No Protocol for Love

by Jen FitzGerald

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright-EPB

  Attributions

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  End Notes

  About Jen

  Books By Jen

  No Protocol for Love

  Face Off for Love ~ Book One

  Jen FitzGerald

  Knotted Hearts Publishing

  Knotted Hearts Publishing

  Fort Worth Texas

  www.knottedheartspublishing.com

  Published in the Unites States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2019 Jen FitzGerald

  All rights reserved.

  First edition.

  ISBN: 978-1-948236-19-5

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Contributors

  Content/copy editing provided by

  Teri McGill

  Dianne Drake

  C.J. Matlyn

  Cover art created by

  Dianne Thies

  https://www.lyricallines.net/

  Dedication

  Dedicated to the men who play hockey professionally and provide me so many hours of entertainment.

  May the hockey gods shine upon you and keep you safe while you pursue your dream.

  * * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  This book was written for an anthology featuring heroes and heroines living with disabilities. While concussions aren’t necessarily permanent disabilities, the choice of concussion as the disability for my hot hockey boy, Semka, was an easy one. I’m a huge fan of hockey and have read too many heartbreaking accounts of hockey players who suffer permanent brain trauma/CTE as a result of repeated concussions that went misdiagnosed or untreated or of players who were sent back out to play before they were fully healed. If you or your children participate in sports, please, please, please never take chances with possible concussions/actual concussions. Establish baseline protocols and allow a concussion to fully and completely heal before returning to active play.

  Be safe and be well.

  Jen

  Chapter One

  The Gamblers’ practice rink was half full when Semka arrived. Teammates, their wives and kids or girlfriends. Coaching staff. Even a few members of the ice crew. Smiles wreathed most of the faces.

  American Thanksgiving wasn’t a holiday he celebrated. If the team was on the road, he spent the day with them, of course. When at home, he lounged around eating Chinese takeout and binge watched whatever looked good on his subscription channels. While family skates were never mandatory, attendance today had been heavily encouraged. Semka let go a deep sigh. He’d made an appearance.

  Cold air brushed his face; the familiar but unique odor of the ice tickled his nose; the skrutch, skrutch of his blades as he circled the rink was music to his ears. Every hockey player’s first love was the ice. The only thing worse for a closeted gay Russian hockey player than being faced with happy families or guys bragging about getting laid was not playing hockey. He crossed himself.

  After his second lonely loop around the ice, Semka slowed to a stop in front of the bench. He’d admired Irish’s newborn daughter and met Yartzy’s fiancée.

  A line of kids trailed behind the guy who occasionally winked at Semka while scraping the ice during tv timeouts. Warmth flared in Semka’s stomach every time it happened. Semka never responded with more than a nod though. Not acknowledging him seemed rude. The guy never took offense and would smile and wink again. For that, Semka was glad. It made him feel special in a way nothing had for a long time. Semka watched the kids and drank in the sight of the ice crew guy.

  Coppery hair, longer on the top than on the sides, glinted under the fluorescent lights. Semka rubbed his fingertips to quell the sudden itch. Dark wash skinny jeans hugged long legs and a narrow waist; Semka’s gaze drifted to the bulge in his pants. It wasn’t excessively large, but it wasn’t small either. Semka’s own dick gave a single throb of longing, but he pushed away the lascivious thoughts. There were children present.

  Speaking of children, they giggled at the guy’s silly joke. A chuckle inadvertently escaped Semka as well.

  The guy looked up and very blue eyes met Semka’s. The guy’s smile appeared like a sunrise and he winked. Warmth bloomed deep in Semka’s being and he couldn't stay the small gasp. The guy’s smile widened and he ducked his head before returning his attention to the children.

  Well, shit. What had Semka done? Had he given himself away? Would the guy say anything? What could he say? Semka laughed at my stupid joke, therefore he must be gay.

  A hand clapped Semka on the shoulder before he could spiral into a freak out and he startled in surprise.

  “Good to see you, Novi.” Swanny smiled fondly at the line of kids. His ten-year-old was at the end. “You ready for the Lumberjacks on Tuesday?”

  “Sure, yeah.” They shared a fist bump. “They a bad team. We gonna kick some ass.”

  “From your lips to the hockey gods’ ears.” Swanny kissed his fingertips and flicked them toward the sky.

  The guy and his train of kids snaked by again.

  “The kids, they like that guy. He make fun with them.” Semka really needed to stop referring to him as “the guy.”

  “Who, Tyson?” Swanny followed Semka’s sight line and nodded. “Yeah, they do. He babysits for us. My kids love him. I really admire him.”

  His name was Tyson.

  “You admire?” Semka glanced at Swanny and then back at the kids, at Tyson. “Why?”

