Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Colton
“Daddy, why are you so quiet? Is something up?” Livy asks and I snap back to reality. What kid notices something like this? Well, I guess a kid that had to witness a lot of fights from her parents. A kid who saw me sad more times than happy in her short life.
But today I’m not sad, I’m beyond myself.
Luckily it doesn’t have anything to do with her mother at all.
Jenna ran into me, watching me jerk off and idiot me didn’t stop after she ran out, I finished even quicker with her face on my mind again, watching me, watching my cock. Yeah, that’s something that I’m never going to admit out loud to anyone.
So, I say, “Oh nothing Livy, I’m just thinking about hockey training. You know my season is starting again this week.”
“Ok, do you think about how to punch the others?”
“What?”
“Mum said you punch people for a living.”
Of course, she said that. She has no clue about sports. “That’s a lie, baby. I play, I don’t punch. You really need to see my hockey game.”
“I want to, but Mum never let me.”
Yeah she never did. She went with her when we were still together three years ago but never since and she only did it to get photographed and gushed about.
She wore the most expensive dresses she could find, never my jersey.
But I didn’t mind. It was weird with her from the start.
Maybe it was because I felt like I needed a wife and a family to be complete.
And at first, she seemed nice—she pretended to be a different person than she was.
Once things got serious—she changed and I got to know the real person she was.
It still shocks me that some people use children as leverage. She was one of them.
“I know zaya, that’s over now.”
“Jenna said she’d bring me. I can’t wait! When is your match?”
“Next week. It’s just a training match with another team but it’s going to be fun too!”
She boxes with her little hands. “Yes, I want to see you fight.”
“No fighting, Livs…” What a stupid thing to tell a kid.
“We should buy Jenna something.”
I watch her through the rearview mirror. “What do you want to buy her?” A thank you card for staring at my dick? Thank you for the mindblowing orgasm?
Damn, where does my mind even drift off to these days?
“Flowers. Men who love their women buy flowers, Daddy. And you love Jenna, right?”
I swallow. Love. That’s a strong word.
I check on Livy through the rearview mirror again.
She’s staring at me with the same icy glare I’m pretty sure she inherited from me.
She’s definitely challenging me. I’ bet she knows something about our arrangement is off.
Smart kids never make things easy. “Y-Yes…” I lie and feel bad about it, but we have to keep the charade up.
God knows when the Child Services will come see to her.
We prepped everything for an upcoming live theatre performance.
Jenna left some glasses and a lipstick on the free bedside table I don’t use.
She has her clothes all sorted in the other closet in my room.
There’s pink stuff and other things I don’t even recognize.
She always makes her bed in the guestroom and takes her stuff with her again and places it in my room.
We get up at the same time, so that’s not a problem.
Except when she walks into the wrong room…
like today. I worry that it’s annoying for her…
but we’ll have to keep it up. We can’t afford to have it looking like we’re sleeping in different rooms.
“So, then we get her some roses after school today, okay?”
I grin at her through the rearview mirror. “Of course. That’s nice of you.”
“You aren’t romantic Dad. I think I need to help you. Jenna is nice and good for you.”
Oh, this child…
The blades of my skates cut into the ice with that satisfying crunch I’ve missed so fucking much.
I’m always looking forward to the off-season but then again, it’s so nice to be back.
It gives my life purpose again. I push off, feeling the cold air rush past my face as I build up speed.
This is where I belong—on the ice, where everything makes sense.
Where I don’t have to struggle with English or custody or the constant worry about Livy.
Here, I’m just Colton King, the Siberian Express, doing what I’ve done since I was five years old in that tiny rink back home.
Being King is way easier than being Kirillov. It’s the Hyde to my Jekyll.
I skate a few laps around the practice rink, my muscles loosening even in the cold.
There’s this familiar mix of ice, sweat, and rubber settling around me and I know I’m home again.
All around, the guys move through their own routines.
They stretch at the boards, passing pucks, taking warm-up shots.
Coach Mercer is in full form too, barking orders at us and grinning whenever we do what he wants.
