36. Xander

Xander

The cold sting of the ice arena greeted me as I stepped into the Eagles" training facility. It stood tall and firm, built from steel and glass. The sun bounced off its metal frame, giving it a glow that was hard to ignore. Its windows were like mirrors, capturing the surrounding scenery in their reflection.

Expectations pressed against my chest like a lead vest. New faces, unfamiliar voices, all swarmed around me in a flurry of introductions. The booming voice of Coach Phil sliced through the noise. He was an imposing figure, standing at six foot five with broad shoulders that held up a well-worn Eagles jacket. His face was weathered with experience, and a thick salt-and-pepper beard framed his mouth.

"Welcome back, Xander," Coach Phil said, his tone both authoritative and warm. "We"re glad to have you here. You already know how we operate, so let"s get you settled and ready to hit the ice."

Brandt Ward, our team captain, clapped me on the shoulder with a grin that was equal parts welcoming and challenging. "Hey man," he said, his voice resonant with camaraderie. "Great to have you back. Let"s pick up where we left off and light it up out there."

His words sparked a sense of pride in me, but it was quickly tempered by an undercurrent of pressure – this was it; time to prove myself.

But at least I wasn't the only rookie on the team. I breathed a sigh of relief when the day before, upon arriving at the temporary accommodation provided by the team, I found Kieran Tom standing in the doorway. Kieran and I had been teammates back in college and with the Giants, where our professional careers had started. A grin had stretched across Kieran's face, matching my own joy at the unexpected reunion.

"X-Man, it"s been too long," KT had said, pulling me into a hug. "I can"t believe we"re teammates again."

While we settled in, we'd reminisced about old games, and marveled at how far we'd come since our college days. Despite the whirlwind of emotions surrounding my transition to the NAPH, I was comforted having a familiar face by my side.

I mentally brought myself back to the present.

My first practice as a NAPH player.

And it was brutal.

Jake Madden, a defenseman, wasn"t making things easy for me. He moved with an aggressive grace on ice that seemed designed just to make my life difficult – body checks that rattled my bones and comments sharp enough to draw blood if they could.

"Better keep your head up, rookie," Jake sneered as he skated past after one particularly brutal check that had left me gasping for breath on the ice. "This isn't the minors."

He didn't give me this shit when I came for the 3-game stint months ago; it looked like it was a different puck game.

"I can handle it," I gritted out, picking myself up off the ice. The chill seeped through my gear, reminding me of the harsh reality of this new league.

The drills left me gasping for breath and struggling to keep up. I mishandled the puck and missed several passes, feeling the frustration building. Every mistake was a spotlight on my inadequacy, a glaring reminder that I was one of the new guys trying to fit into a well-oiled machine.

Coach Phil blew his whistle, calling for a brief pause in the practice. As the players skated over for a quick huddle, I noticed his eyes scanning the group before landing on me. "Xander, stay back for a minute after practice," he called out.

After the huddle, we resumed the intense practice. The team broke into smaller groups for various drills. My group focused on puck control and passing drills. I concentrated on tightening my stick handling, trying to weave through the cones with precision. My teammates moved the puck fluidly, their passes sharp and accurate. I fumbled a couple of passes, but forced myself to shake off the frustration and stay focused.

Next, we transitioned to a scrimmage. The pace was faster, the hits harder. I found myself matched up against Jake. He was relentless, but I dug in, determined to hold my ground. I managed to make a few good plays, intercepting a pass and setting up a teammate for a shot on goal.

The scrimmage continued with rapid back-and-forth play. My legs burned from the constant motion, and my breath came in ragged gasps. Despite the exhaustion, I could feel myself starting to sync with the rhythm of the team. I made fewer mistakes, and my confidence began to build.

Coach Phil blew the whistle again, signaling the end of practice. I skated off the ice, feeling both relieved and determined. The intensity of the practice had been a wake-up call, but I was ready to meet the challenge head-on.

As the rest of the team skated off the ice, Coach Phil motioned for me to come over. His expression was stern but not unkind.

"You've got potential," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "But potential alone won't cut it here. We need you to be sharp, precise, and consistent. Work on your execution."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I will, Coach. I won't let you down."

He clapped me on the shoulder, a sign of encouragement. "I believe you can. Just stay focused."

