Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

10. Vancouver

Chapter 10

Vancouver

Casey

M y body feels like hamburger meat after so many days of training camp. This is going to require a new bag of watermelon Jolly Ranchers. I’ve been saving this bag for a day like today. People think I eat them non-stop, but that’s not true. I obsess over them enough that it’s on their minds about me. They’re too hard to get for me to eat them every day. Only a few shops online have ‘em at all. Theo Meyer’s Awesome Candy Shoppe is one of them, but only because I begged him to carry them. Yeah, me begging a six-year-old for candy. Insert joke about candy from a baby. But the fancy PA Rhett got him can track down anything. Rhett helped him start the business, and for some reason, the little Meyer looks up to Rhett.

But watermelon Jolly Ranchers are always out of stock. I buy as many bags as I can at a time and ration them.

I pop the hard candy into my mouth and let it clack against my teeth, sucking the tangy morsel until it turns my saliva into a river of watermelon-flavored goodness. Yeah. That’s the stuff. Better than Christmas.

“Um, the team manager wants to see you, bro,” Stacey says. He also gives me the brow, the one asking me if I’m making out with Jolly Ranchers again. He’s not a sweets guy, and that makes me question our relation.

I let my head slam against my cubby. I’m still half in my hockey gear, I don’t wanna go. I toss my practice jersey at him.

“Quick, go pretend to be me.”

“Not a chance. Get your ass in there, little brother.”

Uuuuuuuggh . Fuck my life. I shake off the rest of my gear, throw a t-shirt and sweatpants over my sweaty body, and trudge toward my doom. Only three days as a Vancouver Orca and I’m already called to the principal’s office. That principal being our team manager, Milton. I’ve only heard rumors about him so far, but he’s supposedly a hard ass. He also follows the team around, which I didn’t expect. He came to training camp just to get to know all of us. Set up a little office right at the temporary practice arena so he could chat with us if necessary.

Guess it’s necessary for me. He seems controlling and not in the fun way.

Huh. The fun way. Sutter controls me in the fun way.

Spread, kitten. That’s a good little Alderchuck. Show me how fucking much you want my cock.

I shiver. Maaaaybe I could forgive him enough to fuck me again. Maybe.

Walking into the office, holy shit, am not prepared for the strong Daddy vibes bleeding off Milton. I’ve seen him from afar, but one-on-one like this is different. He’s got a military precision haircut with plenty of silver fox highlights, complete with a classic gray suit. I would so suck his cock to get out of whatever trouble I know I’m in. He’s too above board for anything like that, though, so I’m royally fucked.

“Hey, Milton. You wanted to see me?”

He looks up as if he forgot he called me in. “Right.” He squints. “Which Alderchuck are you?”

See? Stacey totally coulda sat in this meeting for me. “Casey, sir.”

“Sit.”

My ass barely touches the chair. He whips out an iPad, sliding it before me. I lean in to read the headline. What Was Really Behind Vancouver’s 2011 Stanley Cup Mayhem?

“Do you remember this game, Casey?”

Remember it? I was downtown when it happened. We couldn’t afford tickets, so a bunch of us teens got in on the outdoor parties happening in the city. It was game seven of the Stanley Cup final against Boston. Excitement and tensions were high. The Vancouver Orcas have never won a Stanley Cup. That was supposed to be our year. That dream was burned to the ground just as surely as the city almost was.

“Yup.” I’m not giving anything away. No, I wasn’t one of the idiots breaking the glass doors of the local Shoppers Drug Mart—those kinds of activities were reserved for criminals like Sutter—but I had been underage drinking. Okay, okay, so Jack may have taken a picture of himself in front of a flaming car, but he got in so much fucking trouble from the captain for that.

“What do you think was the cause?”

“I’d say too much alcohol. There were a lot of drunk people that night. Drinking makes people stupid.”

“Wrong. Our team of experts studied every angle. They took a special interest in the psychology of mob mentality, which had striking similarities to warfare mentality. And not for the reasons you’d think, like the biological need for the survival of genes. On a societal level, war gives a sense of unity, a common goal. That’s how a rivalry is born. Passionate rivalry led to the riots.”

“Um, okay.” I have no idea where he’s going with this.

“We’ve compiled a list of teams that seem to inspire this sense of rivalry more than others based on crowd draw and internet trends. The one we’re here to talk about today is this one.”

He switches the picture on the screen. The Boston Copperheads logo pops up and my heart and stomach squeeze at the same time. I know without doubt this has something to do with Sutter. He played for the Boston Sharks last season—in the AHL—and now he’s moved up to the Copperheads.

