Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Duncan
One More Penalty
I'm a lover not a fighter, except on the ice. You fuck with my guy, my goalie especially, and I'm going to level you.
And tonight, we've been given free reign to let our emotions spill into the game.
I hawk a loogie into the penalty box where I sit for another two minutes. A very small part of me feels bad for tripping that guy and sending him dangerously into the boards but tonight I need the pain, I need the impact.
It’s childish but I’m hurting, and I want others to hurt too.
First of all, people are fucking with Crosby and that alone would make my blood boil.
Second of all, when I get home tonight, Rhys won't be there.
It's an emptiness I haven't been able to shake since he walked out two weeks ago. I was sluggish for the first two games on the road. And then a deep seeded anger sprouted and I have been playing angry for the last three games.
I am furious with the entire fucking world tonight.
And Florida's forwards are taking the brunt of it.
My boys kill off the penalty and I slap on my helmet to rejoin them.
I can feel my blades slicing through the layers of ice as I manipulate my edges to gain speed. The jackass star on Florida's team has the puck and I just want to level him.
My body slams him into the boards. With both hands on my stick, I jam it into the inch of space between his shorts and shoulder pads.
"Fuck you Paisley." He grits.
"You’d like that wouldn’t you?" I make a kissy noise as I back off.
Crocs and I were lucky not to get ejected after our fights in the first. The benefit of chirping the other players for eighteen minutes before they finally snapped is their guy got the instigation call and was tossed while I let my toothless grin fly.
The horn sounds to end the second period and we hustle down the tunnel to the locker room.
Coach is more lenient on his no phones during the game policy tonight and I see Crosby checking for updates.
I check my phone too, having reached out to Lake Belmont for help.
I pull up my thread with Remember You Started This and stare at the text I drafted but never sent.
I figured he’d maybe have a connection somewhere in the industry to help us with this shit storm.
But he doesn't owe me anything.
We ended it, clean cut.
In fact it was his idea.
So I can't be the pathetic one that comes crawling back for help when I need some publicity advice.
And the idea of reaching out to flirt opens up a pit in my stomach. I want it, I might even need it, but the risk of being rejected again keeps I'm treading in too deep of water, struggling to stay on the surface.
"Paisley!" Coach yells and instinctively my spine straightens.
"Sup coach?" I go for nonchalant.
"You've got one more penalty to use before I have to bench you."
"Fair."
Coach Mike Bradford leans in, he's only a few years older than we are having started coaching when he was in his late twenties. "If it were just up to me I'd let you go fucking nuts. But the team is hearing from the league that they'll issue suspensions and fines if this continues."
"Fair." I give him a grin.
***
Florida ices the puck halfway through the third period. It gets pulled all the way back to their end for a faceoff and we get fresh legs.
I position myself shoulder-to-shoulder with one of their guys, Rockford, and he's huffing after being on the ice for so long.
"If your wife needs someone who won't get out of breath trying to edge her out, give her my number." I say as I keep my eyes focused on the faceoff circle where Emmett is dropping his stick.
"Fuck off Paisley."
"I think you mean Fuck Me Paisley."
He doesn't respond.
"Because that's what your wife was begging for last night in my hotel room." I huff out as the puck drops. I shove my shoulder into his chest to get ahead and catch the pass but he pulls back and I teeter to my left.
Then he slashes me right under the knee and I go down. "Fuck!"
The mother fucker skates off and we don't get a call. I hear Coach Bradford and the entire bench calling for it but I get up and find my target.
Every empty space inside me fills with rage.
I'm angry.
At this fucking guy.
At Crosby's situation.
At Rhys for leaving.
At myself for letting him go.
But unfortunately for Mr. Rockford he's going to feel it.
The puck is in our possession in the neutral zone and I see him moving for a change.
Time for a traffic jam.
I skate right through the fucker. He flies backwards and lands on his ass, his head falling back to the ice. The crowd gasps and groans. I'm not a monster so I stand over him for a moment to make sure he's still moving.
He is.
He rolls and gets up as his bench calls for interference or whatever the fuck that hit could be called.
No whistle comes and the game continues.
I trap the puck at the blue line, pass it down to Felix who is circling in the corner. He shoots it up on a blind pass through the faceoff dot to Bryson who one-times it to the back of the goal.
"Fuck yes!" I yell as I skate towards them.
"Booya!" Bryson screams as he fist pumps.
"Atta boy!" Felix congratulates us and we skate by the bench giving glove bumps to our teammates.
Crosby and I sit as the second defensive line takes the ice for the faceoff.
"So, I know you're not actually good," I say before I squirt water into my mouth. "But, are you good?"
"I'll be fine." Crosby says and his steely tone sends shivers down my overheated body.
"You wanna play something on the plane?" I ask. "I've got travel scrabble with me."
"No."
"Alright," I keep my tone light. He's got a lot going on tonight, he can be short. But, I’ve got shit going on too man, help me help you. "You good to give me a ride home?"
Rides to the airport have been our thing since we both landed in D.C. as rookies.
"I dunno."
"Fair. I'll find another ride."
"CD Line you're up!" Coach calls to Crosby and I and we stand and get ready to hop the boards and take the ice again.
The final minutes tick by and the horn sounds giving us the victory. Felix gives an epic post-game interview where he doesn't try to explain away our record setting penalty minutes.
I'm leaning into every song blasting through the speaker in the locker room, every joke the boys are making about my chirps tonight, every discussion floating around me. But nothing fills the void in my low belly.
It’s no longer an uneasy sensation putting me on edge.
It’s a bone deep ache I think I’ll have to live with forever.
I close my eyes on the flight home, arms crossed, headphones on, but I don’t sleep. We land just after one in the morning. Aiden offers me a ride home since Crosby bolted off the plain and drove away to try and fix his shit.
I don’t even feel hurt by Crosby ignoring my help.
I’m out of fucks to give.
Young Gun and I sit in silence the entire way.
"I can't believe we're having a baby shower for Crosby tomorrow." Aiden says as he pulls in front of my building.
"Technically, it's this afternoon." I say as I point to the dashboard clock reading almost two in the morning.
"Good point."
"So, umm, I know Rhys left for Nashville."
"So?" I ask, trying to tamper down the part of me excited to talk about him.
"Just, are you alright?"
I look across the console at my stoic and typically closed off goalie. "Is this a heart to heart? Did Felix put you up to it?"
"No." Aiden denies it but it isn't clean and he knows it. I cross my arms and wait. "Maybe he asked me to ask you how it's going."
"Wow." I laugh. "Felix is good."
"What do you mean?"
"Well we had a shit storm for Crosby today and Felix still managed to get you to get an update on me."
"He's a deeply caring individual." Aiden offers.
"He's nosey as fuck."
Aiden laughs. "That too. But he's also busy with the shower tomorrow. Today."
"Right."
"Do you want Harper and I to pick you up for it?" He asks.
"Sure, yeah, sounds good."
There are only a few hours for me to regroup and get myself in the mood to celebrate my best friend and the women he's starting a family with.
I know I can do it, I'm the happy go lucky guy. I just have to remember to fake it until I make it.
Because being love sick over a friend-with-benefits is not who I am.
In fact, it’s time I moved on. I couldn't be everything Rhys needed but I can be the teammate and friend I’ve always been.
The next few weeks are full of celebrations, holidays, and games. Time to put my head down, keep my chest lifted, and summon the energy to be the Duncan “Pay Day” Paisley the world expects.