Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

26. Video Sex

Chapter 26

Video Sex

Casey

S ometimes being right isn’t fun. It takes weeks, but we get the diagnosis I expected—Mama West has had some mini-strokes. The Meyer family bands together for us and shockingly, Maxwell does too. We get Mama West into assisted living, and Bea and Trish take Charles and Stevie for now while we search out a family member. I’m hoping for rich grandparents that Shelly estranged herself from because of an arbitrary reason, easily solved.

At least it’s not like in the movies, CPS isn’t banging on anyone’s door, but we need to get them settled somewhere before someone does catch wind.

“Worry about the hockey season,” Trish had said before we left after Christmas, even before we were able to figure out what was going on with Mama West. “Us Meyers are used to this sort of thing.”

Moving into January and February, Boston and Vancouver don’t have any games scheduled, but Sutter and I are on the road constantly. It starts to feel personal, like the universe conspires to keep us apart. Though, I guess the fact that we played so many games against each other in the first half of the season was a miracle—East and West don’t play against each other often—but why’d it have to switch up just when things were getting good between me and Sutter? We’ve done one virtual press conference together, organized by Milton and Gina, but I’m pretty sure it was an epic fail. Sutter stared at me with hungry eyes the whole time, and I did a terrible job of pretending like I didn’t want him to eat my face off. I couldn’t stop picturing his tongue in my ass, or his broody lips around my cock.

Even calling each other’s been rough because of our wild road schedule with flights and game times, so it’s been a text message string we chime in on whenever we can. How the fuck did Jack and Mercy do this, again?

But tonight. Tonight, our schedules finally line up and we get a video call. My dick’s so hard up for Sutter’s smooth and dark voice, I would sell a kidney just to hear it for five seconds. It also might be all I get. My body’s fucking whipped. Coach is on our asses to make the playoffs. The rest of my limbs might break off or turn to dust because they’re so brittle from having the life sucked out of them. My dick’s the only organ that’s got any gusto left and, even then, I’m worried I might not be able to get it up for the first time in history while I’ve been getting boned by Sutter. Yeah, I’m in that place. Where I’m desperate for it, but maybe too tired to do anything about it.

We’re about to find out.

I stroll through the door of our house, tossing my bag down, stumbling my way through the darkness to my room. Stacey was just behind me. He’ll close the door and lock it. Probably. Though, thinking of the shit I’d be in from Sutter for not tightly locking the sixty million locks he installed over Christmas brings a smile to my face. Okay, so it’s only six locks, but still. It’s six locks too many. We live in Kitsilano, one of the safest neighborhoods in Vancouver. We’ve never had an issue, but suddenly Sutter acts like we leave the door wide open and have tea with criminals.

But, dayum, did I ever love watching him install those door locks. He did it shirtless, which was one hundred percent for my benefit, and I recorded a permanent video in my mind of the way those big arms of his flexed and extended, the way his hands gripped the tools. He worked them expertly while the large viper that lives forever tattooed up his right arm slinked and coiled with his assertive movements.

Sutter working on shit might be my newest fetish.

It was a good thing I got something out of that day. We were short on time during Christmas with all the stuff going on with the kids. Instead of railing me, he turned my house into a fortress. The thing that happened with Charles and Stevie’s mom unlocked Sutter’s protection complex.

I’m not too proud to say I begged him for sex. Pretty much humped his leg for it.

“Off, Alderchuck. There’s enough time for me to do this before we have to pick up the kids,” Sutter said.

“One lock’s fine,” I pleaded. “One lock and that’ll leave ten minutes for you to bend me over the counter.”

He wrapped me in his handyman’s arms and spoke low in my ear. “I need to do this.”

Something desperate filled his voice.

Sutter’s protection complex is his show of affection. If he puts locks on your doors he’s saying, “You’re mine and I’ll damn well keep you safe.” So, even though I would have rather had his bare dick in my ass—the thing we still haven’t done—I sat near him, openly ogling him while he did the Sutter equivalent of building me a Wendy house.

Okay, fine. It would be pretty shitty of me to completely disregard that particular concern now that I know what happened with his dad. I’ll go make sure the locks are secured, but after. This won’t be a long call. We’ll both need sleep and it’s not something you can skip at this level of the game. Hell, your body won’t let you.

Pushing the door open takes effort. Am I that tired? Flicking the lights on illuminates the boxes behind the door. Must be the shit from Amazon I’ve ordered while being away. I nearly trip over them on my way to the bed—fuck, my motor skills need a recharge—landing not-so-gracefully on my bed.

Something digs into my back.

Pulling the offending object from under me, a hat unfurls. Dirk’s hat. “Hello, how’d you get here?”