  Swanny scratched his short-shorn head. “Just everything he dealt with growing up a gay kid—” His gaze flicked to Semka for a moment. “—not my stories to tell, of course. I wouldn’t want my kids to do half the shit he’s done, but I understand why he’s done them. And I give him all kinds of props for being true to himself. That’s a lesson I want my kids to learn. I want them to know that I love them and accept them for whoever they discover they are as they grow up.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Semka scanned the rest of the crowd, lingering on Tyson with each sweep of his gaze. His mind reeled from that seemingly ordinary conversation. Not only did Swanny know Tyson was gay, but accepted him. He wasn’t afraid that the gay was communicable. He wasn’t uncomfortable with Tyson’s sexuality. He wasn’t afraid he was going to be hit on. Of course, Swanny was married with three kids, so there wasn’t a reason for Tyson to go there.

  Still. Sometimes straight guys had this ridiculous mindset that gay men would screw anything with a dick or that gay men found every man attractive or—in the case of locker rooms—that all a gay man wanted to do was check out everyone else’s penis. Maybe when you were a teenager and your hormones were on overdrive and you had a crush on half your team, but once you were an adult? You realized what assholes half your team were. More importantly, you were there to play hockey. You were paid big money to play your best hockey. There was little time or focus left over for anything other than hockey and keeping your secret.

  Semka’s esteem for Swanny went way up. His captain harbored no sort of phobia toward gays. Even seemed protective of Tys
on. Semka couldn’t begin to parse how much that meant even though the man had no idea Semka himself was gay. He could tell Swanny and be accepted. That meant a lot. Not that it would ever happen. If Semka ever came out or was outed, life as he knew it would be over.

  Swanny studied him, and by the expression on Swanny’s face, he might have thought Semka disapproved because he’d gotten lost in his thoughts and hadn’t responded.

  Semka smiled. “Tyson seem like good guy. I don’t know him. Just see at couple PR events and sometimes on ice. He been friendly.” That was an understatement, what with the winking and the smiling and the looking. Semka didn’t think Tyson knew he was guy. There was nothing to know. If he suspected, Semka was pretty sure, based on Swanny’s comments, that Tyson would keep his mouth shut. He hoped. “I’m gonna say hello to few more guys and they families, then I’m go. See you tomorrow for practice.”

  * * * * *

  The beat of the bass and rainbow-hued lights welcomed Tyson into the club. The bodies at the bar were three deep, and he texted Jonah that he’d arrived while he waited. Beer finally in hand, Tyson skirted the dance floor. The vibration in his pocket startled him and he fished out his cell. His friends were upstairs, seated along the balcony.

  “You’re late,” Mark said when Tyson dropped into a chair.

  Tyson chugged his beer and thunked the bottle to the table. “Work thing. Family skate. The ice crew was invited since it’s Thanksgiving week, so I went, if just to ogle all the guys in their street clothes.” He waggled his brows and the three of them laughed.

  “So who’s hot and who’s not?” asked Dominic, resting his chin in his hand.

  To Tyson’s surprise, he realized they’d never had this conversation. “That’s subjective if you include faces.” Tyson took another swig of his beer. “But think about it—professional athletes playing in the most prominent hockey league in the world. They’re all in wicked shape. Some are bulky and some are super skinny. Half the team is married.”

  Dominic snorted. “I didn’t ask who was available, I asked who was hot.”

  Tyson rolled his eyes. “Okay, so. With the exception of about three guys, I think they’re all hot.” He didn’t have to think too hard about this, he saw these guys all the time. He assesses and re-assessed on a regular basis.

  “Of course you do,” said Mark.

  “I’m gay and into athletes. What do you want from me?”

  Laughter erupted again and, God, Tyson loved his friends. Though Jonah and Mark were straight, they never acted disgusted by his attraction to men and rarely shied away from the stickier conversations. They were everything friends were supposed to be. Dominic was in a class by himself. Having a close gay friend was a godsend. It was as if the universe was trying to atone for its sins of his childhood by blessing him with these men. Ashley was the sister he’d never had, and her presence in his life was a gift like no other.

  “Who makes your rainbow flag flap hardest?” Dominic asked.

  Tyson would fuck any of them, to be honest, but only one guy really piqued his interest. “The big d-man, Semyon Novikoff. God, he’s gorgeous.” Taller than Tyson by well over six inches, heavier than him by fifty, sixty pounds. Nnng… He liked big.

  “The big “D” man, eh? Sounds like fun.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to get pounded by that.” Tyson waggled his eyebrows and rose, eliciting the reaction he wanted, rolled eyes and snickers, but the allure was more than that. Semyon seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Sweet and kind. Lonely. “The chances of that are slim and none. So I’m off to the dance floor. Be back shortly.”

  “We’re celebrating tonight, so don’t disappear for too long,” Jonah said with a hand to Tyson’s wrist. “Ashley’ll be here soon.”

  Tyson raised an eyebrow in silent question. You proposed?

  Jonah grinned and nodded. Tyson ignored the flicker of jealousy. No, not jealousy so much as envy.

  “Nice. Okay. I’ll be back.” Tyson took a last swallow of his beer. Since moving to Vegas, he learned he could settle down too if he wanted. He wanted no part of a committed relationship at this point, though. He had a lot of living and a lot of fucking around left to do before then.

