Line Brawl: The Dartmouth Cobras #8

by Bianca Sommerland

  “Yes.” He wasn’t sure how their relationship would work, but he wanted it to. He still needed Pisch, but he was losing him. “But how… I mean, Justina’s not your type. She’s a sweet girl, and I was kinda worried, seeing you with her. I know you don’t like Sam yet, but you don’t know her. She’ll be fine with the speech. She won’t try to keep you.”

  “I have no interest in Sam, White.”

  Ugh…there goes that idea. Ian scowled. “Fine. So I guess you gave Justina the speech, and she pretended—”

  “She didn’t need to pretend anything. She’s very clear about what she wants from me.” Pisch’s smile was different. Tender, like just thinking about Justina made him happy. “And I didn’t give it to her.”

  “Didn’t give it to…” All right, he didn’t have to ask what ‘it’ was. Even he wasn’t that slow. He kinda wished he’d heard wrong though. The idea of Pisch not making it perfectly clear he couldn’t be kept… His stomach sank. “She’s special, isn’t she?”

  “I believe so.”

  The tightness in Ian’s throat made it hard to breathe. “Where does that leave us?”

  “She won’t make me choose, Ian. And I won’t make you. But I’m here when you want me.” Pisch looked tired suddenly. He drew away and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’m sorry. I’ve never felt for anyone what I do for you. You’re the most important person in my life. I would have accepted being nothing more than your friend, but when you opened up the possibility for more…”

  “You told me I couldn’t keep you.” The thought had all the frustration, all the anger that had built up within bursting free. He wanted to grab Pisch. Shake him and yell at him and…and he couldn’t. Not after seeing the way Pisch’s ex had treated him. He wasn’t like that asshole. But his eyes burned as he focused on Pisch. “I love you. I fucking love you, Shawn! And you told me we’d just have fun. Keep things open. Why wasn’t I important enough to change your fucking rules?”

  “Do you want me to change them? If you ask me to, I will. I’ll forget everyone else. We can go into the locker room and tell everyone that I’m yours.”

  Tell people? Ian’s pulse pounded hard in his skull. He swallowed hard as a cold chill ran over his flesh. He wasn’t ready for people to know… Maybe his teammates wouldn’t judge him, but what about the media?

  Or his grandmother?

  Fine, she didn’t always know who he was, but when she did, she asked about the girls he’d met. Bugged him about settling down. She’d never accept him being…being bisexual.

  He still had a hard time accepting it sometimes.

  “Breathe, Ian. I’m not going to force you to do anything. I’m trying to help you understand why I made the choices I did.” Pisch let out a soft laugh and leaned in, brushing his lips over Ian’s in a gentle kiss. “I love you, too. And I know you. One day, you’re going to meet a nice girl and marry her. You’re going to have beautiful kids together. They’ll call me Uncle.”

  “And me and you—”

  “Will still be best friends. And have some awesome fucking memories.” Pisch kissed him again then backed away. “And no regrets. You can’t keep me, Ian. Not because I don’t want you to, but because I want to keep you. And this is the only way I know how.”

  This really sucks. Ian tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, wishing he could just stay in here with Pisch. Lock out the rest of the world and not have to face that Pisch was right.

  Is he though? The life he pictures…is that what you want?

  He’d never really looked that far ahead, but yeah, he’d probably always planned on something like that.

  But later. Much later.

  He reached out, wrapping his hand around the back of Pisch’s—of Shawn’s neck—and pulled him close. He needed to touch him. To know he wasn’t losing the man any time soon.

  Their lips met, and it was unlike any kiss they’d shared before. Rough and desperate. Saying all the things they had and so much more. He slanted his head, slipping his tongue in Shawn’s mouth, tasting the other man, doing everything he could to tell Shawn how much he wanted him. Needed him.

  Shawn groaned and tangled his hands in Ian’s hair, pressing him against the door. Using his teeth, his tongue, his lips to give Ian the only answer he would accept right now.

  He hadn’t lost him. And he never would.

  The man who would always have a piece of Ian’s heart wouldn’t be the one to walk away.

