Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
JENSEN
I’d felt weird turning up here, even though I’ve wanted to all week, because I was worried that shared blow jobs would change things between us.
But as soon as I’d seen the torn look on his face when he climbed out of his car, I’d known I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
And shockingly, the sex has made things easier between us.
I’d had a wall up when it came to Barrett, too scared that he was going to fuck me over like he did when I left, but something about sucking his dick took the hesitance between us away.
All day, I haven’t worried about the casual touches; I’ve been able to dick around, and have fun with the kids, and chat to him between classes about St. Louis and my life, and what I’m hoping to get out of hockey.
I want to be one of the greats, and I really want a Stanley Cup win, which is something the team actually has a chance at in the next few years.
He talks too. About the high school and his team. About each of the kids and how protective he feels over them. How it’s this huge responsibility that he actually enjoys, knowing that he’s working with them at such an impressionable age.
I notice he doesn’t say a lot about Kasen, and I don’t push him to. I’m wary about getting more attached than I already am when there’s a complete possibility that he’ll turn around and tell me to go fuck myself.
Again.
The time for his session creeps closer, and Barrett must notice that I’m the one acting weird. He skates closer, smile in his eyes, and chips a puck off my skate. “Breathe, Hawke. He’s a teenager. Teenagers aren’t scary.”
“Actually, teenagers are known for being terrifying. It’s been proven by science.”
“Science?”
“Yeah. Along with a study on puppies and babies being the most cuddly things on Earth, and best friends giving the best blow jobs.”
Barrett chokes before breaking into laughter. “Didn’t know if that was something we were talking about.”
I shrug, forcing myself to be casual. “Why not? It’s not like ignoring it will make it have happened any less.”
“True. Just didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Is it possible for things to be awkward between us?”
“So far, I’d say no, but we really put that theory to the test.”
I turn my attention to a puck, dragging it closer with my stick before tapping it forward again. “It probably helps that it was so good. It would have been awkward to let you know that sticking my dick in your mouth was like playing chicken with an angler fish.”
“Gross.”
“Exactly. So good on you for sucking dick like a champ.”
“You weren’t half bad either.”
That makes me look up again. “Not half bad? You looked like you saw Jesus.”
“I’m not sure I’d call it a religious experience, but fine. You were amazing.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest that maybe we should do it again sometime, when Barrett plants his hands on his hips.
“That help distract you?”
For a second, I don’t know what he’s talking about, but then the reason I’m here kicks in again. “I guess so.”
“Good. Because he’s here.”
Nerves explode full force as I turn toward the rink entrance and where Kasen is standing, decked out in full gear. We stare at each other for a full couple of seconds before he steps onto the ice and skates closer.
“Coach Barrett.” He nods to him. Then turns a dry expression on me. “Dad.”
Somehow, all the goalie padding does the opposite of making him bigger. Every time I see Kasen, I’m surprised that he’s almost my size, but in the pads, even while looking bigger, he feels tiny. Like the kid that he is. “Hey. Thought I’d come for a skate with you.”
“You mean we’re not here to grab ice cream and talk about girls? How will I recover from the shock?”
I swear my eye twitches at the smart-ass comment, but Barrett looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Snarky as ever, I see. Unluckily for you, I’m Coach Hawke today. Take a lap. Full gear.”
“But—”
“Make it two. You want to run your mouth, I’m going to make it hurt.”
He turns to Barrett for backup, but my best friend only spreads his hands.
“My assistant coach gave you directions.”
It would be too easy for Kasen to leave, but with a huff to make sure we both know he’s not happy, he takes off. He doesn’t go slow either. He skates like he has something to prove, and I know it’s not easy when his goalie skates aren’t built for speed.
Seeing him push—exactly like I would—bumps up my respect for him.
He does the two laps, and when he reaches us, he’s glaring.
I look him over. “You’re not out of breath yet. Another one.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“And if you’re struggling to catch your breath, I know that won’t change. Go.”
His grunt this time is angry, but he goes.
Barrett skates closer. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“When I started with St. Louis, we didn’t have the most successful run. I’ve seen my share of coaches come and go, and I’ve seen how they handle pushback. Kasen doesn’t respect me as his parent. Maybe he’ll respect me on the ice.”
“By punishing him?”
It’s hard for people to understand, and even Barrett, who’s shared locker rooms with me for years, doesn’t quite get it.
But when you love hockey the way I do, and the way I suspect Kasen does, deep down, we want to be pushed.
We want to be challenged and made better.
It’s a horrible process, and no one wants to be so exhausted we could puke or to hear about everything we’re doing wrong, but when we improve?
When someone shows that they respect our skills and what we’re capable of? It’s the best feeling in the world.
Kasen reaches us, and without a word, I tilt my head for him to go again. He doesn’t argue this time, and when he’s a few paces away, I join him.
“There’s a common misconception in the juniors that goalies don’t need to skate as fast and hard as the rest of us.”
