You’d think we won the Stanley Cup itself instead of just game three of the first round of the playoffs, the way we all climb over the boards and head towards Ivanov to line up and give him his post-win hugs. But what can I say, we’re excited. Especially Danton.
He’s the first of us to reach Ivanov and throws his arms around him while cameras flash all around us. After he lets him go he remains close so he can congratulate each of us on our win in turn.
“Hell of a game, Cap,” Ryan says. He taps the C on Danton’s jersey with his fist then skates to me. “It feels good to have done this at home, doesn’t it?”
Grinning wide, I nod my head at him. “It does. It really fucking does.”
But as good as this feels now, I know at some point we’re bound to feel its opposite. Hockey, for as much as I love it, for as fun as it is, can also break your heart. And my heart’s already at risk enough. Going forward, I know I need to tether my expectations. There’s still a long road to go down towards the finish line and it’s filled with places where we can be booted off of it in an instant.
Ryan slings his arm around my shoulders and whispers into my ear, “Stop fretting. We have four more games to get two more wins. Enjoy this one, Baby. We earned it.”
Surprised, I look over my shoulder at him. When did he get so good at reading my mind?
He pulls me into a sweaty hug and says quietly for only me to hear, “I’m proud of you.”
My throat tightens, and my cheeks heat.
But the moment is broken when I hear Jules’s voice. “Cute! This is going to do numbers on our page.”
Quickly, I pull out of Ryan’s hold. He stares at me for a second, then turns away and heads towards the locker room.
TWENTY-TWO
Ryan
Waking up in hotels while on a road trip is always disorienting. The sheets are scratchy. The scent in the air is sterile. The temperature of the room is always either too hot or too cold. The same goes for the lighting. It’s either too bright or too dark. There’s no in-between. No happy medium. No Goldilocks version of reality.
However, there is one very big upside. Now, during these road trips, I wake up to Brandon in bed beside me. Here, where no one is watching, he’s much more relaxed. And it turns out that a stress-relieving orgasm is just what he needs in order to nap instead of pacing the room. It doesn’t even bother me that he is a bit of a bed hog when he sleeps.
My bed at home is a king. Which has always felt massive to me. Sharing this full-sized bed with Brandon while the other one in the room remains untouched is much nicer. And even nicer now as I sling my right arm over his prone body while he sleeps flat on his stomach with his arms and legs spread out like a starfish taking up most of the mattress.
“You keep doing that,” he says, his voice muffled slightly byhis pillow.
“Doing what?” I ask as I grip his side and pull myself closer to him.
“Grabbing hold of me while you’re sleeping.” He rolls onto his side and shifts himself to become the little spoon.
“Technically, I was awake.” I nuzzle the back of his neck. He smells like locker room shampoo and the strands of his hair are tickling my nose. “Your hair is way too long.”
“You’ve mentioned that,” he says dryly and brings his hand to his head, then runs his fingers through it, stopping only after he accidentally pokes me in the eye.
“Ow,” I complain through laughter, rubbing my eye with the heel of my hand.
“Sorry.” He pulls his hand away and laughs, making him sound not sorry at all. Which is fine as I am enjoying the way his laughter makes his body rub against mine.
I squeeze him tighter. “I can’t believe you laugh at my pain.”
“If you can laugh at that giant bruise on my hip, I think I can laugh at your poked eye.”
I slide my hand down his side to land on his hip. His skin is warm under my palm. “How does it feel today?”
“Sore. But I guess that’s what I get for thinking I could battle for the puck with a guy like Andre Gagnon and come away unscathed.”
“You’re not hurt otherwise, though, are you?” I slide my hand up his torso and nuzzle the back of his neck again. He shifts himself more firmly against me. I’m sure he’s fine. But that bruise is looking nasty. It was worth it. We won that game two nights ago and if we win today, we can officially put this first round and Winnipeg behind us.
“I’m fine. Just sore is all.”
“Good,” I say while I kiss the back of his neck below his hairline. “Because I need you on the ice with me.”
