Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

LO

My skate slips and I slam into the ice. My momentum keeps me sliding straight into the net, hard into Horny's legs and causing him to fall on me. He's laughing as we try to untangle, made all the more difficult because of the pads.

"If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask," Horny teases. "I'm down for bro hugs."

I snort. "Get off me, you big log."

"I do have a big log. Thanks for noticing through my cup." He gives a nudge with his hips, which is in the middle of my back as he tries to crawl over and off me.

Laughing, I shove at him. Lund Hornbrook, whom we call Horny, is a massive goalie. He and Felton Badcock are currently the biggest in the league. He's massive. Exceptionally built to be a goaltender.

I always wonder if these big guys built for goalies chose their position and somehow grew into it. Like, was there a premonition as a kid that he's going to grow into a polar bear and is built for the crease? Maybe the hockey gods saw he would basically take up the entire net and gifted him mass, making him the chosen one in hockey. It's always baffled me.

Eventually we get back to our feet.

"I'm not sure that's how the competition goes," Etna comments as he glides to a stop at my side.

"Speed and accuracy," I say, straightening myself out again. "But like, I've been trying to find a way to get the goalies involved."

It occurred to me on my way home that a lot of the events of the skills competition can be used for skills training. Sprints with speed. The little disks to help with puck handling. Those stupid tiny nets on the other side of a two-inch divide to home in on some shot skills. Then there's the passing challenge with the blocks.

All of these are definitely to improve accuracy, stick handling, and puck control. There are several that tie in agility too. But there wasn't much for the goalies to take part in, which bothered me. Yes, they're meant to be brick walls, but there are plenty of things they could compete in.

The obvious is stopping a puck. But their reflexes too. More than anything, the goalies have to adapt to each play, each new team. They can't just one and done their skills.

Hilt and Keno bring over a handful of bottled waters and we sink to the ice in a little four-person circle, the ends of our skates touching. While we drink, we pass the puck between us with bare hands.

The first thing I did when I got home was drop a message into our group chat, telling them that the first chance we got some down time on the ice, I wanted to duplicate some of these events for fun, but also to see if the exercises can help us.

I'm not surprised that all four agreed. Keno Edgewood is one of our newest defensemen, pulled up from Arizona's farm team. He's always eager to improve and prove himself.

Hilt Callahan is our veteran defenseman. He's been playing professionally for eighteen years.

Etna Yreka was drafted the same year I was, though he bounced between the AHL and NHL for three seasons with Seattle before Arizona traded for him. Best decision in Etna's career. He's blossomed since coming to Arizona.

"You haven't told us about the games," Hilt says.

"You've been to plenty." The puck passes between us rapidly. Even now, we're working on reflexes as we slide the puck away to a random person as soon as it touches our hands. "You tell me."

Hilt snorts. "They change every year. Yes, we watched you and you kicked some ass, but how was it being there?"

I shrug. "It was pretty awesome," I admit, grinning. "Such a humbling experience to be with guys who are the best of the best."

"You're one of them," Keno says, flashing me a toothy smile. "Best of the best."

I shrug. Honestly, I'm not sure that's true. Each team selects one player to go to the All-Star Games. Then the fans vote on twelve players. None of the spots are truly based on stats of who the top forty-four players in the league are. Maybe I'm one of the best on my team, but I don't know that it puts me in the top of the league.

"It was great," I reiterate. "I had a lot of fun, talked to a lot of amazing players, and played hard." I shrug.

"We saw Latham's interview and then you following," Etna says. "The arrogant audacity of some people to think they can say whatever they want as long as they're smiling and speaking with a friendly tone." He shakes his head.

"Yep," I agree. We haven't seen any backlash on Max yet, and I really hope there isn't any. There are social media circuses, because obviously. But not even the Florida governor's office has made a statement. What could they say? As fucked as America is, there is still freedom of speech for good or bad. Besides, what he said is tame compared to what the politicians say about and to each other during election cycles.

"It gets played over and over," Etna says. "I'm totally here for it. Some of the edits that people are posting with it are… emotional."