  But if Ian needed to, if he found that girl, and wanted that life Shawn saw for him…

  He’d be the one to walk away.

  And Shawn would let him go.

  A quiet knock pulled Shawn out of the passionate haze he’d lost himself in. He felt Ian stiffen—his whole body, not his dick, which was still as fucking hard as Shawn’s—and eased away from him.

  “Relax, Ian. Anyone who would think to come look for us here won’t say a word.” They’d damn well better not, anyway. He and Ian were in a better place. He didn’t want the little time they had left cut short because Ian was afraid of being exposed. “Move away from the door. Let me see who it is.”

  Ian nodded and backed into the shadows of the small equipment room.

  Shawn cracked the door open.

  Callahan met his eyes and inclined his head as though he saw something in Shawn’s eyes that told him he didn’t need to know more. “Time to get suited up. Everything kosher?”

  “Yes, but…discretion would be appreciated.” He trusted Callahan, and Ian had known the man even longer, so hopefully he did as well. “I’d rather if no one questioned why White and I have been gone, together, for so long.”

  “It wasn’t that long.” Callahan’s lips slanted. “Head on in. I’d like to speak to White anyway, so we’ll be in the locker room in a bit.”

  Asking what he needed to talk to Ian about would probably be out of line, but Shawn was tempted. He hesitated, sighed, then stepped out into the hall. He and Ian were in a better place. Hopefully, that would be enough and Ian would tell him later. They used to discuss everything.

  He’d missed that. Missed his best friend. And he still had him. Sam couldn’t change that. Their fucked up relationship hadn’t changed that.

  Whatever happened from this point on didn’t matter.

  He could keep Ian. And he considered that a win.

  The door closed and Ian stood in the equipment room, rubbing his sweaty palms on his shorts and holding his breath. He couldn’t hear Shawn and Callahan anymore. Maybe Shawn had convinced Callahan they really didn’t need to have a chat.

  Even Easy can’t get you out of trouble if you’ve done something to piss of the coach.

  Assistant coach.

  Yeah…could be worse. You piss off Shero and you’re done for.

  With everything else going on, Ian hadn’t really thought much about his contract ending or his shaky position with the team. He trained hard, put his all into the game… But what if he seemed too distracted? He picked apart ever second of his every shift on the ice over the past few games.

  Nothing to write home about. He was decent, but they had kids like Richards and Ladd in their prime. While he’d hit his already. He’d never make the big bucks of the top lines, but what scared him was ending up as a player traded from team to team for whatever was left of his career.

  Not really valuable to anyone for anything but heavy hitting and dropping the gloves once in awhile.

  And if he kept taking those big hits, the time he had left could be cut in half. Or worse. He had other skills, but no matter how hard he worked, both he, and every scout in the league, knew his limits.

  He didn’t want to start thinking about what came next.

  Twenty-seven years old and he knew he should have a plan for when he retired. If he was lucky, he had another five years left. Which wasn’t long at all.

  First stressing about maybe getting married and having kids one day and now retirement? Damn, White, wanna get more depresse
d before the big game?

  Sighing, he shook his head, looking up as Callahan opened the door and gestured for him to follow. “This won’t take long.”

  “Okay…” Ian glanced over at the assistant coach and frowned. The man looked stressed. Or tired. Ian hoped it was tired. At least he didn’t have to worry about getting traded during the playoffs. “Where are we going?”

  Callahan held open the door at the end of the hall; the one leading to the underground parking. “Just here. I’d rather not be interrupted.”

  Smart place to chat. Only the players parked here, so there was no one hanging around. Maybe he and Shawn should have come here.

  Folding his arms over his chest, Callahan leaned against the cement wall by the door. His brow furrowed. “I probably shouldn’t be asking you this. Feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

  “Uh…okay?” Ian bit the inside of his cheek. No way would he tell Callahan to fuck off. The man was a demi-god when it came to his career. Shero and Richter were the actual gods, but they weren’t studying him like there was an important decision to make.

  Taking a deep breath, Callahan smiled suddenly. “I’m impressed with your performance lately. You look worried, so let’s start with that. If you continue this way, your spot with the team is secure.”

