Offside Heart: Fake Boyfriends with Benefits

Alaric’s POV

“Mercer, stay on your side!”

I shouted across the ice, but Jovian Mercer glanced at me, grinned, and abandoned his position anyway.

Again.

He cut across the rink, stole the puck from an opposing player, and raced toward the goal. I pushed forward to cover the space he'd left behind, barely intercepting a shot that could have cost us the game.

The puck bounced off my stick and slid straight toward Jovian.

He collected it, dodged a defender, and scored.

The arena erupted. Our teammates raised their sticks, and Jovian skated backward with his arms spread wide, enjoying the applause as if he'd won the championship single-handedly.

As he passed me, he tapped my helmet.

“Nice assist, Captain.”

“I didn't assist you.”

“You blocked their shot and made the puck come to me. That's teamwork.”

“You abandoned your position.”

“And scored. You should be thanking me, captain.”

I glared at him. “Keep playing like that, and you'll finish the game on the bench.”

“Then you'd better explain to Coach why the team's winning.”

He skated away before I could respond.

I hated that he was talented. If Jovian could follow instructions for more than five minutes, he might actually become a valuable player. Instead, he treated every formation like a suggestion and every warning like a personal challenge. He was insufferable.

The final minutes were tense. Jovian nearly gave our opponents an equalizer when he chased a loose puck and took a hard hit against the boards. I recovered the puck, blocked another attack, and helped our team hold on until the final whistle.

We won 3–2.

Coach Brandt didn't look pleased.

I knew that expression. Someone was about to have a very unpleasant conversation. Judging by the way his gaze moved between Jovian and me, we were both in trouble.

“Explain yourself.”

Coach stood in the locker room, clipboard tucked beneath his arm.

I sat on the bench, unlacing my skates. “Which part, Coach?”

“Don't play games with me, Wynn. You're the captain. You're supposed to keep this team organized, not spend half the game shouting at your own winger.”

“Because he wasn't following the formation.”

“Did we win or not?”

My voice came out low “ we did.”

“And who scored the winning goal?”

“Mercer.”

“Then perhaps the boy knows what he's doing.”

Across the room, Jovian leaned against his locker, wiping his face with a towel.

“I appreciate the support, Coach.”

“Don't get comfortable. You abandoned your position three times and nearly handed the opposition an equalizer.”

“But I scored.”

“Do you have a hearing problem?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then stop using that goal to excuse everything you did wrong.”

Jovian lowered his towel, looking suspiciously amused.

Coach turned to me. “And you need to learn how to manage your players without losing your temper. I expect better discipline from both of you in the next game.”

He left before either of us could respond.

I finished changing and approached Jovian, who was scrolling through his phone.

“Mercer. We need to talk.”

“About your blood pressure? I know some breathing exercises.”

“Put your phone away.”

He looked up briefly before returning to his screen. “I'm listening.”

“You're part of a team. Follow the formation for once and stop making decisions that put everyone else at risk.”

“Funny. I thought being part of a team meant using your skills to help us win.”

“Your skills won't matter if you keep getting yourself injured. Or any of your teammates.”

“I didn't put anyone in harm's way. I can take care of myself”

“Clearly. That's why you spent half the game lying against the boards.”

“I got back up, didn't I?”

“That's not the damn point. Why can't you just follow instructions  for once?”

“Then what's the point, Alaric?”

The use of my first name irritated me.

“You don't get to do whatever you want just because you can skate faster than everyone else.”

“And you don't get to treat me like an idiot just because you wear the captain's C.”

Several teammates had gone quiet. Even Dex Holloway, who usually enjoyed watching us argue, had stopped packing his bag.

“Watch your mouth,” I warned.

“Make me.”

I stepped closer. “You're a rookie, Mercer. You haven't earned the right to act like you own this team.”

His expression hardened.

“And you're a hockey player, Wynn, not a king. Being captain doesn't mean everyone has to kiss your ass.”

“Then stop playing like a selfish idiot.”

“Great. Why don't you stop acting like a controlling asshole first.”

“Say that again.”

“Controlling. Asshole.”

We were standing chest to chest now. Neither of us seemed willing to back down.

“Do you want to take this outside?” I asked.

Jovian tilted his head. “Is that a threat?”

“It's an offer.”

“Then I accept.”

“Enough!”

Coach Brandt appeared in the doorway, looking like he regretted recruiting either of us.

“Wynn, Mercer. My office. Now.”

As we passed Dex, he whispered, “For the record, I'm putting money on Mercer.”

“Shut up, Dex.”

Jovian laughed behind me.

I promised myself I'd find a way to make him regret every second of this.

Coach made us sit opposite him in his office.

“I've coached this team for eleven years,” he began. “I've dealt with losing streaks, injuries, academic suspensions, and a player who once stole the university mascot. I've never had a captain and a rookie threaten to fight each other after winning a game.”

“He was being disrespectful,” I said.

“And there it is,” Jovian muttered.

Coach slapped his clipboard against the desk.

“I watched the game. Wynn, your defensive organization was excellent until you became so distracted by Mercer's movements that you stopped communicating with the left wing. Mercer, your goal was impressive, but your decision to abandon your position was reckless.”

Neither of us answered.

“You're both talented. You're also both stubborn enough to make my job miserable. Figure out how to play together before that stubbornness costs us something important.”

“What do you want us to do?” I asked like the responsible captain I was.

“Learn to communicate without insulting each other.”

Jovian raised a hand. “Can I insult him in my head?”

“No.”

“Worth asking.”

Coach pointed at the door. “Get out. Both of you. And if I hear about another confrontation, there will be consequences.”

I stood and headed into the corridor. Jovian followed.

“You know,” he said, “if you spent half as much energy thinking about the opposing team as you do thinking about me, you'd probably be a better captain.”

I stopped.

“I'm not thinking about you.”

“Could've fooled me.”

“Unfortunately, you're on my team. That means I have to think about you.”

“Must be exhausting.” He grinned. “See you at practice, Captain.”

Then he walked away.

I was beginning to think that making it through the season with Jovian Mercer on my team would be harder than making it into the professional league.

My phone buzzed as I returned to the locker room.

Three missed calls from my father.

I stepped into the hallway and called him back.

“Finally,” he answered.

“Hi, Dad.”

“I watched the game.” so straight forward. “I saw the scoreboard. I'm more interested in why you were shouting at your teammate in front of thousands of people. Is that how you intend to behave when the professional scouts arrive?”

My stomach tightened. I'd worked for years to reach this level, and my father treated every game as an examination I couldn't afford to fail.

“I know what I'm doing dad.”

“Then start acting like it. You have a responsibility to yourself and this family. Your mother and I will be in town next weekend. We'll have dinner together, and I expect you to be available.”

“Next weekend?”

“Yes. We have business in the States, and your mother wants to see you. We'll discuss your future while we're there.”

I knew exactly what that meant: another lecture about my career, my choices, and the future he'd been planning for me since I was eight.

“Don't embarrass us, Alaric,” he added before hanging up.

I stared at my phone for a moment, then shoved it into my pocket.

Outside, the afternoon air was cold. I climbed into my car, but before I could start the engine, a message appeared in the team group chat.

COACH BRANDT: Mandatory team meeting tomorrow at 8 a.m. Wynn and Mercer, report to my office ten minutes early.

A second message arrived from Dex.

DEX: Whatever you two did, Coach looks ready to bury you both under the rink.

I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat.

Tomorrow, I'd have to deal with Jovian Mercer again. I wish I could kick him off the team myself.