Puckless (Hockey Heroes Book 1), page 10
“No, you’re good. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday. I had a great time, and I missed you. Skating with you was—incredible—that’s the word.”
“I feel the same. I missed you, too, and I can’t wait for our next adventure together.”
As we ended the call and I prepared for the day ahead, I knew that the story of Ryan and Ethan was still just beginning. We were two parts of a freshly minted whole, and I couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store for us.
FIFTEEN
ETHAN
Ice splintered beneath the blades of my skates as I approached Nate, our team’s defensive mastermind. The puck seemed to have developed a mind of its own, magnetically attracted to the edge of my stick, restless and ready to take flight. Through the frosty atmosphere, I saw Nate’s deep brown eyes focused on me. Somehow, an unfamiliar shadow lurked in them.
“Are you ready for the third battle?” I called out during our practice scrimmage to incite his signature competitive spark.
The typical self-assured smirk, the one that was Nate’s trademark, was conspicuously absent. Instead, his shoulders were rigid, and his nod was more mechanical than enthusiastic.
“Bring it on, Captain,” he finally muttered.
Following his suggestion, I launched myself toward him like a missile. With a quick fake to the left and then a flick to the right, I slipped past Nate’s guard with an ease that shocked me. The puck found its home at the back of the net with a satisfying metallic rattle. I didn’t know whether to rejoice in a third consecutive victory or worry that something awful was amiss.
“Three consecutive goals, I said, my tone deliberately light, hoping the playful jab would bring back the Nate I knew so well. “They’ll soon be rechristening you the human turnstile.”
“Very original,” Nate growled. His tone was flat, and the usual underlying warmth was missing.
“Seriously, man, what’s going on?” I pressed. “You’re not your usual bulldog self out there.”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” Nate shrugged, evading eye contact. “Just an off day, that’s all.”
“An off day? You?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re one of the league’s finest defensemen. This isn’t like you.”
“Drop it, Ethan,” Nate growled, his jaw clenching as his gaze narrowed, brimming with a flicker of defensiveness. “I said I’m fine.”
The air hung heavy with unresolved tension even after practice ended. As the other players filed out of the locker room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I bided my time and waited until everyone else vanished. When I approached him, Nate was left alone, sitting on a bench, head in his hands.
“Look, I’m not trying to be a nuisance,” I began, “but I can sense something is gnawing at you. I want to lend a hand as your friend, not just a teammate.”
Nate sighed, fatigue etched on his face as he rubbed the nape of his neck. “Not here,” he muttered, “not now.”
“Fine,” I relented, “but we’re going to address this. You don’t have to face whatever it is alone. I won’t let that happen.”
“Meet me at my car,” he whispered.
The streetlights bathed the parking lot in an eerie, orange glow as I settled into the worn leather seat of Nate’s car. I listened to the hum of the heater kicking in. Nate’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the steering wheel. Silence lingered between us, thick and laden with anticipation.
“Alright,” I exhaled deeply, my breath forming a foggy cloud in the still chilly air. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ve been receiving messages—threats.”
“From fans of rival teams?” I asked as my mind recalled memories of crude drawings and profanity-laced insults I’d received myself.
“Far worse. This isn’t the usual.” Nate shook his head, and he stared straight ahead at the dashboard. “They know things about me, personal things. It’s as if they’re watching me, scrutinizing my every move.”
“Jesus, Nate,” my stomach churned with a volatile mixture of anger and concern while thoughts of someone targeting my friend like a predator fixated on its prey rattled in my head. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.” He looked at me with weary eyes. “Or anyone else on the team.”
“Give me details. What do the messages say?”
“I can’t,” he replied, shaking his head with a somber determination. “They’re too vile. I don’t want to repeat that filth.”
“Fine,” I conceded, frustration bubbling beneath the surface of my words. “But you can’t ignore this. We need to unravel the truth and expose the person or people responsible for this.”
“I’ll handle it, Ethan,” Nate insisted, leaning back in his seat, his voice full of pride. “It’s my burden, not yours.”
“Like hell, it’s not mine,” I shot back. “You’re my best friend. If something were to happen—” I started to choke up.
“Nothing will happen,” he interjected, and a humorless laugh erupted from somewhere deep inside. “In the worst-case scenario, I’ll pack up and fly down to Puerto Rico. I’ll join my abuela and the rest of the family. I can stop blowing all my money on hockey and find a real job where I can help them get over the hurricane damage.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” I asked, my heart sinking at the thought of losing him, of a team without our best defenseman, of a vacant space in the locker room where I depended on his cheerful laughs. I couldn’t think about a future like that.
“Perhaps a little bit funny,” Nate said. He rubbed his eyes. “In all seriousness, Ethan, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s too late, man.” Visions of saying goodbye to Nate and dealing with an empty spot on the ice where the bulldog should be already plagued my thoughts. He would leave an empty void. It was a future I couldn’t think about.
“You’re not alone in this,” I said. “Whether you like it or not, I stand beside you. Together, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you.” I could hear the gratitude and emotion in his voice. “I just—I don’t want this to spiral out of control, you know?”
