Chapter 21
Connor
Third period, and we're up by one. We would’ve been up by three if Boston College’s goalie wasn't standing on his fucking head tonight. Time to put another one in net. We need a buffer.
I win the face-off, sending it back to Zach. BC's center tries to chase, but Zach sends it cross ice to Ryan, who doesn't hesitate—just hammers it up the boards to Jenkins.
Ryan’s a different animal tonight, finishing every check, moving the puck clean, no second-guessing. Just pure confidence.
Like last night—at the beginning.
The way he came out of the bathroom in those briefs. Fuck they were more like sexy panties. Ones I ripped because I needed to get to his dick.
Then my goddamn husband fucked my face. It was my first time sucking dick, and he was too big, too thick for me to take deep. Though fuck, I wanted to.
He also ate my ass.
Never thought I'd want someone's tongue there. But fuck, the way he spread me open and devoured me—my dick's getting hard just remembering it.
Later, though, in the bathroom . . . different story. He guided my hand to his chest, wanted me to clean him. He was doing okay until he wasn't. I had to stop before he fully panicked.
Pisses me off that I don’t know how to fix it, don’t know how to make him feel better.
The whistle blows, pulling my attention back to the game. Offside. Jenkins was too eager and crossed the blue line before the puck.
Coach signals for a change. We all skate to the bench, hopping over the boards as the second line takes over.
Jenkins slides down next to me, still breathing hard from the shift. “Henneman's actually playing like he belongs out there. About time.”
About time?
Guess this motherfucker wants me to punch his face in again. I grab my water bottle, squirting some water into my mouth. Farther down the bench, Ryan leans forward, tracking the puck, completely locked in. Zach’s beside him, doing the same.
Jenkins groans. “Their goalie is seeing everything tonight. Gonna need traffic in front if we want to win.”
The second line is struggling to get anything going. BC's clogging up the neutral zone, not giving them any space. They dump it in, but BC's defense recovers quickly, starting their breakout.
“Get back!” Nieminen shouts from behind us.
The guys backcheck hard, but BC's moving the puck well. They get a shot off, but Viktor stones them with his blocker, directing the rebound to the corner. One of BC’s wingers regains possession and cycles it back to the blue line.
Their defenseman takes a slapshot. The puck hits off the top of the bar and sails into the safety netting.
Fuck.
We need to get the puck out of our zone.
Third line goes out, Ryan and Zach too. Our luck’s still shit. But Ryan wins a puck battle in the corner. Yet their goalie covers when we take a shot. “Still can't buy a fucking goal.”
Fourth line takes a short shift, barely forty seconds. They grind in the corner, but nothing comes of it.
Our line’s back up. Finally. I vault over the boards with Jenkins. Zach and Ryan are out with us. Time to break this fucking game open.
We cycle in their zone, working the puck around. Jenkins has it behind the net, looking for an opening. I drift to the slot, stick on the ice. The pass comes perfectly. I one-time it five hole.
Goal light flashes red.
2-0 Titans.
I skate past BC’s bench on my way back to ours. “Tell your goalie to try closing his legs next time.”
Their captain lunges but gets held back by teammates. I just smirk and keep skating.
But the goal high doesn’t land. Not like it used to.
What does?
Ryan flattening a BC forward with a perfect hip check. The crowd goes wild. Ryan just skates away like it's nothing. But I catch his small smile, and it does more to my chest than any goal I've scored.
I’m back out a few minutes later. BC wins the face-off, their center chipping it back to their winger. The kid misses and it goes into the corner. I chase it down, but he’s right on my heels.
His stick battles mine, trying to gain possession of the puck. “Nice goal, princess. Daddy buy you those hands too?”
“Your mom seemed to like them last night.” I shove back, trying to gain position.
“Original.” He laughs, then drives the butt end of his stick into my ribs.
Pain shoots through my side. Fucker.
I turn to retaliate, but he's already gone, skating into our zone with the puck. No whistle. Ref was right fucking there and didn't call shit.
My ribs throb as I chase him, fury burning in my chest. One of their guys catches Jenkins with a late hit. No call again.
