He Shoots He Scores

by Tricia Owens

  Adrian rushed up to take his place.

  “What was that about?” he asked in a low voice, searching Neil’s face.

  Neil laughed beneath his breath. “Nothing. Just reminded me of something.”

  “Patty’s a good guy,” Adrian went on, still looking concerned.

  Neil tapped him in the chest with the butt of his stick. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it.”

  He finished the rest of the skate feeling even better than when he’d arrived.

  ~~~~~

  “We could ride together,” Adrian said as the wind rushed in through the Volvo’s open windows. “To practices and games. Would cut down on gas. Save the Earth and all that.”

  “I like my independence.” Neil tilted his head against the headrest. “And it’s not that far of a drive.”

  “Just offering. You can change your mind at any time.”

  “Thanks.”

  Adrian was driving slower than the speed limit on his way to downtown, obviously trying to extend his alone time with Neil before dropping him off at the parking garage where Neil’s car still sat. He was doing everything possible, it felt, to encourage Neil to let down his walls.

  “You deserve someone better,” Neil blurted. He regretted the words instantly, since they opened up the can of worms he’d tried to keep a lid on, but they were true and he stood by them. “You should stop wasting your time and energy on me.”

  “You know what’s best for me, is that it?” Adrian seemed amused, but then, he nearly always did, as though nothing could ruffle his handsome feathers. Neil couldn’t fathom such an existence. Was it all a façade?

  It nagged at him enough to pursue it.

  “I hardly know you,” he said, “but what I’ve been getting from you so far is that you’re a masochist who enjoys hearing someone say no to them.”

  Adrian’s laugh was bright and free. Neil watched him, envious of how easy it was for him to let go and let joy flow through him. Adrian never held back, didn’t appear to care if he laughed too loudly or at inappropriate times. He seemed to feel that being happy was his right, and Neil admired that as much as he didn’t understand it. To him, happiness was measured and wasn’t always shared.

  He knew which attitude he preferred.

  “I’m not a masochist,” Adrian assured him, that twinkle back in his eye, “but I’ll be the first to admit I’m not always the best at taking a hint. I tend to see what I want to see. I believe in the power of positive thinking. You make your own luck and all that.”

  Neil found that interesting. “So you’re hoping that your positivity will infect me and I’ll magically come around?”

  “Nah. I only need to be available and nearby when you do.”

  Adrian’s cockiness filled the car. Neil was grateful that the windows were down or else he’d probably suffocate on all the pheromones the other man was projecting at him.

  “With your attitude, it’s a mystery why you haven’t hooked up with another player before me,” he said while he willed his cock to not react to Adrian’s confidence.

  “I’ve had the opportunity.”

  “But?”

  “But believe it or not, I’m not a playboy, despite my dashing playboy looks.”

  It wasn’t the type of answer Neil was hoping for. “You’d probably be a lot happier and more satisfied if you were a playboy,” he said. “I’m no one special.”

  “So you keep telling me. But that’s one reinforcement I intend to resist, Neil. Sorry.”

  Adrian didn’t look or sound sorry. He acted as though his plan was going according to plan. Neil shifted in his seat, slightly nervous because he didn’t know if Adrian was justified in feeling that way. Neil didn’t seem to know a lot these days.

  Despite Adrian’s efforts, they did eventually reach the parking garage where Neil had left his car last night. Adrian insisted on driving him all the way up to his level and pulling to a stop behind Neil’s car.

  “Looks like no one broke in or slashed your tires.” Adrian almost sounded disappointed.

  Neil unbuckled his seatbelt but didn’t open his door. “I’ll be okay from now on.”

  “Sure, but if you change your mind about the ride—”

  “I’m talking about everything, Adrian. I need you to back off and move on.”

  It pained him to throw it out there like that. Adrian had only been a good friend to him.

  When Neil checked on him, he found Adrian staring at the center of the steering wheel, arms braced straight on either side of it.

  “I enjoy it,” Adrian said quietly.

  Unsure of his meaning, Neil waited.

  “It’s fun for me. You’re fun.” Adrian turned his head. “This isn’t work like you’re thinking, like I’m panting after you like a dog, hoping for scraps. I enjoy any time I spend with you, Neil. You make me laugh.”

  “Because I turn you down and insult you all the time?”

  Adrian smiled. “You don’t insult me. You tell me like it is. You may be hockey’s poster boy, but with me you don’t pull any punches. You can be brutal, but that doesn’t hurt me. Like I said, I get a kick out of your attitude.”

  “You’re a masochist,” Neil insisted, frustrated.

  Adrian’s smile took on a sultry curl. “I can prove to you I’m not. Just tell me how far you want me to go with you.”

  Goosebumps broke out over Neil’s arms. He rubbed them, uncaring if Adrian understood why. “Stop.”

  Adrian held up his hands, palms out. “Stopping.” But there was a dark, teasing note to his voice that tickled Neil’s imagination into wondering what Adrian had meant by his words.

  “My point, Neil, is that when I want to back off, I will. You don’t need to worry about me. I know what I’m doing. You’re not going to crush me. I’m a big boy. I just happen to have big boy needs.”

  “Everything you say sounds suggestive,” Neil protested.

  Adrian laughed. “I guess so. I never paid much attention.” He ran his gaze over Neil. “You bring it out of me.”

  Neil wanted him to put it in him.

  Time to get out of the car.

  He climbed out with as much dignity as he could with a semi-boner straining his underwear. He grabbed his gear bag from the back seat and hesitated before closing the door.

  “See you at the game, Adrian.”

  The other winger nodded. “Time for redemption.”