I hum in acknowledgement. I don't spend a lot of time online, so I haven't seen a lot, but I've heard.

"You survived the Great Bed Fuckery of 2022," Horny says, grinning. "Or did you somehow get out of that?"

I snort. "No, I didn't. Yes, I survived."

More than survived. I got the man of my dreams out of it. It's a challenge to keep the smile from my lips. Because I can feel myself struggling, I hide my mouth with another sip of water.

"Who'd you end up sharing with?" Keno asks.

Fuck. Talking about Caulder at all is rough because I can't keep the stupid grin off my face whenever I think about him.

Taking a steadying breath, I answer, "Caulder Haines. Buffalo."

"Oh, damn," Etna says. "That boy is fucking amazing. I was so sure he was going to win the skill sets."

"He placed second at the end of the first six," I say. "I'm glad Max won because I think he totally deserved it, but Caulder was just as good."

"So was Noah. That man is a beast in a tiny body," Horny adds. "Super quick and he scored a hat trick."

"Yeah, no shit!" Hilt shakes his head. "That's hard to do in a full-length game, never mind one only a third as long."

"He's a cool guy," I say. "I hung out with him a few times. Good kid."

"I think he's older than you, man," Keno retorts.

"Not by much and that's not really how I meant kid, kid."

Keno laughs. He's our baby on the team at twenty. Not even old enough to drink.

"Caulder was cool, though?" Hilt asks. "He's so quiet, I barely see him when we play them."

There's that bubbling smile again. Once again, I take a sip, nodding at his question. When I've swallowed, I add, "He's a nice guy. Great to hang out with, which is fortunate since we were forced to share a room."

"That's really shitty," Etna says. "I'm not sure I'd be comfortable sharing a bed with a stranger. I feel like that's a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"I'm sure it is," I agree. "It worked out well enough for those I've spoken to. Fortunately, we're used to sharing space that could otherwise be a little awkward. But there were teenage girls there—a whole lot—for some high school competition. I can only imagine how that went down for them."

"Big lawsuit," Horny says.

"We talked about it a few times. I can't even fathom how they managed to fuck up so thoroughly," I comment. "Like, how does that happen?"

"I don't know. I think it happens more often than people talk about," Keno says. "Remember the headlines just last month? Winnipeg's new owner went away for the holiday and came back married to a dude. All because of a booking issue where they ended up in the same cabin in a snowstorm."

"You could have come back married to a dude," Horny teases, grinning.

I roll my eyes, but there are butterflies dancing in my stomach. "There are worse things," I muse.

"Yeah, like knocking someone up and then you're stuck with them and your accident for the rest of your life," Etna says.

We all pause and look at him.

"What? It's a legitimate fear."

I snort, shaking my head.

We play around for a while longer until we decide to call it quits for the day. I don't shower, preferring my own, so I grab my bag and head for my car. As soon as I'm on the road, I dial Caulder. It's later enough in the day that I'm sure he's not doing hockey shit.

"Hey," he greets and my heart stutters at his voice. I love his voice. I dream about his voice.

"Hey," I answer. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Cleaning up flower petals."

I snort. He sent me a picture of the bouquet and… yeah, that was a lot bigger than I imagined it would be. To be fair, I bought it based on aesthetics. It just looked like something Caulder would like, and it was expensive so I assumed it was big.

Just how big hadn't crossed my mind. However, it definitely illustrated my point. Thoughts of him take up my entire day. All the brain waves. Including those concerning hockey.

"I'd say sorry, but I'm not sorry at all. You deserve pretty flowers."

Caulder laughs. It's quiet and shy and I love the sound of it.

"I'm not sorry either," he admits, voice low. "I love them. I wish I could make them stop dying and spreading their carcasses all over my house."

I laugh.

"What're you doing? Finished practice?"

"Yeah," I answer. "We were just messing around, really. I'm trying to find a way to turn the skill competitions into an exercise where Horny can do more than watch."

"Horny," he mutters, chuckling.

"I think that's better than Cock Sucker," I say, referring to Felton. I hear guys call him that often enough I'm confident it's a nickname loosely tied into his last name.