  The dance floor was crowded but not overly so. He swayed and grinded his way through the throng. The second song was one of his favorites, so he stayed. A couple of very pretty women who did nothing for him sashayed around him. A tall dude with glitter in his hair and all over his chest rode Tyson’s ass for a few minutes. The familiar clench of desire tightened deep in his gut. Tyson needed to get laid something fierce. The dearth was going on two weeks and counting. The game schedule and late nights made it hard to go out and find someone to fuck around with because he still needed to complete his coursework, work out, as well as attend ice crew practice.

  The team had left on a five-day road trip, however, and Tyson was free to fuck around all he wanted. The song ended and he left the dance floor, hit the restroom, and returned to his friends. Ashley sat next to Jonah.

  Tyson leaned across the table to kiss her cheek before plopping into his seat. A fresh bottle of brew sat where he’d left his almost empty one. The liquid was cold and crisp as it slid down his throat. “Jonah says we have reason to celebrate.”

  Ashley grinned and held up her left hand. A modest though beautiful solitaire sparkled in the flashing lights of the club. Dominic squealed and jumped up to hug Ashley. Mark and Jonah shook hands.

  Tyson hugged Jonah close. “Congrats, man. You are so, so lucky. She is way out of your league.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Jonah rotated his drink on the table and looked at Tyson. “So, uh, best man?”

  Tyson’s stomach swooped and his jaw dropped. “Hell yeah, man. I’m honored.” They hugged again.

  “Have you guys set a date?” Mark asked.

  Ashley shook her head. “Not until I graduate in the spring. My mother would have a cow, but I’m thinking tacky Elvis wedding chapel. This is Vegas after all.”

  They all laughed, but a Vegas wedding totally suited Ashley’s personality. Jonah was head over heels and would do whatever Ashley wanted with little complaint.

  Chapter Two

  The curved door to the ice opened and a dozen ice crew members skated out, snow shovels in hand, to scrape up the ice shavings the players had generated from playing. Tyson fell into position and made his way up and down the ice surface. Most of the players congregated at the half-wall in front of their respective benches, grabbing a quick squirt of water or Gatorade. The goalies skated around or in front of their nets to keep warm and limber.

  Tyson arced through the corner and spotted that gorgeous hunk of hockey player, Semyon Novikoff, yammering at a couple of his teammates on the bench. They’d met once at a PR event earlier in the season and their exchange had made an impression. Semyon with the lonely eyes and the sad countenance. Tyson had wanted to take him home and bake him cookies and then fuck him until he was boneless and satiated. In that order. Neither scenario would ever happen because Tyson didn’t bake and the chances of Semyon being gay was about—Tyson did some quick calculations—three percent. Also, there was a strict no-fraternization policy for the ice crew in regards to the players. If ice crew members were caught hooking up with players, they’d lose their job.

  Semyon pushed off the half wall, and if Tyson didn’t slow down or change trajectory they were going to collide. He didn’t want to change trajectory. He wanted to meet Semyon again, for as much as a collision could be called meeting. Even though nothing would come of it, Tyson liked to flirt with him, see if he could garner a reaction. He often did, subtle though they were. Semka definitely wasn’t homophobic. Tyson knew that much. Glancing out toward center ice, at Crystal and Ginny, for some semblance of plausible deniability, Tyson braced for impact.

  Three… Two… One…

  Semyon’s big padded body hit Tyson and he went sprawling. The hard landing forced a gasp and a grimace and drew a collective “ooh” from the
crowd.

  “Oh, God.” Semyon’s horror-filled hazel eyes peered down at Tyson. “Sorry. So sorry.” He tucked his glove under one arm and held out a large hand.

  Tyson fell a little bit in love at the genuine contrition and the gentlemanly gesture. He smiled and slid his hand into Semyon’s large grip. Sparks zinged between them, and Semyon’s eyes went as big around as a puck. Jesus fucking Christ.

  * * * * *

  The clasp of Tyson’s hand around his own sent a shockwave of electricity through Semka and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Vot te na. He stared wide-eyed at Tyson and only by sheer force of will did Semka not yank his hand away. By the stunned expression on Tyson’s face, he felt it too.

  Zaebis’. Never in his life had Semka experienced that kind of charge with another person. What did it even mean?

  Tyson winced a bit when as he levered himself to his feet, and, worry sent every other thought fleeing. Bozhe moi. Semka wasn’t a small guy. Tyson was a little shorter and much slimmer. “Shit. You okay? You hurt?”

  Tyson seemed to do a quick check of all his moving parts and shook his head. “I’m good. I’m Tyson, by the way. Thanks for the hand.” He winked and scooped up his shovel, regathered his snow, and skated off before Semka had fully processed much more than the ember that flared deep in his gut.

  Semka looked down at his hand and then across the ice. He closed and opened his fist, still feeling the buzz under his skin. What the hell just happened?

  “You all right there?” asked Wally, gliding alongside Semka.

  Semka slid his hand into his glove and nodded. Maybe. Semka had no idea what to do with any of the thoughts and feelings swirling through him, but he couldn’t worry about them now. They had a game to win. He took his position outside the circle, pressed shoulder to hip with his opposing counterpart, and watched the puck drop.