Erik

by Sawyer Bennett

  The puck goes from Bishop to Dax, who considers a shot then reconsiders, passing it across the ice to me. I glance to Tacker, and he’s all tied up with Nilsson. I glance back to Dax and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

  Somehow, Tacker and Nilsson end up on the ice with Tacker on top. Nilsson is facedown, pinned under Tacker’s weight and I get a glimpse of my teammate’s face. It’s full of rage.

  Tacker’s stick is across Nilsson’s lower back, pinning him down. I grimace when Tacker brings up a leg and presses his shin against the back of the dude’s neck. The refs and even the linesmen rush in to pull the players apart, whistles blowing the stoppage in play, but before they can reach them, Tacker cocks his leg back and viciously knees Nilsson in the head.

  He then does it again and I see Nilsson’s eyes roll up into the back of his head.

  Tacker is torn off the top of Nilsson, not by the refs, but by two other Demons who I know are going to beat the shit out of our captain and best player. None of us waste any time, skating at top speed to join the fray.

  There’s several moments of flying fists, F-bombs, and new threats being made. Understanding that Tacker is the catalyst to this brawl, the refs zero in on him and manage to pull him free. He’s pushed by one official right toward the door that leads off the ice to the locker room, indicating that he’s being ejected for a game misconduct penalty.

  The Demons fans go berserk with glee, as well they should.

  We just lost our best player as well as the man advantage. More important, we also lost our momentum.

  By the time they clear a dazed Nilsson off the ice, Legend gets set back up in the goal, the face-off occurs, and we manage to get control of the puck in the Demons’ zone, but the clock is our enemy and we run out of time to pull our goalie again.

  The loss doesn’t sit well with anyone because whatever set Tacker off and caused him to attack Nilsson cost us any legitimate chance we had to try to tie the game and force overtime.

  We all trudge back to the locker room with sagging shoulders. While we’re disappointed and heart-heavy over the loss, none of us are actually pissed at Tacker.

  Well, Coach will be pissed, but as players, we all know that could have happened to any one of us out there. We play with passion and fire at all times. It’s a violent sport and we all take a beating during every game. I’ve been in that same situation…feeling like a bomb with a short fuse. Granted, it doesn’t happen to the veteran players often and Tacker usually has much more maturity and self-control out there, but the dude lost it and I’m not going to cry over it.

  The mood is somber and quiet when we make it back to the locker room. Legend can be a hothead and he makes a big production of slamming his stick into his locker. The rest of us quietly get undressed and one by one head into the shower. As I’m walking in, Tacker’s walking out with his head hanging low with an utter refusal to look any of us in the face.

  I give him a slight bump of my fist against his biceps as I pass him, muttering, “Don’t worry about it, dude.”

  He doesn’t reply.

  By the time I get out of my shower and back to my locker, Tacker is nowhere to be seen.

  And then I hear it.

  Coach Perron bellowing at the top of his lungs from the guest coach’s office that sits off the locker room. The door is closed and the walls are made of cinderblock, but there is no muffling an enraged coach’s voice.

  “You goddamn stupid son of a bitch should know better than that,” Coach Perron yells.

  We don’t hear a word from Tacker and I can imagine his stubborn refusal to engage. Best to let Coach get it out, and he continues on. “And if you think I’m pissed about losing this game, think again. I’m pissed because you are most definitely going to get sanctioned for this. You’re going to get suspended for fuck knows how many games and the team as a whole is going to lose our winning momentum. All because you couldn’t rein your temper in and had to make a jackass decision to start a fight out there when we had a powerful six on five advantage.”

  There’s a moment of silence and then Coach yells, “Do you not have anything to say for yourself?”

  Nothing.

  Then Coach bellows, “Get the fuck out of my sight, Hall.”

  When the door opens, all of us turn around and act like we weren’t just eavesdropping on the conversation. From the corner of my eye, I see Tacker grab his duffel and storm out of the locker room, presumably to the team bus that will take us straight to our hotel

  “What in the fuck happened out there?” Bishop mutters, not loud enough for everyone to hear, but enough of us do.

  “No clue,” I tell him.

  “Happened too fast,” Dax says.

  “I saw it,” Carter says in a low voice and takes a few steps toward us. He dips his head and lowers his voice even further. “Or rather, I heard it. Nilsson kept shoving Tacker with his stick, trying to rile him up but it wasn’t working. So he resorted to words.”

  “What did he say?” Bishop asks through gritted teeth.

  Carter gives a disgusted shake of his head. “He fucking brought up the plane crash.”

  “What?” I growl, shooting up off the bench with my hand at my waist to hold my towel in place.

  Carter nods. “Told him he played hockey as well as he flew planes.”

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” Bishop yells and rams his fist into the frame around his cubby. “I’m going to kill that fucker, Nilsson. Going to find his house tonight and go kill him. You have to know where he lives, right Erik?”

  “Yup,” I say because I’m all on board with this idea. That was about as fucking low as I’ve ever seen another player go, and I’ve seen some really fucked-up things out on the ice.