  ~~~~~

  The fans didn’t boo him during the player introductions.

  He’d feared it, mostly for Moira’s sake. If she’d heard them booing him on TV, she would have felt bad for him and he didn’t want that for her. He wanted her to be proud of her brother, not feeling sorry for him. Though a hockey career was his dream, she had been beside him during every step of the struggle to fulfill it. His success was as much hers as his own.

  Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that. The Seattle crowd still had faith in him, was still hopeful he’d be bringing the Cup to their city. He was determined not to let down either them or his sister and skated into the first period as a man on a mission.

  The game was a grind. Neil busted his ass to attempt to give the Kraken a lead and break open the game. Lots of times it was all about momentum. Scoring that first goal could stab an opponent through the heart, giving them a wound they couldn’t recover from.

  But Houston was a heavily defensive team. They were grinders that wore a team down with their close play. Their players tended to be big and heavy. They smashed opponents into the boards and squeezed the pucks from their control. Making a clean pass against such a smothering defense was a challenge since a big body was continually hounding you. Shooting meant the gamble of taking your eyes off the incoming defender to focus on the puck and the back of the net. The team was Neil’s nightmare incarnate, which made it extra important that he prevail against them. And against his fear.

  After two and a half periods of play, neither team had scored. These were the types of games that pulle
d Neil’s heart into his throat because there would be no recovery once either team scored. The defense was too strong. One goal would end the game.

  Six minutes left.

  The usual plays weren’t working. He liked to be tricky, liked to make that one extra pass that opened up a teammate for scoring. Or on the flip side, he liked to skate to a spot the defender didn’t expect him to be and take a shot that few players would, because he was confident he could score on it.

  Not this time. He couldn’t get space from Elias or Adrian. The three of them kept getting jammed together by the defense. Passes were intercepted, shots blocked well before they were anywhere near the net. Every time Neil tried to get open, his Houston counterpart harassed him, crushing him into the boards and effectively taking him out of the play.

  He thought of Patty, the Kraken’s enforcer, and what he’d promised Neil during morning skate. That was all well and good if Patty had the chance to retaliate early in the game and send a message to the other team that Neil wasn’t to be touched. It was too late for that now. Neil felt sick with what he had planned, but he had to find a way to get open with the puck.

