Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

9. Boston

Chapter 9

Boston

Sutter

N o one pressed charges. Lucky me. Pretty sure Francisco had a hand in that. He might practice family law, not criminal law, but with a son like me, he needed to learn to speak police officer. It took a couple of days, though, costing me a final pre-training camp romp with Alderchuck. I contemplated canceling my flight, but ultimately decided that getting to Boston was best for my hockey career. Otherwise, who knows what kind of trouble I would have gotten into because of Casey?

Unfortunately, the team manager doesn’t give a fuck about my good intentions. She’s tall, blonde, and tucked into a gray pencil skirt. It’s like a former cheerleader’s trying out for CEO of the year. I don’t get it, but I also know better than to piss off an already pissed-off woman who means to eat you for lunch. I mean that as a compliment, and I keep my mouth shut.

“Explain this to me,” Gina says, tossing down an iPad. I’m in her office in Boston. Haven’t even hit the ice for training camp yet, and I’m already in trouble. Not great. She’s got a thick non- rhotic accent, dragging out the vowels, and dropping the r’s. If I could be intimidated, she’d definitely be intimidating.

Some fucking internet sleuth dug up the very minor Vancouver newspaper that did a nice write up on me. Felt personal. No one does write-ups on bar fights—they happen every night—but a bar fight involving one of the NHL’s newest? Someone was trying to make editor-in-chief.

I’d better go with the truth. Maybe she’ll have a soft spot for romance. “There’s this guy, y’see and?—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” She waves her finger in front of me. “Your personal life does not damage this team, do you understand?”

I could bench press this woman, but, like with Isla and Mom, I’m not gonna push her to her limit. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I make rules on a case-by-case basis. Is this guy your boyfriend?”

“No. God no, we’re just casual?—”

“Good. You’re not seeing him or anyone else for the rest of the season. Think of it as a relationship suspension if you need to.”

“Relationship suspension? Is that a thing?”

“It is for you. Do you want to play for this team or not?”

I rub a hand over my forearm where one of my tattoos sits. There’s a date in Roman numerals. Dad. He loved hockey. Boston was his team.

“I do. How far does this go? Do I need to become a monk?” In other words, do I need to stop having sex altogether? Because that would be cruel, but I’d say hello to my hand for a season.

“Do you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then no—for now. But no getting involved. It makes you crazy.”

She’s not wrong. Pretty sure all this isn’t above board, but I’m not testing the theory by complaining. I don’t want a relationship anyway—my actions and the consequences for those actions have reinforced that—but I’m not giving up curly-headed watermelon Jolly Rancher-scented brats. I’ll give him up when I’m good and ready, not a moment before. I’ll just have to be a little more careful about meeting up with him.

“Alright, who is he?” she says.

“I thought you didn’t want to know his name?”

“Oh, I want to know his name, which team he plays for, and a slice of dirt on him. We might need it at some point.”

Fuck that. I’m not telling her shit other than his name since that’s not hard to sleuth.

“His name’s Casey Alderchuck. If you want gossip on him, you’ll have to go to the hen house your-fucking-self. I do not do that shit. Ever. ” I harden my gaze so she knows that I mean it. I love hockey a lot, but I don’t betray people for it, not even Alderchuck.

She analyzes me with judge-y eyes for far longer than I’m comfortable with. “You sure this guy’s no one? You’re awfully protective of him.”

“Positive. Can I go now?”

She huffs. “Fine. One more thing. If you need anything, I’m who you come to.”

“Awesome.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice for that one.

She laughs. “I deserved that, but I mean it. You can trust me to handle any shitstorm, I just prefer to keep shitstorms to a minimum. Capiche?”

“I capiche.” I salute her cheekily so that she knows that while my obedience can be counted on for the team’s sake, I’m no stooge.

“Alright. Get the fuck out of my office,” she says her accent getting thicker when she means business.

Gina and I are gonna get along great.

