Point Shot 02 - Game Misconduct (6 page)

“I don’t want none of your stupid reasons why it happened,” Dan growled, and began circling me like a shark. My ears got all sorts of fuzzy-warm hearing his accent thicken. It did that in great moments of passion, like when I fucked him especially well, or when he was beyond-the-bend mad. Shame the cause this time wasn’t the first reason.

“So I don’t even get a chance to explain why it happened? What kind of bullshit fuckery is that?” I asked as he moved around me. I had to turn to follow him. I didn’t mind—at least he and I were in the same room, talking. Sort of.

“It’s not bullshit fuckery, you cowardly bastard.” He stopped pacing to face me. “I could have gotten over the cheating. I mean, I know you’ve got real issues with women and trusting them.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn’t, because he was right. I did have issues with women. Big, fat, hairy mammoth-balls issues with women. “That, I get, and even though it hurt, it wasn’t like you’d slept with another man.”

I threw my hands into the air in a “that’s what I’m trying to say here!” gesture. He slashed violently at the air.

“No, but see, you don’t get it. You think you do, but you don’t. What hurt worst is that you lied to me. You never came to me and told me, ‘Dan, when we was upside down I got plastered and banged this bimbo.’ No. You lied to me. You’re a fucking coward despite all the big-shit talk!” He placed both palms to my chest and shoved. Short he might be, but he has strength. I tripped back into a trash can.

“I’d think long and hard before you go calling anyone else a coward, Arou,” I retaliated as wads of paper towels bounced to the floor. “Who’s the one who’s so scared of coming out that we even lie to the landlord’s fucking dog?”

His face fell. I relished the point scored. If he was going to pound my deep, dark holes, and man, did that sound sexy as F.U.C.K., I was going to stick my dick into his secret fear-gaps as well. His jaw worked silently. His eyes sparked with anger. If this had been a different argument, some stupid one about mismatched socks or something, I would have grabbed his head, kissed him raw, then bent him over the sink and fucked him until we both blew apart. He shoved around me. I turned, knowing the look the hardheaded little shit was wearing.

“Dan, don’t do anything because I called you on it. If you’re not ready to come out, then we don’t come out. I’m happy to lie to that fucking dog forever if you want.”

He threw the door open. I glanced from my man’s back to the several Cougars players standing outside the bathroom door. Every one of them looked like a kid caught with his hand deep in the cookie jar.

“In case you missed the fine points, I’m gay,” Dan announced, then used his shoulders and elbows to make a path through our teammates. All eyes moved to me.

“We ain’t living together just to save on cable,” I threw at the crowd.

“Guess there’s no accounting for taste,” Mario threw out, then clapped my shoulder. “So, are we skating anytime today?”

I could have kissed that stupid Italian-Scot right on his mouth. Instead I followed in Dan’s wake, passing the team captain, who looked as if he’d just had a major bowel obstruction cleared.

Dan and Brooks went outside. I thought about giving them some privacy for about a millisecond before I exited the rink to join them. Dan’s irate blue gaze flew from Brooks to me. Both men suddenly grew tight-lipped.

“No, please,
do
carry on the conversation. Or if you want, I can help out,” I said.

“Shut up, Vic,” Dan said halfheartedly. I ran his request over like a squirrel in the road.

“Here’s the deal,
Brooks
. Dan and I are an item, a thing, a couple. We might be having a rough patch,” I paused when Arou snorted like a gaseous hog, “but we are still together until he tells me to my face otherwise. So whatever you thought was going to happen with you and him, it ain’t. I suggest you go hit on the burly asshole in the kilt.”

“He’s my cousin,” Dan said after I folded my arms over my chest and jerked my head at the rink to show Brooks the general direction in which to take his far-too-handsome self. My gaze darted from the stunned man to Dan, who nodded. “Yeah, my cousin Brooks. I talked about him all the time. Coming up into the ECHL? Grew up playing pond hockey with him?”

“Oh. Yeah, I recall. Well, he could still probably score with McGarrity.”

