Page 91 of Playing His Game

They entered February on a multi-game winning streak, and when their home game against Colorado arrived, Mo texted promises of blow jobs if Adam crushed them. Adam stared at the text for a long moment, telling himself he shouldn’t give in. What would more sex accomplish other than more pain? His thumbs ignored his brain’s dire warnings. Or maybe it was his heart.

Or it could be a consolatory bj.

Adam stared at the text for a long moment, telling himself he shouldn’t give in. What would more sex accomplish other than more pain? His thumbs ignored his brain’s dire warnings. Or maybe it was his heart.

I’ll come over after.

Mo sent a thumbs-up and an eggplant emoji.

Romantic.

Adam pushed his bitterness and longing and everything else but hockey to the back of his mind, determined to win tonight. Colorado was their divisional rival, and a four-point swing in the standings could make or break a playoff spot.

Adam wanted that spot. To make playoffs for the first time in three years in his first season as captain? He wanted that so bad, he could taste it.

And prove captaincy was one thing he could do right.

As the Canyons went up 1–0 in the first, he thought maybe he could smell it too.

Then the Summit answered back two minutes later.

The Summit played a tight game. Every time the Canyons got an edge, they found a way to counter it.

They were 2–2 by the third, and on-ice tension was mounting. Adam hated when this happened—when his teammates grew frustrated and started to make stupid mistakes, ratcheting the tension up further. Adam had always felt the weight of trying to get them to calm down, get their heads back in the game. The pressure to rein in his boys now that he was captain was stronger still.

But tonight, he couldn’t do it.

Not three minutes into the third, the play was chippy, the insults flew fast, and Adam was starting to just hope for a bloodless end to the game.

Jorts stole the puck right off their captain’s stick, and the Canyons flew into the offensive zone, the Summit forwards hot on their heels. Jorts passed to Adam, who took the shot. It ricocheted off the goalie’s pads. Then it was a mad scramble in front of the net between Adam, Jorts, and the goalie.

A body collided with Adam, pushing him into the goalie, who pushed back. Then his feet went right, his head went left. Bodies were everywhere. The oppressive scent of well-used hockey gear. Cursing. Everything went sideways.

“—rph! Adam, can you hear me? Look at me?”

Adam wanted to obey. His ears were swimming and the lights were too bright.

“Good job, kid.” Not the right voice. And not the right words. Adam was a good boy, not a kid.

He was on his hands and knees—how did he get there?—and Jorts had an arm around his waist. “Can you get on your feet?” His voice was soft, gentle.

Adam tried to get his blades on the ice but couldn’t get purchase. Then another body skated into view—Smitty, who braced him on the other side until they got Adam standing.

“Focus on keeping your feet under you. Smitty and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Adam liked Jorts. He could follow his directions.

Time went funny, wobbly. Seconds lasted years and hours lasted minutes. First, he was with the doctors answering questions; then Jorts was talking about taking him home. Suddenly, his gear was off and Jorts wanted to know about showering. Together?

“No, I don’t want to shower with you, Murph.”

“Why did you ask, then?”

“You know, this would be funny if I wasn’t worried about your scrambled brains.”

“Me too.” Adam might be confused, but he knew this was bad.

Then they were in Jorts’s car. “I already told Maddison I’m taking you home and staying with you.”