E very bone in my body groans by the end of the week. Boston has a reputation for being a physical team no matter who’s playing for them, and I see why—it’s a coaching style. I’m just glad I’ll be playing with these fuckers and not against them. My skin is a backdrop of bruises, and I might have to see the team chiropractor, because I’ve definitely got some ribs out.

A snap whips through the air and a sharp sting lights my bare ass afire. I just got out of the shower and let my towel drop so I could get dressed.

“Nice ass, Sutter,” Nicci Zapporov, one of our defensemen, says.

I’ve been waiting to be hazed along with the other new guys on the team, is this the start of it? He’s a good-looking guy, leaner build than mine, short hair. His coy smile suggests he’s up for more than hazing—maybe a private hazing.

“It’s like that, is it?” I give him a smile that doesn’t say yes but doesn’t say no either.

“You’ve been coming off as the strong and silent type, or maybe you just like being mysterious. Can’t tell. Figured I needed to get your attention, or you’d never notice me lookin’ at yah.”

I like his accent. It’s cute. He’s clearly a Boston local. He’s also exactly who I could have seen myself sinking my dick into, pre-my-Alderchuck addiction.

My phone chooses that moment to chirp, and, from the ringtone, I know who it is. He hasn’t messaged me, well, ever. Not first. Casey only ever messages me in response to my messages.

Kitten

Did you see the pre-season schedule? We’re coming to roast your ass, Sutter.

Bitch ass punk.

“Oh. Sorry, looks like you have a someone,” Nicci says.

I drag my gaze away from my phone. Fuck. That’s all I need people thinking after that lecture from Gina. Also, why do people keep saying shit like that?

“Nah. Just a friend.”

“I hope all my friends look at text messages from me that way.” He smirks, peeling himself away from the locker he’s leaned against. “Anyway, have a drink with me—a friendly drink,” he clarifies.

I shrug. “It can be more than friendly. He’s not my boyfriend.” I don’t know why I feel all defensive. Casey isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just mine. You know, in the same way you own a cat or a dog. “Though, I’m not sure fucking someone on my team is a good play. Gina might rip my nuts off.”

He laughs. “What kind of trouble did you get into in the off-season for her to threaten you so soon?”

“Beat the fuck out of someone.”

“Why?”

I slip my wet ass into a pair of gray cotton boxers. “Because it was fucking fun.”

“Bullshit. It was for him, wasn’t it? I’m so invested. Tell me everything.”

I advance on him quickly, so quickly, I can feel his heartbeat speed up. “Or I shove my cock in your mouth and we don’t talk about anything.”

He laughs. “If you still want to later, that’d be hot, but I’m not letting you off the hook. Tell me about your secret-not-boyfriend. I won’t tell Gina. Promise.”

I trust no one except my family. I certainly don’t trust this guy, but it would be nice to have a friend on the team.

“It’s complicated.”

“Ugh. It’s never complicated.”

“My dad was murdered in front of me when I was a kid.”

His jaw drops. “Shit, Sutter.”

It took me years just to tell Rhett that my dad was murdered. I didn’t go into detail. Not telling Rhett had nothing to do with Rhett, I couldn’t make the words come. But something’s tugging on me, almost begging me to talk about it now. The catharsis of telling someone I don’t know might be just what I need. This guy signed on for a cheesy Rom-Com, he doesn’t want to hear about my horrific trauma.

“Get dressed. We need alcohol for this,” he demands.

I scowl. “Are you always this bossy?”

“Not in bed, Daddy, but maybe you’ll get to see later if you’re a good boy.” He winks.

He’s the most annoying man on the planet. Correction, second most. Casey will always have that trophy. But dammit, it’s my vibe. Rhett Elkington and Lane Curtis are just as annoying and they’re my best friends.

“Yeah, Zapporov, I agree. We need booze for this.”