“I’m not gay,” Brooks coughed. The poor kid looked a little stunned.

To be honest I was feeling a wee bit wobbly. So much had happened in the last fifteen minutes that my mind was still back in the powder room while my mouth was out here. Bad thing to happen generally, as we all should know by now.

“I need to get a soda.” Brooks, who resembled Mrs. Arou as well as Dan now that I looked through eyes not tinted green, backed away from us and ran back inside.

“I quit drinking,” I told Dan, who was now bent over the hood of a green car, arms locked, hands splayed on the hood, head lowered.

He peeked at me through his overgrown bangs. “Good. You abuse when you’re upset.”

I didn’t know that “abuse” was the right word. Maybe “overindulge”. No, Dan was right. I abused. Rolling a cat turd in sugar won’t make it a doughnut.

“That don’t mean nothing, though, Vic. Not in context of the trust issues we got now.”

“No, I mean, I know it doesn’t. I just wanted you to know that I was trying to do better for the kid.” Dan winced as if I had driven a sword into his liver. “We have to talk about the kid, Dan. It won’t just go away, if it turns out to be mine.”

He lifted his head to the painfully blue sky. I so wanted to hold him.

“We got more to work on than just the kid, Vic. I love you, I do, but you lied to me.”

“It wasn’t a lie. You never asked me if I screwed some chick behind your back when I was shitfaced.” He gave me a dark look but I stayed on that track. “If anything it was an act of omission because it meant shit and jack to me. I don’t recall much of the night. I didn’t think I would ever hear about it again. I was wrong, okay, I know that, but you have to give me a chance.”

“No,” he said, and pushed off the hood of the car. “I don’t
have
to do anything, Vic. Can you just back off for right now? I need to go back to the hotel and be by myself.”

“Sure, sure, I can give you what you need.”

I backed away when all I really wanted was to go forward. Get closer, touch, hold, taste, and claim him as mine in front of all those knuckleheads inside now that the gay-and-bi cat was out of the rainbow bag. We could do that now. We could be a couple in the locker room. It made me slightly giddy. Dan, though, was obviously having a different reaction to his coming-out event.

“Thanks.” He gave me a smile. It was a pathetic one but it made my fucking day.

I nodded as he went back inside. A couple of minutes later Dan and Brooks came out. Thinking that my behavior could be a little unsettling if not downright stalkerish, I tore my gaze from Dan and went back into the rink. An awkward kind of hush fell over the team when I walked into their midst. I looked at one player, then another.

“Enough of the
Will and Grace
histrionics—let’s get ready for a new season,” I said.

The team hooted in agreement and we headed off to get dressed.

“You okay?” Mike Buttonwood asked as we gathered inside the Zamboni doors about thirty minutes later, geared up in our Cougars scrimmage uniforms. We were still waiting for Ailo Grahn to grace us with his presence. I hoped the Cougars weren’t paying Grahn by the hour. “Talk about being drug out of the closet kicking and screaming.”

“Yeah, it’s all good.” I said, acutely aware that Dan and his cousin had missed the first session. “Bring on the hockey.” I crammed my mouth protector in and skated out to whip my pathetic pale ass into shape.

There was not one part of me that didn’t hurt. Even my toenails ached. It was a good pain, though. It was the pain of working the body hard. I’d gotten soft over the summer, even though I’d visited the local gym twice a week. Living and loving Dan had changed how I viewed life. Seemed I was more content to stay home and cuddle on the couch when I had Arou around.

That complacency and contentment combined with the surge in drinking lately had really shown today. I’d struggled to keep up with the other Cougars, who, it seemed, had trained steadily over our downtime. It was all good. Let them be a tick faster than me. By the time training camp opened, I would be skating circles around eighty percent of those hacks on skates.

