Hot Off the Ice Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by A. E. Wasp

  Bryce Lowrey’s surprise retirement had left a hole in their offense that the coaches were still trying to fill. Liam O’Reilly, their newest assistant coach, had been working the offense hard and working with Coach Williams to mix up the lines, but nothing had jelled yet. They were good, but they lacked a certain unexpected flair that could make or break a season.

  Sergei suspected a trade or two would be happening sooner rather than later.

  The bell rang to signal the end of warm-ups, and the teams skated off the ice and back to the locker room for last-minute prep and equipment adjustments.

  By the time Sergei led his team onto the ice for the ceremonial puck drop and the singing of the National Anthem, he was firmly in the zone. If his guys got the puck to the back of the other team’s net, they’d win. It wasn’t false bravado, but a quiet confidence in his abilities after ten years of playing hockey at the most elite level. He knew he could stop anything coming at him tonight.

  The other team’s shots on goal were pitifully low. Sergei could see their coach fuming. You didn't win a game without taking every shot you could. Sometimes persistence paid off. If you got denied, there was often a rebound, and in the general chaos of bodies around the net, anything could happen.

  The Thunder had spent so much time in the offensive zone, that Sergei had to skate across his crease a couple of times to keep his muscles warm and his mind focused on the game and not the blond man in the stands.

  Paul carried the puck around the back of the net, holding it there for a few seconds while skaters from both teams jumped over the boards.

  “Hey, Serge,” Paul said in his distinct Southern accent as he batted the puck back and forth, both eyes focused on the ice. “How you doin’?”

  Sergei squirted some water into his mouth from the ubiquitous water bottle resting on top of the net. “So lonely. If not for line change, I never see you.”

  Paul grinned and banged his stick once on the metal pipes before skating away and knocking the puck back into play.

  With three minutes and fourteen seconds left in the period, and the score at 5-0 in the Thunder’s favor, the Devils called a timeout. The stands had been emptying out for the last couple of minutes as disgruntled Devils fans left. The rumblings from the hometown fans grew louder as the clock ticked down to another shutout for Sergei.

  Nobody uttered the word, of course. Sergei tried not even to think it.

  The Devils pulled their goalie with one minute forty seconds left on the clock to get an extra attacker on the ice. They didn’t have a chance at winning at this stage of the game, but one or two players could at least earn a point with an assist and a goal. Plus they’d get the satisfaction of ruining Sergei’s shutout.

  Sergei stopped a surprise shot from one a Devils d-man with the edge of his blocker. A desperate scramble for the rebound ended in a blown whistle when the linesman lost sight of the puck.

  The Devils gained possession of the puck after the faceoff and swarmed like fireflies around the ice. Sergei knew they had only limited options for their last attempt, so he kept most of his attention on the most likely direction for the shot to come from, while keeping track of his teammates in his peripheral vision. Not easy behind the bars of his cage, for sure, but that’s why he got the big bucks.

  Sure enough, they went for a tic-tac-toe goal, passing the puck tape to tape once, twice, and then to the final attacker who wound up his stick for a lightning-fast wrist shot.

  Sergei darted to where the puck would be, easy stop.

  Or it would have been if Robbie hadn’t made an idiotic block attempt of his own. He darted out in front of the puck, which slammed into his ankle above the boot of his skate.

  Robbie went down like a felled tree, and the wildly redirected puck flew topside over Sergei’s right shoulder and went bar down with a solid clang off the pipes.

  The crowd roared its disappointment.

  Robbie hung his head, not looking at Sergei as he was helped off the ice.

  On his way to get dressed after his shower, Sergei saw Robbie speaking to Paul. His ankle was wrapped up tightly, and a pair of crutches leaned against the bench next to him. He looked miserable about more than the pain.

  “Pergs,” Paul called to him.

  Wearing only a towel, Sergei walked over to his d-men. “Is broken?” he asked.