  The next time Houston got the puck and skated through the middle of the rink, Neil went aggressive instead of skating back for defense. He lined up the player with the puck and hip-checked him, sending the other player spinning across the ice while Neil scooped the puck with his stick and rushed toward the net. With the opponents hot on his skates, he shot the puck.

  Ding!

  It bounced off the crossbar and sailed into the crowd. Whistles signaled a stoppage of play so they could get a new puck and set up another face-off.

  Neil had barely turned around before gloves were in his face, trying to get up under his protective visor. He punched back, heard a grunt, then received a punch in return. Bodies barreled into them, arms hooking around his neck to pull him back while other arms pulled at his opponent. The officials eventually got in between them, pulling them apart.

  “Fuck you, Shannon!” yelled the Houston player that Neil had hip-checked. The other player continued to yell obscenities as he was dragged by the official to the penalty box. The Kraken would now have a one-man advantage for two minutes while the Houston player served a penalty for instigating a fight.

  “It was a good play, but you took a big bite,” Elias panted as he skated up. His expression was grim. “You ready for the blowback?”

  “I needed to change things up,” Neil grated out.

  The Finn nodded. “Just be ready. They’re coming after you.”

  He and Neil skated off the ice, trailed by Adrian, who immediately slid in next to him on the bench as the lines changed for the power play.

  “You just painted a big, fat target on your back,” Adrian said beneath his breath.

  Neil and he watched their team begin the 5 on 4 power play. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “God, do I hope so.”

  They didn’t score on the power play. The gamble hadn’t paid off, but there was still two minutes left in regulation with Houston back at full strength. Neil and the first line took to the ice again.

  He’d opened himself to retaliation and it came swiftly. He barely avoided what would have been an open-ice hit, and ducked around a Houston player who tried to smear him into the boards near the player benches. The clock was counting down. Neil needed to make a play soon. He yelled for the puck and Adrian snapped it to him. Neil surged forward, couldn’t find an opening, and turned to pass—

  A body smashed into him, sending him hurtling. He hit the ice hard and slid into the boards, half a foot from possibly snapping his neck against the wood. As it was, he hit the boards with a force that rattled his teeth. His heart pounded so fiercely it threatened to break through his ribcage.

  Bodies collided above him. Adrian tackled the Houston player who’d leveled Neil. Their bodies hit the ice with Adrian swinging his fists like a madman. The crowd roared its approval of the domination while a dark part of Neil watched with approval that bordered on lust.

  When the officials finally separated everyone, the result wasn’t good for the Kraken: Adrian had been given a five-minute penalty for fighting and was ejected from the game since there was only a minute left in play. After all the penalties for both teams were added up, the teams faced each other at 4 on 4 for the final minute of play. It was now or never to score.

  Neil watched from the bench as the teams battled and the clock counted down. At thirty-five seconds left, he and Elias hit the ice for the final shift. Play was desperate and sloppy, but Neil was determined. When Elias managed to pick the puck off a Houston player’s stick, Neil charged hard toward the net, calling for the puck. Elias saw him and threaded the pass between skates and sticks to land perfectly on Neil’s blade. He reared back to slapshot it—

  He was blindsided. The hit slapped him so hard to the ice he thought he’d been swatted by a giant. His opponent had suffered equally in the collision and lay groaning beside Neil.

  Neil gasped for breath while cold air stung his eyes. His ears rang, drowning out the roaring of the crowd. His right arm felt as though it had shattered from his shoulder to his wrist. He couldn’t feel the stick in his gloved hand, but he could see that he still held it.

  I need help. I broke something. I need help.

  Panic ricocheted through him. He needed medical attention. Skates whizzed around him, spraying ice into his face. His nerves shriveled. He could tell he was about to be hit a second time, his brain bashed, his arm rendered useless. He needed to curl up and protect himself—

  He saw the puck sitting right in front of him.

