Chapter 1 #2
“The Blizzards traded for a new goalie,” Ren said, mostly to me.
We regularly talked about the sport, especially after I’d found out he was the best friend of Ripley Thorne, one of the forwards in LA.
“Copeland is from the Rapids, and from what I’ve seen, he’s fucking good. His average of shutout games is high.”
I nodded. I’d heard about the trade for Copeland on the sports YouTube channel I watched occasionally.
Rumors were that Copeland was pushed out of Toronto because of bad blood with his teammates, but no one really knew what happened.
Copeland’s brother had a past of sleeping with teammate’s wives, which sent him to the AHL, but from what had been said, Copeland wasn’t that way.
Oli sighed dramatically, but the corners of his mouth flicked up as he scratched the side of Mr. Wiggles’s head. Mr. Wiggles made a sound, somewhere between content and annoyed that his sleep had been interrupted. It was Oli’s way of distracting himself from the sports talk he wasn’t interested in.
What meal plan did the hockey players follow?
Were they about getting bigger with muscle?
I supposed it depended on their position.
Maybe I should get Ripley’s number from Ren and talk with him about it.
Though, I couldn’t guarantee Ripley wouldn’t report any conversations back to Ren.
The last thing I wanted was for Ren to be worried more than he already was. It was stupid. I was fine.
The sportscasters talked a mile a minute as the game started.
I settled deeper into the couch, caught between the warmth of Oli and Ren, enjoying every second.
While Oli was slimmer, with compact muscles he’d been working on, Ren was taller and bigger, biceps bulging in a way that made the ink on his skin stand out.
It helped that he was wearing a sleeveless muscle shirt like me, giving my eyes lots of flesh to feast on.
“Holy fuck!” Ren sat up straighter and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The sudden shift nearly sent me crashing onto the couch and my attention spun to the game. I’d lost focus for mere seconds and all hell had broken loose.
They replayed what had happened and I watched with a wince as London Winney, the Blizzards’ right wing, went down on the ice hard.
He’d smashed high against the wall from a hit by a Skyhawk and fell backward.
The Skyhawk tried to catch him, but he missed, and Winney slammed onto the hard rink with his head.
The crowd gasped.
Other Blizzards rushed toward him. Medics raced onto the ice, but Winney didn’t move. The camera didn’t get in too close, but it was clear he was unconscious.
“Oh wow.” Oli leaned harder against me, eyes wide and concerned. This was no small injury. The chances were Winney had a concussion, bare minimum. “Will he be okay?”
Ren didn’t answer. His dark eyebrows furrowed and I let the question sit without an answer. Even though Ren didn’t know this player, he’d been in games. I was sure he knew how it felt to hit the boards. Playing hockey meant bad accidents. It was the same as with football.
We sat in silence, watching as the sportscasters talked about Winney and the potential consequences of his injuries. The Skyhawk who’d hit him—Holznagel—hung around Winney.
A Blizzard knelt beside Winney, holding his hand, and I held my breath as Winney finally moved. The crowd on the screen clapped as the medics slid on a neck brace and lifted Winney onto a stretcher. The men on both teams tapped their sticks against the ice while he was carried out.
“Fuck, what a way to start a season.” Ren shook his head and grabbed his phone, thumbs tapping on it, obviously typing a message to Thorne.
“Is Ripley friends with Winney?” I asked.
“Don’t know. But Winney’s young, a lot younger than me and Rip. He’s a kid. Nineteen. It didn’t look good, especially with how he landed.” His jaw twitched and his nostrils flared. “Watch.”
I turned back to the TV. They replayed the scene, but this time it was a close-up. The way Winney landed wasn’t pretty, and his neck bent as he crashed onto his head. Holy fuck. That was the kind of fall that gave someone a broken neck.
“That kid’s gonna be out for a while.” Ren shook his head sympathetically and fell back against the couch.
His arm wrapped around my shoulders again and the stare he gave me struck me deep down in the depths of my chest cavity.