  “Really? Shit, man, that’s good to hear.” Ian grinned, pretty sure he could take anything else the man threw at him. “And I’ll keep working my ass off. I know I’m getting old, but—”

  “For Christ’s sakes, White. You’re getting old? Mind not talking that crap to a man six years older than you?” Callahan looked down at his hand abruptly and scowled. There was a faint scar on the back of it from the surgery that had repaired the bones. And cut his own career short. The longer, deeper one on his cheek grew harsher as his face darkened. “If I hadn’t fucked up my hand, I’d have played for another ten years. You’re not getting old, and I hear you talk like that again and I’ll break my other hand on your face.”

  Fuck, he would too. Ian bit into his inner cheek and nodded. “Got it, sir. Won’t happen again.”

  “Good.” Callahan’s expression relaxed. “I just heard from Sam. She sounds like she’s adjusting well, but I wanted to get your take. You’re dating her now, right?”

  Ian blinked. Nodded.

  Am I allowed to?

  Before he could ask, Callahan continued. “Does she seem happy? You seem to be good for her. She’s doing well with her new job. Staying out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, she likes working at the bar.” Ian wasn’t sure what more he could say. He and Sam talked on the phone a lot—well, she mostly talked, and he listened, but that worked for him. She was still at his place, and they watched movies. She wasn’t ready for much else and he refused to let her do stuff for him when he couldn’t do anything for her.

  The light play at the club was the most they’d done since their first time.

  He was getting callouses on his palms.

  None of which Callahan wanted to hear.

  Callahan rubbed a hand over his lips, nodding slowly. “Does she talk about my…about her son?”

  “No.” Okay, now he got it. He vaguely recalled Sam mentioning signing more papers. How she couldn’t wait for the adoption to be final so she didn’t have to think about ‘the kid’ anymore. He’d changed the subject. He hated hearing her talk like that. “She…she doesn’t like anyone bringing him up. At all. I took her to a coffee shop, and she overheard Jami talking about how cute Westy is and—”

  “Westy? Like the dog?”

  “The kid. Your son.” Umm…awkward much? “That’s what Carter calls him. I thought it was his name.”

  “Yeah…me and Uncle Luke are gonna have a chat.” Callahan shook his head, then reached out to pat Ian’s shoulder. “Thanks, Bruiser. Tomorrow, the last of the paperwork will be filed, and I needed to know…well, that she’s still sure. I didn’t want to ask when she comes to meet you after the game. I’m guessing she’s in the pressbox?”

  Ian laughed, stepping aside as Callahan opened the door. “Nope. She’ll probably be sleeping when I get home. She’s not really into the game.”

  “Oh.” Callahan’s brow furrowed. “Well, not all the guys’ girlfriends are. That’s not a deal breaker, is it?”

  “No, but…” Ian’s brow rose. “You telling me you approve of me dating her?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “No one else seems to. Except maybe Chicklet.”

  “Chicklet’s a smart woman. She knows Sam needs a good man in her life.” Callahan squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, White. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that.”

  “Thanks, Coach. That means a lot coming from you.” Ian ducked his head, deciding the night wasn’t going so bad after all. He hummed to himself as they entered the locker room, realizing one of Vanek’s favorite songs was playing.

  Team tradition. The Cobra’s ‘angel’ got all his favorites blasted before the game.

  At least it wasn’t Disney music anymore.

  Across the locker room, Carter was singing Son of a Preacher Man at the top of his lungs. The kid was fucking tone deaf, but his energy was contagious. Catching Shawn’s eye as he went to his stall to get suited up, Ian grinned and joined in, not singing quite so loud, because he didn’t sound much better than Carter.

  Shawn smiled and shook his head.

  Ready to hit the ice, Ian considered how messed up things had started. And how quickly his life had changed. For the better.

  Things were good with Sam. He wasn’t sure she’d be ‘that girl’ Shawn assumed he’d spend the rest of his life with, but she was happy with how their relationship was now. Which included him being free to keep what he had with Shawn.

