Chapter Five #2
Unfortunately, that had been the case for me for a few years — but I got the hang of things in that last season. When I found out a veteran center was retiring and opening a space that needed to be filled, I saw my opportunity.
And I knew I couldn’t blow it.
That was when I signed up to work with the team’s sports psychologist, when I’d found a therapist, when I’d said enough is enough.
I was far from where I wanted to be, but I’d made progress.
If only that progress transferred to my sex life.
Before my mind could veer off into Livia Young territory, Daddy P clapped me on the shoulder. “Sure, you played alright in the first, but don’t think we’re going to let you live down that dangle.”
It was Vince Tanev’s turn to pipe in, his warm laugh rumbling through the locker room. “Oh, Carter went full highlight mode with that turnover. Did ESPN call and beg for blooper reel gold, or was it just that the Zamboni crew needed a little help sweeping the ice?”
The guys laughed, and I joined in — even if my chest stung a little. They weren’t coming down on me. It was all playful, all love, and I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t take a little razzing.
But there was a little truth beneath those jokes, and it was so fucking hard sometimes for me not to take them personally, not to take those remarks home with me and let them beat me to a pulp.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “Keep talking, Tanny Boy, and I’ll pay the camera crew for footage of that failed attempt at a bar down shot you made in the third and put it on repeat in the team gym.”
“Right next to the video of you fanning the puck when you had a wide-open net, right?” Aleks chimed in. “You need a GPS for that puck, bud?”
“Someone get the man an AirTag,” Jaxson added.
Everyone laughed again, and I tongued my cheek against a smile before chasing them all into the ice baths with a snap of my towel.
Ten minutes later, I was in a meditative state — ice water up to my chin, eyes shut, brain muffling out the noise of the guys still chattering around me.
Beneath those closed eyelids, a reel of everything I’d done right and wrong flashed on replay.
I tried to do what our sports psychologist advised, taking what I could from each mistake before leaving them in the past, and making a moment to applaud myself for the achievements.
That last part was harder than the first.
Even when I did do something worth being proud of, I had to fight against my old coach’s voice inside my head adding a negative spin.
Sure, you scored — but you could have scored twice if you wouldn’t have missed that open net.
You won the draw. Big fucking deal. Never mind that you lost the puck in turnover a fucking youth player could have avoided.
Oh, patting yourself on the back for that pass, are you? If you were a better player, you would have shot the puck yourself. But you were too scared, weren’t you?
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter as the thoughts battered me, and I tried to visualize me swatting them away with a stick like they were rogue pucks just like my therapist had taught me.
It did help.
But only temporarily.
I knew it wouldn’t stop the barrage from coming in the future.
Once the reel highlights had died down and my brain was mush just like my body, I finally let my mind wander to Livia.
If I were listing out things I was proud of at the moment, then making that woman come would be at the top of the list.
Even a week later, just thinking about the sweet sounds she’d made had me eager for round two. The fact that I’d been the one responsible for those noises, that I’d made her fly apart with my mouth alone?
It was enough to make me feel like I deserved the MVP award.
Of course, my next thought was one that made me groan and shake my head.
I still couldn’t believe I’d blown my wad without her touching me, without her permission, as she’d said.
I knew I wasn’t her sub in the traditional sense of the word, but fuck, I loved when she went Domme on me.
I loved the little bits of degradation, the control she exercised, the way she made it clear who was calling the shots.
It made me feel free to explore, to try new things, to fuck up and not have serious hell to pay. I’d been ashamed when I came, but she’d quickly made sure I knew I didn’t need to feel that way.
She’d said it was hot.
She’d assured me she’d help me with that control.
She hadn’t berated me or made me feel like shit, even playfully, and she could never know how much that meant to me.
My skin burned as I pulled my body from the tub when I couldn’t take anymore, and I wrapped a towel around my waist before padding to my locker and pulling out my phone.
I texted Livia without a second thought.
Me: Whiffed a goal and they won’t let me live it down. Might need one of your “confidence building” sessions later. Preferably involving handcuffs.
It was late on the East Coast, so I was surprised when the gray letters spelled out READ under the text. Seconds later, she was typing back.
Doctor Pain: Ouch. I’m with the girls and we had the game on. If it makes you feel any better, we only laughed a little bit. Like five solid minutes.
Me: Laughing is the last thing I want to make you do right now.
Doctor Pain: Oho. That line had a little growl in it. What is it you do want to make me do, Rookie?
Me: Moan the way you did last week.
The second I shot off the text, I regretted it. I hoped it sounded cocky and flirtatious but wondered if Livia could see right through it and would call me out. She’d laughed at me plenty of times in our friendship.
But now, I was desperate to show her I was a good student, that I was already learning.
Doctor Pain: I won’t lie… that was a fantastic orgasm in the end. You took instructions so well.
I nearly passed out when the text came through, adrenaline spiking in my veins like I was being chased by a bear.
She’d liked it.
I’d made her feel good.
Doctor Pain: But no more play until you get your doctor’s note, Rook.
Me: You mean this one?
I attached a picture I’d taken the day before of my STD test results and the clearance from my doctor for rigorous physical activity.
The man had looked at me like I was crazy when I asked him to write it, considering I was a professional fucking hockey player, but thankfully, he didn’t ask questions.
I’d meant to send the picture before we got on the team flight out to California, but it was always hectic on a travel day, and I’d never gotten around to it.
As soon as the photo went through, I sent another text.
Me: And if you’ll check your bank account, I think you’ll find that the first deposit cleared successfully today.
Doctor Pain: Such a good boy.
Me: You’re going to give me a boner in the middle of this locker room full of sweaty dudes.
Doctor Pain: Sounds like a teachable moment. Maybe one of them can give you the next lesson?
Me: *flat face emoji*
Doctor Pain: You’re off on Sunday, yes?
My heart kicked, anticipation flowing like a river through my chest.
Me: I am.
Doctor Pain: Good. Clean your place. Stock up on electrolytes.
Me: Yes, Mommy.
Doctor Pain: And Rook?
Me: Yes, Mommy?
Doctor Pain: Edge twice a day until I get there. Then take care of yourself once more when I say I’m on my way. I want to feel every second of that restraint when I finally let you come.