Breakaway

by Avon Gale

  Lane had conflicting feelings as he watched Shore celebrate his goal with his teammates. He still really, really wanted to get laid, and he hated losing. But he was kind of proud of Jared. Not proud enough to want his team to win, though.

  “Go score another one and shut this fucking crowd up,” Coach Spencer said, looking as if Shore netted that goal just to personally annoy him.

  “We should probably never want crowds in this league to be quiet, even if they’re not ours,” one of Lane’s teammates said. The guy had a point.

  Lane tried the same move he had last time, but the Renegades defense knocked him over and called him a stupid motherfucker.

  “Your mom’s not hot enough. Sorry,” Lane snapped back, and the defenseman actually snorted before he went back to trash talking.

  Lane wondered if that guy’s mom was there, and then he felt bad.

  The third period was crazy, and as the clock ticked down to end the game, Lane found himself directly across from Jared at center ice, waiting for the puck to drop.

  “No smirk this time, kid?” Shore drawled when they put their sticks down on the ice for the face-off.

  “Not yet,” Lane said. He won the face-off and raced down the ice. He was going to score. He knew it, even before he saw the light flash behind the Renegades’ goalie—who was pissed as hell and clearly one of those goalies who threw things. Like his water bottle. At Lane.

  As the clock ran out, the game was tied, and that meant sudden death overtime. For five minutes, each team would have a chance to score a goal and end the game immediately. But the five minutes passed without a single goal, and the game went into the most dreaded of all outcomes—a shootout.

  “Not going home with this one,” Shore said, bumping him in the shoulder.

  “Someone will probably fight you for that,” Lane snapped. He really liked Jared a lot, but this was war. Fraternization was for later. And why did this have to go to a shootout? He was trying to get laid.

  Riley stood calmly in goal, shifting his skates around and muttering. When Lane skated by him, he didn’t look bothered in the least, even though Lane knew he hadn’t given up four goals in a single game all last season. The Renegades’ goalie looked so angry that Lane worried he might have to fight whoever scored on him during the shootout.

  Reeder shot first for the Storm and missed. Lane started to zone out, because shootouts were dumb and he was thinking about his plans for the evening. The building erupted into cheers, which meant the Renegades had scored.

  And then it was Lane’s turn, and luckily the crazy Renegades’ goalie didn’t try to kill him when he scored. He hoped the Renegades would miss their next attempt. If the game went to another round, Lane was going to personally murder someone with his hockey stick.

  The next shooter for the Renegades was Jared Shore. Several of the guys on the bench next to Lane laughed, as if they hadn’t seen Shore score two goals earlier. And then Jared got a hat trick, because he put the puck behind Riley and the building went crazy. Shore skated back to his team, laughing his head off.

  He has a nice smile. Lane followed him with his eyes and completely missed what happened next. The building erupted into cheers again. The shootout was over. Campbell hadn’t scored, and the Renegades had won.

  Which sucked, but he could see Jared being congratulated by his team. He was grinning and looked so much happier than the guy who’d thrown his gloves off that first game. Lane couldn’t even be mad about losing.

  But the team got a really long lecture from coach on the way back to the hotel. And he had legitimate complaints—like the blown coverage around the net. But mostly he was just mad about the loss, and everyone knew it.

  Coach Spencer stopped in midrant, sighed, and said, “Go to bed early. Tonight those fuckers got their fucking money’s worth, but we’re sending those fucking kids home crying tomorrow.”

  “Does he mean the Renegades’ players, or actual children who attended the game?” Lane asked Riley as they got their gear together.

  “Probably actual children.” Riley looked a million miles away, and Lane figured it had to be hard on a goalie when a team lost in a shootout. Lane had thought about playing goalie when he was younger, but he would just stand up and tell the other kids why they weren’t getting the puck past him, and apparently that was irritating.

  Lane checked his phone on the bus back to the hotel. He had two messages. The first was from Zoe and said Why didn’t you win I don’t get it what happened??

  Oh, right. He’d forgotten to tell her about shootouts. Shootout look it up on pro ice hockey dot com got 2 go get laid :)

  She responded with jerk haha have fun use protection don’t say weird stuff.

