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“Switch!” Coach bellows, and the first line comes off the ice while the second line rushes out.
I have one bite left and surprise Paul by shoving it into his mouth. His teeth graze my fingers, and my dick stirs. He lifts an eyebrow at me as he chews and swallows the salty-sweet treat but doesn’t say anything.
“Nuts are good for you. Protein.” With a big smile, I turn back to watch the game. It takes every bit of my self-control to not look at the bench on the other side of the ice. To not track the movement of the man who haunted me like a nightmare for years.
We’re finally called to the ice, and I race for the puck in our attack zone, Johnson and Albrooke right behind me. I get the puck and fling it to Johnson, only to be slammed into the boards. Hard. I swear I felt a rib pop, but I don’t let the pain stop me.
Swinging my gaze to the guy who hit me, I see Fenwick’s smiling face behind some guy I don’t know.
“Nice to meet you, birdy,” the player who slammed me says before taking off.
What the actual fuck?
Does their entire team know?
Shoving off the wall, I find the puck and speed toward it, but I’m once again hit, this time shoulder chucked by some big D man.
Fuck these guys.
“Oiler!” Carmichael yells at me as I pass him in the stands.
“Shut the fuck up!” I snap back at him but keep moving down the bench. I’m not in the mood for his shit.
“Is it just me or are they going after you more than normal?” Albrooke leans over and asks me.
“Kinda seems that way.” I shrug him off.
For the rest of the game, every chance they get, I’m slammed, tripped, and shoved. My ribs fucking ache, and every breath comes with a shot of electricity straight through me, but I don’t let it stop me. I won’t let them see me break.
12
Paul
What the fuck is going on with Brendon?
He’s acting weird, jerking away from touch, and got drunk the night before a game. I check the dining hall after the game but don’t see him. Running into Jeremy leaving the rink, we walk together.
“What was that with Brendon?” he asks me.
“I have no fucking idea.” And that makes me nervous.
Over the years, I’ve been able to piece together that some kind of trauma happened, but I don’t know what it was or when it happened. Did something trigger a memory?
“I haven’t seen you guys in a while. Movie marathon tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I hear myself say the word, but I’m not really paying attention to what he said. I’m too worried about Brendon and at this point, I’m not sure how Jeremy and Brendon’s relationship is, so I don’t want to say anything.
“I’m going to crash. Later.” I open my dorm and find Brendon getting dressed to go out.
“Hey, where you going?” I try to sound casual, but I’m kind of hurt he didn’t ask if I wanted to hang out or join him. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t.
“Frat party,” he says, and I turn around to look at him.
“Since when do you go to frat parties?” I unbutton my shirt while I watch him pull a clean T-shirt over his head. He’s got a massive bruise forming on his side that looks bad. “Holy shit, did you have that looked at?” I grab his shirt and lift it to see the mark. I trail my fingers over the darkening flesh carefully, following the edges over his ribs and around to his back. “You could have a cracked rib.”
“I’m fine.” He pulls the shirt from my hand and steps around me, careful not to touch me.
“What the hell is going on with you?” I demand. Since when does he not want to touch me? Did I do something? Is this his way to say he doesn’t want to mess around anymore?
