Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

30. Hockey is a Blood Bath

Chapter 30

Hockey is a Blood Bath

Casey

H ow much gloating is too much? I don’t know the answer to that, but pretty sure I’m not even close yet. Vancouver kicked Boston’s ass last night. Maybe it was only the first game of the series, but I don’t think it’s too early to say we could sweep ‘em since the way we played was fire. I totally won our bet too. We only did what Sutter wanted last night because he’s a dirty cheater who wouldn’t admit that he lost.

And his idea was way filthier than mine.

If my boyfriend wants to use his Boy Scout skills creatively, who am I to stop him? Just moving hurts from what he did. My ass is so red, I’ll remember him every time I sit down, that’s for sure.

Pink-orange light hits Sutter’s sleeping face. He looks like an utter beast, his chest rising and falling. I trace my fingers over bruises, and stitches that he should not be playing hockey with. Leaning in, I kiss each of his battle wounds.

He stirs. His fingers comb through my hair. “What’re you doin’, baby?” he murmurs with a gravel-worn voice. “Go back to sleep. The sun’s barely up.”

“My stomach woke me.”

“Your stomach is the other man in our relationship, Alderchuck,” he says for the hundredth time. It really is.

I toy with his nipple. “I’ll make us breakfast this time. Stay right here.”

“And get stuck eating mac ‘n’ cheese drowned in maple syrup for breakfast? Not a chance, Alderchuck. I’m up. Pass me my phone.”

He disrupts our nice cuddle pile. “I was fucking enjoying that, asshole. You’re such a killjoy.” I pass him his phone, the one he’s been obsessively checking since he got it back last night. He left it in the room where we recorded our pre-game interview. Didn’t even notice until after the game, which he blamed me for on account of me being so distracting. Thank fuck it was right where he left it, but he hadn’t pressed the lock screen, and his display wasn’t on auto-lock because it kept locking on him when he’d try to masturbate to his Alderchuck collection.

Yeah. Sutter, the man of a thousand locks, forgot to put his phone on auto-lock and forgot to lock his phone altogether. I’ll never let him live this down as long as we live.

Naturally, he’s become paranoid about his phone, checking it more often than he should be. “No one touched your phone, Sutter.”

He’s expecting all the images he took of me to end up on social media any second now. He keeps checking for them. “You don’t know that.”

“It was open to the image you last took, you said. Why would anyone who wanted whatever stupid shit is on your phone return it, opened to the same image?”

“So that I wouldn’t know they took it, genius.”

“What can you do if they end up on socials, anyway? Nothing, so stop worrying about it.”

“I can scrape out the eyes of anyone who looks at your bare ass, kitten. Never forget that.”

I shiver. God, I hope he’s joking, but it’s hard to tell with Sutter.

G ame two of the final series is no less of a blood bath than game one. Even the coaches go at it. There are so many penalties, I’m surprised we played any hockey at all. Vancouver loses and that’s a bummer, but it doesn’t feel so bad when I’m bent over Sutter’s sofa, his bare dick hammering into me harder than he hammered me on the ice.

“You’re so fucking tight, Alderchuck.” He smacks my ass so hard I cry out, and then his hand’s wrapped around my mouth to keep me quiet.

Good fucking luck.

But the one round’s all we have in us. We die on the same couch, watching the second Back to the Future movie, unable to mutter a word. It’s nice being able to do nothing together. I sigh and exhale a hum. Sutter stirs.

“I know that hum.” He pats my leg. “Time to feed you, Alderchuck.”

I don’t know how he can move at this point, but he does. “How does me humming mean food, Sutter?”

My stomach growls. He raises his brows. Point proven . Fine. I might be hungry, but it’s disturbing that he knew before I did. I roll to my side, groaning about my bumps and bruises, enjoying the view of naked Sutter. Then my phone buzzes on the coffee table. It’s a message from Milton.

My heart races.

Milton

Check your email.

Fuck. It’s not good. I know it’s not good. Nothing good comes from Milton generally. That applies doubly at midnight. I sit up, but I can’t check my email. I stare at Milton’s text.

Sutter sets a plate of cheeses, meats, and crackers in front of me, along with what looks like a protein shake. “Baby?” he says.

I rub my hands over my face. “Um, yeah.” I show him the text.

“Well? Did you read the email?”

“Of course, not. I didn’t … fuck. It’s gonna be bad and I can’t look. You do it.”

He swipes the phone from me and heads into my emails. I don’t like the grimace on his face. “Fuck. Fucking Goddamn Milton. I knew he was up to something.”