It’s popular knowledge that Boston and Vancouver are rival teams and that they rile a crowd like no other, but I didn’t know it went this deep. Still. That cup run was over a decade ago.

He flips to another slide in his little presentation. “Is this you and your boyfriend?”

I have to do a double-take. It’s me and Sutter, alright. He’s railing me out back of The Wicklow. Wow, his ass looks super good in that shot. I stare at it longer than I should, until I remember that I’m supposed to be outraged.

“Um, you were spying on me?”

“We like to keep an eye on our new guys.”

“This has got to be a violation of privacy.”

He shrugs. “There are cameras everywhere, Alderchuck. At the gas station, at the supermarket … hell, people have them in their pockets and you never know who might chance upon you.”

That car we saw that day. Motherfucker. Though, I guess we only have ourselves to blame, fucking in broad daylight like that. The memory makes me smile.

“Focus, Alderchuck. How serious is this relationship?”

“Non-existent. He never was, nor will he ever be my boyfriend.” Firey anger burns a wild streak through me. I remember now. Sutter’s a fucking dick. I don’t associate with him anymore. I can’t let his amazing sex skills entice me back into his arms.

“That’s a relief. If you were serious, well, doesn’t matter. You’re not. So, I can count on you to follow the rules?”

“Rules?” I twiddle my thumbs, itching to look at that image again. It was a nice shot of Sutter’s ass, an ass I enjoy eating. Fuck, you will not miss Sutter’s ass, Alderchuck.

“Absolutely no fraternizing with Boston. If the fans see something like this, it’ll create a firestorm even I won’t be able to put out.”

Something uncomfortable seeps its way through me. I know I said I was done with Sutter, I even meant it when I said it, but I was looking forward to our new ritual of beating each other nearly to death on the ice and then fucking each other’s brains out afterward.

And, okay, I fully expected him to chase me. Just because I haven’t heard from him since that night at the bar in Vancouver, doesn’t mean he won’t.

But I don’t even want him to. I don’t.

Ugh, but I kinda do.

My mouth goes dry. “Um, yeah, of course.”

“Good.” He leans back. “You may go, Alderchuck.”

I stand on wobbly legs. “But, like, if say something were to happen—not that it would?—”

“It would be bad. No one wants a player who can’t be trusted to be a team player on and off the ice.”

“Right.” I salute him and hightail it out of there.

N ot interacting with Sutter is easier than I thought it would be, namely because he hasn’t fucking texted me like he should. How did I get here? Checking my phone every five minutes to see if he’s messaged me yet. He’s gone from douchey bad boy to forbidden douchey bad boy. His interest rating went up.

Why am I like this?

Know what? Seize the fucking day. I send him a text first for once. He did get me out of trouble that night at The Foxy. Heard through the RhettLo grapevine that he may have spent the night in jail. Would have loved to have seen that.

We’re packing up, getting ready to head for the ferry. Training camp was in Victoria BC this year.

I only have the choice of two hats to steal this season—mine and my brother’s. I hate that. I tried to take everyone’s hat with me. Jack almost sent my body flying over the Lynn Canyon suspension bridge. Having my hat is less about luck and more about family. And, yeah, at least I have Stacey, but my heart’s been heavy without the other guys around. They’ve become our family.

We never knew Dad, and Mom contracted early dementia as a side effect of some strokes she had. We lost her not long after we turned eighteen. We had Aunt Annie to help us out while Mom needed care—and thank fuck for her—but she wanted to see the world after all that. I think she’s somewhere in the South of France at the moment.

Stacey promised her we were fine, so she’d chase her travel dreams. That’s when we got a house to rent with the guys. I loved that setup. I liked having someone around all the time. Jack didn’t officially live with us, but he stayed over a lot, so there were usually five of us. There were always other bodies there after parties, boyfriends, fuck pals, you name it. I never had to be alone. I fucking hate being alone. We had different roommates before Dash and Dirk moved in, but that wasn’t for long.

I’m my brother’s unofficial ward. We’re twins, sure, but as far as emotional maturity goes, we’re an ocean apart. It’s always been this way, even before Mom died, but he shouldered that blow for me too. It’s not that he took Mom’s death any less hard, he just … I’m not sure, now that I think about it. But whatever he did, he was able to look after the wreck I was and see me through it.

Whatever magic my brother possesses, I can confidently say he’s why I’m not a wreck now. He’s the reason for so many things. Helping me stand up to bullies. Making sure someone was always in my corner. Giving me confidence. Drying my eyes that one Father’s Day when we didn’t have a dad to make a gift for. It was only the one Father’s Day, the first year we were in school. I didn’t notice before that, but I know that Stacey’s why I didn’t notice after that either.