I snap my fingers. Same person that put the boxes in my room, Travis, Dash’s dad. He takes care of our mail and shit while we’re not here. We’re always leaving stuff at the restaurant like it’s another home. Not so much during the in-season, though, so Dirk must have forgotten it sometime over Christmas.

Since it’s here, I’m putting it to good use. Sutter fucking hates when he sees me in other people’s shit. Like, “wants to blow the world up” kind of hate. He’s like Mercy that way, but next level, and it’s fun to fuck with him. Let’s see if he knows it’s not my hat.

I should probably set up my laptop, but I’m on the bed now and too tired to move. This is gonna be one lame video-sex session, but it’s happening come hell or high water. My dick deserves it for how well-behaved it’s been. Besides, what would Sutter and I do otherwise? Talk? Even our text message conversations are filled with ways we wanna defile the other.

Strange tingles fill my gut while I wait for his devil’s mug to appear on my screen. What the fuck is that about? The only thing that should be excited to see Sutter is my dick.

“Hey, baby,” he says.

Fuck. It’s like my body’s on fire. I blame his voice and that word. Baby. It sets my insides aflame. “Hey.”

He looks … drowsy. Until his eyes narrow, darkening, blazing with full-on contempt. “What the fuck bullshit are you wearing, Alderchuck?”

Oh, right. The hat. I tug at my t-shirt. “This ol’ thing? I’ve had this for years.”

“Not the shirt, brat. The hat.”

I shrug. “What’s wrong with my hat?”

“The fact that it’s not your hat. Take it the fuck off. Now. ”

That he’s paid attention enough to know it’s not mine is impressive. I remove Dirk’s hat and toss it toward my dresser. “There. You happy?”

“Not yet. Where’s the shit I sent you?”

“You sent me shit?” The boxes! That’s enough to get my tired ass up. A couple of the boxes are my Amazon orders, but two of them are from Sutter. “What did you send me, babe?”

His eyes smile under the messy bits of hair falling across his forehead. “Open and find out.”

It takes time to tear through the tape because Sutter secured the boxes like Fort Knox. He has to put up with several minutes of me bitching about it until I finally bust it open. The phone’s on the dresser by this point—I needed both hands to get through Sutter’s FBI-clearance-level tape job—so I’m able to reach into the box, hands-free while he watches.

I pull out … “Is this your sweatshirt, Sutter?”

“One of ‘em. I know why you like to play musical hats, kitten.”

“Why?” I say, immediately slipping into the oversized Sutter hoodie. My body takes a sigh. He’s bigger than I am, so it’s super cozy. It’s one of his plain gray ones with a kangaroo pocket in the front. “It smells like you,” I add before he can answer my question.

“That’s because I wore it around for a couple days before sending it.”

“Dude, you sent me your dirty laundry?” I complain, but I actually fucking love it. He did that so I could smell him and probably so I’d carry his scent, warding off other men trying to put their hands on me—something crazy like that because he’s an animal sometimes. There are more shirts and a few Sutter bandanas in the box. At the bottom is a Copperheads jersey with his surname and number on the back. “No fucking way am I wearing your jersey again, asshole.”

“We’ll see, but to answer your question, I know you do the hat thing because it fills you with certainty and safety. I’m gonna do that for you now,” he declares.

“Possessive bastard,” I murmur.

“You need something when I can’t put my marks on you, when I can’t touch you.”

That man loves marking me, and it’s been so many weeks apart that I don’t have a hickey to show for it. And his hands. Yeah, I miss his fucking rough mountain-man hands invading every inch of my skin.

“What’s in the other box?” I say, making myself comfortable on my bed again. I’m wearing more clothes than I began with—the opposite of how this usually goes.

“Open it.”

“No,” I whine. “I’m too damn tired to fight through your sixty-five layers of tape, Sutter.”

“If you knew what was inside, you might think it’s worth it,” he says. I groan. “Alright, Alderchuck, but only because I’m too tired to make you. I found a truckload of watermelon Jolly Ranchers at a store in Boston. I bought you all of them.”

They happen again. Those funny tingles. “Thanks, babe. Now, let’s get to the part where you virtually play with my dick. It needs you.”

He laughs. “Your eyes are closed, Alderchuck.”

Huh? Oh shit. I pry them open to Sutter’s sleepy smirk watching me. Is that fondness on his face? The sleepy fog I’m in makes it look that way. Dammit. My brain still really wants the sexy times, but my limbs feel waterlogged. This is so unfair. Yep, the universe definitely has it out for us.

“It’s okay. Coach has been riding our asses, too, and my body’s noticed the games gettin’ more?—”

“Violent and brutal?” I supply.