The puck is loose near the crease and Viktor covers it. And then their fucking winger chops him on the calf.
No one fucking hits our goalie.
Zach wraps his arm around the winger’s throat from behind, yanking him backward and slamming him to the ice.
That’s all it takes.
Gloves are dropped, fists swinging. BC’s captain is closest to me, his helmet already off. I grab him, and my fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. He swings wildly, catching me in the helmet and knocking it sideways.
Bet his hand fucking hurts.
I throw a jab and it connects with his nose, blood oozing instantly.
Someone’s pulling on my jersey and I spin around, ready to hit someone else. But it’s one of the linesmen who continues to pull me away from the brawl.
Meanwhile, Jenkins has someone in a headlock, pounding his face.
Zach’s feeding the winger punch after punch.
And fuck . . . Ryan’s got two BC players—one in each hand—dragging them back like they're fucking children.
Each guy must be at least two hundred pounds each, but he's yanking them away from the pile like it's nothing.
Just pure, raw strength on display.
My dick gets rock hard in my cup.
He tosses one guy toward their bench, then shoves the other in the opposite direction.
“Holy shit,” someone breathes beside me.
My husband skates back to our bench as if he didn't just manhandle two grown men simultaneously.
My husband.
Fuck.
I shake my head and turn back to the fight. But it’s over, and everyone’s returning to their bench to wait for the refs to sort out the penalties.
Ends up being matching minors all around.
The game’s coming to the final minutes. BC puts one past Viktor. Hate to say it, but it was a perfect snipe.
Coach puts my line back out, hoping to pad the lead. Don’t want to go into overtime. And definitely don’t want to lose again.
Jenkins dumps the puck into the offensive zone, and I chase it down. One of BC’s defensemen pins me against the boards.
“So, forty-three finally grew a pair of balls. Or you lending him yours?”
My elbow comes up, catching him in the jaw. He staggers back, and I drop my gloves, grabbing his jersey before he can recover. My fist connects with his face once, twice, three times before he goes down.
“Run your fucking mouth about my husband again, you won’t get back up.”
He stares, then laughs, blood covering his teeth. “Husband? The Titans really are a bunch of faeries.”
I growl and kick him without thinking.
The ref’s whistle blares over and over, then I'm getting pushed toward the box. Five for fighting.
Fuck.
I put my team on a penalty kill for the last two minutes of play.
Stupid fucking move.
I slam the penalty box door, then drop onto the bench. BC goes on the power play, setting up in our zone. They're moving the puck well, but Zach’s being aggressive on the kill. And Ryan reads the play perfectly.
He steps into the passing lane, intercepts the puck, and takes off. He's flying. One BC player tries to catch him but can’t. Ryan crosses the blue line, shifts to his backhand, then roofs it over the goalie's shoulder.
Shorthanded goal. 3-1 Titans.
I'm on my feet, banging on the glass. “That's how you fucking play!”
The pride in my chest is overwhelming. Bigger than anything I've ever felt scoring myself.
Ryan skates past the penalty box on his way to the bench. Our eyes meet and the corner of his mouth lifts into a small smile.
The same players stay out for the final minute. My gaze bounces between the game and the clock. “Come on, come on, come on.”
The buzzer sounds.
We won.
I step out of the penalty box and skate to Ryan, patting his helmet. “Great fucking play, baby.”
Shit.
Didn’t mean to let that last word slip.
His whole face lights up, cheeks flushing. “Thanks.”
The locker room is chaotic. First win of the season, and we earned it. Guys are shouting, music is blasting from someone's Bluetooth speaker.
I drop onto the bench, smiling wide. Partly because we won. Partly because of the way everyone’s cheering for Ryan.
Just like the championship last season, he manages to step up when we need him most. And fuck, after what I saw today, he could rival Petrov.
I grab my phone from the cubby and hit the power button. The screen lights up, showing a text message.
From my mother.
The smile falls from my face as I read it, my fingers tightening around the case.
Mother: You didn't want to listen, now you'll pay the price.