Chapter 17
Ryan
Tape tears between my fingers. Third time I’ve screwed up wrapping my stick blade. I rip it off and start over, pressing harder this time.
This is only a preseason game. But it’s against the Serpents.
Coach Nieminen’s out of his mind. Neither team knows how to take it easy.
So, today’s gonna be a brawl, not a game. I just hope no one gets injured before the season starts.
Across the room, Connor’s getting ready beside Knight and Novotny. His brows are furrowed, shoulders squared, not a hint of a smile.
He’s completely different from three hours ago when we both made ourselves come together. He’d walked out of the bathroom after showering, eyes dark, towel slung low and pitching at the front.
I was hard in seconds.
We’ve messed around a few times this week. Just jerking off because any time his hands move toward me, I lock up, like my body remembers things my brain tries to forget.
No panic attacks, though. So, that’s something.
He’s also been doing his homework on my bed. At first, I shoved myself against the wall, trying to carve out space. There was barely an inch between us. Two hockey players over six feet are not meant to share a twin bed.
But the past two days I’ve relaxed a bit. Even fell asleep with him still in my bed.
Until he hit me with a pillow.
Scared the shit out of me. Almost had a panic attack. But his bitching about my snoring had me laughing instead.
Still can’t believe I fell asleep. Another person in the same room usually makes me spiral. But with Connor . . . it’s different now.
Not as scary.
After tossing my tape into the bag, I grab my skates and put them on. One of the newer guys—some freshman—sits next to me.
“Move!” Knight’s voice booms through the locker room.
The kid scrambles away, both Knight and Connor glaring at him.
Wait.
No one’s sitting near me. The closest person is two feet away. I look back at my husband and his friend, but they’ve already gone back to putting on their gear.
Have they been making sure no one gets close?
My face heats, but the corner of my mouth lifts.
Coach Nieminen walks into the center of the room, followed by Harper and Rinne.
“Preseason doesn’t mean soft.” His voice cuts through the conversations, and everyone shuts up. “The Serpents are going to come at us. So, you fuckers better hit back harder. Play smart. Play physically. Don’t be idiots. Nobody better get suspended before the season even starts.”
Harper turns to me. “You've been working hard during practice. Time to show it counts.”
I nod. That's all I can do. My throat’s tight, chest tighter. Not because of the pressure, but because . . . Coach believes in me.
“Get your asses on the ice and remind those South Shore assholes who owns them. We’re the champs for a reason,” Nieminen says.
I stand and roll my shoulders. I slept well last night and feel ready.
Harper lingers looking at Novotny, then turns toward Connor before turning back and smirking.
Novotny elbows Knight, who chuckles.
Connor glares at the three of them. “What?”
Novotny grins widely, like he just lit the fuse and can’t wait to watch it blow. “Oh, you’ll see.”
The team follows Novotny out to the rink. My heart pounds harder with every step. The moment we exit the player tunnel, the crowd goes crazy. The Coliseum is packed. Dumb name for the Ice Complex, but it fits when we play the Serpents.
More than one person will bleed. On and off the ice.
Novotny steps onto the ice first, banging his stick. The sound echoes through the arena. The crowd eats it up, pounding the glass, chanting his name.
I do a lap, warming up my legs. The crowd’s a blur. Students with painted faces. Everyone in Titans jerseys. They pound the plexiglass, waving signs, chanting like they want blood more than a game.
Can't imagine what it would be like in the NHL. Thousands of people cheering. I used to dream about that once. Not anymore
My jaw drops as I turn, skating along the red line. Jackson Reed is on the Serpents bench.
He flips Connor off, grinning like an asshole.
Connor skates over and punches him playfully in the shoulder, smiling, then one of the Serpents skates up next to them, red hair sticking out along the sides of his helmet.
Raiyne Rua.
My grip tightens on my stick, teeth clenching.
Sure, Connor and I discussed what happened, and I thought I was over whatever damn feeling this is.
But seeing Rua standing so close to him .
. . I growl under my breath and pick a spot on the ice close enough to eavesdrop while I stretch, then drop into a low lunge, head angled sideways.
Connor smirks at his friend. “Fucking traitor. Can’t believe you’re coaching them now.”
Reed shrugs, cocky as ever. “Assistant coach. And it's part of the graduate assistant program.”
Connor rolls his eyes. “This has your boyfriend written all over it. Could’ve done the same shit at Crestwood.”
Rua laughs, leaning in. “He’s gonna give us all your secrets. Help us kick some Titan ass.”
That fucker should be warming up, not talking to my husband.
Connor rolls his eyes. “You sure he isn’t giving you bullshit information, ensuring you assholes keep losing to us?”
Reed huffs. “Now you sound like Killian. Beat his ass this morning for saying the same shit.”
Rua chuckles, bumping his shoulder against Connor’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?”
A low growl rumbles in my chest. That fucker really needs to walk away.
Reed’s eyes meet mine and I quickly turn away, face heating.
“So, heard you got married,” Reed says, a bit too loudly.
“Not the time.” Connor's voice is deep, with that edge that makes everyone listen.
“Don’t give me that shit, you asshat. I found out from Viktor, in a group text.”
“Walsh! Get your fucking ass in gear.” Nieminen’s voice booms across the ice. “Talk to your goddamn friends on your own time.”
Took Coach long enough to say something. Good. Because I was about thirty seconds away from doing something really stupid.
Like kissing my husband while staring directly at the redhead Serpent.
Some of the tension drains from my body as Rua skates away, and I drop into a groin stretch. Knees spread wide, sinking low, I push a little deeper, partly to work out the tightness in my hips, and partly—
Connor glides past, then stops short. Something rumbles in his throat. “Stop fucking doing that.”