My leg muscles were in open revolt as I entered the elevator in the hotel the Cougars had lined up for us. It was a nice place—not five-star by any means, but clean and cheery. The clerk was a bouncy brunette with round, brown eyes. She batted her lashes as I checked in. I could have told her to save the come-hither, but bless her heart, she was trying so hard. I took the key card, thanked her and hefted my hastily packed Boston Barracuda duffel back onto my shoulder. Miss Eyelashes pouted prettily when I stepped away from the reservation desk without ogling her tits, which were perfectly fine tits, just not appealing right now.

I waited by the elevator, my thighs and calves on the verge of cramping. My lower back ached as well. Plans for the evening were a hot bath, acetaminophen, dinner, TV and bed alone, unless Betty Palm and her five sisters showed up. The compulsion to find Dan’s room and force myself into his thinking space was enormous. The only thing that had stamped out that stupid fire had been the realization that if I did behave like that, Dan would get madder. He needed his time. I had to respect his request.

“It really sucks when you find out the world doesn’t revolve around you,” I told the silver doors to the elevator.

Someone calling my name snapped me back from staring stupidly at the elevator doors.

“You’re staying here as well?” I asked Ailo Grahn as he loped toward me. Ailo matched my six-foot-three in height but had a slightly leaner frame. He wore jeans, shirt and jacket for a casual look. Dark-haired with brown eyes, he made all the puck bunnies swoon even now that he had to be well into his forties. “I thought you’d be holed up in some five-star.”

“I don’t think there’s a five-star within a hundred miles of this place,” Ailo replied with a soft Swedish accent.

“True, that,” I said as the chime sounded and the doors opened. We stepped into the empty lift. “I’m four.” Ailo hit the proper button and the doors closed.

“So, Victor Kalinski.” Ailo turned slightly to look at me. I raised a tired eyebrow. “I’m surprised to see you in this group. The last time I heard your name it was linked to being in contention for the Art Ross trophy. Injury send you down?”

“Something like that,” I replied, while pushing that memory aside. There was no point dwelling on something that would never repeat itself. That fantastic season in Boston and my shoo-in for the trophy for most points in the NHL was nothing more than a memory now.

“I thought perhaps. You looked dull today. Still amazing, but dull. Like a skate that needs honing.”

“Well, that’s your job, right? Hone me,” I said.

Ailo chuckled. He was a personable guy when he wasn’t screaming in your face. “Why don’t you join me for dinner in my room? I’d love to talk to you about some of the things this program will give you.”

I glanced from the crimson numbers above the door to the man at my right.

“Sure.” It would be an honor to sit and talk with one of the greatest centers who had ever played the game. Besides, I didn’t have anything else to do aside from chew Tylenol and jerk off. “I have to be in bed by ten, some arrogant Swede informed me.”

“I’ll have you in bed by ten.” He clapped my shoulder just as the elevator slowed at my floor. “I’m on the next floor. Room 5-D. Give me thirty to get room service ordered. Any allergies?” he asked, hand on the door to prevent it from closing.

“Stupid people, those hairless cats and anyone with the last name Kardashian.”

“I’ll make sure none of those are on the menu.” Ailo laughed, then stepped back and released the elevator door. It slid shut silently. I dragged my weary ass to my room, where I threw my duffel to the floor, stripped, took another shower because sometimes it took two to get the stink off, and pawed for something decent to wear to dinner. I found nothing but T-shirts, jeans and socks.
Way to pack, Kalinski.
Ten minutes later, hair still wet and dressed in distressed denim and an old Megadeth T-shirt, I rapped on Ailo’s door. He had also showered again. His dark-brown hair was damp when he opened the door. He was jeans-and-polo-shirt casual. “They just brought dinner. I hope you like Italian?”

“Love it,” I said as I did a fast check of his room. It had the same layout as mine but a different color scheme. Mine was tan and blue, this one tan and green. A savory thick cloud of garlic and oregano filled the suite. My eyes moved from the room to the table set for two diners in front of the sliding glass doors. My stomach rumbled. “Sorry, it has a mind of its own.”

“There are parts of my body that are exactly the same. Sit down and we’ll eat and talk.” He waved a hand at the table.

