Page 48 of Much Ado About Hockey

Her silence felt like self-preservation.

Instead of telling him how she felt, she rose slowly from the couch, her limbs heavy with reluctance. She walked to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look back.

Jett had moved – instead of curled in the corner of the couch, he was sitting there, silent. His expression torn and so full of emotion. He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his forehead resting on clenched fists like a man fighting a war no one else could see – not even her.

“Good night, Nutella,” he said simply, and her heart clenched at the affection buried in the nickname. “Sweet dreams – and thank you for this evening.”

She stood there a moment longer, wishing the night could stretch forever… and hesitated.

“Good night, husband,” she began and heard his strangled groan of dismay. With that, she closed the door behind her—giving them both the space he thought they needed, even if her heart already knew what it wanted. She was willing to wait for Jett – for his love.

“See you tomorrow,” she whispered into the silence, listening to his footsteps as he abruptly left the condo to go work out his frustrations.

9

JETT

“What areyou doing here so early?”

Jett looked up and frowned, seeing the team captain, Liam Savage, on the ice and doing drills. Dealing with him was not exactly what he had planned today, nor did he want to hear about how great this man’s life was.

Team captain, happily married, joined the mile-high club – which was something Jett had only dreamed about in his wildest fantasies… but ‘Nerd-holio The Great’ got toliveit, and he was jealous… combined with a whopping case of self-imposed sexual frustration.

“Upright and breathing,” Jett retorted, expecting his tone to be enough to drive away the other man, putting a wall between them.

“Yeah, me too,” Savage muttered, swinging his hockey stick at a puck almost like a golfer – and missing.

It was so unexpected, so out of character for the ‘golden boy,’ that he couldn’t help it. Jett snorted in laughter just as Savage slipped and landed directly on his butt.

“What’s your deal, bruh?”

“I guess the same as yours,” Savage muttered and extended a hand, to which Jett looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“We ain’t besties.”

“Shut up and give me a hand.”

Jett clapped slowly… and then sped up basically applauding the man. He put his fingers in his mouth, blew a whistle, and hollered ‘Bravo!’ as Savage glared at him.

“Are you finished?”

“Almost,” Jett retorted, getting out his cell phone camera to take a picture of the captain sitting sprawled on the ice looking all perturbed and pouty. He was gonna put this on the team text thread that one of the other guys started. The moment his phone was out, Savage uttered a curse word and scrambled to his feet in record time. “I’m impressed. Photogenicandquick on the ice. No wonder you are the team captain.”

“You have a mouth on you.”

“Newsflash – look in the mirror, Cap. You got one too. You just never use it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Speak up for yourself, get pissed off, talk to us like we’re your partners, coworkers, teammates… and screw it – get chummy if you have to!” Jett railed, letting out all of his repressed energy and frustration. “But don’t just follow and nod. You’re not a lemur. You’re our captain.”

“I’m confused,” Savage muttered, bewildered. “Why are you talking about a marsupial?”

“Bro, I’m talking about whatever that four-legged heaving thingie that gets angry, runs into crowds, and gets all stabby with his forehead…” Jett waved dramatically, holding back a laugh. He wasn’t that stupid, but this man in front of him was utterly clueless. He needed to draw his own conclusion, come up with his solution, and start mimicking whatever aggressive animal he spouted off in response to his vague description.

“A bull?” Savage began in disbelief, staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “You mean abull?”

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” Jett retorted, knocking on his own head like he was ringing a bell. “By Jove, the man got it. Your last name is Savage, you’re the team captain, the boss, the guy in charge – so start acting like it. Take control of the team on the ice and learn from Boucher, but make it yours. Boucher ain’t our captain,” he paused, poking the stunned man in the chest. “You are! So start ‘captaining’ the team, Boy Scout.”

---