Tacker

by Sawyer Bennett

  Grimacing, I turn my head away. “Dude… I don’t need to see your junk.”

  Snickering, Aaron pats his thighs. “My man… this is what the ladies love. The Wylde secret place.”

  “You’re fucking gross,” I mutter, but I do it while suppressing a laugh. Aaron thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but he at least comes by it honestly. He’s a fucking chick magnet.

  Swinging his leg over and then popping to his feet, he moves in closer to my locker and leans a shoulder against it. His expression turns serious. “But really… how did it feel out there? Because you looked like a different man out there.”

  That gives me pause, my fingers freezing on the buttons of my dress shirt. I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “I may be new to the team, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t watch you when I could on TV,” he says in a low voice. “You played great this season, but you played with a weight on your shoulders. It was obvious. Tonight, though… you looked like you were having the time of your life out there.”

  Probably only Aaron would ever notice that about me, and it makes me smile. And he’s fucking right. It felt different out there.

  My gaze going to my buttons, I admit, “I felt like me again out there.”

  His hand comes to my shoulder, squeezes. “Happy for you, buddy.”

  “Hey, if you two girls want to stop flirting with each other a moment,” a deep voice drawls from behind us. “I’m taking a headcount for Flemings.”

  Aaron’s hand falls away, and we turn to see Bishop behind us. “First-line celebration. You in? And you have to say yes, because otherwise, it’s not the first line.”

  My initial reaction is to decline. While my teammates never gave up on me this entire season and invited me to every single team function, I always said “no”. They probably wouldn’t be shocked if I did the same right now.

  But then Nora’s words come to me. Enjoy the moment.

  For some reason, it helps to know she is giving me tacit permission to enjoy this newfound reconnection to the sport and my teammates. It’s validation that I’m allowed to do this without guilt weighing me down.

  “Yeah… we’re in,” I tell Bishop, knowing Aaron wants to go. He’s always up for a night out.

  “Really?” Bishop asks, sounding a bit thunderstruck over my acceptance.

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah… fucking really.”

  Bishop snorts and moves off, and I accept I might be the subject of some ribbing in the coming weeks as I acclimate into the team dynamic.

  Within half an hour, everyone is dressed and on the team bus. The ride to the hotel only takes about ten minutes. When we disembark, we don’t even enter the lobby. Flemings, a highly recommended and posh steakhouse, is just a few blocks down and we’ve already decided to walk to it.

  Bishop had called ahead for a table. There’s seven of us—me, Aaron, Bishop, Legend, Dax, Erik, and Blue. Yes, this is a first-line dinner, but Blue travels with the team as a flight attendant, so she is automatically included. Part of being on a hockey team is the family dynamic. I’ve never had that be more apparent than on this team.

  Drinks are ordered, and I’m glad to see the guys don’t feel like they have to abstain simply because I do. When they’re in hand, Bishop holds his glass up, and we all follow. Gripping my glass of ice water, I feel my cheeks flush slightly when he says, “Here’s to Tacker. Glad to have you back on the ice, buddy, but more importantly, glad to have you back with us.”

  There’s no missing the emphasis he puts on the words “with us”. He means with us in spirit and determination. He means he’s glad I’ve been able to move past that thing holding me back from truly bonding with my mates. It’s an intimate statement and while it embarrasses me, it also grounds me a bit. It makes me realize that what I’m doing—this journey I’ve undertaken to make my way back to a normal, fulfilled life—has great rewards at the end.

  Everyone says “here, here,” and “cheers”. I take a sip of my ice water, the talk immediately shifting into hockey.

  “Five weeks until playoffs start,” Bishop remarks. “We’ve got a few tough hurdles to get over.”

  “We’ve got this,” Erik, the one on the team with the biggest ego, says boldly.

  “As long as we continue to play the way we are,” Legend says wisely.

