Page 4 of No Pucks

“No, you don’t have to. I will after.” I leave him where he stands, needing air as the walls of the hotel close in around me.

I shove through the stairway door and take them to the roof. The cool air hits me like a much-needed truck, stopping my hyperventilating and thoughts of inflicting serious bodily harm on my father.

I walk to the edge and press my palms on the rail, looking out over the city. I’m glad to be back in New York and going to college in the fall, but at the same time, I long to escape. How can I possibly carve my own life path with my father’s fame hanging over my head? I learned a long time ago that in hockey, I’ll always be judged for who my father is. It’s never about how well I play or who I am. It’s always his legacy.

I vow to make it my father’s problem.

But how?

And how do I tell my mother the man she has been madly in love with for twenty fucking years is, and always will be, a douche bag? She doesn’t deserve this, but I can’t shield her from it either.

I close my eyes, trying to get the image of my father out of my fucking brain.

The guy on the phone in the alley comes to mind, and immediately, the rest is purged. My gaze flicks open, scanning the buildings for the one he came out of. It’s a hotel bar. That’s where we’re going as soon as I can make an exit.

My brother finds me after a little while, and I put on a mask to do my duty, refusing to embarrass Mother on her big night.

After we walk the carpet and take photos, I find myself unable to act. I don’t want to be my father’s son tonight. I try to just blend in, but I can’t laugh or play my part any longer.

“I’m leaving,” I say to my brother when I feel enough time has passed that I can finally escape. I feel bad abandoning him.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to,” I offer, though I know he needs to leave too.

Lying to our mother’s face isn’t something either of us can do.

We slip out the back, making our way down the alley and coming out in front of the hotel.

“Where are we going?” Evander asks, walking shoulder to shoulder with his best friend James, who tagged along tonight. They’re inseparable and have been since they were in diapers.

“I told you, I have an agenda.”

“Who’s at this bar that you could have possibly seen?” James asks.

I ignore the question, scanning the small bar for the guy. It has been hours, and with my luck, he’ll be gone.

But he’s there, at the bar, sipping what looks to be a whiskey.

He’s exactly my type, with flecks of gray in his hair, glimmering under the low lights. His wide shoulders pull his shirt across his pecs as he reaches for his drink. He’s scowling and scruffy, with two or three days of stubble on his jaw. The slight thickening in his nose tells me it has been broken at least once. His massive, tattooed hands hold a glass of liquor on the rocks. I’m already wondering what they’ll look like wrapped around my cock.

His size suggests he played sports, a type I usually avoid.

But I can’t help myself.

I want him.

TWO

LOGAN

“He’s mine,” I tell them the second I lay eyes on him. I have to have him, and I need to make it clear he’s off limits.

“You can’t claim everyone,” James grumbles, looking around to see who I mean.

“You didn’t even notice him,” Evander says, pursing his lips. I’ve known James forever, and I’m still not quite sure I understand their dynamic.

“So? Now I see him,” James flings back, more to Evander than to me. He only does stuff like that to annoy my brother.

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