As long as you have me, bro, you’ll never be alone.

He’s kept that promise. And while he’s never said it out loud, I get the impression he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep it if he has an extra-special someone. Family’s important, but even I know you’ve got to put your partner first. I’ve been trying to show him that I’m fine now. I’m a grown-ass man. But either he doesn’t agree, or he can’t let go. It would probably help if I didn’t have a crisis every two seconds.

Wait a tick. This isn’t Stacey’s hat. I take a closer look. Yep, it’s Dash’s hat. I’m Stacey’s twin, I know about his pining, but stealing hats? If he’s sunk to my level, something’s going on. Sauntering into the ensuite bathroom, I lean against the counter and watch him stuff toiletries into his bag until he notices me.

His hair’s sporting a man bun and he hasn’t shaved yet. People might be able to tell the difference between us, even without seeing our tattoos.

“What’s this?” I toss the hat down.

Stacey’s eyes widen as he dives for it. “Just my hat.”

“Fuck you. It’s not your hat.”

His jaw hardens, but he’s caught, and he knows it. “Fine. I took it.”

“Whoa, bro. Like, full on stole it? Didn’t even ask permission?”

“It was an impulse decision.” He snatches it up and spins it onto his head backward, squashing his man bun. “And I’m not sending it back either.”

Stacey’s gone from depressed he had to leave Dash behind, to wishing misfortune upon Dash’s boyfriend, Syd. I approve of these developments.

“Do you think I should call Sutter?”

“No. Absolutely not. What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything. You know this. Maybe I should call Jack and see what he thinks?”

He holds his hand out. “Phone.”

“Oh, c’mon. I won’t call him. Just Jack so we can figure out a game plan. We play Sutter next week. I need to know how hard to get I should play.” Dammit. I bet he’s gonna look so hot in his Copperheads jersey. What was I thinking, asking him to be my boyfriend? All of that was stupid. I’m in this for the game. I need our game.

“You can call Jack when we get back to Vancouver and this insanity has passed.”

“Fine.” But he knows just as well as I do that the insanity won’t pass.

“Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something. I’ll wait till we’re on the ferry and you have food in you.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in the way they usually only do when he’s thinking about something good or Dash. Since he’s already kiboshed the Dash thing, it must be something else good.

It’s about time. Things are looking up for the Alderchuck brothers.

T he ferry’s pulling up to the shoreline, and all I can think about is, has Sutter messaged me back? He better have. We get into our car and Stacey hands the phone back.

“Do I need to remind you about the conversation with Milton?”

“If he’s watching my phone, that’s levels of creepy that I’m going to HR about.”

“I give up. Here.”

We had a good talk on the ferry. He wants to buy a house together and invite Dirk and Dash to live with us. Of course, I’m down for that. Especially with how fucking happy that kind of shit makes my brother. He loves being able to provide for people—it’s his thing. The happy Stacey eye crinkle? There the whole time he talked about it. Felt nice to finally be able to do something to make my brother happy instead of him always having to do shit for me.

I have a few messages from Jack because he saw the schedule too, and knows I’m playing Boston. There’s one from Sutter. He texted me back! I should not be this excited about it.

Top Dog

Be ready to have your ass handed to you on the ice, and then pounded off the ice.

Yes. Yes! We’re still game on. He still wants to fuck me sideways. I can’t let him have me too easy, though.

Me

I don’t fuck losers, Sutter, and that’s what you’ll be when we mop the ice with you.

Top Dog

Alright, smartass. You’re off the hook if you win, but if we win, you’re mine for the night. Deal?

Me

Game on.

On the Ice

W ow. They can pack a lot of people into the TD Garden. The fans brought it tonight, excitement filled to the brim after having been starved of hockey all summer. Stacey knocks on the top of my helmet, fucking beaming. Doesn’t matter the league we’re playing for, he’s always this giddy at the start of the season.

Thank fuck. I was a little worried he’d be bummed. His mood was up and down during training camp. It’s our first season away from Dirk and Dash—more importantly Dash. Stace won’t say it, but the separation’s been hard on him.

“Ready to pound Boston into the ice?” he says.

“Been dreaming of it all summer.”

We skate onto the ice for warm-up, and I inhale air chill enough to freeze the hairs in my nose. Pucks echo as they’re slammed against the boards and sticks scrape against the ice. Loud music pounds from the speakers. Ah, the symphony of hockey. Namas-fucking-te, this is my zen place.