“Yeah. God, how do the older players do it? I feel a hundred tonight, Alderchuck.”

Hearing that he’s feeling the same pulls the pin on whatever bravado I had left. I snuggle into his shirt, relishing in the scent of him, kinda sorta wishing he was here.

Maybe I should tell him that, but apparently my brain has some form of self-respect left. It reminds me of the last time I got vulnerable with Sutter. I am not doing that again. He wants me, he can fucking go out on a limb this time. Call me stubborn and maybe a little petty, but I dare anyone else to get that vulnerable twice.

“Should we call it then? Head to bed?” I say.

“No,” he says, a little anger leaking into his voice. “What the fuck? We said we’d hang out tonight.”

“Well, yeah, but I assumed that meant some form of fucking. You sayin’ you just wanna talk?” I’m not sure we know how to do that. Us talking usually leads to fighting, which then leads to fucking. What happens if we can’t do the fucking part?

“I’m sayin’ I just wanted to … fuck it, never mind.”

“Sutter, wait. I didn’t understand what you meant, but I’m with you now. Tell me about playing hockey for the worst team in the league.” That’ll get him going.

The glare he gives me is half-hearted, but he takes it as a real invitation and tells me all about hockey in Boston. Don’t think I’ve ever heard the man talk so much. I knew he loved hockey, but not how much playing for Boston meant to him. It was his dad’s favorite team.

“Dad took me to the rink every morning when I was little, like Gretzky’s dad did. He’d almost freeze to death, but he wouldn’t stop till I was done.”

“And of course, you were obsessed. You’re an obsessive maniac, Sutter.”

“Only get obsessed about the things I care about, Alderchuck.” His indigo irises bore into my soul.

Me. Sutter’s obsessed with me.

The fucking tingles, they’re back, but this time they’re everywhere, a whole bunch of them rising in my chest.

“What about your dad, Alderchuck?”

I shrug. “Don’t know, never met him.”

“But presumably you had one.”

“Presumably. Mom never told us what happened to him or where he went. It was the only thing she kept from us, well, that we know of. Stacey and I figure she would have told us someday, but someday never came before she died.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“We did. When we were little, she gave us evasive answers. As we got older, we caught on to how much pain it brought her, so we stopped asking.”

“It never bothered you?”

I shake my head. “Not really. Not like people seem to expect.”

“Right, you would have had your brother to kinda fill that role.”

I would have had … yeah. Shit. I’ve been giving all the credit to Mom and Auntie Annie, but Stacey’s been my positive male role model. Who did Stacey have?

“This was supposed to be a sexy phone date, you weren’t supposed to therapize me, Sutter.” My damn eyelids flutter, getting heavier and heavier. I don’t want to sleep, though. This conversation’s nice.

“Sleep, baby,” Sutter says.

“But—”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll watch over you.”

Sutter, my dark knight. I smile with my eyes closed. “What would you do from all the way in … where are you again?”

“New Jersey.”

“Yeah, how would you help me in Vancouver when you’re in New Jersey?”

“Don’t worry about it. I know people. They’d get to you in time.”

“You’d better not be fucking thinking of Lane,” I say. It gives me the boost of adrenaline I need to open my eyes and look Sutter in the face.

“If he’s the only one around who can save your ass, then yeah. But there are two other Curtis brothers, y’know.”

Here comes the part of the conversation where it has the potential to devolve into a huge fight—because I’d rather die than let Lane anywhere near my house. I hold grudges for a long-ass time generally. He fucked with me and Sutter, he’s lucky if I don’t punch his face in the next time I see him.

But what’s the world coming to? I don’t even have the energy to fight with Sutter.

“We’re gonna talk about that,” I threaten.

“You think so, eh?”

“I know so. Don’t know that anyone’s getting in here anyway with all the locks you put on the door,” I mutter into my pillow.

“Exactly. All of which are locked?” he checks.

Fuck. “I’m super sleepy, Sutter. Lemme sleep.”

“If I find out they’re not locked, I’m taking it out on your ass, Alderchuck.”

“They’re locked,” I lie, yawning. “Probably.” I wish I could resist fucking with him, but I can’t, even half dead. Even if it means handing him my ass on a silver platter.

“Just got a text from your brother,” Sutter says.

“You texted my brother?” I don’t know what’s more concerning, that he managed to get Stacey’s phone number at some point, or that I was out long enough for him to text my bro and get a response. “And?”

“They’re locked.”

“And I’m not in any trouble?”

“You’re definitely in trouble, Alderchuck but, knowing you, it’s something you’ll look forward to. Now keep them pretty eyes closed, baby.”