31. Tyler

We stood in our suits outside Merrimack's ice rink, a light snow falling around us. It was the last away game before Christmas break, and five days since I'd proven to Coach that I could do this. It was a close-to-home game, so there was no hotel room to share with Hunter. He'd returned to being nothing but my teammate after our encounter in the showers.

It was fine, totally fine. Standard practice these days, it seemed. Hunter had managed to hide his bruises—mostly. I could only hope that he would eventually tell me what happened.

Kinsley called me a few days before the game, asking if I had much contact with Hunter. She didn't say anything other than he seemed to be avoiding her. All I could say was, "Same."

I even went to Jarman, who'd known Hunter since high school. He confirmed that Hunter was always one to keep to himself—loyal on the ice, always down for a good party, but insanely private. Even at parties, he seemed to only be there to hook up. He never stayed around to chat with the team. Armed with that knowledge, I told myself not to worry. It was a blatant lie, of course. I already missed the attention.

Hunter nudged my arm but didn't look me in the eye. "How are you liking the snow?"

I scoffed. "P-pretty," I forced out, not wanting to seem like a wimp, but my traitorous body made me a liar. My limbs shook and my teeth chattered.

Hunter laughed, wrapping his arm around me and giving me a squeeze. "Too bad this isn't a hotel stay; I'd be able to keep you warm, Aussie."

I felt my body react, and I nudged him off me. He winced, but my expression was enough to make him back off, as if he could sense the beast lying within that fought to be released.

He thumbed over his shoulder, "I'll see you in there, Aus. Better hurry, or your teeth may fall out with all that chattering." He turned and walked off so fast I would've had to jog to catch up.

Jarman appeared beside me, laughing. "Not this cold in Aus, huh?"

I snorted. "Not in Perth, no. Coldest day on average was about fourteen—and that's Celsius, not Fahrenheit."

Mouse sidled up to my other side, looking overly puzzled. "So, what's that in normal numbers?"

"You guys do realize you're the only country in the world who don't use Celsius, right? It's about fifty."

Mouse's eyes widened. "That's the coldest? That's a breezy summer night here."

I nodded., "I quickly learned Perth hoodies wouldn't cut it."

They laughed and Jarman jostled my shoulder, "Some hockey player you are, scared of the cold."

I frowned, "I'm not scared! Even on the ice it's hard to stay cold. I'm just not used to it." I nearly sighed with relief when the central heat washed over my face as we entered the rink and headed to the locker rooms. This was game one of two—we'd face off against them again at home before breaking for the holidays.

"Let's hope bad blood doesn't get Hunter into trouble," Mouse muttered across to Jarman, who only grunted in response as his face twisted up.

"Uhm… what's that supposed to mean?" I question.

Jarman stayed quiet while Mouse was happy to fill me in on the gossip. "Well, their star defenseman, Zane Matthews, used to play on our team. The two were inseparable. Then we were in the locker room before the grand finals—looked like they were having a pretty heated talk. Next thing we knew, Hunter broke the guy's nose and made him miss the game. Matthews had an agent and a scout there; he was hoping to go the AHL route. Colton and Matthews cornered Hunter after the game and lost their shit. Hunter was benched and Matthews was scratched—we lost that game."

I cringed, a part of me trying to match the guy they were describing to the one who monopolized so much of my mind.

"It was way out of character for Hunter," Jarman added, seeming to know where my mind went. "I think it may have had something to do with Kinsley." Then without another word, he squeezed my shoulder and went to his designated stall.

Colton commanded everyone's attention, and the team gathered around to listen. "All right, boys! We need to go out there strong, make them scared for the game tomorrow. But also, keep it clean; we need you all in top shape for our home-ground game."

A cacophony of noises broke out around the room before we headed toward the ice. I followed close behind Hunt, noting the way he carried himself differently, minding the injuries to his ribs and shoulder. I gritted my teeth tighter.

"Riley!" The sudden sound made me flinch. I spun to see Coach calling me. He stood beside a man in a suit with a blinding smile.

"Yes, Coach?"

Coach angled himself to face both of us. "Tyler Riley, this is Connor Bellamy."