  Robbie shook his head. “High sprain. Doc says a few days off of it might be enough. I am so sorry, Sergei. I shouldn’t have gone for it, and you would have had your—”

  Paul clapped a hand over his mouth. “Pain pills goin’ to your haid, boy. Don’t say it!” He shook his head at Robbie’s foolishness. “Ow!” he exclaimed, yanking his hand off Robbie’s mouth, and shaking it. “You bit me!”

  “You deserved it.” Robbie smiled.

  Oh, those two were definitely dating. Sergei waved off Paul’s apology. “Problem is injury, not goal. There will be more shutouts in the future. But there is only one Robbie Rhodes to play.”

  “How come he gets to say it?” Robbie asked.

  “It’s his…thing. His net. He can do whatever he wants.” Paul looked to Sergei for support. His words trailed off, and Sergei was positive he saw Paul’s gaze drop down his bare chest to the towel and back up. By the way Robbie cleared his throat less-than-subtly and grinned at Paul, he had noticed Paul looking as well.

  Sergei smiled at them both and reached out to pat Robbie on the shoulder. Robbie flinched, and Sergei stopped his hand. “Is okay?” Did he not want Sergei to touch him?

  “Wuss,” Paul said to Robbie. “He’s just being a baby, Pergs,” he reassured Sergei. “Your shows of support are very…enthusiastic. And the poor fragile desert flower is in pain.”

  Robbie smacked him on the shins with a crutch. “Bite me, Dyson.”

  “Biting is your thing, apparently.” Paul bared his teeth in a smile. “But if that’s what you’re in to?”

  Okay. It was time for Sergei to leave before they started making out in the locker room. He reached out slowly and patted Robbie gently on the shoulder. “Remember, jumping in front of speeding pucks is my job. That is why I have much padding.”

  A text came in while he was putting his suit back on. Though he was used to it, and he liked the way he looked in a suit, he still wished that they could wear sweats to go home. You do look smaller on tv. It’s cause you’re surrounded by giants. I’m at the car. I’ll wait for you there.

  OK. Be there ASAP.

  This evening cemented Sergei’s conviction. He and Alex were meant to be. What he needed was a plan to woo Alex. He would approach it as if it were a playoff series. He didn’t have to win every game; he just had to win more than he lost. The first plan was to make Alex truly understand that Sergei valued him for himself. Not for sex, not because he was beautiful, not for his cooking, but for everything he was on the inside.

  Assistant coach Liam O’Reilly caught him on the way out. O’Reilly was new this season. He was young for the job, but had been a great player before a bad injury knocked him out of the game. Sergei liked his strong Boston accent. Between the height, the bright auburn hair, and his loud voice, O’Reilly was impossible to miss. “Merry Christmas, Pergs,” he said, shaking Sergei’s hands. “Got any plans?”

  “We go to party at Paul and Robbie’s house.”

  “They living together already?” O’Reilly shook his head with a smirk.

  “Will you come?”

  “Nah. I gotta head home. I promised my mom and Michelle.”

  Sergei didn’t where home was or who Michelle was. He didn’t know much about Liam, except that he was as quick to laugh as he was to yell, but if he recalled correctly, he came from a big family. As a matter of fact, wasn’t there an O’Reilly on the Thunder A team? “Is Patrick O’Reilly…”

  Liam was nodding before Sergei could finish. “My little brother, yes. And my sister Natalie plays for the Boston Pride. And Joey Luciano and his family live next door.” His tone indicated that question had been a
sked and answered many times. Given that Joseph Luciano was one of the more flamboyant figures in the league as well as one of its top players, Liam probably had been asked about him more than once.

  “So, will you see them over the holiday?”

  “Yeah. Everybody is coming home. And I mean fuckin’ everybody. O’Reillys and Lucianos. I promised my parents I’d make it, come hell or high water.” He shook his head ruefully. “Feel bad for me. It’s gonna be louder than the last minute of a tied game seven. Probably more hitting, too.”

  “It sounds very nice.” Sergei was used to spending Christmas alone or with whichever teammate invited him over. For the last few years, it had been Lipe, but he was headed home to Colorado for a quick Christmas trip.

