Page 19 of Blitz
I saw Noah darting down the right boards, fast and hungry, waving once to signal.
I passed.
Not a soft chip, but a clean, confident tape-to-tape.
Noah took it, burned around their left D—Jesus, he was fast—and drew the other defenseman out of position before feathering the puck backward, right into the slot.
Petrov was already there. One-timer. Back of the net.
Goal horn. Our bench exploded.
Noah let out a sharp whoop and turned right into my chest, thumping his gloves against mine. “There it is!”
Petrov skated past us, grinning. “About fucking time!”
I didn’t smile, but I nodded. One play. One goal. Maybe we could do this.
We got a few more looks before the final buzzer, but the Forge took it 4–2. Didn’t matter. Something had clicked. Not perfect, not polished, but there was hope—at least in me.
Gunny was buzzing, pulling his helmet off as we hit the tunnel. “I know I won’t get to stay on your wing,” he said, flushed and grinning. “But fuck, that was amazing. Thank you.” He clapped my shoulder hard enough to rock me.
He was thanking me. Why?
I grabbed his arm to stop him, made him glance at me. “No. Thankyou, for being there, for letting me work through my shit.”
His eyes widened slightly, then he nodded, slow and sure. No teasing. No follow-up. Simply respect.
And yeah, that meant something.
EIGHT
Tom
It was a blustery Sunday afternoon,and we had somehow managed to edge out our inner-state rival, Pittsburgh. And I meanjust managed. We were in second place in our division and our season had been rolling along nicely until today. There were some cracks showing and we were going to need to patch them up as the season progressed or we’d be sitting on the outside looking in and I didnotwant to end my career not making the playoffs. A Super Bowl win would be a great way to say adios. I already had a big gold ring from our win eight years ago but hey, if you’re going to dream, dream big. Seemed everyone was mulling over how a team struggling to tread water in the standings had nearly whipped us so badly. I’d seen some things on our line that needed some attention. Guys not focusing. Way too many offsides. I mean, holy shit, my fellow defensive linesmen were bolting forward before the ball was snapped a half dozen times. Thank god for Kirby Holleran, our kicker, or we would have lost.
The locker room was quiet aside from Tucker who was running his mouth about the atrocity of male cheerleaders. Irolled my eyes as I toweled off until I couldn’t take his bullshit another second longer.
“Maybe you should have been paying more attention to the game and less to the fucking cheerleaders,” I snapped, and the room went quiet as a tomb. “If your eyes had been on Benny Kingsley and not the guys and girls with pompoms, he wouldn’t have snuck around you and run fifty-five yards for a touchdown.”
Tucker opened his mouth to reply when Ty stepped in between us, hands up, calm flowing out of him.
“Okay, enough. We all were scattered today. Tomorrow at practice, we regain our focus and work twice as hard. This is our year!”
Everyone shouted along, even me, but I was tangled up in my own shit again. Stupid of me to allow a bigot like Tucker to throw me off-center, but damn it, I was tired of having to step up and shut down the hate. And here I was entertaining shining a huge spotlight on myself and my sexuality. But if I didn’t speak my truth, then I was hiding my truth. Ugh. It was too much at times. I was over it for now. I wanted to see Trick and get some balance.
I ran a comb through my freshly showered hair with more vengeance than the knots really required. Trick was meeting me on the field after the game for another round of promo for the BoltFuel people. Since we’d done hockey last time, these shots were football-based. Several of the guys asked me to join them for something to eat and a short run to the city to see a new movie, but I declined. Using the photo shoot as an excuse because I couldn’t really say I was meeting a guy, then taking him on a putt-putt golf date. Not that anyone had said the word date. But given how much time I had spent thinking about Trick—as well as how many times I’d spanked my meat thinking about his lips on my dick—my head was definitely thinking date.Although it shouldn’t because the guy was probably straight as a ruler, but there was no denying the heart at times.
“You’re too old to be this stupid giddy,” I told myself in the small mirror in my locker before slamming it shut, then waving adios to the few men lingering in the locker room.
Taking my time, I made my way to the field. There stood Trick, rocking the casual jock vibe for all it was worth. Chino shorts showing off some killer calves, blue waffle tee, and that Railers dusky blue cap. His sight met mine as I strolled to him, stopping here and there to converse with PR people from the drink company. They handed me a T-shirt with the BoltFuel logo on it and asked if I would pull it on over my tank top.
“Sure,” I said with a smile, then, because I wanted to test the waters, I padded over to Trick while taking my tank off to bare my chest. His gaze raked over me, and I got my answer. The man was into men. No dude did that long of a checkout unless he enjoyed the male physique. That made my step a little lighter. Tugging the tee over my damp body, I arrived in Trick’s gravitational pull and felt the tug immediately.
“What, no stupid greeting?” Trick asked, and I shrugged. His brows knotted. “You okay? You look kind of down.”
Down? Nope, that would not do. I had to shake it off. “Hey there Pucky Brewster.” I gave him a sassy wink.
“Age yourself why don’t you?” he fired back, and I gave him a big happy hug. Just a fast one. A bro hug mostly, but I left it linger a little longer.
