18. Pope
Chapter 18
Pope
Apparently, there’s a rivalry between our team and Chicago that goes back to even before the team was relocated to Superior. It made sense once it was pointed out to me by Jules earlier. The Detroit Devils and the Chicago Cardinals have been easy rivals for decades, mostly due to the proximity but also fueled by a controversial win in the seventh game of the cup finals twelve years ago. Jules warns me it’ll be a tough night, apologizing for the late notice. I laugh it off and go through my taping ritual.
I have a bit of a hard time concentrating though. Not because of Jules’s warning, but because of a certain someone who walks into the dressing room when I’m halfway through taping my stick. The tape goes crooked as my eyes lock onto Hayden. He settles in front of Lafferty, almost directly across from my stall, and starts talking to him. It’s too loud in here, but I swear I can still hear the low rumbling of his voice through all the clanging and chatter. Not that what he’s saying matters. My attention has zeroed in on his ass.
Has he worn those pants before? How did I ever see him in those pants and think I’m straight? My god, I want to slide my cock—
“Your tape is fucked.”
My stick clatters to the ground, causing quite a few guys—including Hayden—to turn to look at me. I duck my head, snagging my stick and staring at the fucked up tape-job like it’s what I was focused on all along. “I’ll fix it,” I mumble as I quickly start unwinding the tape.
“Try to keep your eyes off the view and it might turn out better this time, eh?” Jules teases.
“I hate you.” I ball up the discarded tape and toss it. “I can’t talk while I do this. Shh.”
“You can’t keep your eyes off your man either.”
“Shh.”
He laughs before ruffling my hair and walking away. I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but grin as I restart my tape. Pain in the ass friend and messed up tape-job or not, I feel… happy .
God, it feels so fucking good to finally feel happy.
Jules wasn’t being dramatic when he warned me about Chicago. It’s a dirty game from the beginning. They start it, one of their defensemen laying Kirkland out hard on the ice just three minutes in with a hit from behind that has the crowd and our line in an uproar. We at least take advantage of the power play, Jules shooting a fucking beautiful goal that gets us off to a nice start.
Chicago is pissed after that, roughing one of our guys where the refs can’t see. No amount of shouting or pointing—or even Coach yelling from the bench at them—has the refs calling it. We play rough back, but keep it clean as far as penalties are concerned. They’re penalties for a reason—they’re fucking dangerous. Chicago makes it clear they don’t feel the same with a slashing on Bear near the end of the first. The refs call it, but only do a minor and the fucker talks shit his entire skate over to the penalty box.
If I was in a bad mood like I’ve been lately, I’d be starting a fight. Instead, I keep my head on straight.
Jules apparently doesn’t agree with that method because he boards Chicago’s center within seconds of our line touching the ice.
“How ya like that, fucker?” he shouts at the asshole who is taking a while to get back up. He’s being dramatic. Jules is a good guy. He made sure the dude knew the hit was coming before it came. Hell, we all saw it coming. Now he’s just playing it up for the refs. “Not fun, eh?”
Black jerseys come at him from both sides, a fight breaking out instantly. I skate over and start swinging at the first black jersey I see. I might not be in a shitty mood, but I’m never going to turn down a fight. Especially when it’s Jules I’m fighting beside.
When it’s all said and done, Jules, Kirkland, and I are tossed in the sin bin alongside the two guys who first came at Jules, who are now joining the asshole who slashed Bear. The refs announce penalties, but we’re all too busy yelling shit at each other through the thin glass separating the two boxes to listen.
“Get your team in line before we wipe the ice with your fucking—” the wind rushes out of my sails when someone grabs the back of my neck and tugs. I stumble, the rest of my words forgotten already as I look down to find Hayden’s face just inches from mine. I grin at him. He does not grin back.
“I thought we agreed you’d stop fighting,” he grumbles as he practically shoves me down onto the bench to take a look at me.
“Pretty sure we came to no such agreement.” I pull away from his concerned hands and nod toward Jules beside me who is sporting a bloody nose. “Look at him. I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow. “You know how I feel about that word.”
“Yeah, yeah. But we’re only in here another minute, so check him out.”
He eyes me for a few more seconds before turning his focus to Jules. I watch him, his competent hands working quickly as he asks him the questions I’ve been asked by him quite a few times already this season. He’s so damn good at his job. How is that so sexy?
Hayden grumbles something I can’t hear before moving on to check Kirkland. Jules is nice enough to wait until Hayden’s shoes are out of the way before spitting some blood on the floor.
One of the Chicago players slams their hand against the glass and shouts, “Is Mommy taking care of you boys?”