“Trust me,” I replied, reaching out to grip his shoulder. “We won’t let it happen.”
Nate sighed heavily. “Just let me handle it for now.”
“Alright, I’ll respect your wishes for now, but remember, I’m always here for you. No matter what.”
“Thanks, man,” Nate replied, and I watched a weary smile appear on his face. “Everything will be fine. Trust me. It’ll blow over soon.”
“I hope you’re right.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I opened the car door and stepped out into the night. It was another cold one, and my breath blew little puffs of white steam into the darkness. “See you tomorrow at practice.”
“See you then,” Nate responded softly as I closed the door behind me.
While I drove home, the images of the threatening messages consumed my thoughts. What could they possibly contain that was so bad that he couldn’t tell me? I’d faced hostile fans before, hurling insults and threats. They’d even thrown drinks at me outside the locker room, but Nate’s situation seemed to transcend the typical rivalry nonsense. It had sinister intent—something about a more profound and personal vendetta.
Visions of his family, their faces marked with ominous crosses, accompanied by chilling text promising unspeakable harm if he didn’t abandon the game he loved, flickered through my mind. Or maybe it was gruesome photographs of mutilated bodies—grotesque displays meant to instill fear and invoke the specter of mortality. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, and my knuckles blanched white under the strain.
Finally arriving at my house, I sat in the stillness, taking slow, deliberate breaths to calm my racing mind. I couldn’t allow the thoughts about what might be in the threatening messages to consume me—not when Nate needed my unwavering support and clear-headed thinking.
“Whatever it takes,” I whispered to myself. “I’ll help Nate unravel this mystery, even if he protests.”
SIXTEEN
RYAN
I watched as Ethan stood gazing in awe at my collection. He scanned my impressive set of over twenty air plants lining floor-to-ceiling shelves near the living room window. The sheer magnitude of my display dwarfed his muscular frame. I arranged them deliberately to emphasize the delicate beauty of each individual plant.
His blue eyes widened, brimming with genuine admiration, as he took in the intricate details of my tiny green wonders. It was a sight that filled me with pride, knowing that I had cultivated such an impressive assortment over the years.
“They’re incredible,” Ethan marveled.
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I replied, “Thanks. I’ve been collecting them for more than five years.”
The scent of savory Chinese food filled the air as Ethan turned and held up two white takeout bags. “Kung Pao chicken and beef with broccoli. Does that work for you?”
“Perfect,” I responded, grinning as I accepted the food from him. Placing the bags on the coffee table, I relished the delightful aroma surrounding me.
Before I could utter another word, Ethan wrapped me in his strong arms, drawing me closer. Our lips collided in a passionate kiss, igniting a torrent of electric sensations that shot through my body—at that moment, time seemed to stand still.
Reluctantly, I ended the kiss as I whispered, “Food’s getting cold.”
Ethan nodded, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of desire and the hint of a playful smile. Settling onto the couch, we unpacked the cartons of food. I had placed plates and forks on the coffee table if needed.
Ethan didn’t bother with either before he dug in. Cradling the box of Kung Pao chicken in his left hand, he dug in with chopsticks with his right. He pushed a piece of savory chicken toward my lips. “Here, try this.”
Leaning forward, I allowed him to feed me the morsel and savored the explosion of flavors. The spiciness excited my taste buds, complemented by the nutty crunch of peanuts and the tender juiciness of the chicken.
“Delicious,” I said. In response, I picked up a piece of beef from the beef and broccoli box with my chopsticks. When I offered it to Ethan, his tongue darted out to sweep the bite into his mouth. His lips lightly brushed my fingertips and intensified the longing deep inside me.
We continued to share our meal, engaging in an effortless conversation about Chinese food with every bite. We never did use the plates, and we certainly didn’t need something as pedestrian as a fork.
We punctuated the shared bites with laughter and the occasional stolen kiss. It was the best meal I’d enjoyed in a long time.
Once we sated our hunger for food, an entirely different one took over. We couldn’t resist any longer—our hands found each other, pulling us together into a feverish embrace. Our mouths met, hungry and insistent, as Ethan tumbled backward, and I fell on top of him.
“Ryan,” Ethan murmured against my lips, his voice a mixture of desire and vulnerability. My heart swelled at the sound of my name in his voice’s deep, rugged tones. I quickly grew hard in anticipation of what might come next.
Abruptly, he pulled away, a sense of urgency glimmering in his eyes. “Wait,” he said. I sensed concern in his voice. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
My breath caught in my throat. I wiggled and shifted on the couch while a wave of concern flooded over me. Was it something going wrong between us? I wondered what could be so pressing that Ethan would interrupt a moment of intimacy.
“I’m really, really sorry to put a damper on the mood. I wouldn’t do this if I weren’t genuinely worried. And—before you go there—it’s not about us. We’re good,” Ethan said. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair as he took a long, deep breath.
“What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”
“It’s about Nate. He told me he’s been receiving threats lately, and I don’t know what to do.”