  She said that a lot. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but when he asked her to explain and maybe provide a list, she just said, “Stuff like that, Lane.”

  The other text was from Jared. His stomach did a flip as he read it.

  what hotel are you staying at?

  Lane had no idea. They’d gone right to the rink to practice and get ready for the game. “Hey, Riley, what hotel are we staying at?”

  “Why?”

  Lane gave him a strange look. “Umm. Because I want to know?”

  “Are you ordering a pizza?”

  Maybe Riley was weird because he was stoned all the time. Could you get stoned on coconut water? “No, but... do you know which one it is?”

  “It’s a Best Western. But we’re in the South.”

  Lane wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he texted the name to Jared, who sent back yeah there are a lot around here which one, and Lane sighed.

  Tell u when we get there. He spent the remainder of the drive staring out the window, hoping the evening had a better ending than the game.

  Jared picked him up after Lane had showered and changed at the hotel. They both smiled awkwardly when Lane got in Jared’s red Toyota truck and threw his bag on the floor. Riley had been asleep when Lane left their room to meet Jared in the parking lot, and he felt bad about that, because his friend might need some cheering up after the game.

  He’d cheer him up tomorrow by making sure they won. Tonight, Lane was getting laid.

  “You got a hat trick,” Lane said, as if it were news to Jared. “I got one last weekend.”

  “I know,” Jared said, and then cleared his throat. “We heard about it,” he said vaguely.

  “But you don’t usually score goals. I do. So it’s more surprising when it’s you.”

  Jared turned toward him. “So you’re still like this, then.”

  “Yup.” Lane paused. “What do you mean? Still like what?”

  “Saying things like ‘But you don’t usually score goals. I do,’ to a guy whose team just mopped the floor with yours.”

  “You won in a shootout. That’s not mopping the floor. That’s like winning because you didn’t slip on the dirty mop water. And you don’t usually score goals. Why is that not okay to say?” Lane wondered if that counted as weird stuff and figured it probably did.

  “It’s not that it isn’t okay. It’s just... never mind.” Jared flashed him a grin. “Didn’t slip on the dirty mop water?”

  “Well, I mean, you can’t say you beat us that bad when it was a shootout.” Lane was staring out the window, pretending not to be aware of Jared’s bright eyes on him or how good he smelled. Lane was already hard.

  “I bet you would have won if you hadn’t smirked at me. Punk.”

  Lane’s eyes narrowed, and he drummed his fingers on the door handle. “Our defense wasn’t covering the goalie well enough. I told them to watch out for you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. No one believed me that you were trying to score goals instead of start fights.”

  Jared leaned over and kissed him right there in the truck while it was stopped at a light. “Wow. I can’t wait to make you stop talking,” he said when he sat back in his seat.

  “I can’t wait for you to make me stop talking eit
her,” Lane said very seriously, and it was hard to breathe in the tiny cab. Especially when Jared very casually put a hand on him and rubbed him through his jeans. Lane made an embarrassing sound. “Please don’t stop, but make sure I don’t squeak like that. I don’t think that’s very hot.”

  Jared kissed him again at the next stoplight. There was a car full of girls next to them, and they started cheering. Jared gave them the thumbs-up sign, and Lane sank down in his seat.

  “You worried that you know them?” Jared asked, raising his eyebrows.

  Lane shook his head. “I’ve never been here before.”

  Jared laughed while he drove to his apartment, but he kept doing that thing with his hand, so Lane didn’t really mind.

  When they got to Jared’s apartment, Lane expected they’d probably just do the same thing they did last time, which was get in bed and not leave until it was time for practice. But Jared didn’t pounce on him, and Lane just stood and looked around Jared’s apartment.

  There was something in a frame hanging over the mantle. Lane went to read it. He felt Jared coming up behind him, and his whole body was immediately on fire. “You went to the Flyers training camp?”

  “Mmmhmm.” Jared put his hands on Lane’s hips and leaned in, mouthing at the back of his neck. “Are you hungry?”

