Chapter 8
Ash
Playing with pain had become so normal for me that I had forgotten what it felt like to just enjoy playing. I wasn’t overcompensating, and I was only slightly favoring my left leg now–according to Thayer.
Playing felt like fun again.
Thayer and I built out a system that worked for us.
I would text him when it started hurting, and he’d tell me what to do until he got to me–it was usually just stay fucking still.
He got so testy when I'd try to walk it off or something, scolding me for it when he finally got to me and was working it out.
Whether that was in the privacy of a training room or with a lot of effort in a room like my dorm. I would just bite back the noises the best I could, but it felt noticeably not as good.
It was a quick solve–just meant to hold me over until he could properly work it out in a training room.
And no more unnecessary calls for him to do it.
It had been working for us for the last few weeks, and it was working for our games–we were winning.
I wasn’t getting as worn out or beaten down.
I’d only been taken out of one game, and it was my call.
I told Thayer I was pretty sure the other team was gunning to injure me, and he agreed, so he pulled me and sent in Tommy.
Thayer was upholding his end of the deal, and I was doing my best–it was hard to even admit to myself when something was hurting me, but to another person?
Pfft.
“Calm. Down,” Thayer said slowly, handing me a new water bottle after mine casually made its way across the ice and into the back of one of Kalamazoo's players. “What’s wrong?”
What wasn’t wrong–wasn’t he watching?
Kalamazoo was boxing me like a fish, and our team was nowhere. I had no backup defense, so blocking was all fine and dandy, but they were catching me on rebounds. I was floundering out there because our team was fucking allergic to our own zone–clearly.
“I’m on my own out there–I don’t have a single D at my net, and they’re bulldozing me,” I huffed, snatching the water bottle from his hand and squirting some into my mouth. “Are you even watching?”
“I’m watching you,” he said calmly, nodding once at me. “My job isn’t to watch the rest of the game–it's to watch you. Make sure you have what you need, so you need a play swap? I’ll let Reed know.”
Something deep and…unsettling fluttered in my lower stomach–a feeling I'd been biting back for weeks now.
Thayer would say something like that–I was watching you, my only concern is you–and instead of feeling supported and appreciated, I felt…gooey. It would make my insides feel thick and syrupy, and my outsides would get warm and uncomfortable.
Don’t even get me started on I’m proud of you or you did a great job, Ash.
My anger–which I’d been stoking for the whole third period–started quelling instantly.
I hated that I wasn’t living up to my reputation for Thayer, but at the same time, it was kind of nice to not be losing my shit all the time. It was nice not feeling like I had to be guarded all the time and like I could relax for a minute.
And Thayer wasn’t that bad of a guy–we actually had a lot in common.
My dad wasn’t much of a sports guy, but he had great taste in music, which happened to be the same as Thayer's. I may have been twenty-one, but I was an only child who really did believe my parents were my best friends growing up, so things lined up a lot for us.
Thayer kept being surprised by me while I was just trying to sort through the weird feelings he stirred up when he said certain things or did certain things.
Touched certain things.
“Calm down, Ash–getting angry won't fix it,” Thayer reminded me, sending me off as the timeout ended.
Our team was down by one with only two minutes left in the game. I had low expectations that anything would really change, but I still bit back my anger and stabilized in my net–became the wall again.
An immovable object.
The play started, and our team lost the faceoff, readying me for a very long two minutes. I was trying to remain positive, but when Kalamazoo took their shot and I blocked it, I was let down even further by the horn blowing in my ear a second later.
They got me on the rebound because I didn’t have a fucking defenseman again.
Frustration boiled over, sending my stick hard into the goal post with an angry yell.
I knew what happened next–the play would start, I’d get pulled, they would still find a way to fuck it up with a man advantage, and this would still end up being my fault on the bus ride home.
The lack of fucking awareness and passion on this team killed me.
The play started, and Reed made his signal, calling me in. I raced over, climbed off the ice, and sent out Dunham to finish the game, but I was pissed.
Reed knew to leave me alone, let me steam, but when I started to storm down the tunnel, Thayer didn’t back off.
“Ash!” he said sternly, clapping a hand on my shoulder for a second before I shoved it off and kept moving to our temporary locker room.
The horn blared and pissed me off just a little bit more, but I was used to this part–Reed would send Tommy out. He knew I was pissed and wouldn't bother trying to get me back out there for sixty seconds of shameful sitting in my net.
“You have a goalie to coach–leave me alone,” I muttered, pulling off my helmet and throwing it into my bag on the floor.
“Ash–”
“Leave. Me. Alone,” I said firmly, locking eyes with Thayer for a moment before angrily pulling off my jersey.
Thayer didn’t leave, but glared at me as I got out of my padding. I could feel his eyes burning holes in my back, and I didn't even want to think about the weird feeling I had in my stomach with him watching me, losing one layer of clothing at a time.
There were a lot of confusing things surrounding him, and I was already pissed–that wasn’t helping.
“Ash–”
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, snatching a towel from a stack and marching past him in just my boxers.
Before I made it even a step, a large, warm hand clamped onto the back of my neck, pinching slightly and making me freeze. My jaw unclenched, and my shoulders started to drop.
All the anger that had been simmering in my body started circling the drain, leaving a weird hum in my chest as my eyes started to lull shut–what the fuck was happening to me?
There was no describing this feeling–it was weird. I was hanging on to the last scraps of anger, but they slipped through my fingers too fast, like I couldn’t hold onto them even if I wanted to.
All my brain could focus on was the pressure at the base of my skull, steady and firm, forcing everything in me to go quiet.
The world dulled around me–the noise from the rink, the movement, all of it fading out until there was nothing left but the heat of my skin and the weight of his hand.
My body went loose without asking me first, my head tipping forward into his hold like it belonged there.
And I didn’t stop it.
Didn’t even try.
“Go shower and calm down,” Thayer said slowly, his deep voice rumbling in my ear and reigniting that same strange feeling low in my stomach.
He released my neck, and my head popped up, suddenly weighing so much more than it did before and leaving me…naked?
That wasn’t it, but it was the closest I could compare it to–I felt naked.
My teammates started spilling into the locker room, bitching and moaning about aches or pains, but I felt stuck. I forced my feet to move, carrying me to the shower, but as soon as the water hit and my brain caught up, I was freaked out.
Whatever had just happened to me was weird, but the weirdest part? I was now fighting the most aggressive hard-on I'd had in years–it was like teenage horniness at its peak.
There were plenty of times being hard was bad, but I'd have to put in a communal shower with my hockey team as one of the worst.
I quickly shot the water to cold, sinking my teeth into my lip as hard as I could to stop the scream that wanted to come out.
It took a few minutes, but it worked!
It started to go down, and I felt normal enough, but what the fuck was that?
Why the hell did I react that way?