  He hadn’t been sure what they still had an hour ago. But he didn’t have to worry anymore. Not unless he started looking into the far off future. And why the hell would he do that?

  Callahan was right. He was still young. He had a career he loved. His team. A good girl at home. And his best friend hadn’t ditched him.

  There were a lot of uncertainties, but why dwell on them? He was fucking happy.

  Add a win tonight?

  His life would be as close to perfect as it had ever been.

  Chapter 22

  Nearing the end of the second period, the Cobras led the game 2-0. But they were taking a beating physically. Shawn cursed as he lifted his glove to his mouth and blood trailed over the white leather covering the palm. The stitches he’d gotten under his lip at the end of the first period had split with that last hit.

  No call. Of-fucking-course.

  Thankfully, Ian wasn’t on the ice. He’d already taken two penalties for fighting. Another and he’d be tossed out of the game. He’d gotten an instigator penalty on the last one. The refs were fed up.

  Heading to the bench to get patched up, again, Shawn tensed as the crowd let out a bloodthirsty howl. He sighed as he sat for the trainer and saw Mason grab the man who’d nailed Shawn. The guy was called ‘Kennel’ by pretty much everyone in the league.

  Ugly fucker who played dirty. He deserved a beat down, but Mason had spent even more time in the box than Ian.

  Which meant he was getting a game.

  Kennel smirked as he and Mason latched on to one another’s jerseys. Mason took a swing. Kennel dodged. Cut his fist upwards, connecting with Mason’s jaw.

  Blood spattered on the ice. Mason swayed. Righted himself.

  Blocked the next punch and rammed his fist right into Kennel’s nose.

  Face a bloody mess, Kennel laughed, talking some shit Shawn couldn’t hear. Mason’s next punch missed.

  Kennel’s didn’t. He hit Mason right in the throat.

  Mason dropped to one knee, hand going to his neck. The crowd gasped as Kennel hit him again in the side of the head.

  One ref pulled Kennel away as the other checked on Mason. Head bowed, Mason braced both hands on the ice.

  Fuck! Shawn waved off the trainer and
stood. A few feet away from him, Ladd tried to pull away from Callahan, who had a firm grip on his shoulder.

  “You fucking cunt! Fucking bloody cocksucker, you! Yes, you, you fuckwit!” Ladd’s face blotched crimson with rage as Kennel glanced over, slowly making his way to the penalty box. “You’re a fucking pathetic piece of shit! Fucking cunt, wait until I get on the ice! You think that’s funny, cunt? I’ll fucking—”

  “God damn it, Ladd! Shut up!” Callahan shook the rookie. “You’re gonna get yourself thrown out of the game. Sit down!”

  “Fuck that, I’m not fucking sitting! That fucking cu—”

  Ian covered the rookie’s mouth with his glove. Which probably stunned the kid long enough for him to listen. And whatever Ian said to Ladd got the kid to sit.

  Still shaking, but somehow he seemed to have escaped the ref’s notice. They hadn’t called a bench penalty.

  Yet.

  Shawn settled on the bench to let the trainer finish with his lip. How fucked up was it that, while the rest of the team was gaping at Ladd like they’d never seen the kid before, he was thinking about how hot that damn Australian accent was with all the swear words?

  Maybe he’d hit his head a little too hard. Might be safer if he had a concussion, because if Mason even suspected he’d looked twice at the kid, Shawn would be a dead man.

  And you wonder why Ian thinks you’re fucking the whole team?

  He winced as his lip was prodded with a gloved hand, and he turned his focus back on the play. Fine, he might have considered most of the guys as prospects, but he hadn’t acted on it. Ladd was too innocent. And too dangerous. He wouldn’t touch the kid even if the boy begged.

  Don’t go there.

  Strangely enough, picturing Ladd on his knees had him wondering how Justina would react to him sharing his perverted thoughts. He grinned—which fucking hurt and got the trainer grumbling at him.

  Justina would get it. And wouldn’t judge him.

  He went over their lazy morning, in his bed, eating waffles and strawberries and trying to outdo one another with their most twisted fantasies.