  “You all have done a great job maintaining momentum after my fuck-ups,” I tell the group, making sure I look around the table. I’m no longer captain, but I need to act like a leader. “I’m sorry I put you all in such a bad position. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  “Dude,” Aaron says dramatically from my left. He loops an arm around my shoulders, leans his head against me, and exaggerates a sob. “That was fucking beautiful.”

  Everyone laughs. I wrench my shoulder upward to dislodge him, muttering, “Fuck nut.”

  More talk about playoffs ensues, and we place our orders. Food comes, then talk moves to family. Bishop mentions wedding plans for him and Brooke over the summer, to which he told us to save the weekend of July 8th. Legend gushed about his daughter Charlie for a while, which included passing around his phone to look at recent pictures. He’s also planning a wedding to Pepper, but he stated they were going to elope to do the deed. Somehow, I doubt that, but we’ll see.

  “I’m going out to Shërim Ranch this weekend,” Blue announces, and that catches my attention for sure. Her eyes come to mine. “I really respect what Nora’s doing out there, and it’s a great way to do some volunteer work. Plus, Billy loves it there.”

  “She’s a fucking cool woman,” Erik says in agreement.

  That is something that can’t be denied and should be celebrated.

  “I’ve never met anyone like her,” I tell my teammates, and they all go still… eyes glued to me in shock that I’d make such a candid and personal statement. Their wide, unblinking eyes make me laugh. “What… too much sharing?”

  Bishop shakes his head. “No way, dude. You can tell us anything.”

  My gaze moves from player to player, hitting on Blue, who gives me an encouraging smile. Back to Bishop, I say, “You, Erik, and Blue weren’t sitting at the table with us out at the ranch when we were eating, but I’d told the rest of the gang something I’d learned about Nora. I didn’t tell them everything, though, as I didn’t want to divulge any secrets she had, but she told me I could share it.”

  Most frown in confusion, and I know I sound about as clear as mud.

  “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you guys right now if Nora hadn’t lent her strength to me by sharing a personal trauma she had suffered.”

  The table is quiet, all attention focused intently on me.

  And so I share with them what Nora went through. I tell them every detail she told me. I don’t embellish, but I don’t hold back. I told them how her life was destroyed in an instant, yet how she managed to not only heal, but also to flourish.

  “Jesus,” Erik mutters, looking at Blue. She has tears in her eyes, and he puts an arm around her.

  “How crazy is it that Willow is there right now?” Dax murmurs softly. “For that same exact war that tore Nora’s family apart.”

  “I’m sure they probably would have a lot to talk about at some point,” I surmise. “Nora doesn’t hold back on that part of her life. She doesn’t shy away from the hard stuff.”

  “Hell of a woman,” Aaron says with a shake of his head.

  “The point of me telling you that is so you can hold me accountable,” I tell the group—my friends.

  “How so?” Bishop asks, his head tilted and eyebrows furrowed.

  “Because Nora is sort of the standard for me now,” I say. I’d been thinking about this a lot, and I do best when I have goals to accomplish. “I’ve seen what she’s done with her life, and it’s admirable. She’s told me I can flourish, and I want that. But I also know it’s not just going to happen because I want it to. It’s going to take work and continued effort from me to push for those things. I’m asking you—
my first line and the closest allies I have—don’t let me fall off task. Don’t let me get scared. Push me if you have to. Don’t walk on eggshells around me.”

  It’s a huge request and a monstrous burden I just put on my teammates, but I wouldn’t have asked it if I didn’t think they could deliver. I get smiles, some nods, and someone mutters, “We got your back, man.”

  Blue pushes out of her chair, rounds the table, and comes up to my chair to bend over and give me a hug.

  “We’ll help you in any way you need,” she says, and I pat her forearm awkwardly before giving a harsh glance around the table.

  “For the record, no one is allowed to hug me but your female counterparts,” I warn my friends. And then I add for clarification, glaring over at my best friend. “Except your women, Aaron. You’re not discriminating enough.”

  The entire table bursts into laughter, and it’s infectious.

