Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys 2)

“Hey, Tripp, you going to keep them out of our goal tonight?” Keisky asks.

“Depends. Are you assholes going to actually defend our zone, or have you forgotten how that works?”

McGillan flips him off. “Maybe if our forwards could keep possession …” His gaze flicks to mine, but instead of encouraging the smack talk, I aim to shut it down.

“You’re right. But I’m feeling good tonight, so let’s all play our positions and show Colorado why we made it to the Stanley Cup final last season.”

“We could really use some of that Mitchell Brothers magic, I’m not gonna lie,” Adler says.

“Why are we the ones with the magic?” Tripp asks.

I wink at him. “It’s all the gayness. Don’t you know queer guys ride in on unicorns, shooting sparkles out of our asses?”

“That’s not—” Adler shakes his head. “Come on, Dex, that’s not what I meant.”

“We know what you meant,” Tripp says. “You thought we rode rainbows.”

Adler laughs. “Fuck you guys.”

I snigger and tap the ball to Keisky, who passes to McGillan.

In only a few minutes, it almost feels like the old team again.

Then Fensby walks into the room.

I’m not sure if I’m projecting, but that tension immediately snaps back around us, and our soccer game wraps up a few minutes later.

When we hit the ice for a warm-up skate, I do my best not to look out at the growing crowd.

With my fragile mindset, all it would take is the wrong sign to get me down, and I’m trying my hardest to get back to playing like the old Dex. I’ve taken a hit, but I’m still that same player. And at this point, the best thing I can do to shut up the speculation and people who are trying to push the idea that Tripp and I shouldn’t be together is to prove them all wrong.

The assholes don’t matter.

The Rainbow Raiders and others like them do.

And the whole time we were with that junior team, not one person mentioned how I was choking this season, which supports Tripp’s assurance that it isn’t only me.

I glance over at where Fensby is skating, lazy smile on his smug face, and realize I’ve never wanted to hit him more.

Which is surprising, because I’ve wanted to hit him a whole lot in the past.

That said, his negativity has only ever been directed at me because he’s been after my position. And now, the entire team is having to deal with his ego—especially now he’s playing first line.

Maybe it’s not only me and Tripp. Maybe it’s his attitude that’s doing it. No one else in the team seems to have a problem with us, and the only time they’re uncomfortable is when Fensby is running his mouth.

I skate over to Tripp. “I think it’s Fensby.”

“What is?”

“The reason the team is playing so bad. His attitude has never been as shitty as this season, and he’s getting in everyone’s head.”

Tripp’s hazel eyes stray to the other side of the rink where Fensby is. “Okay, but even if it is him, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I can get my position back.”

“Of course you can, but that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact you’re a talented mofo.”

I nod. “I’m gonna do it.”

“That’s my Dex. And now … you know what we need to do.” Tripp holds out his fist.

Yesss. We fist bump, chest bump, hug, fake-out high five, but where that’s usually it, I step forward and add a kiss to the top of his helmet.

“Hey—”

“I figured mixing it up can’t hurt.” I slap his ass as I skate off.

That man is too damn good for me, but he’s mine.

And it’s the reminder of how I feel about Tripp and everything we do together that lets me pull my gaze from the ice and peek out at the crowd as we head off to make room for the preshow.

As expected, some of the signs are supportive, and others are … well, assholes is what those people are.

I remind myself to block out the noise. If I don’t, those people will get what they want and see one of us traded. We’re going to make this work. We have to.

If I have to fight to stay with him, then that’s what I’ll do.

And fuck, the game is a fight.

There’s no magic switch to get the team playing properly again, but our raw need is showing through. Every time I hit that ice, I go hard. I might feel slower and less instinctual than usual, but I put myself in front of the puck at every opportunity.

Colorado is fighting too though, and they make some good shots on goal, but Tripp shuts them out every time. He fills the net, and I’m hit with awe again and again that someone that talented is who I go home to at night.