By the way he huffs, I know he doesn’t want to tell me what he’s seen. He might know my hums, but I know his huffs.

“Look, it’s all gonna be okay?—”

“Clothes. I need some fucking clothes.” I don’t know what’s happening, but the panic’s consumed me. There’s a weight pressing heavily on my chest. I can’t pull a breath. My eyes dart around the room for an exit.

There’s a tight grip on my wrist and then a yank. My body slaps against Sutter’s solid one. I can’t move, trapped in strong arms. I don’t know where he gets the strength after a game.

“Are you gonna calm the fuck down? I’m not telling you until you do. I will tie your ass to something.”

I let my muscles go slack, nodding, leaning into him for support.

“There’s going to be a meeting. Milton sent pictures he clearly got from my phone to them. The owners of your team want to meet with you in person.”

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t know how he managed this one, but trust me, it’s not gonna go well for him.”

“You don’t know that, Sutter. The Arovinis don’t meet with players just because. Fuck. I’ll be kicked off the team. They’ll kick Stacey off for good measure.” I tug at my hair. “He can’t take another hit like this right now.”

“You don’t know they’ll do any of that. I’ve seen the kind of hits your brother can take. Give him more credit. He’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to fucking say, Sutter. How could you let this happen?”

I fight my way out of his grip, and streak like an angry tornado through the hallways toward the bedroom, hellbent on my finding my clothes. Sutter’s hot on my heels.

My sweats are tangled with his on the floor. I snatch them up and hop into them, not bothering with underwear.

“Stop acting like a child, Alderchuck.”

“Child? This is my life, Sutter, and it’s all your damn fault.”

“I take responsibility for being careless with my phone, but it’s not all my fault. Milton’s the real snake here.”

Part of me knows that’s true, but the other part’s too angry, and Sutter’s the only thing around to yell at.

“Take back the thing you said about me acting like a child,” I demand … like a fucking child. But we’ll visit that point later. He shouldn’t have said it. I yank my black t-shirt over my head.

“Are you gonna stop acting like a fucking child?”

“No, I mean … fuck.” Where’s my damn hoodie? I’m getting out of here. I should be at home with my brother anyway. I let him convince me that I should be with Sutter because I was foolish enough to miss him so much. I knew better. Sutter’s a dick and he’ll always be a dick. Is this really what I want?

I want someone who’ll redefine worship for me. Sutter is so not the vibe. The first sign of real trouble and we implode. Why? Because we’re built on a foundation of sex and lust. You can’t have a real relationship made out of that.

He’s standing across the room, still naked, but we might as well be kilometers apart. I’m too angry to think right now or say anything good. I’m only going to throw more insults at him. Does he deserve them? Probably some of them, but not all of them.

Sutter’s picked up on my wild state and he’s finally—fucking finally—got the message to handle me with care. His hands grapple through his hair, but they’re really grappling with what to do with me.

“I’m going home.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Alderchuck. You’re not going anywhere.” He reaches for his pants, sliding into them, watching me. Prepping for a fight. “Look, I’ll sleep on the couch, and you can sleep in here. Okay?”

I cross my arms. Noooooo way am I sleeping by myself tonight. “I’ll call Jack. He’ll come get me.”

“You’re gonna wake up their whole house—no. Just no. Get in the bed. We’ll talk in the morning once we’ve both calmed down.”

As much as I hate him and Milton, hell, I even hate hockey right now, I want to sleep alone less. Thankfully, hating Sutter is something I’m familiar with. I take the steps across what feels like an expanse, but’s actually just a few feet of carpet, and grab his wrist.

“You’re sleeping in the bed with me, but all you are is a human teddy bear, got it?”

“I can do that.” He grips my arms, rubbing them like he’s been itching to touch me.

“I fucking hate you right now, asshole.”

He shrugs. Sutter’s been dealing with my ire too long to be affected by it. He’s desensitized. “Don’t like you all that much either, currently.”

“Good.”

“Get into bed. I’m gonna put the food away and get you some water.”

Once I’m under the covers that’s when the dam breaks. All the things Milton’s been threatening me with all season, crawl into my mind and shout at me. My anxious brain dreams up worst-case scenarios.

Sutter shuts off the light as he enters the room and slips in behind me. He holds me tightly, just like he did the night he lost his shit. Like I’m an apparition he doesn’t want to lose sight of.

His arms are my safe place.

I cry into the pillow, wrapped in him.

“Milton’s a dead man,” he says, and it’s the last thing I hear before sleep sucks me under.