I keep my eyes on Hayden, ignoring the asshole.
“I want to fuck them up,” Jules growls, his head leaning toward me like he’s trying to keep Hayden from hearing. There’s a chance he is. The man might be a goofball, but he’s still pretty damn smart. Smart enough to know Hayden would not approve of us pre-planning anything.
I check to make sure Hayden still isn’t paying attention before meeting Jules’s eyes. “I’ve got your back.”
Our penalty expires twenty seconds later.
I don’t know who’s more pissed when we shuffle into the dressing room at the end of the second period—Coach or Hayden.
“Reckless, dirty bullshit!” Coach is yelling at all of us while Hayden is two stalls down snapping, “Hold still!” at Lafferty while he checks his mouth that’s been pouring blood a little too long after his tooth was knocked out. Maggie is distributing ice packs and talking to players to see who Hayden will need to go to next. Kirkland has a gash on his temple that might need stitches. I hand him one of my clean towels when I see that his is starting to soak through. Then I turn to Jules and start helping remove his shoulder pads, ignoring when he growls at the pain. I ignore that my ribs are aching while I’m at it.
“—baiting you like schoolyard bullies and you’re playing right into—” Coach roars.
“Sit the fuck down,” Hayden orders, his voice close enough now for me to think he’s probably helping Kirkland right behind me. “Maggie, grab my suture kit. Look at the light, buddy.”
“I’m fine, man. Really.”
“You took a while to stand up after that hit and this gash is nasty. So look at the fucking light before I have Coach pull you for the rest of the game.”
I set Jules’s gear on the floor in front of his skates and eye his shoulder. It doesn’t look dislocated, but it looks angry.
“—even care about scoring? It looks like you’re all watching for your next possible hit instead of watching for fucking openings—”
“Hayden, the doc can take him now,” Maggie says.
“What?” Kirkland asks, his voice turning panicked. “No! I’m fine!”
“Wyatt,” he says, using Kirkland’s first name, his voice softer now. Understanding. He looks Kirkland in the eyes. “You and I both know you have to get checked in a quiet room. The faster you go, the faster it’s over.”
I hear a slam of gear and look over in time to see Kirkland shoving past Hayden, clearly fuming as he hobbles behind Doc toward the quiet room.
Hayden takes a deep breath before forcing a smile and turning to the next player. His eyes find mine and something flickers in his expression. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him falter in his job, aside from when I’ve shut him down by being an asshole in the past. It makes me unreasonably angry at Kirkland.
“That boarding was…” Hayden shakes his head, his eyes falling to my jersey like he can somehow see my torso through it. “I thought the glass was going to shatter.”
“It looked worse than it was,” I promise.
He bites his lip, not looking convinced, but his eyes end up trailing away to all the other players who need him right now. I can see the conflict inside him as he fights between his need to check on me and his need to do his job.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, lowering my voice. This suddenly feels intimate. His emotions are so thick, I can feel them seeping into me. “You can check me over later, promise.”
He jerks his head in a sharp nod before turning to Jules and taking a deep breath. He doesn’t bother to force a smile this time. What he does do is hit Jules over the side of the head before growling, “You’re the worst one out there! Are you trying to get your ass tossed out?”
Jules pouts. “No.”
“—and on fucking kids night!” Coach bellows. “Kids night of all nights, you decide to play like this? What kind of example does that set for those young players?”
“You’re lucky this isn’t dislocated,” Hayden scolds Jules.
“He hit me, not the other way around.”
“I wonder why,” Hayden grumbles as he gently moves Jules’s shoulder in a full rotation. “Perhaps because you punched him in the first period.”
Jules gives him a mischievous grin. “Yeah. You got me there, eh?”
Hayden doesn’t seem charmed by the grin, just like he didn’t with mine in the sin bin earlier.
“—and you, Wilson! What kind of leadership is that out there?” he asks, turning to glare at our captain sitting at his stall with a bloody lip. “You’re supposed to be the one with his head on straight, not the one joining in!”
“I’m taping this, but I want to see you after the game to check it out better,” Hayden tells Jules as he pulls out a roll of tape.
“Are you all listening?” Coach yells so loudly the fucking lockers seem to rattle.
“Yes, Coach!” we all shout, including Hayden.
Coach looks around at the chaos in the room before shaking his head in disgust. “Starting with first line. Goose, you’re in for Kirkland. Bear, take Goose’s spot. Get out there and win this fucking game. It’s the least you sorry fuckers can do after this shitshow.”
“Yes, Coach!” we all yell again.
Hayden pauses in front of me, gripping my chin in a hold tight enough to make me wince. He leans down so close our noses brush. My heart immediately kicks into overdrive. “Keep your nose clean out there and watch your back, you understand?”
