Page 85 of Two for Charging

The refs whistled.

They had to take Dmitriyev out on a stretcher. He couldn’t stand under his own power, and if he wasn’t willing to try, it couldn’t be good.

Lindy gestured for Nilsson to get onto the ice.

Hayes breathed in through his teeth. “Fuck.”

Nilsson wasn’t a bad backup goalie. In the AHL, he would be great. On the Sea Lions, he warmed the bench unless Dmitriyev needed a maintenance day. The goaltending coach had done his best to get Nilsson up to scratch, but he couldn’t fix lack of experience. Having Nilsson in net for more than half the game meant the D-men would be working overtime, trying to block as many shots as possible, trying to play as offensively as they could to keep the puck out of their zone.

Play resumed with fifteen seconds left on the Firecrackers’ penalty. The first PP unit went out once more, playing harder and tighter now their goalie was gone. They couldn’t make it past Henderson a second time, though, and the lines switched out again.

Vanderbilt checked Denisov hard enough to send him sprawling, earning a five-minute major. Chris cursed him out mentally. Getting revenge for their tendy was all well and good, but they needed to protect the goalie in net as well.

The first penalty kill unit did all right, but by the time the second unit took the ice, the Firecrackers had gained momentum. Nilsson blocked the first shot on goal and missed the rebound. Chicago equalized.

After that, the game became a back-and-forth in terms of possession and scoring chances. San Francisco had more depth in offense, but Chicago had them beat in goaltending by a mile. Midway through the third, the scoreboard read 2–1 for Chicago, and Lindy sent Howie out against Denisov’s line.

“Get to him,” she told him. “You’ve done it before. You’re a pest, so pester him.”

Chris winced. He wondered if he should intervene. But what could he say without revealing Howie’s unfortunate crush on the opposition? Howie would never forgive him. He said nothing and watched as Howie hopped the boards.

He got up in Denisov’s space immediately, yapping away with his mouthguard hanging out the side of his lips as he battled for the puck.

Chris couldn’t see Denisov’s expression, but he didn’t need to.

Denisov shouldered past Howie, leaving him to stumble on the ice, and took the puck straight through their zone. It hit the back of the net before Howie could even think of catching him.

The game ended 3–1 for Chicago.

Making matters worse, Luca had to do media since he’d gotten the only goal of the game for San Francisco. The first few questions were all right—standard fare about how Dmitriyev was doing and how the team could have prevented the loss: played a full sixty minutes, protected their goalie better, all the usual sound bites. Honestly, Chris thought they’d done a decent job protecting their goalie. They couldn’t block every shot on net. Nilsson would have to learn to stop a few, and he’d have to learn fast.

Chris winced from a few feet over when Luca called on Olivia Starling.

“We’re seeing a very different team than we did last week,” she said. “Do you think the exuberant Halloween celebrations we saw online contributed to this decline?”

“No,” Luca said through his teeth.

“And what about this team’s commitment to political activism? Has it caused any friction this season with new additions such as Semyon Fedorov on the roster?”

“I was unaware playing hockey with children now counts as activism,” Luca said.

Chris winced. That response would be shared all over social media.

The media availability segment ended shortly afterward, but the question was out there now, which meant journalists would think of their own answers, more so thanks to Luca’s nonresponse.

They drove home in silence. What was there to say? Starling had picked up on the glaring issue facing the team: could everyone handle sharing space with queer guys? She mined for a story and found one, but she had no idea how deep it ran.

Before, the thought of Starling sowing dissent among the team would have occupied him all night. Now, Chris couldn’t help but forget all about her as he examined Luca out of the corner of his eye when he stopped at each red light.

Luca looked exhausted. His head rested against the window, and the streetlights illuminated his profile perfectly. Would he let Chris kiss him? Would he touch Chris if he asked?

Chris’s cock thickened in his suit pants, and he shifted in his seat.

Leonora must be a wizard. Even with a semi, they were comfortable.

“I know everything is kind of shitty now,” Chris said once they’d reached the safe haven of the apartment. “But, um. I was hoping we could—”

“No,” Luca said harshly.