  Lane really didn’t like the squeaking noise he made when Jared touched him. “Do you mean hungry like, for food? Because, yeah, I am, I just had some coconut water and a protein bar and some cheese and crackers before the game. But I don’t think it was real cheese. Or are you talking about sex stuff? Because yeah, I definitely want that.”

  Jared went still behind him and then turned him around so they were facing each other. Lane very tentatively put his hands on Jared’s waist and Jared pulled him closer. “Which one are you hungrier for, Lane?”

  “You can’t have sex and pizza at the same time. Right?” Lane cleared his throat. “Pretend I didn’t ask that.”

  Jared stopped pulling him closer and shook his head. His smile made Lane want something else, something more than sex and food, but just as necessary. “You want to hear something crazy?”

  “Depends. Is it good or...?”

  “You tell me. I missed you.” Jared leaned in and kissed him right beneath his ear.

  They stood very close together. Lane tried not to push his hips against Jared’s, but he had to take a slow breath before he could answer. “Umm. I think that’s.... I missed you too,” he said sort of helplessly. “Is that not good? I really can’t answer questions right now. Sorry.”

  “It’s good. Yeah,” Jared said, and then leaned in to kiss him. Lane saw a brief flash of something in Jared’s eyes. They looked almost sad, and Lane didn’t like that. The only time Jared should be sad was when Lane’s team beat his, which was going to happen the next day—in regulation time—so they could make out before the bus left.

  “You figure out which one you want more yet?” Jared walked them backward, still kissing him.

  “You’re going to walk into the wall,” Lane warned. He leaned his weight slightly to the side, like he was on skates and trying to turn. “And yeah, I’m going with sex. But maybe you could order a pizza first? Because it’s not going to take me very long, and I’m really hungry.”

  Jared stopped in the middle of his hallway. That sad thing was still in his eyes, but he kissed Lane so hard that Lane couldn’t think about it anymore.

  They needed blowjobs.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Blowjobs? I know. See, those make everyone happy. But maybe could you order the pizza? I’m not kidding, Jared. It’s really not going to take me long.”

  “I meant about the pizza. When did we get to blowjobs? Or is this one of those conversations you have with yourself and then forget that no one else can hear?” Jared looked suddenly sheepish. “You do that.”

  “I know,” Lane said, sighing.

  Jared looked like he wanted to ask him something, but instead he pulled Lane into his bedroom and pushed him toward the bed. “Take your jeans off.”

  Lane paused. “But my shoes are still on.”

  “Push them down then.”

  “My shoes?”

  “Your—never mind.” Jared suddenly pulled at Lane’s jeans and kissed him, then rolled on top of him when he had Lane’s pants out of the way. His weight pushed Lane into the mattress, and he put his hands on him and his fingers in his... mouth?

  “Mmmph?”

  “Suck,” Jared told him, and he did. That made Lane almost come, because hearing him say that was hot and Jared’s hips bucked hard against his when Lane complied. It felt really, really good.

  Jared reached between them and paused. He looked at Lane with a question, but Lane couldn’t answer because he was too turned on to figure out what it was. “What? What? Seriously what?”

  Jared’s grin was quick and bright. “If I touch your cock, are you going to come?”

  “Isn’t that how it works?” Lane looked at Jared hopefully. “Tell me that’s how it works, Jared.”

  “Lane,” Jared said, and now he sounded almost desperate. But he didn’t say anything else. He just kept grinding down against him.

  No wonder Ryan had sex with girls a lot, if it felt this good for him. Sex was great and Lane suddenly wanted everyone he knew to have it.

  Lane grabbed Jared’s neck and pulled him down to kiss him hotly and push up against him. He was so close, he was amazed that he hadn’t come yet.

  “I want to fuck you so goddamn bad,” Jared said, and that was it. Lane arched hard off the bed and saw stars or diamonds or something bright and flashing and awesome. Lane kept saying “yes, please,” over and over, just so Jared got the message.

  Lane tried to remember how to think and breathe and do other simple things while Jared got up to order them a pizza. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his jeans were pulled up but unbuttoned. He was so hot that Lane couldn’t believe he wanted to take Lane to bed in the first place.