  To bring up the plane crash to Tacker was beyond the pale. I can’t even imagine what the fuck was going through Tacker’s mind, but I saw that look of rage in his eyes and now I know why he attacked. Those two knees to the head were deliberate and they were probably made with the intent to do serious bodily harm to Nilsson. Tacker’s going to get in some serious trouble, no doubt.

  But fuck. Tacker was piloting the small aircraft with his fiancée beside him that he was set to marry within a few weeks. I’d heard rumors that she didn’t die instantly, but suffered for quite a while before she did. Tacker was pinned in the wreckage and couldn’t help her. I’d heard it took rescuers over four hours to reach them and if his fiancée took any amount of that time to die while he watched and couldn’t do anything, I can’t say I blame Tacker for going after the guy.

  If that had happened to Blue—

  Fuck…I cannot even think about that.

  Yeah…I’m all for going to kill Nilsson tonight.

  * * *

  —

  Because Legend is no longer fucking Valerie, the flight attendant, we can’t quite play musical rooms. Thus, I’ve taken to buying a room at each hotel we stay at for Blue and I to share. I consider it to be perhaps the best use of the insane amount of money I make.

  I make my way out of the bathroom after having disposed of the condom I’d just filled and slide back in bed next to her. I don’t bother to pull the covers up yet as I’m still warm after that insane bout of sex we just had. Despite the fact I’m always exhausted after a game, I still find energy in my reserve tank to go at it hard with Blue.

  Tonight, I also had a bit of anger brewing deep inside me because of what happened to Tacker earlier. I texted Bishop when I got to the room and he said Tacker took off when we got back to the hotel from the arena. No one’s seen him since and I hope the fucker is okay.

  A bunch of the guys went out tonight, and I had several of my former Demons teammates try to induce me to come out with them to sort of relive my glory days here. I declined for two reasons. First, I don’t want to be around them right now. While I’m betting they’d all think it wa
s pretty fucked-up what Nilsson said to Tacker, they’re still teammates with the man and would be loyal to him. I doubt I’d be able to keep my cool tonight.

  But more important, I have Blue. I don’t feel like carousing tonight. I have the option to bring Blue along, but I don’t want her to see me partying with my old mates. Those days are behind me. Blue’s partying days are behind her as well, and I remember all too clearly how offended she was when I called her a party girl.

  For me, I’d rather be sunk deep inside my girl—or even lying beside her quietly in bed—than go out tonight.

  “Something’s bothering you,” Blue says into the dark as she rolls toward me. She slips an arm over my stomach, and uses her fingertips to stroke patterns on my chest.

  I smile into the darkness. Despite the fact we just got done giving each other extreme pleasure, she knew about the anger I was carrying silently.

  “You know that fight Tacker got in tonight?” I ask her.

  “Yeah.”

  I proceed to tell her why it happened, feeling compelled to pull her into my arms when she gasps in outrage over what Nilsson said to Tacker. I hold her quietly while she vents her own anger, using very colorful curse words and asking me if we can go kill Nilsson. Just like Bishop, she asks, “You know where he lives, right?”

  But she settles just the way I do, and then she turns melancholy for Tacker. “I wish he’d let us help him.”

  “Not sure we can,” I reply as I stroke her back. “How do you help a man get over watching the woman he loves die?”

  I know I couldn’t get over Blue dying.

  I wonder if that means I’ve fallen in love with her? I’m thinking it probably does.

  Chapter 24

  Erik

  My house is quiet when I enter through the garage, straight into the mudroom. Of course it’s quiet because I’m the only one here which is par for the course. Except now the quiet bothers me because I’d rather hear Blue’s voice greeting me.

  I juggle the shopping bags in my hands as I put my keys on the small rack by the door. I find solace in the fact that Blue will be here soon. While I was at an afternoon practice, she went to see Billy for a bit then she had plans to do her laundry before coming back to my house where we’d made loose plans to cook dinner and just hang here for the night. Tomorrow we leave for a game in Calgary, which is the team I had been drafted into when I was eighteen. I played two years there for the Wild and then three years for the Atlanta Sting before I went to the Demons.

  Now that I’m in Phoenix with my fourth professional team, and I have Blue, I’m kind of hoping this is where I’ll stay.

  I had wanted to offer up to Blue my washer and dryer for her laundry but I was afraid that would be weird in a moving-too-fast kind of way.

  Like the way I want to go trade my truck in for a van with an electric lift in the back so we don’t have to rent one every time we want to transport Billy and his motorized chair.

  Or weird like I’d love for Blue just to move in with me since she stays every night that we’re in town. Get rid of that crappy little rental house in a bad section of the city and move to the burbs with me so we can make like a family.

  I don’t offer her any of that because I’m afraid it’s too fast and too soon. Although technically, that’s just an assumption on my part as I have nothing to compare this experience to. Having these types of feelings for a woman is completely new and scary as fuck.

  Maybe I should talk to Bishop. He and Brooke fell for each other really fast. He probably has some advice on how fast is too fast to move in together or buy a handicapped access van together.