  My mind flits to MJ, and I often like to think she’s in a place where she can overlook things from time to time if she so desires. I’d like to think she’s watching right now and happy to see what has occurred here.

  CHAPTER 17

  Tacker

  I come awake slowly, my heart pounding and my skin sweaty. One might think it was a nightmare producing those aftereffects, but it wasn’t.

  It was a damn sex dream about Nora.

  I can’t remember exact details, so I close my eyes, struggling to go back to where I just was, not wanting to leave the feelings behind.

  I get only flashes… pieces of a story.

  Nora under me, our bodies totally melded and writhing. Just a tangle of arms and legs and her breathing… I can clearly remember the way she pants.

  Clearer than the actual picture of what we were doing are the feelings it produced. Like I was an empty well and with every stroke inside of her, I was filling up. I can’t see her face. Don’t know the details of her body, but I do know it was Nora.

  And that she made me feel so many things. As the well filled up, I was scared and yet excited. Fucking almost giddy, but totally overwhelmed. With her, I felt calm and complete and yet ready to break apart at any moment.

  But even the feelings are starting to dull as I become more awake and it’s harder to hold on to it. The feelings eventually fade to black, and I’m left with an empty sensation.

  The one thing I have apparently brought forth from the dream that doesn’t seem to be dwindling is another hard-on.

  With a sigh, I turn my head on the pillow. I can see my roommate, Bishop, is still sound asleep. The team plane doesn’t board until midmorning, and we were out super late last night at Flemings. Both of us had intended to sleep in a bit.

  I roll out of bed, pad across the thick carpet, and head into the bathroom.

  The last time I dreamed about Nora, I’d also awoken with an erection. Last time, I’d stepped into a cold shower and got rid of my body’s betrayal.

  I don’t do that now. Instead, I turn the water on and let it run hot and steamy. Undressing, I consider the implications of what I’m about to do.

  Damn Dominik Carlson for putting it into my head that Nora could be something more than just my therapist. Damn him all to hell for giving me permission to be attracted to her.

  And damn Nora… for telling me it’s okay to move on and making me believe it.

  Because as I step into the shower, the hot water streaming over my body, and I take my cock in hand, I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for what I’m about to do.

  Bracing my feet apart, I press my forearm against the shower wall and lean into it. I drop my forehead, close my eyes, and start to move my hand.

  It feels good. But the moment I call forth Nora into my mind, it feels even better.

  Beyond better, and pleasure rips through me. Vivid images fill my mind, calling upon that dream I’d just woken up from moments ago and perhaps substituting in my own lewd thoughts about her.

  I wonder about things.

  Like what her skin feels like—silky, I’m sure—and how her kiss would taste—bold and sweet, no doubt. I imagine how it would feel to get lost inside her, and my fist squeezes hard while I stroke.

  A low groan bubbles in my throat, but I keep it pushed down, not wanting to wake up my roommate beyond the bathroom walls.

  Faster and faster, I move, hips thrusting as I fuck my fist, all the while imagining it’s Nora’s beautiful body beneath mine.

  I come unexpectedly, hard and fast, right on the white tile wall as I grit my teeth to prevent myself from crying out how fucking amazing it feels. My chest heaves and my eyes get a little blurry as I lift my head off my forearm.

  I wait for it.

  The crushing guilt for betraying MJ.

  Nothing comes, so I probe a little deeper into my feelings.

  Exquisite self-loathing for objectifying Nora?

  My gut tightens and yeah… I’m feeling a little like a tool. I just fucking masturbated while thinking about my therapist, who went out of her way to share something deep and personal, all to help me move forward.

  I’m a fucking asshole, but I’m also a man who happens to appreciate how beautiful a woman is.

  But that’s not really making me feel low.

  In fact, there’s no real crushing guilt hitting me at all, and that’s fucking disconcerting to say the least.

  There’s only one thing to do.

  I finish my shower, get a quick shave in, and brush my teeth. Bishop is still asleep when I emerge, so I quietly get dressed.