Unfortunately, threats were nothing new in the world of sports. I knew that both Ethan and Nate were prominent enough that they had to have fielded them in the past. This had to be something different. My heart clenched at the idea that anyone would target a player as affable as Nate.
“Threats?” I turned the one word into a question asking Ethan to explain further.
Ethan reached out to grip my thigh. The words tumbled out, laden with worry. “Yeah, they’re—pretty nasty. I was worried about him, and I couldn’t keep it inside. He doesn’t want anyone else to know, so I knew that you could keep it between you and me—for now.”
I covered his hand with mine to offer reassurance. “You did the right thing. You shouldn’t have to bear this alone either.” Internally, I smiled slightly to know that Ethan trusted me enough to open up about it.
“Could you maybe—look into it? Investigate? Do whatever it is you do to find things out when you report on something?” Ethan’s gaze was intense. I knew he would find it difficult to accept anything but “yes” as an answer.
Without hesitation, I nodded. My initial shock mingled with fierce determination as I responded to the request. Depending on the actual content of the threats, it could be a matter for law enforcement soon.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll do everything I can to find out more—for Nate, you, and the team.”
I could see the gratitude in Ethan’s eyes as my words sunk in. He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss against my forehead.
As we sat on the couch comforting each other, I recognized what our responses meant for our relationship. We were a team already, the two of us—ready to take on any problem that might come our way. We were both willing to be vulnerable with each other and trusted that we could speak openly about what might frighten or worry us.
“Together,” I said as I squeezed Ethan’s hand. “We’re going to figure this out together, and we’ll end these threats and make sure Nate is safe.”
“Thank you,” Ethan whispered. “I know we can do it.”
“Trust’s a slippery little devil, isn’t it?” I asked. “I thought about bringing that up because it’s clear that Nate has a lot of trust in you. Do you know when he might decide to be more open about it and speak with authorities? Your coach? Law enforcement?” My words hung in the air as I held Ethan’s gaze, seeking the subtle body language that might reveal his inner thoughts.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know the specifics of the threats, but he said they were very personal—like somebody knows him well. We always deal with threats from misguided fans, so this has to be something different.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Yes, I understand. It will happen in time. Meanwhile, we’ll do our best to figure it out, and I know Nate can trust us to handle the information we find in the best way.”
“Absolutely,” he acknowledged, reclining against the cushions of my well-worn couch. “In our world—the sports one—trust is the backbone of relationships. It’s a double-edged sword.”
I reached back into my memories to offer an illustration to show that I understood. “In the early days of my journalism career, I got conned by a source who promised inside scoops on a renowned athlete. The information was as juicy as forbidden fruit but turned out to be poison. He used me as a willing, naive puppet who would spread counterfeit stories to swing public sentiment. When the truth came out, I felt like the world’s biggest chump.”
Ethan nodded, empathy softening his rugged features. “That must have been like a punch to the gut. You place your faith in someone, and then they throw it back in your face.”
“It’s still probably the lowest point in my career,” I conceded. For a moment, I couldn’t look directly at Ethan. Instead, I stared at the intricate patterns woven into a rug that poked out from under the couch. “But it did teach me one thing that will be useful in this case. I had to verify everything before I released it into the world.”
“Trust has been my Achilles heel sometimes, too,” Ethan confessed. “Growing up, I was too willing to trust, and it backslapped me in the face so many times that I finally had very few people left that I could believe. Mom did her best to help out, but she was often exhausted from work.”
“That does sound rough. What about hockey and your coaches? Did that help?”
“Yeah, high school was a little better,” Ethan said. “Then, when I found out the Mitts signed me—let’s see—2 1/2 seasons ago. They grabbed me in the expansion draft.”
“Yes, this is the third season for the Mitts.”
“Yeah, so back then, Nate was still playing offense. He was a forward like me. Actually, he was considered our star player. I was still fumbling around a bit to find my groove.”
I squeezed his hand again. “Wow, the two of you would be a fearsome entity to face.”
“He’s even better on defense,” Ethan said in admiration. “I’m glad I only have to face him in practice. Anyway, during the fourth game of that first season, the coach had given Nate instructions to take the puck to the goal himself every time he had it in the attacking zone. He mostly did that, but then Nate saw something in me. He entrusted me with the puck and passed it my way.”
I found myself engrossed in the story. “Did you manage to score?”
A gleam of pride flashed in Ethan’s eyes. “I did. You might say that goal was the cornerstone of my friendship with Nate. We’ve been solid rocks for each other ever since. Anytime somebody questions what I do, he has my back.”
“And you have his as you do right now. Your friendship sounds unshakeable.”
Ethan snuffled back a few tears. “It is, and that’s why I can’t stop thinking about these threats. If they don’t stop, Nate might return to Puerto Rico and leave us without our best defensive player and me without my best friend.” As the words tumbled out, he gasped for breath.
“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. I promise you,” I said as I held his hand tight. “We’ll figure this out and put an end to the threats. Nate won’t go anywhere. The two of you can weather any storm.”
