End Game (New York Stars Book 1)
End Game: 2ND PERIOD – Chapter 13

AFTER A TORTUROUS PRACTICE that saw Lars Raimond, on defense, and Kyle Lewis, a forward, coming to blows yet again and with my asshole dad sniffing around Gracie in the stands, I head to the showers and slam the water to boiling hot to ease the tension in my neck.

Once I’m done, I head into the dressing room where Greco’s talking about this chick he banged on the dance floor of some club—Russu.

Man, I’ve told stories like that in my time, but Jesus Christ if it doesn’t bore me shitless now. We’re the same age as well. Isn’t it time for him to grow the hell up?

Scrubbing the towel over my head, I walk to my locker and start to drag out the things I’ll need to get changed.

As I pull on some boxer briefs, Raimond, living up to his asshole rep, shouts, “Is it true you can’t hear no more?”

“I heard that,” I growl, twisting to glower at him. “And shut the fuck up about shit like that. You don’t hear me talking about your microdick, do you?”

I’m too used to the chatter to try to cover up where my ear once was and it even puts me on a go-slow to reapply my prosthesis.

Raimond turns bright red, but he grabs his crotch and sneers, “Didn’t know you were interested.”

“I wasn’t.” The lie trips easily off my tongue: “But the bunny I fucked last night was whispering sweet nothings in my ear about how I’m the biggest she’s ever had and how you’re the smallest.”

Lewis hoots. “Sweet nothings for you, bitter nothings for Raimond. Exactly how I like it.”

Raimond grits his teeth. “You need to shut your trap, Lewis.”

“Or what?” His top lip curls. “Yeah, I’m condemned to abide by that goddamn NDA, but you and me are fucking done, assface.”

Leaving everyone in the dark about what the NDA is covering up, he dismisses him and starts dragging on a tee shirt.

Raimond, being the moron that he is, comes after him—with Lewis’s back turned.

Before any hit he pulls can collide, I grab his fist in mine and clamp down on it. There’s an advantage to being six-five—big fucking hands and big fucking feet.

I squeeze on the moneymakers. “You wanna watch yourself, Raimond. Hitting a man when his back’s turned?” I tsk. “Doesn’t seem very sportsmanlike to me.”

“What? And breaking my nose is?” He snarls as I squeeze harder before I let go. “Fuck you, Donnghal. Fuck you and your one ear.”

I tug on the one that didn’t get cut off by my kidnappers. “You just hurt its feelings,” I mock. “You should—”

“Okay, everyone. Got some news.” Bradley’s declaration breaks things up before we can get started. “I know we’ve been keeping this under wraps for longer than usual but we wanted to be sure our picks were right.”

Turning to face the guy who coached Canada to a gold medal at the Olympics two years ago, an asshole whom I’ve never liked, even if one of my medals at home is in part thanks to him, I give Bradley my focus.

Assistant Coach Brall starts tossing out jerseys. One plunks on my chest and I see the ‘C’ on it before I shove it into my cubby.

Though I knew this was coming, a part of me doesn’t want it.

I’ve never wanted the responsibility. It’s why I let Poirier take on the role of Captain in the dressing room back in Montréal. But now, I genuinely don’t know if I’m equipped to handle it.

“Waiting was wise of us seeing as Lewis was in line for alternate captain, as, in fact, was Raimond,” Bradley snaps, “but seeing as you two morons can’t even keep it in your pants for a scrimmage and repeatedly fighting, you lost the privilege. Gagné, we’ll have your jersey ready for tomorrow.”

“Fucking disgrace that Raimond was anywhere close to the role of alternate captain,” Lewis mutters as Bradley fades into talking about what the next couple weeks of practice will look like once the season kicks off for us tomorrow.

It’s not unusual for a team to almost start up from scratch with all-new players, but everything is new for the Stars. Not just the roster, but the goddamn coaches and the support staff, as well as the management and the sponsors—even the uniform. Gone are the red, white, and blue of the Liberties, in with the navy and white.

Acuig came in and wiped every inch of the old away.

Only time will tell if their investment’ll pay dividends, and I can’t help but hope that it doesn’t, even if my trophy room could use some more Stanley Cup silver.

“NDA aside, you gonna spill why Raimond’s a disgrace?” I ask Lewis.

“Wish I could, man. Just know that I wouldn’t hate his guts if the cunt didn’t deserve it.”

I can feel the makings of a grin start to form but then I study the jersey in my cubby. That ‘C’ patch meant so much to me once upon a time…

“You going to be able to play with him? I need to know, Kyle.”

“I can try.”

“Gonna need more than that, man. You know how this rolls.”

His gaze drifts over to Raimond, who’s literally standing in front of the mirror and preening.

“Think it talks to him like how Greco wishes his posts could answer him back?” I mock-whisper.

Lewis knocks shoulders with me. “His reflection is the only person who’ll put up with him.”

Gagné approaches his cubby beside mine, rubbing a towel over the back of his head. “Heard he won’t fuck without a mirror there anyway.”

“How do you know that, priest?” Lewis mocks.

“You younger fools think fucking puck bunnies is the only way to get it,” Gagné intones, but there’s no heat to the words. “You’ll learn that there’s a difference between Wagyu and Spam.”

My nose crinkles. “What the fuck, man?”

Lewis gags. “What kind of pussy did you tap that was like Spam?”

“It’s called an analogy.” He throws his towel at Lewis. “Read a book. And I heard about his love of mirrors from Ella.”

Brows lifting, I ask, “Your wife?”

He nods. “She’s friends with some of the bunnies.”

“That’s weird.”

Gagné smirks. “I like her weird.”

“So, she told you Raimond needs a mirror to get it up?” Lewis inserts. “And you don’t think she’s messing around with him?”

“With his pencil dick?” Gagné snorts. “No.”

I frown at Lewis. “Hey, you shouldn’t have gone there, man. Everyone knows they’ve been married for a thousand years.”

Tying his shoelaces, Lewis sniffs. “You can’t trust women.”

Gagné and I share a look before we both settle down and start getting ready to leave…

Guess we just got confirmation of why Lewis broke up with his long-term girlfriend.