Dirty Toe Drag by Toni Aleo

Chapter Four

Wes

I’m nota fan of losing.

I don’t think anyone is, but I’m sure there are people who handle it better than I do. Unlike my teammates, I get really petty. I talk entirely too much shit to the other team, and I get chirpy. I’ll run into people because it makes me feel better. I’ll slash, I’ll cross-check, I’ll do whatever I want, just to feel like I still have ownership over this game. It results in fights and penalty minutes. I’m a jackass—I know this—which isn’t really good for the team, but I am a sore loser. I own it. Hell, I’m pretty sure my therapist is tired of trying to fix it out of me, but it’s just how I do things.

It’s how I cope.

Not healthy, but at least I’m not doing crack.

We’re down by four, and it’s easy to say no one is handling the coaching change or our goalie loss well. It has not been a good month for the Assassins. When the whistle blows for offside, I glance over to Roocie, who plays for the Wild, and glare. “Hey, how’s your sister?”

“Fuck off, Mac,” he sneers, and I grin, sinfully and with all kinds of malice.

“Hey, she said something quite different. She wanted me to fuck her, and I did. A lot.”

“Dude, go fuck yourself.”

“Or should I call your sister tonight? If I remember correctly, she is wild as fuc—”

I should have seen it coming. I grew up with Roocie, which is how I slept with his sister a few times, and I know his temper. It’s exactly what I wanted. Pain. When he swings around, full rage in his eyes, I can’t even prepare myself before his gloves are on the ice and his fist is in my jaw.

Fuck, that hurts.

Man, I love it.

Soon, we’re throwing blows, and it’s a blast. While I love to score, I love to fight too. It gives me such a rush. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten the label of goon yet, probably because I do more than just fight. I’m the second-leading scorer for the team after Aiden Brooks. My assist points are insane, and my plus/minus is the highest in the league. I’m a fucking badass, but this part, the fighting, gets my engines revving. Lately, it’s all I have since I’m not having sex with anyone.

When he busts my nose, I’m thankful for the refs who break it up quickly.

As I head to the side of the rink, my teammates tapping the ice for me, I grab a towel from the trainer for my bloody nose before entering the box. When I sit down, I check my jersey to make sure I have no blood on it, and then I feel like an idiot. I realize that I’ve been doing shit like this for a while now. It’s gotten worse since Coach quit, and then we lost Peca, which is absolute bullshit. I feel for the kid. He was going to be one of the greats, and then, bam! A heart defect pops up. How in the hell? Such shit. I hate that bad things happen to good people. He’s a good kid, and I miss him.

As I hold the towel to my nose, Roocie yells over to me. “I’m not done with you.”

I scoff. “Funny, that’s what your sister told me last time.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and I don’t have to look at him to know he is shaking with anger. I lean my head back to stop the bleeding because I refuse to get off the ice. We may be down, but I am hell-bent on trying to win. But when I hear the goal song for the Wild, I groan loudly.

Well, that’s my fault.

I need to get laid. That’s the real problem. I haven’t been in the mood, which isn’t too surprising. I’ve been lusting over Stella Brooks, and I don’t feel like I’ll get what I’m craving from anyone else. I want her, and I know that’s not going to happen.

I had no problem fucking Roocie’s sister, but it’s different with Aiden. He’s actually a good friend. He accepts me for who I am and doesn’t question when I go through my phases. Hell, he and Boon are the only ones who even know I go through them. They don’t know why—only my therapist does—but they support me. I can’t lose that, no matter how badly I want Stella. Aiden has made it very clear—stay the hell away from his sister. Stella made it clear too. She won’t be with me unless it will lead to something and I’m willing to tell Aiden about it.

Two things are wrong with that. One, I could lose my best friend. And two, I could give my whole self to a woman, and when she finds out my past, she could leave me and destroy me.

That’s all way too many feelings for my liking.

When my time runs down, thankfully my nose has stopped bleeding. So I throw the towel in the trash beside the bench before taking a long pull of water. I notice Roocie stands, so I do the same, ready to hit the ice. When the box minder opens the door, I bolt out, hoping to get a sick pass from Boon. But Roocie comes out of nowhere and cuts off the pass, taking the puck to the net.

Scores.

Fucker.

I groan loudly as I skate toward our backup goalie, who is now our main goalie, Eller Vanski. He looks at me through his mask, totally defeated, and I feel for the dude. “My bad, bro.”

“I’m off,” he says in a thick Russian accent.

I tap his pads and look to the bench to see our new backup goalie, Josef Adolphson, coming off the bench.

“Super sorry, dude.”

He shrugs but taps my shin before meeting Jo in the middle of the ice to tap his glove. Jo comes toward me with a boyish grin, and I smile back. “Ready?”

This is his first start. I’d be terrified, but this kid looks as if he just won the lottery. “Hell yeah, I am.”

I tap his glove and head for the bench, where Ryan Justice, our trainer, is waiting to check on my nose. He looks it over and grimaces. “Looks broken.”

I shrug. “I’m good.”

“It needs to be set back.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah.”

“Then do it,” I urge, looking up at him.

He hesitates. “Let’s go in the back.”

I shake my head. “Do it here.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He snaps my nose, and the pain explodes in my head. The noise is louder than the sounds on the ice, and beside me, Boon gags. “Jesus Christ!”

