Page 39 of Pucking Bad Boys

Yup. Deflection is a dead giveaway. I do it all the time too whenever I want to distract people from how I’m really feeling.

“Shut up, Heston.” Mack laughs, but he returns serious in the blink of an eye. “I’m not messing with you, though. I’ll be following up with you. Make sure you’re ok after you slept on it, yeah?”

“Sure thing.” It’s the answer. “It’s nothing that a good night's sleep and a caring puck bunny won’t fix.”

Mack rolls his eyes, then sets his attention on me. “Great game, too, Becks. Or should I say Beavis?”

“You’re so funny. That nickname doesn’t suck any less tonight than it did when you and Prescott picked it.” I flip him off. “But thanks. You too.”

It pains me to admit that Mack was the star of the game. If I want to live up to his fame and not keep being known as Macklin Shayba’s little brother, I need to up my game.

Another thing that I hate to admit is that from what I’ve seen so far, Mack is a damn good captain and a natural leader. The team respects him and looks up to him, and I don’t blame them.

He’s always been a pretty great big brother too. He’s always looked out for me and encouraged me and offered me support, and advice. The fact that he was born before me and he was already good at anything we ever did isn’t really his fault.

I’m the one responsible for the constant chip on my shoulder; I’m well aware of that.

The only thing I wish Mack understood is how hard it is to live in his shadow every day of my life.

That’s the reason why I decided to go to Bridgeport rather than come to Star Cove. I tried to explain it to him before I even started college.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t get that I wasn’t going to Bridgeport because I don’t care about him, but because I do. I need room to breathe, to grow into myself and be my own player,my own man. I hate myself for the resentment I feel every time our parents, our friends, or the world talk about how awesome he is. How he’s gonna be a champion.

And it’s fucking weird because an even bigger part of me is so damn proud of every single thing Mack achieves.

Is it that wrong if I want to get where he’s at with my hard work but without being constantly compared to him?

“Come on,” Prescott gives me a slap on the back. “Let’s go hit the showers. You’re about to find out what a damn good party this school can throw for us.”

Heston stops to chime in on his way to the showers, buck naked. “Tucker’s right. You’re gonna have to fight the bunnies. You started the night with a bang by scoring two goals, and you’re gonna end it with a bang too. By scoring with a hot girl who wants nothing but to show her school spirit by giving you a night you might not remember tomorrow.”

Prescott shakes his head with a chuckle. “That doesn’t make much sense. What’s the point of scoring the hot girls if you can’t remember?”

“Youmight not remember, but your dick will.” Heston punctuates the words by gyrating his hips. His flaccid dick spins in sync with the motion, slapping against his muscular hips and thighs.

“Ew, dude.” Our goalie laughs. “Put that away. I thought I told you no one wants to see your helicopter dick when you were a freshman. Besides, we have our first official game of the season next week. And you know what that means.”

I’m about to ask him what that means, but Mack fills in the blanks for me.

“Tucker is right. You know as well as we do that Coach doesn’t believe in taking it easy during the season. We have morning skate at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow, and if you show up hungover, you know there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Fuck,” Heston groans. “Don’t remind me. Maybe you’re right.” He turns to me. “On second thought, Becks, have as much fun as you want with the bunnies. But keep the drink to a nice buzz. Or Coach will bag skate us until you puke your own soul out.”

I shrug. “I don’t overdo it with the drink because my body is my temple and all that shit. But I actually think bag skating is kind of fun.”

My teammates’ jaws hit the floor.

“What?” Prescott gawks. “I thought Vaughn was the one who got smashed against the boards. Did I miss you taking any hits?”

Mack answers the question on my behalf. “Nah. There’s no need for that. Becks has his nice boy outer shell. Even our parents will tell you he’s the nicest one between us. But deep down, he’s a freak. Especially on the ice.”

I can’t help but laugh at my brother’s assessment. He isn’t wrong.

“Whatever. I like pushing my limits. If someone tells me I can’t do something, I won’t rest until I prove them wrong. If that makes me a freak, it’s fine by me.”

“Jeez,” Heston’s laugh comes out more like a wheeze. His face contorts with pain as if laughing was too much for his bruised ribs. “I’ll keep an eye on you, then. I’d rather not experience another one of Coach’s punishments if I can help it.”

His hilarity falls flat when it’s clear that he’s in more pain than he wants to admit.