It’s the same voice he used the other night when he talked about control in the bedroom. It has me swallowing hard, my poor cock all confused as it tries stirring in my jock.
“Do you understand?” he repeats, his words holding an edge to them this time.
“Yes, sir,” I say automatically.
He pulls back, flashing me a wicked grin that would make Jules damn proud. “Good boy.”
Well… fuck me.
Chicago possibly got their asses handed to them by their coach too because they’re tamed down in the third. There’s still a cross- check on Bear that a ref calls and some tense words exchanged, but no gloves drop and we don’t retaliate. Well, besides another goal, which is usually the best revenge anyway.
The team’s mood is conflicted when we end the game with a one point lead. It’s a win, which is exciting, but Coach isn’t even smiling and most of us are really fucking hurting at this point. Our mood is reflected in the unusual quiet of the dressing room as we all undress.
Coach crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at all of us. “As far as I’m concerned, none of you are worthy of it tonight. Those of you who are hurt, go see Hayden. Those of you who aren’t, go home. Pray I’m in a better mood tomorrow.”
There’s a murmuring of, “Yes, Coach,” before everyone returns to their undressing. I’m soaked in sweat and have some dried blood on me—I think Kirkland’s, but I can’t be sure, a lot of blood was spilled tonight—so I decide to take a quick shower before bothering Hayden. He’s going to be busy for a while anyway. There’s already a few guys lining up at his door.
It’s about a minute into the shower that a wave of exhaustion passes over me. It’s enough to have my knees going weak and my head spinning, making me have to brace myself on the wall as water washes away the soap I managed to get on so far. I’m smart enough to know not to push myself, turning off the water when the wave passes and snagging a towel.
Usually the worry would start now, but this doesn’t feel like my usual depression exhaustion. This isn’t me slipping. There’s no mental crash about to hit. The happiness I’ve been feeling is still too close to the surface. Nothing can touch me with it there. Not the exhaustion or the ache in my ribs or Coach’s disappointment. It’s powerful shit. I know it won’t be enough to keep the depression away for good, that’s not how it works, but I’ll appreciate it as long as I can.
I pull out a protein bar to snack on before shuffling down the hall to the AT room. It’s a loud mess in there, every ice bath and exam table in use, the mat covered with players stretching out, and both Maggie and Hayden engrossed in an exam. I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, forcing myself to look around instead of just openly staring at Hayden. It’s hard though. He’s got those fucking pants on, and the sleeves of his team quarter-zip are rolled up to show off those veins I traced during our night together, and there’s this confident aura pouring off him as he redresses Kirkland’s stitches.
A few of the guys pass me by, giving me subdued pats on the shoulder. The mat has a spot open now so I head over there, weaving past a grumbling Knut in an ice bath and Maggie who is talking Jules through his shoulder’s care routine for the next forty-eight hours while he waits for the swelling to decrease. I slot myself right against the wall and lazily put a leg out like I’m stretching it. Then I pull my cap the right way around and down low over my face to hide where my eyes are focused. Now, I can look all I want at Hayden’s ass and forearms and the side of his ridiculously handsome face without anyone knowing.
I’m so damn tired. So, so damn tired. But my mind still has the energy to cook up ideas on what we might get up to tonight once we’re alone. He probably needs to stay here for a while longer. There’s going to be even more to clean than usual. He was already behind because it was theme night and—in his words—he’s a sucker for cute kids, so he wanted to watch before the game instead of getting a head start on his to-do list. There’s also the fact that he’s gotten almost double the amount of usual post-game player visits tonight.
I don’t mind if we have to hang out here. I could put a pot of coffee on or even grab an energy drink. Since I’m so happy, I doubt the energy drink would cause a drop. I’d even be willing to drink one of his stupid cherry juices to make up for the possibility, just to be safe. The last thing I want is my depression ruining this thing we’ve just managed to start. I want at least a week or two of happiness before my brain turns on me. Haven’t I earned that, at least? Just a week. Seven days.
Seven days of secret smiles and lingering touches. Of languid kisses and hurried kisses and filthy kisses and romantic kisses. Of all of that gorgeous man, hard and naked against me. Seven days of exploring each other’s bodies. Of him teaching me how to pleasure him. Of him stretching me out for his cock. Seven days of—
“Hey, buddy.”
I jerk, grunting in pain when my elbow slams into the wall behind me. My hat is no longer on my head and the room is a lot quieter than it was before. What the fuck?
I blink hard a few times before my exhausted eyes manage to focus on Jules squatting in front of me. I frown at him. “You keep interrupting me.”
