Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys 2)

I spend more time on the bench than I’m used to in the game, but it means when I’m put back out there, I work harder than I ever have. When I get a penalty and Colorado scores on a power play, I force myself to shake it off, even while the disappointment and embarrassment threaten to take hold.

It doesn’t help when our third line is rotated in and Fensby sneers at me over his shoulder. “Dumbass Dex. What’s the bet you just lost the game for us after that sloppy move?”

“Shut your mouth, Fensby,” Adler grits out. “If you’re so good, get us back the point.”

“Easy.”

Apparently not, because he doesn’t manage it, and we go into the third one point down. Instead of letting the despair in, I remind myself that if I can save us, no one will focus on the penalty. That doesn’t help with the nerves or the way my body aches with wanting to be done with this, but I push through it all. I focus on the signs from people who support us, think of the kids back home, watching us play, feeling disappointed in our season so far, and when Mossier from Colorado passes to Tregary, I’m hit with a split second of past Dex and see the play before they make it.

I intercept the puck and take off down the ice.

Colorado is on me, and I don’t see any of my team for support, so I pull up to the goal and shoot.

The goalie doesn’t have Tripp’s skill, but he’s just fast enough to clip the puck and send it back into my blade.

Mossier shoves me from the side, blocking my attempt on goal, and I look up as Keisky appears as if from nowhere. I shoot the puck to him, and he fires it into the top right corner. The lamp lights up, and it’s like I can finally breathe.

At the next face-off, I expect Coach to call my line back in, but he doesn’t. I take up position, and after a sloppy start, we gain possession, but Colorado is everywhere. McGillan passes to Segoyer, who passes back to Keisky, to McGillan, to me.

We try to put another in the net but fail. Colorado intercepts the rebound and flies down the ice, but Tripp shuts out the goal and fires the puck straight back to McGillan.

We get it back into our offensive zone, but it’s a scramble to keep possession. There are seconds left on the clock, and when Keisky gets close, both of Colorado’s D-men close in. I lose track of who’s who, and the mess of sticks and the fight for the puck draw their goalie out.

It’s a mistake Tripp would never make.

Keisky gets off a pass to me, and there’s nothing but an empty net in front of me.

I shoot, and for a split second, I think I’ve totally missed, but then the puck clips the side bar and ricochets into the goal.

Thank fuck.

Relief surges through me so fast, I barely notice when my team slams into me. Someone knocks my helmet, and gloves are patting my back, but I break away from them and head for Tripp.

He’s grinning and holds up his mitt for a high five that I gladly accept.

“Feel good?” he asks.

“It’d feel better if it was on purpose.”

“Why? None of your goals are ever on purpose.”

I shove him, but we barely make it past the next face-off when the buzzer sounds.

“Shit, yes,” I shout when the score of 2-1 flashes on the screen.

It was one of the hardest games I’ve played in a long time, and it was so far from perfect we’re going to have to work hard to pull it off again, but for now, the win feels incredible.

It’s the injection of hope the team needs.

The relief is obvious with us all.

Except Fensby.

The vein in the middle of his forehead is standing out against his reddened face, but even his bad attitude can’t bring me down.

I ignore him and join the rest of the team, ready for a long-overdue celebration.

After pressers and showers, on our way out of the arena, Tripp leans into me. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You have to kiss my helmet before every game.”

“If it helps us win, I’ll suck your dick if I have to.”

Tripp laces his fingers with mine. “Nah, that you can do for fun. Whenever you like. Whenever you’re thinking about doing it. Just go for it. I won’t stop you.”

I really don’t think he means every single time I think about it, because honestly, I think about it a lot. At the most inopportune times too. I don’t see him saving a lot of goals if his cock is in my mouth during a game.

Shit. Maybe that’s our problem on the ice. I’m too distracted thinking about my husband’s cock to hockey properly.