Dragging my weary body through the door of the apartment after practice, I was relieved to have it to myself. Kieran had mentioned a trip to the mall earlier, leaving me alone with the silence and my thoughts. It was an ideal time to call Ry.

Walking to my bedroom, my fingers tapped Ry's number on my phone. The rapid thump of my heart echoed in my ears as I waited for Ry"s face to pop up. When it did, a grin stretched across my mouth, involuntary and full of warmth.

Ry's eyes, lit up by the subtle glow of his own phone, met mine through the screen. A soft smile turned up the corners of his mouth – which had kissed me countless times. In the background, our bed was visible. Ungh. We'd made love on that bed more times than I could count. A surge of love and lust washed over me, coupled with an ache for his physical presence.

"Hey, Sunshine."

"Hi, Berry," I greeted him, leaning back against the couch cushions.

"Busy day?" His laughter filled my ears – a sound I"d come to adore. "I"m sure you killed it out there, as always."

"Thanks, but it wasn"t my best. Coach Phil had some words for me afterward."

A soft sigh escaped him as he adjusted his position on our bed. The sight stirred a familiar longing within me – how many nights had we spent whispering into each other"s skin? "You know he just wants you to be better, right?" Ry said after a moment.

I let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "Doesn't make it any easier."

"But you"ve got this." His voice was steady and sure – as if he"d never doubted me for even a second.

A warm rush bloomed in my chest at his words and I found myself smiling. "Thanks," I murmured into the quiet space between us. "Means everything coming from you."

Ry reached over to the bedside table and opened the top drawer. He held up a folded note to the camera.

Chuckling, I said, "You read it already?"

"Of course." He unfolded the note and read it aloud in his low drawl, "‘Ry, even though I"m not there, remember how much I believe in you. You"re stronger than you know.'" His eyes met mine through the screen. "Xander, you always know how to lift my spirits. I needed this today. Thank you."

"Your smile makes my day, Ry. I"ll send you more as long as they keep bringing that light to you."

Ry wanted a blow-by-blow on my day and then we drifted into conversation about his impending road trip with the Grizzlies.

"Feel like watching an episode of The King of Queens?" I asked.

Ry's brow arched teasingly on screen as he shot back, "What about watching me shower?"

Ungh. A sudden tightness coiled low in my gut. I shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the unexpected pressure building at the front of my jeans. Eyes glued to the screen, I watched as he sauntered into his bathroom, positioning his phone just right so that every inch of him was on display for me.

Ry's shirt hit the floor before he vanished momentarily from view. When he returned, it was under a steady stream of water that cascaded down from the showerhead.

Every movement was amplified through the screen – each droplet cascading down his chiseled body became an intimate secret shared between us. Watching him slide his hands along his slick, wet skin, shaking his ass provocatively for my benefit, sparked a heat within me.

It unfurled as I watched him lather up his hair, bubbles clinging to strands like dewdrops. I could almost smell the intoxicating citrus-mint scent of his shampoo that would linger long after he stepped out from under the water. His laughter rebounded off the bathroom walls when he caught me ogling him, and heat crept up my neck and spread across my cheeks.

Without taking my eyes off Ry"s mesmerizing performance, I reached into my sweats and freed myself. The sight of him moving so sensually in the shower had me hard as rock. As I watched him gyrate seductively under the water, I began to pump myself slowly, feeling the pre-cum leak from the slit of my dick.

"Like what you see?" Ry"s voice rang out sultrily.

"Hell yeah," I grunted back at him through gritted teeth, pumping myself harder now. "Wish it was my hands on you instead."

With that, he spun around to face the tile wall, bent over, and spread his ass cheeks for me.

Goddamn.

I craved… no… I hungered to touch this man. To taste him. To bury myself inside him. To lose all sense of self in every inch of his body right there and then.

But since physical contact with Ry wasn"t possible, watching him perform these tantalizing moves for me was the next best thing. His every gesture, his every word, his every glance – they were all directed at me. And as I watched him on that screen, matching my strokes to the rhythm of his movements, I felt like the most fortunate man alive.

Who needs TV shows when you have this? This unscripted reality show starring Ry – raw and undeniably enticing – was far more captivating than any sitcom rerun could ever hope to be.