He’s looked the same for years. Like Santa in Falcon merch.
Just a squat man with perpetually red cheeks and thinning white hair.
Next to him, our new assistant Coach Jay, has his clipboard already covered in diagrams. Our boy’s doing a great job so far.
“King! Pick it up!” Riley shouts as he glides past me, spraying ice with a perfect hockey stop.
I grunt in response but increase my speed.
Riley Huntington—America’s golden boy on ice—has been my linemate for three seasons now. He’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but there’s no one better to have on your right wing when you’re driving toward the net.
Coach Mercer’s whistle pierces the air, and we all converge to center ice.
“Team,” Mercer barks. “Today we’re focusing on transition play. The Bruins’ defense ate our lunch on counterattacks last season.”
I nod, remembering how those fuckers shut down our offense last time.
A three-two loss. Should have been different.
It was our first season without Jay and like they say: never change a winning routine.
But since his brutal injury we were forced to change and to be honest, we’re still not back to where we should be.
But that’s our job. One day we thrive, the next we could end up in a hospital bed.
“King,” Jay says. “I want you centering the first line with Huntington and Thompson for the power play drills.”
“Yes,” I say. No need for extra words.
It’s still odd to share the line with Thompson. Usually Riley, Jay and I were the Holy Trinity. Now we’re a shit line up… that’s why our coaches focus on us, because we’re the weak point these days.
We break into lines and begin the drills.
My skates dig into the ice as I accelerate, taking the pass from Riley and driving toward the goal.
The movement is instinctual—the weight of the stick in my hands, the slight adjustment of my shoulders to sell a fake shot before sliding the puck to Thompson on my left.
For the next forty-five minutes, we run drill after drill and my lungs burn—but it’s a good kind of pain.
Clean. Simple. Just Hockey. Usually, my mind is filled with anxious thoughts, like whether Livy is okay with Mira.
But this time, I know she’s in school and that I can pick her up after training.
Today, I can just focus on playing. It feels so freaking good.
During a water break, Riley skates up beside me at the bench.
He squirts water into his mouth and some of it drips onto his already soaked training jersey.
“So,” he says with that smirk that makes him a TikTok favorite. “How’s your pretty wife?”
“Good,” I say. And just like that, my foolish mind wanders back that cute face she made when she saw my dick. To that opened, plush mouth—okay, seriously, how desperate can a guy get?
“That’s it?” Riley says. “One word? I know talking isn’t your hobby but come on.” He shakes his head.
“What do you want? A novel?”
“No, but what’s it like living with her? Is it weird? Do you guys talk at all? How Is Livy reacting to all of it? Do you guys get along? Does your apartment feel too small? First few days with Liora, I wanted to kill her.”
This guy talks way too much.
He grins as if he remembers something specific. But I know for a fact he did not want to kill her. He had the hots for her from the start.
It was different with Jenna and me.
We started badly. Really badly. But now… having her around all the time isn’t annoying. It’s easy. Too easy. She fits into my life in a way that feels… natural. Like something that was missing quietly slid into place.
Which is terrifying.
Obviously, I do not say any of that.
“You’re annoying.” I sigh, giving in. “We live together. We coordinate things. That’s it.”
Riley snorts so hard he almost drops his stick. “You are the least convincing man alive.”
“I’m not trying to convince you. You asked. I answered.”
“I genuinely can’t picture you living with a woman, you know,” he says. “Do you just grunt at her in the morning and she grunts back?”
“No.”
“Do you nod once from across the kitchen like a Victorian husband?”
“No.”
“Do you stand silently in doorways until she notices you?”
I look at him. “Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“A lot,” he replies with the kind of confidence that only he can pull off. “But more importantly, what’s wrong with you? One day I’m gonna put cameras in your apartment. I need to study how you function around women. I’m dying of curiosity.”
“Die faster.”
He beams. “See? That right there. Flirting. You’re capable of it. I bet if you show this side to Jenna, that marriage won’t be fake for long.”
I roll my eyes.