Chapter 18

18

Faust

While I was busy dealing with the news that I had a six-year-old son, the sports world had been way too focused on the notion of this streak I was on. Bets were being placed on my streak. Fans made signs about the streak .

Twenty seconds into the game against Boston, they scored on me.

By the end of the first period I had given up three goals.

Midway through the second period, two more.

I was playing like shit.

In reality I should have been pulled from the game.

Sometimes this happens. Sometimes a game just doesn't work the way you want it to work. Sometimes your head is a mess or you're not focused.

It happens.

Not to me though.

I don't play like this. I don't let things into my head.

Yet as I sit there waiting for the third period to start, instead of focusing on the game, I'm thinking about Shelby and Oakley.

I know they're watching this game. Shelby told me so.

You'd think I'd be playing my best game…

Which I sort of am in a way.

After giving up the five goals, something in my brain turned on. I'm a highlight reel at this point.

Watch Faust give up the easiest goal of his career!

And then in the next period watch him make what has to be the best save of the season!

I stand up and shake away the thoughts.

I walk out to the ice, skate to the net, and ready myself for the next twenty minutes of hockey.

We're down by three goals.

That's nothing to this team.

Just as long as I don't give anything else up.

The puck is dropped and Boston moves right down at me.

There's a quick shot on goal - why not, right?

I make a beautiful save and slide the puck behind the net for Colver.

The game then becomes an intense back and forth style of play. It's physical, but there's no fighting. I'm making saves. They're making saves. The clock keeps ticking down.

Our best chance at a goal comes from a wild one time from Rhett.

The puck hits the crossbar so hard I heard it from the other side of the ice.

There's an echoing groan from all the fans.

Boston is on the move again.

I make another six saves.

But they're just feeling it tonight.

My shitty start is coming back to haunt me.

Two minutes left in the game and I get the nod to come out in exchange for an extra attacker. That puts me on the bench, watching my wide open net.

Colver scores a goal.

The place goes nuts.

The puck is dropped once more and Colver is a man on fire.

He and Dax own Boston's defense.

Dax takes a shot on goal and Boston gives up a massive rebound.

Rhett takes a shot and he lifts the puck too high.

It hits the glass, falls behind the net, and everyone tangles up, fighting.

The seconds tick away.

It reaches a point of no return and I lower my head.

It's the first and only time I actually sort of care about the streak I'm about to lose.

"Does it bother you that the streak is over?"

"Do you think you should get the start for the next game?"

"Why do you think you were allowed to stay in the game after giving up all those goals?"

"What was it like playing with the notion of the streak hanging over your head?"

"Did you succumb to the pressure of the streak?"

The bottom line is that I didn't play my best. Streaks didn't matter. Winning games did.

The only thing I can do now is play better at the next game.

I walk down the hallway of the apartment building. At this exact moment I don't have a plan for the rest of the night. If things were different, I'd have arrangements in place.

I'm not sure I'm going to enjoy walking into an empty apartment.

To do what?

Just as I make it to Shelby's apartment door, she opens it.

It's weird. But that's okay.

I turn my head. "Did you watch that?"

"Yeah," she says. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. I do."

"Come here, Faust," she says.

"Shelby…"

"Your son fell asleep on the couch," she says. "Want to carry him to his bed? Tuck him in?"

I let out a slow breath. I wonder if this is happening because I played so shitty tonight in goal. If I won and if the streak continued, would Shelby even be standing here?

At the same time, I'm not going to pass up a chance to carry my son to his bed.

"He tried to hang the entire game," Shelby whispers. "He enjoyed it. He said he wants a jersey."

"I think I can arrange that," I whisper.

I walk to the couch and there's Oakley, on his side, sleeping. Holding Bongo tight.

I scoop him up with ease but not with the soft gentleness of his mother.

I'm big, rough and tough.

Oakley's eyes open.

They meet mine.

He smiles and goes right back to sleep.

That instantly washes away any lingering thoughts or feelings I have about the game.

I carry Oakley to his bedroom and wake him up again as I plop him down on the bed. To be fair, I've had zero practice at any of this.

I pull the covers up over him.

"Goodnight, kiddo," I whisper.

"Goodnight, Faust," he says back.

I stand there for a few seconds, feeling myself getting angry once more.

He's calling me Faust because I never got the chance to become Dad .

I step back from the bed and remind myself time can never go backward.

I can dig for answers. I can demand truths. I know I'll hate the answers.

I walk out of Oakley's room too loud because I don't know any better.

With the door shut, I turn around and find Shelby standing there.

It's dark but enough light from the living room area pushes through so I can see her face.

She steps toward me and makes a bold move, grabbing my shirt.

Pulling at me.

My eyes look to the bedroom.

My cock throbs and swells.

I grit my teeth.

Shelby doesn't pull me toward the bedroom though.

Instead, she's backing up into the living room. A handful of my shirt. I walk. She knows she couldn't pull me. I'm too big and far too strong.

Once we're near the couch, she playfully pushes at me and I sit down.

My hands reach up and I grab at her hips.

She smacks my hands away.

In the same motion, she falls to her knees before me.

Fuck.

"Tough game," she whispers. "Tough loss. Let me make you feel a little better."

My eyes look down as she open my jeans.

She realizes pretty damn quick that I don't wear any boxers under my jeans.

Her fingers dance in the thatch of my pubic hair and she starts to touch the heavy root of my stiffening cock.

She pulls my jeans down a little bit more and then wrestles my thickness free.

Her hand attempts to wrap around me.

I watch as she bites her lip.

I guess she was telling the truth.

There hasn't been anyone since me.

That's a long time to not touch someone or be touched.

She studies my cock as though she's never seen one before.

I reach and grip my hand around hers and start to stroke myself.

Shelby gasps, looks at me, and her face turns bright red.

"Need me to teach you?" I growl. "Watch…"

I squeeze tighter and jerk in an upward motion.

A little clear liquid seeps from the tip of my cock.

"There you go, sweetie," I growl. "Start right there. Lick my pre-cum."

Her chin quivers as she moves toward me.

I feel her breath against my cock a moment before her wet tongue licks.

God, it's fucking heaven to feel that.

Then her lips tighten around the head of my cock and she inches herself down.

I move my hand from hers and slide my fingers into her hair.

Believe me, a part of me wants nothing more than to pull her warm, tight mouth off my cock, tear her clothes off and feel her cunt sheath me. To fuck her the way she's been waiting for.

Shelby places her hands to my legs and curls her fingers, scratching at my skin.

I catch myself thrusting up at her mouth.

She takes me. She takes all I have to give.

I suck in a breath and put my head back.

Her mouth begins to slide up my cock.

"Fuck, Shelby," I growl.

And, fuck, does it feel good to say her name like that again…