I t takes three beers before I’m ready to think about going there. Thing is, I was forced to talk about it during therapy, and all that ever seemed to do was to make me relive it, keep it fresh in my mind, and condition my brain to stay in the same cycle it always had been. I stopped talking about it, period, having made the decision—along with my therapist at the time—that I had “recovered enough”. but tonight, it pours out and I can’t stop it. I try to finish on a positive note.

“Mom met Francisco and he whisked us out of the neighborhood we were living in when we were broke, but in some ways, I never left, I guess.” I kept all my old friends. I add extra bolts to my doors in any new place I live. I usually find a way to carry a knife with me.

“Can’t say I wouldn’t be doing the same. How does your man-not-man feel about all this?”

“He doesn’t know.” Casey and I fuck when we’re together. We don’t talk about feelings—except for the last time when he pulled that ultimatum bullshit on me—and we definitely don’t talk about childhood trauma. What for? It’s not going to help anything.

“Are you afraid it’ll change his perception of you?”

“Not really.” Casey knows who I am. If anything, that event made me this way.

He taps his fingers on the table. “You don’t trust him not to use it against you.”

My heart races. My palms clam up. He’s right, which doesn’t make any sense. Alderchuck’s broken my nose five times, he’s attempted to murder me on the ice multiple times in a game, but I know he wouldn’t use something like that to hurt me. He’s like a puppy—will bite your hand off if necessary, but would rather be told he’s a good boy and obey prettily. So why would my inner demons worry that he’d use the information against me?

“You’re like a wild animal, Sutter. Just because you know the zookeeper gives you nice food and won’t hurt you, doesn’t mean your instincts can’t be triggered when he moves too suddenly.”

“Don’t like being compared to a zoo animal, but I get what you’re saying. My fear isn’t rational, so I need to see proof.”

I know Alderchuck wouldn’t use something like this against me, but I don’t know he wouldn’t. The only way to know for sure is to trust him with it. Have faith. My body trembles just considering the idea. Hell fucking no.

“Not just see proof—you have that, and it just barely keeps you from the edge. You need to see it over and over, using the thing that could break you. Walk the tightrope without a net. You need to feel the certainty like a second skin.”

“I can’t do that, not with this.” The tension drifts away. Fuck that. I don’t have to do anything. Don’t have to relive that horror again. Never again. “Good talk, Nic.”

He leans back, judging me, crossing his arms like he knows something I don’t.

“You told me for a reason.”

“No.”

“I dare you. Tell him, Mitch. See what happens.”

“What part about no don’t you fucking understand?”

The smugness in his smile could outdo Rhett right now. He taps the table. “That’s what you’re really scared of.”

“What?”

He shrugs, refusing to tell me. One of those “you’ve got to figure it out for yourself” moments.

“You’re a terrible new friend.”

“Or one of the best ones you’ll ever have. Think about telling him. Oh! You could tell him bit by bit, one thing at a time.”

“You don’t know him. He’s got the patience of a toddler.” He does things like give ultimatums without understanding a fucking thing about me.

“If he’s the right one, he’ll let you tell the story in your own time.”

“Enough about me. Let’s hear something juicy about you.”

He downs the rest of his beer. “My life story will have to wait. It’s past my bedtime.”

Nic leaves me at the pub with the bill. Guess I’m paying for his consulting services. Fair enough. I put together what he’s said with what Rhett’s said. It all leads to the same road.

If I want to be free, I have to risk breaking the glass house of sanity I’ve built around myself. No, not risk breaking it. I’d have to throw rocks at every wall and shatter it, leaving myself bare, ready to receive salt into wounds that have never healed.

But things are fine how they are. I have the hockey career Dad and I dreamed about. My family’s amazing. I’ve got great friends.

I don’t have time to date anyone, and I’m not committing to someone who thinks poutine is tattoo-worthy. Who thinks watermelon Jolly Ranchers are breath mints.

Besides, I’ve got what I want there, too. I call him, he comes running, I fuck him, he leaves. I’m not risking my NHL career for good ass. I should beat on Casey next game just for sending me down this fucking rabbit hole.