My eyes went wide as it dawned on me who I was meeting. "Holy fucking shit" I blurted, smacking a gloved hand over my mouth as soon as I realized what I'd said.

The man only laughed, but I was spiraling. Connor Bellamy, the former star defenseman from Boston, was standing right in front of me. He had two Stanley cups under his belt and there he was, standing right in front of me—and smiling. Connor Bellamy was smiling at me. "I am so sorry, I am working on the language…"

Connor waved me off. "It's all good. You've made quite an impression this season. And since you know my name, you clearly know your hockey." His hand came out, and I fumbled with my glove to shake it.

"I promise I'm not usually a fumbling idiot. This is just… you're the first NHL star I've met and..." I stopped when I realized I was still holding his hand.

Coach cringed out of the corner of my eye. I was totally messing this up.

"Trust me, I've been where you are: looking my idols in the eye and making a fool of myself. I like you, kid. And your coach has spoken very highly of you. I'm here for a couple of reasons. I do represent young hockey players trying to get into the league, but only ones I think can make the cut. You're showing great potential, so I wanted to introduce myself. If you keep it up, you may be hearing from me."

I felt like I was shaking. Wait… I was. I nodded more than was necessary before I saw Coach's eyes widen—a silent warning to say something. "Crap sorry, I'm in shock here. Yes, I'll keep it up. Actually, I'll do better. I really want a chance to prove myself. The NHL is my dream."

Connor laughed and Coach scrubbed a hand over his face. "Awesome to hear, kid. Now get out there and show me what you got."

I bounced on my skates, saying a round of thank-you‘s, and Coach mimed for me to go away because I was making a bloody fool of myself. I skated onto the ice with new energy, the smile on my face big enough to attract a few questions from teammates. But I shook them off—I didn't want to jinx anything.

As we got into position, Hunter slid by me. "Told you the NHL will be calling at your door! Bellamy is one of the biggest agents in the league now. You got this, baby. Your mom's going to see you go pro in no time."

Before I could say anything, Hunter was gone. The puck hit the ice and Colton fumbled against their centre who shot the puck to the blue line. Sixty seconds was a long time in the hockey world, and that first minute revealed that this game was going to get messy.

Mouse had already been put into the penalty box for slashing. Jarman, our biggest player, took a nasty hit from a defenseman that had less business on the ice and more being at the top of a beanstalk. The dude missed his calling as a goalie or a grid-iron fullback or something. Jarman was getting checked out by the team doctors, and I was starting to get a bee under my bonnet.

That first period felt like the longest of my life. I hadn't even thought about the agent until I was heading to the locker room. I didn't get a chance on goal; their defense was tight, and our boys were getting penalty calls so often, we spent the whole period trying to get past them. We were currently down by two, and I could see Preston stewing. We all knew better than to try to give him a pep talk: no one ever messed with the goalie when he was trying to stay in the zone.

Colton stood once more before all of us. "Boys, what the hell?! We're a mess out there. What's with all the penalties? We need to skate smart and clean."

I scoffed, perhaps a little louder than I intended to. Everyone's eyes shot to me—everyone except Hunter. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground as he rolled his shoulder.

"We have been playing clean," I defended. "Mouse got that penalty because he was getting roughhoused. The play wasn't going to work: the team was too spread out. Mouse needed backup. They know our usual plays. Cap, I hate to say it, but fast breakaways aren't going to help us here. That team is all muscle; they want to play rough, and they're getting away with it. If we let them do nothing but beat us up, we'll have nothing left for tomorrow."

Colton looked at me, eyes blazing with fury. Coach waited in the background, ready to step in if needed. "What do you suggest then Aus?" Colt's tone was anything but welcoming, and the rest of the team nervously wrung their hands around their sticks.

I didn't let Colton scare me. "One, we need to be a fucking team. You're skating ahead and expecting us to be there, blind to the fact that their defense is all over us. They have big guys who are blocking the goal, but if we use that to our advantage and switch it up with a lot of passes, they won't see it coming. But it means we need to hold our own—speed won't work. We need to use shoulder checks to keep the passing lines free."