  He wants to fuck me. Lane covered his face with his hands because he was momentarily overwhelmed and he didn’t know what to do about it. It was like scoring six goals and winning the Stanley Cup and Hockey Night in Canada all at once.

  “Hey, Lane, are you okay?”

  Lane felt the bed give as Jared sat next to him and felt his hand cool on Lane’s flushed skin. “Lane?”

  “I’m fine,” Lane said as reasonably as possible from behind his hands.

  “You’re just playing peekaboo? Are you into that? Because it’s weird.”

  “No. That’s silly.” Lane took another breath and waited for that feeling to go away—the one where he felt like he’d gotten something he didn’t deserve.

  “Oh. Of course, that’s silly. What was I thinking?”

  “About pizza? I don’t know.”

  Jared tugged on his wrists. “Hey. Can’t you look at me? I mean, I know I’m not as pretty as you are. But seriously? We’re headed for some weird after-school special if you can’t. I just know it.”

  Lane let his hands fall away so he could stare dumbfounded at Jared. “Have you not seen you?”

  Jared rolled his eyes. “You’re sex-dumb right now. So clearly that’s affecting your judgment. Not that I mind.” He looked appreciatively over Lane’s body, and Lane felt a weird urge to stretch like a cat, but he resisted.

  “So is ‘sex dumb’ what this is?”

  “I’m not sharing your adventures, Bastian. Remember?”

  “Huh?” Lane shook his head. “Are you talking about that movie with the kid and the lucky dragon?”

  Jared’s laugh was warm and low. “The kid and the lucky dragon. Wow.”

  Lane didn’t even spare a moment to wonder why they were discussing The NeverEnding Story after having sex. “I could never figure out what that name was. The one the kid shouted out of the window at the end. It was like, sixteen syllables long. I even backed up the DVD over and over again, until my mom told me to stop because
I was ruining my imagination.”

  Oh, great. He was talking about his mom. This. This right here. This is an example of the weird things Zoe thinks you shouldn’t say.

  “Me too. Only I had to rewind the tape, because I’m way older than you. And my mom didn’t say anything about imagination, because she probably wanted me to stop having one and do my homework.” Jared grinned and then shook his head. “Seriously. What’s the matter? You don’t.... I mean, you can take back that yes, if you want. You don’t have to—”

  “Huh? Oh no. No. It’s not that. I want that. Please pretend you never had any reason to question that yes, okay? I’m just not.... I don’t know. Can we not talk about it?”

  “About what? I’m lost again. It’s not easy to follow along with you when you’re not sex dumb.” Jared kissed him and stood up to stretch. Lane’s mouth went dry, and he wished he’d done that too, if it made him look half as goddamn hot as that. “We can definitely not talk about The NeverEnding Story, and please let’s not talk about our parents. But we’re going to talk about why you were hiding from me.”

  “But that’s the thing I don’t want to talk about.” Lane fell back on the bed. He tried the stretching thing, thinking it might distract Jared.

  “You okay there?”

  Clearly he had to work on that. “I was just, you know. How long can I be evasive before you give up? I’m really good at it. Warning.”

  “You’re funny. And try it all you want. I can make you talk. I know your weak spots now.” Jared gave an evil laugh and smirked at him, then looked very obviously at Lane’s cock.

  Lane felt that horrible, overwhelming feeling coming back. “Stop,” Lane said quietly and rolled onto his side. Then he put his face in his arm like a twelve-year-old. Go away, go away, stupid feelings. You ruin everything.

  “Lane, hey.” The bed moved again. Jared sounded concerned, and that was not helping. “Something is the matter, dude, and if you don’t tell me, then we probably shouldn’t keep doing this. Are you having a gay freak-out, because I thought you’d have done that the last time if you were going to. But maybe not.” He gently rubbed Lane’s back. No one had touched Lane like that in forever, and he thought about his parents and all of that bullshit. He was the happiest he’d ever been off the ice. He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t. It was the sort of thing you just... couldn’t say.