All Chapters of Pucking the Captain: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I kept my back turned to him, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the empty street below, because if I looked at his face for one more second, my resolve was going to shatter completely. My right hand throbbed with a sickening, rhythmic ache where the skin was split and raw over my knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the heavy, suffocating guilt crushing my chest. I had done this. Silas had targeted him, had snapped his wrist like a dry twig, all because of the massive, blinding target I had painted on Jules’s back by being too possessive, too reckless, and too stupid to keep my mouth shut. "You need to stay away from me," I had told him, forcing the words out through a throat that felt lined with sandpaper. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands clenching into fists at my sides so tightly my bruised knuckles screamed in protest. "You need to focus on your recovery and your game, because if you keep tangling yourself up in my mess, you're going to lose everything you've wo

I sat at the kitchen island, staring at the harsh, glaring screen of my phone until my eyes actually burned. The black coffee in my mug had gone cold hours ago, but I kept lifting it to my lips anyway, just to have something to do with my hands and keep them from shaking. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the morning sun was trying to break through the gray city clouds, but the only thing I could focus on was the absolute circus parked on the street below. There were at least three local news vans, and a dozen guys with long-lens cameras were literally camping out on the sidewalk, pointing their lenses right at my living room windows. I scrolled down the page on my phone, my jaw ticking so hard my teeth ached. *'Behemoths Captain Mercer Faces NCAA Suspension After Brutal On-Ice Assault.'* *'Is Jaxson Mercer's Temper Costing His Team the Championship?'* And then, the worst one, the one that made my stomach drop straight to the floor. *'Sources Say Thorne Family Filing Forma

The room was completely dark, the only sound the soft, rhythmic drumming of rain against the bedroom window and the quiet, even breathing of the boy tangled in my arms. The air still smelled heavy with sex and sweat, a thick, intoxicating reminder of the desperate, bruising way I had just claimed him. I lay on my back, staring up at the shadowed ceiling, with Jules sprawled half on top of me, his head resting on my chest and his good leg thrown over my hip. His skin was warm and slick against mine, and every time he exhaled, his breath ghosted over my collarbone, sending a fresh wave of possessive, terrifying affection crashing through my chest. I had tried so damn hard to keep my walls up. I had tried to be the cold, rational captain who protected his rookie from the circus I had created, but the second I saw him at that mixer, letting some random lacrosse prick touch him, every single logical thought I had ever possessed had burned to ash. I was weak for him. I was completely,

The rhythmic, violent thwack of the puck hitting the boards was the only sound echoing through the massive, empty arena. It was two in the morning, the campus ice rink was freezing, and the air smelled sharply of Zamboni exhaust and stale cold, but I didn’t give a single fuck. I just kept skating. I pushed off my blades, dug my stick into the ice, and fired another slap shot at the net, watching the puck ripple the mesh before I chased it down and did it all over again. My lungs were burning with a vicious, icy fire, and my legs felt like they were filled with lead, but the physical exhaustion was the only thing keeping me from losing my absolute mind. Inside my gloves, the skin on my palms was blistered and raw, weeping blood every time the friction of the stick rubbed against my grip, but I barely even felt it. The physical pain was nothing compared to the massive, suffocating guilt crushing my chest. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Jules’s face in the dark.

I never thought I’d see the day where Jaxson Mercer looked this peaceful, but as the morning sun filtered through the heavy hotel curtains, he was completely dead to the world. I lay on my side, propped up on my good elbow, just watching the steady rise and fall of his broad chest, and I realized that even in his sleep, his heavy arm was still draped securely over my waist, keeping me anchored to his side like he was terrified I’d vanish if he let go. It was a small, quiet detail, but it made my heart swell with this massive, overwhelming wave of affection that I couldn’t quite contain. Carefully, so I wouldn’t wake him, I slipped out from under his arm and grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the tub, gently taking his large, resting hand in mine, and started dabbing antiseptic onto his split, blistered knuckles. He didn’t even stir, just let out a low, gravelly hum and shifted closer, his forehead coming to rest against my shoulder. I cleaned the d