I look up. “What? Stretching?”
Like I don't know exactly what I'm doing.
His eyes narrow, but his pupils are dilated. He skates away, adjusting his cup, and I can’t help but smile.
Got him.
Fifteen minutes later, the game starts. It’s fast and dirty from the face-off.
Serpents win the puck and dump it into our zone.
I chase it into the corner, sending it along the boards to Knight.
He passes to Jenkins, who takes it into the offensive zone.
Trembley trips him, but no penalty is called.
Connor chases the puck down and wraps around the net. But their goalie sticks out his leg, leaving no room for the puck to get in the net.
Rua gets possession. I skate backward, pushing him toward the boards, then check him hard enough that he ends up headfirst in our team’s bench area.
The crowd roars. But the play’s not over.
I pass cross ice to our right winger. Connor and Jenkins follow after him. But the Serpents are quick. Knight is on their blue line, while I hang back. The puck is passed from player to player, then to Knight, who takes a slap shot.
The puck goes in.
We skate back to the bench, the second line is up. Rua snorts as he passes by and I shove my shoulder into him.
Jenkins smiles as he hops over the boards onto the bench. “Fuck, Henneman. Since when do you play like that?”
I just shrug.
Coach Harper quirks a brow and shakes his head.
Whatever. It’s hockey—best place to burn off extra energy.
The second period is fast paced. Connor scores. I put Rua on his ass again. Three fights break out. By the third period, it’s a 4-3 game.
Jenkins shoots the puck, but the Serpents’ goalie blocks it and the rebound goes into the corner. Jenkins goes after it, fighting to gain possession against Trembley. The Serpent crosschecks him, so my teammate turns and swings at the defenseman.
The two start fighting, exchanging blow after blow. The crowd goes wild. Those in the front row smack the plexiglass.
Blood is running down Jenkins’ chin. Trembley’s bleeding too. But he’s bigger. Stronger. His next punch has Jenkins on the ground. The refs blow their whistles, one pulling Trembley back.
Both players are sent to the penalty box as the crowd boos.
Score’s still the same with only two minutes left.
Connor crouches in the face-off circle. The ref drops the puck and we get possession. Knight goes to pass cross ice, but Rua intercepts.
I angle toward him, picking up speed. My shoulder connects with his chest and he flies backward, landing on his back. When he doesn’t get up, the refs blow the whistle, stopping the play.
Knight skates over to me. “About time.”
“Huh?”
“Finally using your size.”
Connor only shakes his head, but I catch his smirk. Asshole. Did he forget how he went after Jenkins? His own teammate?
At least I’m focusing on an opponent.
Nieminen keeps us out for the final minute. My legs and lungs burn, but I push through. Trembley takes the puck into our zone and shoots. Novotny stops it with a glove save.
Thank fuck because it gives me a second to breathe.
The Serpents win the next face-off, but Knight intercepts a pass. He carries it past the red line and sends it into the offensive zone.
Connor chases after it, tying it up along the boards. Smart play. We don’t need to score, just need to make sure the Serpents don’t. The seconds tick by and the buzzer sounds.
Game ends 4-3.
I can’t stop smiling as we get into the handshake line. Best I’ve played in a long time. Rua plasters on an obnoxious smirk as he shakes my hand.
I really want to punch his face in.
“Fuck, Henneman. Couldn’t play that well last year?” Reed pats my shoulder. “Or is hanging around Walsh rubbing off?”
I stare at him and he winks.
My cheeks heat. Has Connor talked about us to his friends?
Reed laughs, shakes his head, then moves on.
I scan the rink for Connor, but he’s not out here. Thought he might’ve stayed to talk to Reed a bit more. Guess not.
I hop off the ice and make my way to the locker room. Down the hallway on my left, someone’s shouting, another voice shouting back.
Connor?
What the hell is going on?
The shouting stops, but when Connor doesn’t appear, I make my way over.
I stop dead in my tracks, breath catching as I turn the corner. My ears ring, pulse hammering in my throat.
Mr. Walsh, who has Connor pinned against the wall, hand around my husband’s throat. Connor’s face is purple as he slaps and claws at his father’s arm.
I rush over and grab the back of the older Walsh’s jacket and then yank it with everything I have. He slams into the opposite wall with a thud. I drop my stick and grab the front of his shirt, pinning him with my forearm. “Touch my husband again and I will kill you.”
Mr. Walsh glares at me. “Mr. Henneman, this does not concern you. I suggest you walk away.”
I loom over him, teeth clenched so hard they might shatter. “Stay away from him. We clear?”
“Don’t bark if you can’t bite, boy.”
“What’s going—Mr. Walsh, you’re not supposed to be back here.” Coach Nieminen walks toward us.
I step back but keep myself between Connor and his father.
Mr. Walsh adjusts his jacket, his gaze going from me to his son. “This isn’t over.”
I turn to Connor once his father is out of sight. “You okay?”
He just stares at me, then at Coach Nieminen, who’s now been joined by half the team.
Coach Harper comes over, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Give him some space.”
Connor straightens. “I’m fine.”
But he's not fine. Everyone can see that.
“Let's get you checked out.” Harper steps forward. “That looked like it could have—”
“Said I'm fine.” Connor’s fists clench at his sides. “You all can fucking stop staring.”
Coach Harper nods, then helps Nieminen herd the rest of the team away.
Connor’s neck is red and already starting to discolor. I reach out, but he slaps my hand away. “Leave. Now.”
“Connor—”
“Now!”
I nod, then walk away, giving him the space he needs because sometimes the best way to take care of someone is knowing when to let them breathe.