  Terror choked him, but he swung his dead arm. His stick slid weakly, the blade catching on gouges in the ice. Instead of the blade hitting the puck, the shaft of his stick hit it just as the goaltender reached out to block it.

  The puck spun weirdly, taking an angle the goaltender didn’t expect. Neil blinked against the ice crusting his lashes and watched the puck slid peacefully across the goal line. The final buzzer sounded.

  The Kraken had won.

  Chapter 13

  In the depths of the arena, standing by himself in the locker room, Adrian gasped at what was unfolding on the television monitors.

  It was the first time he’d ever been ejected from a game in the pro league. He didn’t regret what he’d done since opponents couldn’t be allowed to get away with roughing up his teammates—especially when that teammate was Neil—but to be taken out of the game and forced to watch the final minute from a separate room was torture. It became intolerable once he saw Neil get leveled.

  “No!” Adrian shouted at the screen as he stared at Neil’s body on the ice. The Houston player who had knocked him down had injured himself, too, but Adrian didn’t give a damn about him. He deserved what he got. But for Neil...this was the worst scenario possible.

  If it’s another concussion, this could be it for him.

  For the first time in his memory, Adrian experienced something close to anguish. He cared a great deal for Neil. Neil was his friend and Adrian felt affection for him just from having slept with him a couple of times. It was impossible not to have developed some feelings for Neil even if those feelings weren’t deep. And as each day passed and he got to know the winger better, Adrian could foresee himself reaching a point where his feelings developed into something more. Maybe it happened, maybe it didn’t. The point was that it was possible and he would be more than okay with it if it did. And that was why it was an almost physical pain to see Neil hurt again, especially after Adrian had pushed him to overcome his fear of contact.

  Adrian could admit that up to now he’d lived a fortuitous life. He hadn’t experienced significant injury in his career, he’d advanced quickly from league to league without pause, and he’d been well-liked wherever he’d landed. There were several people in the league who would do everything in their power to ensure he never stumbled over a roadblock.

  He was pretty sure that was mostly the
case for Neil, too, up until last year’s devastating injury in the Finals. After that, everything had changed for him in a way Adrian had never experienced nor could he fully imagine. Consequences had grown heavier, decisions could change the course of a life. Neil had been laboring under this for months, and Adrian had skated in like an asshole and blithely told Neil he was available for chatting if he was ever feeling bummed out.

  It wasn’t until now, seeing Neil on the ice with possibly a season-ending or worse injury, that Adrian finally got it. It was Neil’s life on the line, not his, and any decision about the way Neil played or whether he did at all had nothing to do with Adrian. It was a punch to the gut, but one Adrian realized he’d needed in order to see the situation clearly and to begin to understand his teammate.

  He wanted to race back down the tunnel and onto the ice. Wanted to whisper in Neil’s ear that he was sorry and that he took responsibility for everything. That he’d make amends for pressuring him. He’d say that and much more, except he couldn’t. If Adrian attempted such a thing he could be suspended for the season or the Kraken could incur a significant penalty. Besides, it was a selfish desire that would feel good only to Adrian. Impotent, he could only pace the locker room like a caged lion, biting his lips as he watched the trainers tending to Neil on the ice.

  The score was on the screen like an afterthought. Neil, against all odds, had put the puck in the net after he was hit. They’d actually won the game. Adrian didn’t care about that except in hoping that he could congratulate Neil about it later.

  Suddenly there was movement on the ice. He stopped pacing and stood, frozen, watching as Neil climbed to his feet while the players on the ice tapped their sticks against the ice in a hockey salute. The camera zoomed in on Neil’s face. He was alert and skating on his own. The trainers slid alongside him, but weren’t supporting him. Neil raised a hand to acknowledge the clapping crowd and they cheered in response.

  Adrian walked to the nearest wall and put his back to it. Neil was okay. They’d won the game.

  He closed his eyes and let his head hang down. Everything was going to be okay.