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It finally comes to a head during the last scrimmage of practice. I take the puck into the corner, London on my heels. He shoves me hard into the boards, stick wedged under my arm to steal the puck.
I see red. In one smooth motion, I spin us around and pin him to the boards with my greater weight. Our hockey sticks clatter, abandoned to the ice.
"The hell is your problem today?" I snarl into his face, our visors clicking together. Up close, the blaze of gold and green in his eyes sears into me.
"Maybe if you didn't skate like you had cinderblocks tied to your feet, this wouldn't be an issue," London fires back, shoving hard against my hold.
Adrenaline and irritation surge hotly through me. I grab a fistful of his jersey, our chests crashing together. And my cock is getting hard. Fantastic. "I seem to skate just fine when I'm not distracted by your sloppy ass plays." The words come out low and heated despite myself.
London's eyes drop to my mouth, his tongue swiping over his lower lip. My heartbeat picks up, desire and anger mingling dangerously. I'm seconds away from crushing my mouth to his right here on the ice—
"That's enough!" Deck's sharp voice cuts through the haze. He pulls me back while Knight and Sasha yank London away. We shake off their holds but stay separated, breathing hard. The rest of the team looks warily between us.
"Whatever the hell is going on with you two, work it out." Deck points sternly back and forth at us. "We can't have our star players at each other's throats. Got it?"
I nod curtly. Beside me, London grunts his assent, eyes still burning into mine.
"Alright boys, hit the showers!" Coach blows his whistle, signaling the end of practice. "Rest up for our game tomorrow night. I better see crisp passes and clean plays out there, not this uncoordinated street hockey shit."
As everyone files off the ice, I stay behind, needing to cool down after that volatile scrimmage with London. I lean against the boards, closing my eyes as my pulse gradually settles. But my mind's all over the place.
Everything feels off-kilter and I don't know how to right it again. I'm feeling all sorts of things right now and it's making me dizzy, but I'm kinda into it. I want to see where it goes. It terrifies me to think of upending my worldview and identity. Not to mention jeopardizing the team's shot at championships with all this drama between me and London.
One thing's clear—we're going to self-destruct if we keep avoiding this thing burning between us. As much as it rocks me to my core, I have to confront this magnetic pull I feel toward London now. I can't pretend that kiss meant nothing, no matter how much easier it would make my life.
A flicker of hope rises in my chest that maybe, just maybe, he's battling a similar inner turmoil. That some part of him wants to explore these terrifying, exhilarating feelings with me.
But if I'm going to do this—take a flying leap into the unknown with London Lancaster—I need to know I'm not in this free fall alone. That he's willing to confront the secrets we've barely begun to scratch the surface of together.
My hands clench with determination around my hockey stick. Enough tiptoeing around the white-hot attraction threatening to burn us both. It's time for a real talk with London, once and for all.
I just pray I'm not setting myself up for a bone-shattering crash and burn when I lay my cards on the table. But I don't know how much longer I can resist the gravitational force pulling me toward the blaze that is London Lancaster.
After the day we've had, the fallout is sure to be a category five storm. But if there's even a chance at something real between us, I have to try.
I smooth my expression into impassivity and head toward the locker room, nerves and anticipation dueling inside me for my confrontation with London tonight. One way or another, things are about to change between us. I just hope I'm not left broken in the end.
My stomach clenches at the thought of baring myself to him after a lifetime of caution and control. But some risks are worth taking. And my gut tells me London might just be the risk of a lifetime. With my heart in my throat, I walk into the unknown future waiting beyond the locker room doors.
11
LONDON
Game day.The anticipation buzzes through my veins, my blood already pumping fast despite the early hour. I can feel it in my bones—we're in for a battle tonight against Stormbridge.
Their reputation for ruthless, aggressive tactics precedes them. We'll need to be firing on all cylinders if we want to match their intensity and secure a win on our home ice.
Rolling out of bed, I start my pre-game ritual. Downing a protein shake, blasting my pump-up playlist, visualizing the fluid precision of my shots slicing top corner. The familiar pre-game nerves coil in my gut, but underneath simmers an edge of excitement. Time to throw down.
At morning skate, the mood in the locker room is focused. Deck reviews Stormbridge's key players as we suit up, face somber.
"Let's not underestimate these guys," he warns, tapping the roster sheet. "Especially Derek Thompson. Number eighteen. He's their leading enforcer this season."
Around me, brows furrow and mouths flatten into determined lines. We've all seen footage of Thompson's aggressive hits and dirty intimidation tactics. He's sent more than a few opponents off the ice on stretchers over his career. Tonight will be a battle royale.
Coach's pump up speech lights a fire under our asses as we hit the ice to loosen up. Passing drills sharpen our timing, legs pumping to wake up our muscles. I can tell Riot is already dialed in beside me, eyes icy, movements economical and precise. We make one hell of a forward line pairing when we're synced up. Tonight, we'll need to be a seamless unit.
As we run our final drills, the stadium starts to fill with students. The heavy beat of our goal song thunders through the speakers. Adrenaline spikes hot in my blood. Time to throw down.