He doesn’t answer me.
“But you’re the most important person on the ice.
It’s why your team will fight for you. It’s why they’ll put their bodies in front of yours.
And that comes with a lot of responsibility.
” He pushes to try and pull ahead, but he’ll never beat me in a race, even with the extra energy his age gives him.
I easily keep pace. “It’s your job to make sure you’re worth that dedication.
You need to keep fit. You need your cardio to be the best on the team.
Your flexibility and agility have to be unmatched.
It’s one thing to stand behind a performing team and stop twenty or so shots on net.
It’s another to have your defense abandon you, to be dragged into overtime, and to face a team who shell you the entire game. Goalies need to be capable of both.”
“I am,” he grits out.
“You’re fourteen. If you think you’re that good, you’ll never learn anything.”
“Fuck off.”
“Being the best starts with never thinking you’re the best. Lachlan Kikishkin is the first of us at practice and the last to leave the ice.
He’s always watching tape, always practicing plays he fucked up, always going to the coaches for extra tips.
He is the best on my team. He trains like he’s the worst.”
“You want me to pretend I’m shit?”
“No. I want you to remember that we never stop learning.”
He flicks a look my way that I pretend not to notice, and when we reach where Barrett is waiting in the center, I let him take over. Four laps is more than enough to warm up, and with how he was pushing, I don’t trust him not to injure himself.
Barrett starts out with stretches and making sure that Kasen is positioning them right.
I leave them to it, biting my tongue every time I want to interject and remembering that on this ice, Barrett is the expert.
I know a fucking lot about hockey, but I’ve never coached before, and there is a big difference between coaching and coaching kids.
Given the care Barrett has in making sure he explains things at Kasen’s level, he’s clearly good at what he does.
There’s also a level of respect and comfort between them that …
well, it hurts to see. I know it’s nothing personal and that Barrett has had that time to work with Kasen and get to know him, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I want him to come to me with questions.
I want him to look to me for support. And when I tell him he needs to get deeper in his hip flexes, I want him to nod and do it, and not glare my way.
Baby steps.
It’s a good reminder, even if I want to stomp all over it.
Once the warm-ups and drills are done, Barrett has me step in and fire shots at Kasen. The small, petty part of me loves every time I sneak a puck past him, and maybe I should be taking things easy, but you don’t get to be a professional athlete by letting people win.
And he doesn’t get to call me the c-word without tasting defeat.
“I think you’re confused, son,” I say, throwing the word back at him like a weapon, the same way he says Dad. “The job of a goalie is to stop the other team from scoring. Not make it easier on them.”
He grits his teeth behind the mask and gets into position. “Top left,” I call, aiming up the shot, but at the last moment, I go five-hole.
Kasen lunges high, then figures out what I’m doing a split second before I act. He drops and snaps his knees together, pads cutting off my shot, and slaps his glove over the rebound.
He pops up onto his skates, grinning, and tosses the puck into the air before catching it. Something he does a lot when he makes a save. “Almost had me on that one.”
“I’ll need to try some new tricks next time.”
Kasen hands off the puck to Barrett and skates over. “Next time?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the whole summer. Might as well spend a lot of it here.”
“With Coach Barrett. Right.”
I nudge him. “And you.”
He pushes his helmet off and tucks it under his arm. His sweaty curls are plastered to his head in the exact way mine always are after a game. “Why?”
Why. Right. I need to face the conversation I wanted to have with him.
It’s wild to me that I can confess to Barrett how much I want this little shithead in my life, but when I’m faced with Kasen’s stare, the words feel like I’m trying to drag them out of quicksand. “Did Amelia tell you we caught up?”
“Yeah.” His eyes cut away across the ice. “Finally signed me away, did you?”
“No.”
His frown deepens.
“No offense to Amelia, but I won’t be pushed out of your life again. Not by anyone … except you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” It’s so fucking hard to say, considering how resistant Kasen has been so far.
This could easily backfire, and then what the fuck would I do?
Because I have no plans to back off. “You’ve already told me to fuck off, and maybe that’s what you want, but you should know what I want first. And that’s a chance to get to know you. ”
“I’m an asshole. There. You already know everything about me.”
“I’m told you’re really smart.”
He scowls. “Coach Barrett tell you that?”
“Only because you wouldn’t. All I’m asking for is a chance.”
“And if I tell you to fuck off, you’ll go?”
I bite down hard on the insides of my cheeks. “No.”
“But—”
“I said you can push me out of your life, not that I’ll walk away willingly. You want me gone? You’re going to have to make me leave.”
He glares, gaze boring into mine, but I don’t look away. I’m fucking serious about this. We might never have had a civil conversation yet, but there have been glimpses of something that tell me we could have that. One day.
Kasen tugs his helmet back on. “I need a lift home after this.”
Then he skates off, and I almost feel like I’ve won something.