“Do I?” He tilts his head like he’s curious, but he’s smirking like he’s fully aware that he’s a shithead. “What could I have been interrupting? You fell asleep.”
Did I?
“Then you interrupted my sleep, obviously.” When I see my hat in his hand, I snatch it from him and pull it over my head, this time with the bill backward. “What do you want?”
“I’ve been ordered to take you home.”
“No.” I run a hand over my face, still feeling foggy. “I’m staying. I’ll get a ride from Hayden.”
“No, you won’t,” that oh-so-deep voice says from the left as Hayden appears to squat down beside Jules. Without even asking, he tugs my sweatshirt up to expose my stomach. I frown, not sure how I feel about the turn of events with my roommate right here, but I’m so tired I can’t think of the right words to joke about it. “How do they feel?”
It takes me longer than it should to realize he’s talking about my ribs from the boarding earlier. I glance down to see his hands gently prodding at the outside of the already-blooming bruise. Oh. This isn’t a sex thing. How disappointing.
“Feels fine.” When he arches a brow at me, I snort a laugh. “Sorry, sorry, not fine. Feels okay.”
“Take a breath for me.”
“I’ve been.”
His eyes narrow on me. “ Ethan .”
I clench my hands to keep from adjusting my cock in my sweatpants. It’s not hard, right? Just a little… twitchy?
Don’t look at it, Ethan. No one will look if you don’t look.
After a mumbled apology that has heat pooling in my cheeks and… other places, I take a deep breath like I know he wanted all along. He watches me carefully, but there’s no reason for it. Besides a little discomfort, there’s no issue as my chest expands. When he says nothing, I do it again, careful not to roll my eyes. Honestly, this isn’t too much of a hardship. His hand feels nice on my skin. Cool and firm. All competent. Maybe he’ll want to check other parts of me?
“Can you twist for me? Do it slowly.”
I do as ordered, refusing to pout when his hand drops away because of the movement. When he gestures in the other direction, I twist the other way too. He still looks concerned, but he seems to accept that I really am fine.
“Alright. Home with Jules.”
I glance over his shoulder at the now empty AT room. They must have let me sleep for a while. Even Maggie seems to be gone. Or at least out of the room for now.
Since it’s just us—and fucking Jules—I give him a slow smile that I know has melted quite a few panties in the past. “Don’t you wanna kiss me all better though?”
Jules snorts and removes himself from the area, shaking his head at us. I prepare myself for something flirty from Hayden. Maybe an invite to stay here with him or for him to at least come to my place later, since it’s not like we have to hide from Jules.
I’m extremely disappointed when he says, “Go home. Sleep. It’s been a long night and mine is about to be much longer.”
“Don’t worry, boss man,” Jules calls from behind Hayden. “I’ll make sure your boy sleeps.”
My cheeks heat, but when Hayden just thanks him without correcting the your boy part, that heat seeps down into my chest, settling there until I feel lightheaded and absurdly pleased.
“Get going now.” Hayden pulls my hoodie down before glancing over his shoulder. I think he’s checking for the same thing I was earlier—that we’re alone, minus Jules. Will he kiss me? I don’t think he will, considering he’s frowning when he turns back to me. “And actually sleep when you get there, okay? I’m ignoring any texts or calls tonight. You have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.”
I let the sleeping comment slide, feeling far too pouty to care about the implications. Why won’t he kiss me? I was good for him. I behaved tonight.
You know what? If he’s not going to kiss me, I’m going to kiss him.
Hayden gasps against my mouth, his body rocking backward as my momentum knocks him off-balance. I catch him with an arm looped around his waist and pull him hard against me. He relaxes into the hold, our tongues warring for a few seconds before I let him have the control he enjoys so much. The control I enjoy him having, if I’m being honest with myself.
The moment he has it though, he’s pulling away with a hand on my chest to keep me from chasing him. His face is flushed, his lips slick, but his eyes are narrowed again.
“Fine,” I grumble, realizing I lost this fight before they even woke me up. “But tomorrow night, your ass is mine. We’re having a fucking date night. And a sleepover.”
“You’re adorable when you act like you’re in charge.” He grips my chin, using the hold to shake my head just enough to be patronizing. That partnered with his smirk has my head spinning. “But don’t get it twisted, baby. It’ll be your ass that’s mine. Get some rest. I don’t intend on letting you get much of it tomorrow.”
I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”
Jules stays quiet until we’re in the car. Then he lets out a low, impressed whistle and flashes me the widest of grins. “Brosy, you’re fucked.”
“Yeah.” I rest my head against the glass, so damn tired but still managing a pretty wide grin of my own. “I so am.”