It was a disaster. Losing playoffs like that was gutting. We knew how good we were, how good we could be.
But what I have learned over the years of being in the NHL is that you don’t learn who the best teammates are when you're popping champagne in the club. You don’t learn who you can count on when you win 5-0. You learn who the best teammates are when you lose. You learn when the champagne is opened in the locker room down the hall when you take the loss in a playoff game. That’s when you know who you can count on. That’s how you become stronger. It’s how you become better.
Through hell and high water, I was going to make sure we had our shit together this season.
The fight had shifted the energy in our favor. The lines were coming off the bench faster with higher intensity. That next play attitude, that next shift attitude. The adrenaline had breathed new life into us.
I watched as the clock for my adult timeout counted down. The seconds seemed to hang for hours. I stood up ready to bolt through the doors. One of my teammates gained possession of the puck, gliding down the ice.
Once the timer runs out, I dart out of the penalty box. I’m late for the shift, so I passed the blue line a little slower than everyone else. The puck is passed in my direction and I catch it on my blade easily.
I have one hand on my stick, guiding it forward. I cut from the left side to the middle lane. My eyes spot an opening where I could take advantage of some space and I take it quickly. I fake a drop pass to Nico which pulls one of the defensemen. I go around the other one with swift handles and bring two hands back to my stick at the last second.
I lift a backhander over the goalie seeing it fall into the white of the net. The red buzzer sounds off into the stadium. Fans erupt in joint chaos, cheering and smacking the glass in ecstasy. I turn to the crowd doing the universal sign to come here with my hands, the old showtime. My team huddles around me. Nico slams his body into mine shoving me into the boards.
Cuss words and congratulations are exchanged in the small circle. I can hear Nico’s voice in my ear.
“Atta fucking boy, Bishop! Atta way, baby!! It’s about goddamn time you showed up to the party, buddy!” I chuckle with a smile on my face.
The shouts, cries, and cheers continue until the end of the game. We’d won three to four, a great way to start the season. This was a new day, a new season, our spirits had been lifted. Kai was in a better mindset, and Nico was, well, he was Nico.
As we walked out of the locker room down the long corridor we prepared ourselves for the swarm of fans. Kai avoided any and all puck bunnies, only stopping to sign autographs for young kids. Malakai never did media interviews, not after an unfortunate event with the paparazzi a few years prior. It took a fuck ton of lawyers and money to keep him out of jail.
Nico was the social butterfly. He floated from group to group, taking pictures, flirting, signing his name on people’s skin. He loved the attention and lived for it.
I’d grown used to the attention. It wasn’t something that affected me nearly as much as it did during my first few years as a professional athlete. The females who wore revealing clothes to grab our attention had blended together. Their faces looked the same, hair the same color, a merry-go-round of basic bitches.
Maybe because I’d been with enough of them to know they weren’t worth it, or maybe it had to do with the fact that all I could think about was my hand fisting a mane of thick red hair. My testosterone was through the roof after games, and normally any blonde puck bunny would do, but not anymore.
This feeling, this primal need was for one person and one person alone.
Valor.
I wanted to be so deep inside her she’d feel me for months after. To bury myself in not only her body but her soul so that even looking at another man would be impossible because she is so embedded with me.
The image of her galaxy splatter face, her soft moans of pleasure, and the feeling of her tight walls clenching around my cock while she breaks into a million pieces? It’s enough to make me want to fucking come in my jeans thinking about it.
Speaking of the devil, there she is, waiting patiently at the end of the corridor talking to one of the long-time equipment managers who used to work with her dad. Her smile is distracting the fuck out of me. I can’t even sign my name correctly on this kid’s jersey.
I can hear her laugh. It’s the only sound I hear above all the noise, all the chaos, it’s just her. I start to walk towards her, and as if my soul said to hers “Hey, look up, pretty girl” she lifts her head to meet my gaze.
A wickedly sinister grin breaks out across my face, letting her know exactly what thoughts are running through my mind. They involve her naked and bent over my kitchen counter or whichever fucking flat surface is closest.
I move closer to her one foot after the other forcing my body not to take off into a full sprint. I’m crazy about the girl, but the whole world doesn’t need to see me act like a twelve-year-old boy.
I’m nearly there when a brunette steps in front of me. She reeks of hair spray and self-tanner, not a flattering smell. I have no problem with women wearing risky clothing. Do what you want with your body. I do, however, have a problem when my girlfriend is waiting for me and a girl with nearly nothing on is blocking her from me.
Girlfriend?
“Bishop Maverick, I guess what they say is true, you are a lot bigger in person,” she hums with a thick southern accent that most men would find attractive, just not me. Her eyes roll up and down my body taking me in.
“Thanks. Can I sign something for you?” I say politely trying to get her out of my fucking way so I can spread my girl’s legs and tongue fuck her to oblivion.
She smiles at me, stepping closer which causes me to step back. “I was thinking you could prove all the rumors,” her eyes flick to my crotch, “true.”
I bring my fist to my mouth, clearing my throat and forcing a toothless smile. “I can’t help you there, but the guy with black hair? Number 48? He can.”
I slip past her, looking forward to meeting Valor’s gaze but all I see is her staring daggers at the girl behind me. Her arms are crossed across her chest, and her jaw is tightened. It’s the universal woman sign for pissed the fuck off.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I hate the fact she compares herself to the other women, and hate that I can’t just jog towards her and plant my lips on hers. Show her that the only one I want is her. Once I’m directly in front of her, I give a smile hoping that’ll soften her anger. Her slitted green eyes meet mine, and I want to hide in a fucking corner.
“Ya know that shit wouldn’t happen as often if they actually knew you had a fucking girlfriend,” she exclaims. Shock passes her face when she hears that she called herself my girlfriend. We hadn’t put labels on our relationship yet but girlfriend didn’t hold a candle to what Valor was to me.
“I know, Vallie. I just want to tell your dad first before I announce it to the press. You’re the only one I want, you know that.”
She scoffs, “Yeah and when is that going to be, B? Admit it, you’re fine with keeping me as your dirty little secret. Meanwhile you let the press see you with every bimbo in fucking Chicago.”
Fucking hell. Always fucking worried about puck bunnies that I don’t fucking want. Every time this conversation comes up, my faithfulness to her comes into play. I’ve never given her a reason to think I want anyone else but her.