  Grabbing my wallet, room key, and phone, I head out to find some coffee and a quiet place to talk. Given that this is Seattle, the coffee will be easy.

  A quiet place for me to call Nora, not so much.

  Turns out, there’s a decent coffee shop a few blocks down, but it’s overcrowded. I get mine to go, wondering where I can find some solace. It’s in the middle of rush hour in downtown Seattle, and the streets are packed with people walking to work.

  I head back to the hotel. Rather than go inside, I merely lean against the building… right there on the sidewalk, and sip at my coffee. People pass by me without a second glance, in a rush and intent on getting to where they’re going.

  It’s then that I realize, despite the flowing crowd of pedestrian commuters, I’m really kind of alone. No one is paying attention to me, and no one is hanging around. I can have a conversation right here on the street, and it’d be more private than if I were sitting in my room with Bishop.

  I pull out my phone, not concerned with the early hour. Phoenix and Seattle are in the same time zone, and Nora is an early riser. It’s something I learned about her just from our counseling sessions when she was telling me a little bit about her workday on the ranch when she wasn’t working with clients. She’s pretty much a sunup-to-sundown kind of woman.

  Tapping her contact, I listen to the phone ring once, twice, and then it picks up.

  I’m shocked when Raul answers. “Buenos dias, Tacker.”

  “Um… uh… hey,” I manage to say.

  Silence ensues, as I’ve completely forgotten why I’m even calling Nora. Raul answering has completely thrown me off.

  “You okay?” he asks hesitantly.

  “Yeah,” I reply swiftly, getting a little of my senses back. “Just surprised me that you answered Nora’s phone.”

  “She walked away for a second,” he says. “We just finished up breakfast, and she’s off brushing her teeth.”

  An image of Nora, standing at the sink and holding her hair back from her face as she rinses out her mouth, hits me. It’s vivid and completely conjured from my imagination, not memory, yet there’s something fulfilling about learning that fact about Nora. That she brushes her teeth after breakfast.

  “You played great last night,” Raul says. I blink, feeling like he just busted me for having intimate thoughts.

  “What?” I ask, not really understanding what he just said.

  “Nora and I watched the game last night,” he says, and I can�
��t help the smile that comes to my face. “You looked really good out there.”

  “Thanks, Raul,” I reply, feeling like he just paid me the biggest compliment in the world. The fact they watched me together touches me for some reason.

  “Okay, here she is,” he says. Suddenly, my palms start to sweat as I wait for her voice to come over the line.

  Busy people walk by quickly, heads down and shoulders hunched. No one cares about my phone call, yet I turn slightly to the side, wanting to protect this conversation.

  “Tacker?” Nora says, and her voice is a balm.

  “Hey,” I say, my voice coming out raspy and unsure of itself. I give a slight cough. “I mean… good morning.”

  “Morning,” she replies brightly. “I know Raul just told you, but we watched the game last night. You were wonderful.”

  “It was a good team effort,” I say, displacing the praise and redistributing it to my team where it belongs.

  But not going to lie… it feels good that she watched me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, a hint of worry in her tone. She gave me permission to call her as a counselor. In her mind, there would be no other reason for me to call unless I was in distress.

  And I am… sort of.

  “I’m… uh,” I say, not sure how to get this out. “Well… I’m having some guilt issues.”

  The change in her tone is palpable as she enters counselor mode, sounding gently calm yet completely sure of her advice. “Remember, Tacker… when you’re feeling that way, I want you to try to focus on the responsible party. It was the plane manufacturer—”

  “No,” I say into the phone, cutting her off. “Not about the crash.”

  “Oh,” she says softly, but not in a surprised way. There are other types of guilt we’ve discussed in the past. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I say gently. “But this morning, I’m just feeling… I don’t know… a little bad that things are going so well. That I’m doing better and trying to move on. I guess I’m feeling a little guilty that I’m not feeling more guilty.”

  And… what I can’t tell you is that I’m thinking about you in ways that tells me I’m very much moving on from MJ being the only woman I think about.