I dropped my backside into a chair and touched the heavy silverware resting on a cloth napkin that matched the colors of the room’s drapery and carpeting. Ailo removed covers from platters with flourish. My gaze touched on the steaming dish of lasagna. Thick slabs of garlic bread rested beside a tossed salad with fat wedges of tomato and cucumber tossed amid the iceberg.

“Nice spread,” I commented.

My host nodded in thanks. “Wine?”

“Ah, no,” I said as I lifted my knife and fork. “Training and all,” I added so as not to sound like a minister’s wife.

“A glass a day harms nothing.” He poured himself a flute of dark wine, then filled my empty wineglass with ice water from a crystal pitcher. “But I admire your dedication to the new regime.”

Ailo sat down across from me and began serving the food. I dove into the nourishment like a grizzly just out of hibernation. As we ate we talked about hockey, his plans for the team during this session, and about his philosophy on the importance of training hockey players as sprinters instead of marathon runners. Wise words, because ice hockey is all about rest and recovery. Skate balls-to-the-wall for forty-five to sixty seconds, maybe longer if you can’t make a line change, then rest and recuperate for a couple of minutes.

I ate until I was sated. Yeah, I wanted more, but I didn’t overindulge. I needed to drop ten pounds before training camp. With Ailo riding me, I didn’t think that would be an issue.

“So, Victor, I heard that you and Dan Arou had quite the blowout this afternoon.”

I lowered my glass of ice water from my lips. Ailo rested comfortably in his chair, rolling his goblet of wine by its stem, his dark eyes predatory.

“Rumor has it that you and he were lovers.”

I put down my water glass. “Not that I want you think I’m suddenly Pollyanna Purity, but what Dan and I are is not really dinner conversation.”

“Oh, yes, that’s true. I was simply wondering if you were available for a possible brief assignation.”

Well, fuck me. Never saw that one coming. It was flattering in a way.

I nodded at his wedding band. “I thought you were married.”

He inclined his head, then sipped his wine. “I am. My wife and I have an open marriage. Perhaps if we hit it off I could take you home to Gothenburg for a week and we three could enjoy each other.”

“Wow. As cool as that sounds, I have to decline the offer.”

The way he was looking at me now, as if I were a link of succulent Polish sausage, was making me uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. The tales that I heard said you were bisexual. I see now that you are gay. I would be happy to simply keep things man-on-man while we are here.”

“Again, wow. I’m not sure which Cougar is playing gossip-whore but I’ll be honest here. I’m bi, Dan is gay, and I am totally monogamous.” Well, I was trying my fucking best to be, anyway. I pushed away from the table and stood up. “Thanks for the meal. It was epic. See you on the ice tomorrow with no hard feelings.”

I offered him my hand. He sighed theatrically, then shook.

“If you ever decide to stop being such a good boy, look me up,” Ailo said, then lifted his goblet in a salute of sorts.

“Yep, I’ll do that.”

It was a long walk to the door with his eyes fondling my ass the entire time. When I was out in the hall, I took a moment to chuckle dryly. He had called me a good boy. If only Dan could have heard that, he would have laughed himself into a coma. It was obvious that Ailo didn’t know me too well, now did he?

* * * * *

There were supposed to be no hard feelings. As Ailo put my squad through another of his drills, I was beginning to suspect he was not as okay with my turning him down as he had seemed.

Ailo pushed my line harder than he’d pushed any of the others on the ice. That might have been because we were the first line, and therefore expected to be the best of the four. Or it might have been because he wanted some of me and I’d denied him. Some hockey players have massive egos. And yes, I include myself in that comment.

We were now in our fourth—count them, fourth—run-through of what Ailo called the “Michigan Mile” drill. The drill went like this. Red line and back drop for five pushups, far blue line and back then five pushups, red, back, far blue, back, five pushups, far blue, red, far blue, back and five pushups, red, back, far blue, back, five more pushups, far blue line and back with five more pushups, and red line and back with a final set of five fucking pushups. Then you vary it with sit-ups, dropping down to the knees at every stop, or adding pucks. If you wanted to be a mega-dick, as Ailo apparently did, you added a sandbag to the player’s shoulders.

