Todos los capítulos de Puck Me Behind The Mask: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Zeke The tape rips off with a sound like tearing canvas, pulling the hair from my skin along with it. I hiss through my teeth, staring at the fresh purple bloom spreading across my left side. It’s ugly, deep, and throbbing like a second heartbeat. The locker room is a tomb of silence now, the echoes of the crowd’s boos still ringing in my ears even though the arena is empty. They didn’t see the way my breath hitched when I took that slap shot. They didn’t see the way my rib ground against bone when I twisted for the rebound. They just saw the puck hit the post. They just saw the loss. "Fucking useless," I mutter, throwing the wad of tape into the bin. It hits the bottom with a dull thud. I dress mechanically, movements stiff and jerky. The jersey feels like a shroud now. I don’t bother showering. I just want the hell out of here. I shove my gear into the bag, not caring if the expensive pads get scratched, and sling it over my good shoulder. Zoey’s probably waiting for me in the

Zeke “Please, please, please can I take the red truck next summer?” my twin sister begged, yanking on the sleeve of my hoodie. I brushed her off with a light shove, ignoring her the way I always do. But because she’s my insufferable clone, she possesses the exact same stubbornness I do on the ice. She latched right back onto my arm. “Zee, please. Just say yes.” “No,” I said flatly, tossing a pair of folded sweatpants into my duffel bag. “Zeke! Are you being mean to your sister again?” my mom’s voice echoed sharply from the kitchen. “He is!” Zara yelled back instantly, sticking her tongue out at me. I shoved the rest of my clothes into the bag, quickening my pace. The faster I packed, the faster I could escape this house and get back to the hockey house. My ribs were still aching from last night’s game, a dull, throbbing reminder of the defenseman who checked me, and the giant, fluffy mascot who wiped away my rage in a dark alleyway. I've been trying so hard not to think about

ZEKE The words glow on the screen, mocking in the dim light of the Jeep’s cabin. Miss me already? A cold prickle starts at the base of my neck and works its way down, settling heavy in my gut. That text is a reminder of the alley, the rain slicking the pavement, the way the damp fur smelled like wet dog and expensive cologne. The way those dead glass eyes stared up at me while a hot mouth swallowed my cock. The driver’s door clicks open. Kyler slides back in, shaking off the rain like a golden retriever, a plastic pharmacy bag rustling in his hand. "Got the good stuff, Captain." He tosses the bag onto my lap, the bottles clattering together. "Zara would kill me if I let you stay bruised up." I shove the phone into my pocket, the screen pressing against my thigh, burning a hole through the denim. "Yeah. Thanks," I mutter, staring out the window. The rain streaks the glass, blurring the streetlights into jagged smears of neon. My ribs throb in time with the turn signal, a dull, a

ZEKE “You don't look so excited to see me on the team,” Kyler said, skating up to me. He was fully dressed in his gear and team clothes. None of it suited him. His dark hair and pale skin made him look like Dracula's offspring, not to mention the stupid, pleasant grin he kept flashing at everyone, even though the rest of the guys were ignoring him or muttering slurs under their breath about how he bought his way in. “I'm never happy about anything,” I answered honestly, circling him on the ice. I stopped a few feet away, leaning heavily on my stick. “So, you're supposed to be good?” “Yeah, I played for my old school for a while,” he said, playing carelessly with his hockey stick. “I wouldn't say I'm the best, but I'm pretty good.” “Well, your old school was different. Let's see what you've got now.” I dug my edges into the ice and got into position. The air inside the arena was sharp, smelling of cold brine and shaved rubber, but it did absolutely nothing to cool the heat

ZEKEMy fist connects with the bear's jaw before I even register throwing the punch. The mascot head rocks sideways, a hollow plastic crack echoing off the shed wall, and Barnaby's bulk buckles. We go down together, his back hitting the grass first, my knees slamming into the damp ground on either side of him. My ribs scream. White-hot pain lances through my left side and I double forward, forehead pressing into the fake fur of his chest, breath coming in ragged gasps.The bear's paws come up. Not to hit me, to steady me. One cups the back of my neck, firm and warm through the padding. The other presses flat against my spine, holding me together while my body tries to shake itself apart."You done?" That voice. Deep, distorted through whatever speaker is built into the suit. Patient. Amused.I'm not done. I'm hard. My cock is straining against my jeans, pressed into the mascot's belly, and the shame of it burns worse than my ribs. I push myself up, arms trembling, and stare down into