Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

29. Rules? What Rules?

Chapter 29

Rules? What Rules?

Sutter

W e work our way through Toronto, Florida, and New York during the first few rounds of the playoffs, weeding them out. Sorry, not sorry, Jack and Rhett. All’s fair in love and hockey. But now love’s mixing with hockey because Milton’s worst nightmare has come to life—it’ll be a Vancouver-Boston Stanley Cup final. If we sweep Vancouver, it’ll be four games, but if history repeats itself, this series will get dragged out the full seven games.

And, no, Alderchuck and I haven’t followed the rules at all. The images from our PR teams are trying to tell the story about our family-friendly rivalry, a few real images have found their way online, telling a much different story.

A story about how I fuck Alderchuck’s brains out every chance I get.

Every day I wait for Gina to chew my ass out, but the call never comes. My man hasn’t complained about Milton, so I assume nothing’s happened on that front either. It’s been up to the social media accounts to do what they do during the playoffs. We haven’t played against each other, and playoff life is grueling, so we haven’t done any Sutterchuck interviews, but we’ve got one tonight—before our first game of the final Stanley Cup series.

Straightening my suit, I step into the conference room. Casey’s wearing a blue tie. His tumble of curls bounces across his shoulders. My stomach flutters—didn’t expect that. It’s been a while since we’ve been in the same room together, but we talk every day. We kept our pact to do video calls as often as possible. Some nights we were so beat up, all we did was lie there moaning, barely saying two words. At this point in the playoffs, we’re lucky only to have minor injuries.

Being in the same room as him, the aches in my bones evaporate. I catch his eyes across the distance. Only a few steps, but it’s a crater’s distance away. It’s the only place we can’t be together. Here, where we come to be together. It’s fucking ironic, is what it is.

“Stop making eyes. At least pretend like you still hate each other,” Milton says.

“I hope you have a contingency plan, Milton,” I say. “We’re not doing this next season.”

He grumbles something and struts off to do something on his phone.

“Easy, Mitchell,” Gina says.

I don’t like that guy.

We get through some more easy banter on camera, but yeah, Milton has a point. Even I can see that we come across as flirty. We can’t help ourselves. Our sexual energy has a life of its own. Fuck, it’s so much that I’m ready to say screw the Stanley Cup and abduct Alderchuck.

Milton storms off as soon as we’re done, and the camera crew is busy doing camera crew things. In other words, no one’s paying attention to us. I’m left to drink up Alderchuck in his suit. Know what? I don’t have a picture of that in my collection. I pull out my phone to rectify that immediately.

Casey rolls his eyes, but then he poses like he’s GQ’s sexiest man alive.

“C’mere. I want one of us.”

“Sutter,” he complains, but he joins me for the selfie.

Gina clears her throat, finally having had enough of us. I slam my phone onto the desk. She shakes her head and stalks away from our stubborn asses. Casey and I break down, nearly busting a gut laughing.

“Do you think they’ll ask for our transfers?” he asks.

“Don’t know, don’t give a fuck.” I take a look at him, a really good look at him. I was admiring his finer assets before but, this time, I’m reading him. He’s my Alderchuck. It’s my job to look after him now. “What’s going on with you?”

And why the fuck hasn’t he told me? Isn’t that what this relationship shit is all about?

“It’s not me. It’s my brother. Look, I’m not supposed to say anything, but not talking about it is driving me up the wall. He’s madly in love with one of our best friends, Dash.”

“The guy that’s always hanging off him? That Dash? It’s not a secret. Astronauts in space can see it, Alderchuck.”

“Right? Fuck. I tried to tell him, but Dash is with Syd and Syd asked Dash to marry him. The whole thing’s a fucking mess.”

“It hasn’t affected your brother’s game.”

“Yeah, at least there’s that. He’s turned into some kind of hockey terminator, but he’s not himself. I’ve tried everything, but nothing works, so I’ve been burying myself in hockey … and missing the fuck out of you.”

“You’ve missed me, kitten?” I murmur for his ears only. Most everyone has left, and we should too if we want to make the game.

“Couldn’t even eat my pre-game KD. I was kinda nervous about seein’ yah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, I … we’re so unlikely, Sutter. I know we talk all the time, but I need …”

He’s looking at the floor. I don’t want him looking at the floor. I nudge his chin up with my knuckle. “You need touch.”

“Yeah. Maybe, uh, your touch specifically.”

Fuck everyone. I’m kissing him. I bring his lips to mine and the whole word melts away. It’s just me, his lips, and the taste of watermelon Jolly Ranchers. I make a bunch of plans. I’m gonna send him more of my shit—sweatshirts, t-shirts, jerseys—so at least he can smell me, be wrapped in me. Bet the stuff I gave him before has lost my scent already. Need to change that.

A door closes down the hallway. We jump.

“Shit, Sutter. That was perfect.”

“Remember that when you’re on the ice, and I’m pounding the shit out of you with my fists.”

“Won’t be hard with my stick under your feet and you taking an ice dive.”

“Sounds like a penalty to me. It’s gonna be hard for you to win the game from inside the box.”

“Whoever gets the most hits in on the other with the ref’s head turned picks what we do tonight?” he asks.

“You’re on.”