While I could see the benefit, because it worked on short, explosive bursts of speed, it was killing my line and me. After thirty straight minutes of that hell, we were spent and soft. Like a dick, which Ailo greatly resembled in my eyes. The Swede blew on his whistle. McGarrity lifted his head from the boards in front of the bench. Something Italian rolled out of him.

“I agree,” I said, then lowered the sweaty towel from my face.

Ailo was in front of us, Dan’s second line now on the ice. Resting the towel on my knee, I waited for him to load Arou and the four on the ice with him with sandbags.

“I want another round with sit-ups,” Ailo told the second line.

“Poodle fucking asshole,” I grumbled. Mario spat on the ground between his skates.

“Did one of us run over his cat in the parking lot or something?” McGarrity asked. A low murmur of discontent went through the four others on my line.

“Fucker hates Kalinski just like the rest of us,” piped up Phil Prescott, the defenseman who so envied my soul patch. “Maybe he saw that ball-bumper under Vic’s bottom lip and asked if he could try it out. Looks like Arou isn’t fagging it up with him anymore so maybe Grahn—”

Shit went down.

Prescott had been begging me to clean his fucking homophobic clock since day one. Up to that point, I’d been the bigger man. The straw that broke this camel’s hairy hump was him flinging that slur at Dan. I leaped over McGarrity. Phil glanced up. His dull eyes widened just as my fist connected with his simian-like nose. Got to give the horse-faced ass credit, his reaction time was impressive. He threw an elbow that caught me in the left eye. Always wear your helmet during a scrum, kids. It didn’t stop me from punching him about the head numerous times, but it hurt like a red-hot motherfucker. We rolled off the bench onto the floor. Guys jumped out of the way. Space was limited and I did not want to be underneath Phil Prescott. I only bottomed for one man, and that was only when I was embracing my feminine side.

I did manage to get my hands into his short brown hair and slam the back of his head repeatedly against the floor before someone tried to yank me off. My left eye had begun to swell shut. The Cougars were shouting encouragements as they beat on the boards with their sticks. McGarrity was taking bets. Wonder who had the better odds? Phil was bigger but I was faster. Someone leaped onto my back, arm around my throat, and started yanking once again.

“Get off him, Vic!” Dan ground out beside my ear. I threw another punch as Arou jerked me backward. Ailo Grahn threw his legs over the boards, his whistle cutting cleanly through the hoots of a team too long without bloodshed.

“What the fuck is this bullshit?” Ailo shouted as Dan worked to get me off Phil’s broad chest. I fell backward onto Prescott’s legs. He kicked out at me, his skate catching the back of my left forearm. The blade sliced deep. It didn’t hurt as badly as you would think—sharp blades cut clean—but it did create a less than pleasant sensation. Dan yelled. The grip on my throat loosened, and an irate Hobbit pounced on Prescott, who was still struggling to sit up. This time the team got into things. Everyone liked Dan. Seemed his coming out had not affected his standing among the Cougars. Since Prescott was about a foot taller and weighed roughly a hundred pounds more than Arou, the guys broke things up quickly. I appreciated it. I was the only one allowed to pop Dan Arou in the face.

I rolled to my knees, my right hand clamped over my bloody forearm.

“Fucker! You could have hit him in the face with that blade!” I heard Dan shout. I tumbled out of the box to the ice, blood dripping between my fingers.

“Kalinski, you need stitches?” Mario asked, his face suddenly coming into view. I took my hand away from my forearm and peeled the huge hunk of skin back. We both looked down to see nice white bone.

“I’m going to say maybe,” I replied. Dan shoved around Mario. Buttonwood slid a hand under my arm to help me to my skates.

“Is this how this team always acts?” Grahn inquired from somewhere behind me. Many murmurs of agreement rose up. “No wonder you can’t produce a winning season.”