His eyes held anxiety and love and an intense amount of fear that made me shift uncomfortably.
“I swear to God, if you get injured like that, I’ll kill the guy who hurt you. ”
Oli snuggled into my back, curling his arms around my waist. “Me too. I’m worried when you play, KC. You’re good, but what if something happens?”
“That’s why I need to get bigger,” I argued, ignoring the look of disbelief from Ren. “If I get bigger, it’ll be harder to take me down.”
“Oh yes, because making yourself sick is the best way to achieve that.” Ren’s sarcasm was thick, and I hated how easily the pang of hurt shot across my chest.
I huffed and wriggled out of their hold. Standing, while accidently knocking Mr. Wiggles off my lap because I’d forgotten about him, I glared down at Ren. Mr. Wiggles made an affronted sound and scurried off. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to be a smart-ass about this.”
Ren bounced to his feet. He didn’t use his height as a power move the way I’d expected. Instead, his face softened and he held out his hand toward me. “That isn’t what I’m doing, cherry cheeks.”
My eyebrows shot up. Cherry cheeks? What the fuck?
Oli made a choked sound of amusement and stifled it with the back of his hand. Traitor.
“We’re worried about you and that—” He shoved his finger in the direction of the TV, where once again they showed a replay of the hit and fall.
“It might be different games, but that can happen to you, too. All it takes is one hit, one wrong move at the wrong time, and you could end up in a wheelchair. If you don’t treat your body right, give it the real food it needs, then it makes you weaker, not bigger and stronger.
Trust me. You think I got this way by not eating right? ”
I swallowed, fear swelling in the back of my throat as his words echoed around us.
“If you want to do this, want to get bigger, you do it the right way.” He shook his phone.
“I’ll give you Rip’s number. You talk to him.
He’s big. He’s a pro athlete. You talk to your trainer and your coach.
You don’t cut corners and try to magic your way to where you want to be.
You’re better than that. You’re a good linebacker, KC.
Don’t let some shitnugget get in your head. Hudson is a turd burger.”
A large, raucous laugh spilled from Oli, and he giggled until tears filled his eyes. Ren grinned at him and a smile threatened to curve my lips.
“Shitnugget? Turd burger? You’re on a rampage tonight,” Oli said. “What are you, ten?”
“Do you blame me?” Ren shrugged. “What would you call that fart noodle?”
“Oh no, you’re doing a perfect job.” Oli held up his palms. “I’m merely the apprentice, Master.”
Ren’s eyebrows swooped up and I was pretty sure mine did, too. “Master? I like that.” He slid his hot, heavy gaze back to me. “What do you think, cherry cheeks? Does Master fit me?”
“It’ll go to your head,” I said, warmth spreading through me. The hardness of the conversation seeped away, leaving behind tenderness.
“Which one?” Ren grinned wider, and it was easy to see how he and Barber were brothers. They were more alike than Ren wanted to admit.
“Why are we with him again?” Oli sat up straighter.
“No clue.” An idea lit up in my head and I crossed my arms, smirking. “Maybe we should tie him up this time and make him watch us. Remind him he’s still being punished.”
Ren choked, attention flipping between me and Oli. “You wouldn’t.”
There was no telling from his tone whether he loved or hated the idea.
Oli jumped to his feet, shoulders wide with confidence he’d been working on recently. “Wouldn’t we?” His eyes darkened as he poked Ren’s chest. “Because if we say jump, Renshaw, then you’ll ask how high. Right?”
Ren swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Right . . . .”
Pleasure simmered low in my belly as I scoped out Ren’s body, taking in the way his muscle shirt hung loose around his strong shoulders.
His biceps flexed when he clenched his fists and his gray sweatpants left little to the imagination as he freeballed it.
His cock perked up, fattening in front of our eyes.
Fuck yes.
“Oli.” I slid my attention to him, watching the way his face flushed as he returned my look. “You take charge tonight. What should we do to him?”
Oli’s grin was downright evil. “I have some ideas.”