I knew this strategy heavily depended on working as a team. We couldn't go in there with the intention of showing off. The first period only proved that Colton was only interested in getting his goal percentage up.

Coach spoke up. "Aus is right. They've altered their game to match us. The clean lines aren't working anymore—they can see it coming We're spending all of our time in the defensive zone and that's what they want. We need to get some hits in, throw them off their game."

Colton ground his teeth. "Yes, Coach."

The rest of the team agreed and we reset before hitting the ice once more.

My plan worked. Finally, we were moving the puck between the lines. Though my plan wasn't without its downfalls because I was getting checked left, right, and center. Those guys did not want me to have the puck. The moment it hit my stick, I needed to keep it moving or I'd lose it. I hit it towards Mouse who had a free pass to Amon, but before I could press forward, I was checked against the boards.

"What the fuck!" I spat, whipping around to see a familiar number sixty-six: Zane Matthews.

"You his new boy toy then?" he chirped, making me flinch.

The sound of puck hitting a stick made me get my head back in the game.

The puck soared back to the neutral zone when Merrimack defenseman intercepted it. I bit out a curse, jumping into motion.

But the second I got it back, I was hit again.

"He'll only wreck your chances of getting signed too."

I shoved him off. I wasn't going to let him get me. I followed the puck and the whistle blew right before I my face met the boards again.

"Dude, the play's stopped!" I shouted at the mass towering over me.

The refs made their way over and pulled him away from me—and the bastard had the audacity to smile.

"I'll get my answers soon pretty boy," he sneered.

I blinked in disbelief, and the next thing I knew, Hunter and Mouse were by my side closely watching Matthews.

"What the hell is that guy's problem?" I asked.

"You okay? Did he hurt you?" Hunter was in my face, and I looked to him, desperate for answers. It was starting to dawn on me that I truly knew nothing about him, and it was just another thing that caused a fire in my belly.

"No, I'm fine. But whatever your beef is with that guy, keep me out of it." I skated off and ignored his calls that followed.

The game continued with a lot of back and forth—then my plan finally worked. The tic-tac-toe of passes let us soar the puck into the net.

"Fucking finally!" I pumped my fist and skated to the bench to tap the outstretched fists of my teammates. It was a much-needed confidence boost for us all, and it seemed to kick us into gear. We followed up with another messy—yet efficient—goal.

Period three began on a tie, and the rage simmering in Merrimack's eyes told us they were not going down without a fight.

Jarman sent the puck flying to me. He'd been cleared to play, and he was back with a vengeance. I passed to Hunter as I felt him approach my right wing. I went forward, waiting for the pass back. Matthews was hot on his heels, crashing his shoulder against the boards. Hunter stiffened, and I knew he was struggling. I went in and stole the puck.

It was enough to distract Matthews, but I didn't like how labored Hunter was. I kicked the puck to Mouse as I felt Matthew's incoming approach. He checked me, and I lost my balance, ass hitting the ice.

"Fucking dick."

Hunter yanked me to my feet, pushing me back into play. "Keep going, baby," he called, returning to the defense to clear space for Mouse.

But Matthews crashed into Hunter, driving his stick into his back. The whistle blew.

I saw red.

I leapt onto Matthews. Fists clenched to his jersey, I yanked him to his feet. Hunter clutched to his injured shoulder, which only fueled my rage.

I clenched one fist around Matthews's mask, driving the other into his ribs. He held his own, but it only spurred me on. His size didn't bother me.

Helmets came off, and fists kept flying.

"That's enough, boys!" The ref called. "Otherwise I'll call for another penalty."

I pulled back spitting out a mouthful of blood. I felt hands grab me and go to pull me away.

"You fucking faggot!" Matthews shouted. "He'll fuck you over too, just watch."

I schooled my features. That fucker wasn't going to out me., "I back my teammates wanker! Watch who you're calling faggot."

The moment those words left my lips, my anger shifted to a different focus.

Matthews knew Hunter liked men, and something told me their feud was more than friendly fire.

I shoved the hands off me and skated to the bench, wiping the blood from my face. The pain hadn't hit yet, but I knew I was going to feel a world of regret for getting involved in any mess to do with Hunter Graves.