I know Sutter’s on the ice somewhere.

If we win, you’re mine for the night.

Bet he did that just to win the game, ‘cuz I’m actually torn. If Vancouver wins, I’ll have to save face by telling him to go fuck himself, but I can’t stop thinking about the way he sucks on my collarbone. How much I need him to suck evidence of his exploration of my body on said collarbone.

Dammit.

A puck sails by my head, smashing into the plexiglass. Another whizzes in my periphery. I jump out of target range just in time to miss being smoked in the head and look up.

Sutter. Of course.

He’s across the blue line, smirking like a demon. A bolt of warmth goes straight to my dick. He’s flirting. I mean, only I know it’s flirting. To everyone else, it looked like he tried to take my head off accidentally on purpose.

Another player whacks his ass with his stick, pulling Sutter’s attention away from me. How fucking dare him? Zapporov is written in big yellow letters across the back of the asshole’s jersey. The green teeth of jealousy bite hard. That’s not supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to give a fuck about who flirts with Sutter.

I don’t. I won’t.

We’re not a thing. He doesn’t want to be a thing. Know how I know? Because I asked him, and he turned my ass down.

Whatever.

My first shift on the ice is blessedly Sutter free. It’s me and Stacey, carving our way across the ice in sync, ready to assist, to pass, to bulldoze anyone in our path. I ride a high, any first-game jitters I might have had, evaporate as quickly as my breath in the cool rink air.

Wham!

My body slams into the boards, hit with the familiar jolt of pain ricocheting through my limbs.

“I’ve seen a snake with better hands than you, Alderchuck,” Sutter chirps. It’s a cheesy old chirp, which means he’s flirting again. He skates off, laughing like an idiot. What a dumbass.

“You’re not cute, Sutter!”

I’m quick to retaliate. Vancouver goes wide on the forecheck, and I’m on the far left with Sutter, who’s chasing after the puck in the Boston zone. Bam! My shoulder sends Sutter flying. It’s a solid hit, and for once clean. He loses the puck and all the Epsom salts in the world aren’t gonna help him later.

“It’s fucking on, Alderchuck.” There’s murder in his eyes.

Halfway through the second period, I’ve caught the same blood lust that Sutter has. I take it all back. I’m not doing shit with Sutter. He’s riding my ass so hard this game, no need to do it again later. God. What are they doing to them in Boston? Mega doses of steroids? He’s faster and I swear to fuck he’s bigger, even though it’s only been a few weeks since I last saw him.

I can’t get a hold on the puck. Every time it touches my stick, Sutter’s there to slam me into the boards. It pisses me off. The next time he does it, I turn with a nice cross-check across the chest I hope the ref doesn’t see. Sutter pushes back and I almost trip.

Fine.

Gloves are off and we circle. I look for the right opening and swing. He sways to the side and crack . His knuckles connect to my face. I answer back with a right hook and then another, until I’m sure he’ll have a black eye.

The refs finally pull us off each other and we’re sent to the box. I seethe through the glass, and he laughs like I’m nothing.

Vancouver loses by a goal, and I’m so pissed I contemplate going back on our deal for real. I’m definitely not messaging him, but I get a message from him as I’m leaving the showers.

Top Dog

We have to be discreet. Meet me here, and I’ll explain when I see you.

He sends an address to a hotel. That works for me too, so I don’t ask questions. I shouldn’t go after his fucking cheap shot on the ice. But who am I kidding? This only ends one way.

I ’ve barely knocked on the door, and he yanks me inside, tossing me behind him, slamming the door, and spying out the peephole. Satisfied, he locks the door—including the door chain lock—and focuses his attention on me.

He stares as if he’s seeing me for the first time, as if we didn’t try to pound each other’s faces in only an hour ago. He’s got a red bandana tied around his dark hockey flow and he’s wearing boots and jeans. Sutter pulls me to him by the waistband of my sweats, and the oaky scent of leather from his jacket coats me with familiarity.

His lips crash to mine, devouring them as if he’s been craving me, hasn’t been able to breathe without me, can’t live another second if he doesn’t have me in his arms. It’s a nice delusion. He’s probably just fucking horny. I give it right back to him, weaving my desire with hot anger. The way we left things in Vancouver was shit. He was pissed at me, and I hated him for rejecting me when I’d made myself so vulnerable. I’m still mad, but I use it as fuel.

Sutter pulls away, rubbing a thumb over my bottom lip. “That’s the stuff.”

“Not a martini, Sutter. Tell me why I had to meet you here instead of your place.”

“Patience, kitten. Get naked. I won; I get you how I want you.”