolling on her phone.
Luca watches them, his brows furrowed. Maybe it’s because I’m not on the ice. I can’t be staring at the stands when I’m skating. I’ll catch a stick to the face.
But minutes into my next shift, Paloma, the Albany right winger, cracks my helmet’s vision guard with his stick in a lucky shot. The bench clears out, including the trainers. Luca is the first on the ice to lunge for Paloma.
“God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I miscalculated the shot. It wasn’t intentional,” Paloma pleads with me.
I have no reason not to believe him. It happens.
The time clock stops while officials watch the replay to see if it was premeditated. I breathe easier when the hit was deemed unintentional.
Paloma takes a standard penalty during a crucial time of the game. A horrible thing to happen in the playoffs.
Luca finds me and crouches in front of me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Paloma’s stick caught my helmet frame and rattled my brain for a second.” I don’t vocalize that it reminded me for the first time in a week I’m mortal. Even made me a little afraid that I could get seriously hurt.
Luca called it from the beginning. They’ll get me on the ice if they want to. But this is a player from Albany, and I’ve never known him to be malicious.
The game resumes and the patience we started with pays off. By the end of the second period, we’re up by two goals.
During that last intermission, I make the most of the eighteen minutes to hydrate and focus. With a few minutes to go, I approach Luca waiting near the tunnel. He stares agog at me in full gear, and my cock thickens instantly.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, his eyes cutting across my face looking for damage from the Paloma hit. “I could have fucking killed that guy.”
It’s the first time I think he’s going through something, and not just being more guarded because of the intense back-to-back games.
“That would be a problem.” I nudge his arm and smile like he said something hilarious. “I can’t visit you in prison for eight months of the year.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Your parents are here,” he says, changing the subject. “I got a call on the radio to make sure they got to their seats. You should have mentioned—”
“They never told me they were coming.”
Luca cocks his head. “Is that...normal?”
“For them, yeah,” I huff out.
Not caring who’s watching, I reach for his suit jacket sleeve and tug him near me. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant for the last week.”
Seeing how he ran to the ice to go after Paloma stirred the life back into me. Got my warm blood moving again. And that blood is moving south.
“Tonight,” I breathe out.
“Yeah?”
“Tonight, I want to fuck you,” I mutter.
His jaw tightens. “You mean if you win?”
“You better hope we win.” Oh, we’re winning this game. I feel it. I see it. It only took about five minutes to see what Albany brought tonight, and we’re masters at defeating it. “If we lose, I’m still going to fuck you, but I’ll make it hurt so much more.”