"I'd agree, but I don't think he cares. I've heard him say that he's damn good at it and isn't ashamed by the honorific of that title."

I laugh. "Oh, god. You know what, Horny would say the same. He fell on me today and shoved his pelvis at me. Maybe it's a goalie thing."

"They're weird," Caulder agrees.

"They should be paid more. I was hit with a puck today and fuck, that hurts. I hope they get hazard pay."

He chuckles. "I agree. Asael says he barely feels it anymore. He's used to being one big bruise."

I pull into my driveway and park the car. No doubt Caulder hears all the telltale sounds of me letting myself into my house.

"Just getting home?" he asks.

"Yep. Heading to the shower."

"Want to call me back?"

I almost say yes but instead… "Or… want to join me?"

I can hear his smile. "More than I can express. But I'm not sure how that's going to work."

"Just stay on the phone with me. I'll bring in the stand I have when I'm feeling lazy so we can talk while I touch myself."

Caulder snorts.

"You can get in the shower too. It'll be like we're together."

"I'm not sure that's how it works, Lo."

"Humor me, babe."

He sighs. "Fine."

We're quiet as we each get ready. I hear his shower turn on a second before I turn mine on. I bought this contraption years ago where I can attach a bendy thing to my bedframe and angle my phone screen at my face no matter what position I'm in. I use this and attach it to the top of my shower, angling my phone screen at me.

Not that I see him. It's not a video.

"I'm in the shower," Caulder announces, amused. "Would you like a play by play of me washing?"

I grin. "Absolutely. Tell me where you're touching yourself."

He huffs, but he does.

"Okay…" Silence. "I'm trying to think about how I normally wash. I've never paid attention to what order I wash myself in."

"Close your eyes and just wash," I suggest. "Don't think about it. Just give me a narrative as you go."

Caulder takes a breath. "Hands are soapy," he says, voice low. I move a little closer to my phone so I can hear his voice clearly. "My chest. Then my ribs. Both hands. Down to my stomach and around my waist, reaching as much of my back as I can." Pause. "Back up to my shoulders and my neck. My face. Just got soap in my eye."

I snort and I hear the spray of water change.

"Through my hair. No, I don't use body wash on my hair but I usually get the first layer of hockey sweat out with body wash. Down my body to my legs. More soap. Sudsy. My hands are so slick."

Absently, my hand wraps around my cock as I imagine Caulder in front of me. Washing himself. He's always beautiful. But he's an erotic dream wet and covered in suds.

"Back up and around my dick. Make sure to wash my cock and balls thoroughly."

"Don't forget under your balls. Gets sweaty there," I say, helpfully.

He laughs quietly. "I never forget under the balls."

He's quiet for a minute.

"You hard, Caulder?" I ask.

"So fucking hard," he mutters.

"Touch yourself for me. Rub your dick."

"I am," he says. "Are you touching yours?"

"I have been since you started washing yourself. The image is just… hot."

He grunts.

"Touch your ass," I order. "It's really important to clean your ass."

Caulder snorts. A beat of silence. "It's weird touching my own ass."

"Then you're not horny enough, babe."

"Oh, I'm plenty horny, Lo. I'd love to see you right here on your knees in front of me."

"Mmm," I hum, squeezing the base of my dick. "You like that vision?"

"I like that memory," he corrects.

"I can't decide if I like you being the aggressor or the pillow princess more. Both are fucking glorious."

Caulder laughs quietly. "I'm not even sure which I like more," he admits.

"That's okay. You don't need to have a strict role, Caulder. I love that you switch out with me."

He sighs. "I miss you." His voice is quiet. Sad.

I close my eyes. "Me too. The distance isn't forever. Promise."

"I know. I'm not sure if I'm more terrified of seeing you again, or that the distance is going to get to be too much."

"We'll figure it out. I promise."

"You make a lot of promises," he says barely above a whisper.

"You're worth every promise. I won't stop working to keep them."

Caulder sighs. "Get me off, Lo."

"Gladly. Do exactly as I say."

His orgasm is sweet, even over the phone, several hundred miles away. I can almost taste him on my tongue. Fuck. I need to see him again.