  Sergei got a little thrill of excitement when he realized that he would be waking up Christmas morning with Alex. Maybe there would be more kissing.

  It had taken a few phone calls and some expedited shipping, but he’d tracked down something he thought Alex would love for his Christmas present.

  Liam shrugged. “Could be.” He looked around and leaned in close to Sergei. “I’m gonna ask my girlfriend to marry me.”

  Sergei smiled and clapped the coach on the back. “Congratulations! That is very good news.”

  Liam staggered a step. “Yeah, we’ll see. Merry Christmas, Pergs.”

  “Merry Christmas, coach. See you in a few days.” They had four days off in a row. Sergei was going to spend every second of it wooing Alex. It was going to be perfect.

  As promised, Alex was waiting for him in the car. He had the engine running and the heat on. The temperature had plummeted, and Sergei’s breath hung in the cold, damp air of the parking garage.

  “Hey, sexy,” Alex said, leaning over the center console for a kiss.

  A kiss Sergei was more than happy to provide. Yeah, he could get used to this.

  “Great game. It was so fun watching with Suzanne. She knows everything about every player on all the teams, I swear.”

  Sergei put the car into gear, thrilled as always by the feel of the power under the hood. He should get a second car for Alex. And for himself. It was a little ridiculous to drive this car every day.

  “So, I have a surprise for you.” Alex laid his hand on Sergei’s thigh.

  “Oh?” Sergei picked up Alex’s hand and kissed his palm. “What is it?” He kept his hand on Alex’s thigh.

  “Hey, both hands on the wheel when driving the car that costs more than my parent’s house, remember?” Alex smiled. “You have to wait and see.”

  14

  Alex

  Colored lights chased each other around the front windows of the house and hung in graceful arcs from the railings of the porch. “I have Christmas lights?” Sergei asked as they pulled up the driveway.

  “I bought them today when you were at practice. Do you like them?”

  “Is beautiful. I love them.” He squeezed Alex’s knee.

  “That’s not all I did. Go change into something cozy and meet me in the study.” Alex could hardly contain his excitement. Though it was almost eleven on Christmas Eve-eve, it felt like Christmas morning. When he’d realized Sergei had no Christmas decorations up, and no plans to do anything about it, he’d taken matters into his own hands.

  Alex rushed through feeding the cats. They joined him in the bedroom, sniffing curiously at the clothes he’d tossed on the floor and winding around his ankles. On a whim, he dressed them both in the new Christmas sweaters he had bought for them.

  “These were supposed to be your Christmas presents,” he said as he tugged Torvill’s front paws through the sleeve of the sweater. He nuzzled her head, grateful as always for the unconditional love of pets. “But you guys don’t know what day it is anyway, do you?”

  He patted the bed and called for Dean. “Let’s show Uncle Sergei how cute you look.” The cats sat straight up, side by side. They knew they looked adorable. Alex knew they loved being dressed up. They had no qualms about pulling their favorite outfits out of the drawers, or, conversely, peeing on things they didn’t like to show their displeasure.

  He stopped in the kitchen to put the water on to boil.

  Sergei had beat him to the study.

  “Do you like it?” he asked as Sergei turned to him.

  “Lyosha, you did not have to do this.” Sergei sounded awed.

  Alex checked to see if somehow someone had added something to the decorating he’d done while was Sergei busy with pre-game practices and workouts.

  The live tree in the corner reached almost to the ceiling. An abundance of the multicolored strings of lights Alex loved spiraled from top to bottom. Four stockings lumpy with small wrapped presents hung from the mantel: two large ones for him and Sergei, and two smaller ones for the cats.

  Alex had decorated the rest of the room with the things he already owned and whatever had caught his eye at the drugstore. Two days before Christmas and the markdowns had already started. He’d pretty much cleared them out of chocolate Christmas balls. He loved those disgusting cheap chocolates. Tapping some buttons on his phone, he connected to the wireless speakers. Christmas carols spilled out, the sound rich and full.

  “Do you like it?” he asked again, concerned that Sergei was silent for so long.