  Surely, some of these things are the next logical progression in our relationship. We’ve admitted we’re crazy about each other. We’ve done familial things together which have felt utterly natural even though it’s the first time I’m experiencing it. Like hosting Thanksgiving last week here at my house. Sure, I provided the venue but Blue was the true hostess. She coordinated the food, cooked a turkey and ham, and made sure everyone had a good time. She even babied the young, single rookies who were probably missing home a lot.

  I mean…just yesterday we made the most of my day off. I’d rented a van and Blue and I picked Billy up. We then went shopping and bought a tree and decorations.

  In my ten years of being an adult, I’ve never put up a Christmas tree. It just seemed like a lot of effort for not a lot of reward. But when Blue had mentioned she had a small tree to put up in Billy’s room, something overtook me. Next thing I know, I told her I wanted to do a tree at my house and I wanted her and Billy to help me. There was nothing weird about that if I went by the smile on Blue’s face when I told her what I wanted to do. Her eyes brightened and she jumped into my arms to kiss the fuck out of me.

  Nothing weird about that at all.

  Yesterday was great. Billy was in charge of the ornaments on the bottom third of the tree, Blue had the middle and I had the top since I’m the tallest. We had Christmas music playing in the background, bringing back some fond memories for me of Christmas at my mom’s house. Even James was a lot nicer and less Grinchlike during the holidays. My dad always put up a tree too but I expect that’s because my mom made him so that I’d have consistency in tradition.

  Caught up in my memories of the past, I move through the kitchen and into the great room where we had put up the tree. Setting the bags down on the floor, I pull out the presents. While Blue was visiting Billy and doing her laundry, I ran to the mall after practice. Having taken advantage of the free gift wrapping in each store, I’m able to put shiny box after shiny box under the tree. Jewelry and some lingerie for Blue so far, and for Billy a Nintendo game system with several different games, each individually wrapped.

  I had pondered for a very brief moment buying a new car for Blue because her car is old and could break down at any time on her. But I thought better of it. That goes in the weird category.

  It’s way too soon.

  I think.

  Actually, not sure.

  She did get a little wigged-out over the diamond bracelet I bought her but I don’t get that. Why should I be penalized for expensive presents when I make millions each year in salary and endorsement deals?

  I jolt when I hear the front door open and Blue calls out, “Erik…I’m here.”

  My pulse skyrockets just from her voice and I step away from the tree and into her line of sight from the foyer. She’s kicking the front door shut because she’s holding a big laundry basket full of clothes.

  Blue sees me and grins. “I hope you don’t mind. I decided to do my laundry here.”

  It takes every ounce of willpower not to smile in satisfaction that I’m getting what I want without even asking for it. So instead, I shrug casually as I walk to her, “Sure. Whatever.”

  Taking the basket from her hands, I head toward the laundry room which sits between the kitchen and three-car garage. I set it on top of the front-loading washer, and she scoots past me with a hand on my back. Her light, innocent touch goes straight to my dick.

  “Do you have any laundry you want me to do for you?” she asks pleasantly as she starts to reach into the basket.

  I move behind her, sliding my arms around her stomach to pull her into my body. I push my hips forward so she can feel the hard length of me against her. Blue drops the clothes and lets her head fall back onto my chest.

  “I have something I want to do for you,” I murmur into her ear before giving it a bite. Dropping my hand to the button of her jeans, I flick it open and yank the zipper down.

  Blue sucks in a sharp breath as my fingers dip beneath the waistband of her panties. There’s nothing but velvety smooth skin as I push a finger through the lips of her pussy, past her hard little clit and into the wet depths below.

  And she is fucking wet. I crouch a bit, slide a finger deep into her and use the
leverage of my hand connected to her pussy to pull her tighter against me. I can’t help but rub my cock against her, which both hurts and feels good against the zipper of my jeans at the same time.

  With my finger lubricated by her juices, I bring the tip to her clit and I hit it hard. I know I can get Blue off really fast with my mouth and I wonder if I can do the same with my finger.

  Blue’s hips rotate, urging me to deepen the friction against her. I draw in a harsh breath through my nose when Blue whispers, “I’m going to come.”

  Fuck, she ignites fast and I love it. It means she gets more than one orgasm by the time I’m through with her.

  “Give it to me,” I urge as I rub the tiny bundle of sensitive nerves. I tip my head and put my teeth against her neck where I scrape the tender skin.

  Blue bucks in my arms, groaning out an incredibly long and powerful release that vibrates from her body into mine.

  Just goddamn perfect and beautiful and all fucking mine to have.

  When Blue’s legs give way and she sags against me, I remove my hand from between her legs. I pick her up, cradling her in my arms with the intent to move somewhere more comfortable.

  I decide the bedroom’s too far away and opt instead for the huge sofa in the great room. It faces the Christmas tree we’d put up in one corner and a massive set of windows that look out over the backyard. The pool water is orange and pink from the setting sun and it makes a romantic view.

  I put Blue on her feet and she seems revived enough to help in the shedding of clothes. They come off with a lot of kissing and laughing in between, especially during the awkward phases of needing to sit down to take off our shoes and socks.

  Then she’s naked and on the couch beneath me and I’ve got a foil-wrapped condom on the coffee table ready for use.

  But first, more kissing.

  And touching.