Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(66)

The assholes don’t matter.

The Rainbow Raiders and others like them do.

And the whole time we were with that junior team, not one person mentioned how I was choking this season, which supports Tripp’s assurance that it isn’t only me.

I glance over at where Fensby is skating, lazy smile on his smug face, and realize I’ve never wanted to hit him more.

Which is surprising, because I’ve wanted to hit him a whole lot in the past.

That said, his negativity has only ever been directed at me because he’s been after my position. And now, the entire team is having to deal with his ego—especially now he’s playing first line.

Maybe it’s not only me and Tripp. Maybe it’s his attitude that’s doing it. No one else in the team seems to have a problem with us, and the only time they’re uncomfortable is when Fensby is running his mouth.

I skate over to Tripp. “I think it’s Fensby.”

“What is?”

“The reason the team is playing so bad. His attitude has never been as shitty as this season, and he’s getting in everyone’s head.”

Tripp’s hazel eyes stray to the other side of the rink where Fensby is. “Okay, but even if it is him, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I can get my position back.”

“Of course you can, but that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact you’re a talented mofo.”

I nod. “I’m gonna do it.”

“That’s my Dex. And now … you know what we need to do.” Tripp holds out his fist.

Yesss. We fist bump, chest bump, hug, fake-out high five, but where that’s usually it, I step forward and add a kiss to the top of his helmet.

“Hey—”

“I figured mixing it up can’t hurt.” I slap his ass as I skate off.

That man is too damn good for me, but he’s mine.

And it’s the reminder of how I feel about Tripp and everything we do together that lets me pull my gaze from the ice and peek out at the crowd as we head off to make room for the preshow.

As expected, some of the signs are supportive, and others are … well, assholes is what those people are.

I remind myself to block out the noise. If I don’t, those people will get what they want and see one of us traded. We’re going to make this work. We have to.

If I have to fight to stay with him, then that’s what I’ll do.

And fuck, the game is a fight.

There’s no magic switch to get the team playing properly again, but our raw need is showing through. Every time I hit that ice, I go hard. I might feel slower and less instinctual than usual, but I put myself in front of the puck at every opportunity.

Colorado is fighting too though, and they make some good shots on goal, but Tripp shuts them out every time. He fills the net, and I’m hit with awe again and again that someone that talented is who I go home to at night.

I spend more time on the bench than I’m used to in the game, but it means when I’m put back out there, I work harder than I ever have. When I get a penalty and Colorado scores on a power play, I force myself to shake it off, even while the disappointment and embarrassment threaten to take hold.

It doesn’t help when our third line is rotated in and Fensby sneers at me over his shoulder. “Dumbass Dex. What’s the bet you just lost the game for us after that sloppy move?”

“Shut your mouth, Fensby,” Adler grits out. “If you’re so good, get us back the point.”

“Easy.”

Apparently not, because he doesn’t manage it, and we go into the third one point down. Instead of letting the despair in, I remind myself that if I can save us, no one will focus on the penalty. That doesn’t help with the nerves or the way my body aches with wanting to be done with this, but I push through it all. I focus on the signs from people who support us, think of the kids back home, watching us play, feeling disappointed in our season so far, and when Mossier from Colorado passes to Tregary, I’m hit with a split second of past Dex and see the play before they make it.

I intercept the puck and take off down the ice.

Colorado is on me, and I don’t see any of my team for support, so I pull up to the goal and shoot.

The goalie doesn’t have Tripp’s skill, but he’s just fast enough to clip the puck and send it back into my blade.

Mossier shoves me from the side, blocking my attempt on goal, and I look up as Keisky appears as if from nowhere. I shoot the puck to him, and he fires it into the top right corner. The lamp lights up, and it’s like I can finally breathe.

At the next face-off, I expect Coach to call my line back in, but he doesn’t. I take up position, and after a sloppy start, we gain possession, but Colorado is everywhere. McGillan passes to Segoyer, who passes back to Keisky, to McGillan, to me.

We try to put another in the net but fail. Colorado intercepts the rebound and flies down the ice, but Tripp shuts out the goal and fires the puck straight back to McGillan.

We get it back into our offensive zone, but it’s a scramble to keep possession. There are seconds left on the clock, and when Keisky gets close, both of Colorado’s D-men close in. I lose track of who’s who, and the mess of sticks and the fight for the puck draw their goalie out.

It’s a mistake Tripp would never make.