  “It is beautiful.” He took a step closer to the tree. “The room, it looks brand-new. Like from a Christmas movie,” he said reverently.

  He was so appreciative it was making Alex nervous. It wasn’t like he’d done anything amazing. It was just a tree and some decorations.

  “Well, you work so hard, you deserve to come home to something nice,” Alex explained, almost embarrassed at his attempt to give something back to Sergei.

  Sergei headed over to the fireplace and reached for the stocking with his name on it.

  Alex smacked his hand. “Hey. No peeking. You have to wait for Christmas.”

  Sergei raised one eyebrow and looked at the cats in their new sweaters as they sat in front of the fireplace, eyes half-closed in contentment. “How come they get presents now?”

  “Because they are so cute, I can’t resist them.”

  “I am not so cute?” Sergei asked sorrowfully.

  “Not as cute as they are.”

  Sergei shook his head. Taking a step away from the fireplace, he bumped into a beat-up cardboard box at the foot of the tree. “What is this?”

  “Oh,” Alex said, crossing the room. “I saved the best for last. I couldn’t hang these without you.” Dropping to his knees, he opened the flaps of the box and started unwrapping the ornaments from the old newspaper they were wrapped in.

  “Are those from your house?” Sergei asked, lowering himself stiffly to the carpet. He was always so beat up after a game. Alex made a mental note to get some therapeutic bath oils and salts.

  “Yes, remember?”

  “Of course I remember.” He reached in and pulled out a loosely wrapped bundle. Unwrapping it revealed a plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ornament. The turtle had a red mask, the year 1997 written in marker across its shell, and a Santa hat. Sergei laughed.

  Alex looked up to see what he was laughing at. “Hey. Don’t laugh at Raphael!” He swiped the turtle from Sergei’s hand. “I loved those turtles. You don’t know how excited I was when I got this.”

  Every year since he was born, Alex’s mother Daphnée had bought a dated ornament for him and his brother and sister. She tried to pick special ones commemorating an event or a place they had visited that year. Or perhaps a favorite television show character. When her children moved out, they took their special ornaments with them, so they would always have the memory of home wherever they were even if they couldn’t get away to visit.

  Sergei had had his own small box of ornaments when he left. Every Christmas without fail, including this one, Daphnée sent him a new one.

  Sergei stood up. “I think I know where the ones for me are. I will be right back.” He practically ran out of the room.

  Alex p
et the cats and made some adjustments to his playlists, selecting a more upbeat, pop Christmas music playlist. The kettle whistled from the kitchen, and Alex went to make them some hot chocolate laced liberally with peppermint schnapps, just like mom used to make.

  He was carrying the tray into the study when Sergei came down from upstairs with a cardboard box almost identical to the one Alex had. A lone ornament hung from one of his fingers. “I find them!” he said, smiling. He held up the hand with the ornament. “And the one she send me this year. From Niagara Falls.”

  “Oh, awesome! Come on. Let’s drink some boozy hot chocolate and trim the heck out of that tree.”

  One by one, they pulled the ornaments out of the boxes, reminiscing over places and people and time gone by. There were a lot of ornaments. Twenty-seven for Alex, and sixteen for Sergei. “Hey, you’ve known me exactly half your life,” Alex pointed out as they hung the final ornament.

  “And I want to know you for the rest of it,” Sergei said and leaned over to kiss Alex. His mouth was warm and tasted of chocolate and peppermint.

  Alex’s heart tripped over itself. Maybe next year, they would only have to get one ornament for both of them. He mentally slapped himself. No thinking about next year, or even next month. One day at a time, that’s all he would allow himself.

  “So,” he said, deliberately changing the subject, “too bad about that bounce off Robbie’s skate, eh?”

  Sergei shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Does it make you angry?” Alex had rarely seen Sergei angry on the ice. Oh, it happened, but it took a lot. The thing that got him the most upset was a deliberate cheap shot on one of his d-men. He had a relationship with each and every one of them, and could get very protective.

  “No. There is no point being angry about what you cannot control.”

  “And you still won.”