Power Play (26 page)

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Authors: Avon Gale

Tags: #gay romance

BOOK: Power Play
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While Misha struggled with his temper, Isaac turned toward Laurent and was once again struck by how goddamn gorgeous the guy was. It wasn’t fair, because his father. looked like a buzzard, and Laurent was so hot that his being an absolute asshole should have been a federal crime. “How’d you end up traded here, anyway? You get demoted from daddy’s team after y’all got your asses kicked by the Storm? He send you here to learn how to be a better goalie?”

St. Savoy met his eyes and didn’t say a word. His eyes resembled dark, delicious chocolate, and his lashes were full and thick. The universe was seriously a bitch.

Belsey laughed. “That’s exactly what I wanted to see out of you, Drake. You’re the captain of this team, so you’ve gotta have more fire than anybody. We done here, Coach Samarin? Where’s that boyfriend of yours, anyway? Thought he might want to show up for meetings, seeing as how he’s the assistant coach and all.”

Before Misha could say anything, Laurent spoke for the first time.

“How many fucking fags are on this team?”

Unlike their little incident in the playoffs, Isaac didn’t have to wait for St. Savoy to take his mask off before he punched him in the face. He knew he’d get in trouble, but goddamn,
did it feel good.

 

 

LAURENT
hated
Isaac Drake. Hated him.

He hated his stupid blue hair, his cocky grin, and the way he swaggered, even though he was way too short and slender to be a goalie. Hated his stupid lip piercing and his easy camaraderie with his teammates. Hated that his coach had gone after Laurent’s father on his behalf.

When Laurent saw Misha Samarin stalking across the ice during the playoffs last year, he expected the coach to take a swing at him. His father wanted that. Laurent knew he did. They’d been told to win, and that meant doing whatever they could to knock the Spitfires off their game. And in Ravens terms, that meant trash talk and piss them off until they lost their temper. Denis St. Savoy also wanted Misha Samarin disgraced for some reason or another. Laurent had learned not to ask questions.

And pissing off Samarin by attacking Drake had worked like a charm. Isaac Drake’s sexuality wasn’t a secret, and honestly, no one cared all that much. But it was a weapon to be used and wielded, and that’s what Laurent had done. No matter how sick he felt to his stomach at having done it.

It was one of the few times Laurent’s father had been proud of him, even if it hadn’t lasted longer than a nod and a pat on the shoulder. And Laurent knew that meant that what he’d done was wrong. But some part of him—the part that longed for childhood memories of days on the ice with a man who could hug instead of hit—wanted that pride and the approval he could never seem to earn. That pat on the shoulder was the gentlest his father had touched him in years.

His teammates had been disgusted with him, but they never liked Laurent anyway. His father had seen to that. But for a brief, elusive moment Laurent had been good enough for Denis St. Savoy’s approval. It was over by the time the buzzer sounded.

Laurent left the Bon Secours arena and headed back on foot to the hotel where he was staying while he looked for a place to live. He didn’t have a car. His father was extremely wealthy but would never allow Laurent that kind of independence. But despite the heat of the day and the throbbing headache thanks to that punch to the face, at least he didn’t have to see his father when he got to the hotel.

That might have made it all worthwhile.

Laurent ducked his head and avoided looking at anyone as he caught the elevator up to his room. Once there he examined himself in the bathroom mirror. He gently skirted the bruising around his eye and thought about Drake. He didn’t care that Drake was gay, any more than he cared other people were straight. He didn’t care that the coaches for his new team were in a relationship. But he couldn’t help himself. The instant dislike aimed at him from both Drake and Coach Samarin made Laurent resort to his usual horrible behavior when he felt threatened.

What the fuck did you expect? They weren’t going to like you. No one does.

Laurent closed his eyes, breathed, and told himself there was nothing left in his stomach to expel and he didn’t need to make himself sick. He wasn’t. He was just tired, and he should do something about the black eye from Drake’s right hook and take a nap. He didn’t need to eat anything either. The thought made him relax slightly, even as his stomach growled with hunger.

He drank a few glasses of water and took two Excedrin. He told himself they were for the pain and not because he wanted the caffeine to stop him from feeling hungry. He hated being at the mercy of his body. Half the time Laurent just wanted to pretend he didn’t exist.

Then he lay in his bed, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. He tried counting his breaths. He tried everything he could think of, but the caffeine kept him up. He ran through that meeting over and over and saw the looks of pure dislike aimed at him from Isaac Drake and Misha Samarin and the utter disinterest on behalf of the Spitfires’ general manager. He thought he’d finally escaped that by getting traded from his father’s team, but all he’d managed to do was find yet another place where no one wanted him.

Laurent got out of bed and went to the bathroom, where he knelt on the floor like some penitent and made himself throw up anything in his stomach. It was mostly water, and when he was finished, he sat on the bathroom floor and pressed his face into the cold tile floor.

And then he went to bed.

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“I’d seriously give this a 7 of 5 stars if I could… it was really, really amazing.”

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“This was another good entry in the Scoring Chances series that I would absolutely recommend!”

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