I laugh as Ryan catches the blood with the towel, and I ignore the watering in my eyes. I need to focus, get ready to hit the ice. I miss my shift since I’m still bleeding, and when the new coach tries to get me to go to the locker room, I refuse. I need to help my team win since we’re down because of me. When my next shift comes, unfortunately I’m still bleeding, so I’m kicked off the bench.

Which pisses me the fuck off.

With little tubes of cotton in my nose, I watch the game from the back as my face starts to swell. The pain is intense, but I’m so pissed about the game, screwing over our goalie, and life, I ignore it as I watch my boys battle. What impresses me the most is that Josef is kicking ass. The Wild are throwing pucks at him with no cares in the world. They’re peppering him like crazy, but he’s in ninja mode. It’s impressive to watch, but we don’t score. And when we lose, I feel the weight of it on my shoulders.

After a nice ass-chewing from our new coach, I head to the showers with Aiden and Boon. They’re both as frustrated as I am. So much change has happened, and I’m not sure we can come back from it. We may be in play-off position, but I don’t see us going far. Which is really depressing since we just had back-to-back wins of the Cup. I doubt we’ll go for a third. Shit is too insane right now, and God knows I don’t have my mental game strong.

“How’s your nose?” Aiden asks as the water runs hot through the showers.

“Eh, hurts.”

Boon scoffs. “Maybe next time, don’t poke the bear.”

I grin. “That’s how I let out my frustration.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “As someone with sisters, I’m just saying that was pretty rude.”

I look over at him as I wash my balls. “Well, I respect you, and I would never say anything like that to you. Roocie is a dick.”

“He is,” Boon agrees, and Aiden laughs.

“Agreed, but still.”

“Whatever. I got what I deserved, and it felt good.”

“You’re so weird,” Boon supplies, and I laugh along with Aiden.

“He is, but he’s our weirdo.”

I flash a crooked grin to Aiden. “Damn right.”

And I’m lucky to have them.

* * *

I probably madea bad choice letting Ryan set my nose.

He’s a professional, sure, but maybe I should have gone to the ER. We lost anyway, and I hadn’t scored, so they wouldn’t miss me. But still, I wanted to score. I try to bring in air through my nose, but instead of being successful, I sound more like a whistle. Rather, a broken whistle. There is a lot of wheezing and pain. When I caught a look at myself this morning, I was rewarded with not only a nice black-and-blue nose, but two black eyes.

When I sent a photo to Aiden and Boon, they both teased me that I’d never say anything about Roocie’s sister again. They’re wrong. Hell, I should try to hook up with her again, just to stick it to him good. I know I won’t, though. That would involve me talking to her, and she’s as crazy as her brother. Very clingy. Very needy. Both reasons it didn’t work the first, second, or ninth time we dated. She was crazy, but hell was she good in bed.

I sit lazily in a fluffy blue chair as I scroll through my Instagram, hoping to catch a glimpse of Stella while I wait for my therapist to come out and get me. I get bored very quickly, and I go to her profile. There isn’t a new post, but she does have some stories. I click on them, grinning at the candid shots of her and a guy I assume is her friend. He’s very showy, with a full face of makeup and a bright-pink jumpsuit. She’s going to school for fashion, which is how she met him.

I assume.

I wish I could just talk to her, really talk to her. Not this flirty shit we do or the looks and the yearning. If she’d let me, I’d take her out just to talk. Then the next day, she wouldn’t leave my bed. In my opinion, that seems totally reasonable with how much restraint I’ve shown so far. I almost couldn’t let her go when we hooked up at Aiden’s wedding. I wouldn’t disrespect her, but man, I wanted her. So damn bad. I find myself licking my lips as I look at her selfie in what I guess is the community bathroom between classes. Fuck, she’s hot.

I send a heart and then the drooling emoji, but before I can shut down the app, I see she is online. She likes my comment and sends me a heart.

Before I can stop myself, I type:

Wes_McMillan: Having a good day? You look gorgeous as always.

StellaAnn: Busy and tired. You?

Wes_McMillan: Rough night and now therapy. But there is leftover Chinese at home for me, so things are looking up.

StellaAnn: Yeah, saw y’all lost. Sorry. Maybe therapy will help?

I go to type that seeing her would help greatly. But instead, I send her a thumbs-up because, really, what the hell do I say to that?

I’ve been in regular therapy since I was eighteen. I don’t know if there is help for me.

“Wesley?”

I look up to see my therapist, Noelle Matthews. She’s been the team’s therapist for as long as I’ve been here. She’s a little older than me and kind. Except when she’s making me talk about shit I don’t want to deal with.

“Hey, Dr. Matthews. How you doing?”

“Wonderful. Jesus, I heard you got hurt, but that’s a nasty injury.”

I wave her off. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” she laughs. “Come on in.” She moves out of the way so I can walk in. I’ve never asked how old she is, but one thing is for sure. She’s gorgeous. She’s got that hourglass figure that reminds me of a cartoon pinup girl. Her dark hair and dark eyes make her seem all gypsylike. She has these really thick lips that remind me a lot of Stella’s. I’m sure it is frowned upon to be lusting over a girl I can’t have while trying to heal my mind.

As I enter, like I always do, I look around her office. She has a lot of bookcases, full of books and pictures of her dogs. She’s a huge dog person. She has a pretty neat white desk that she’s paired with a dark purple chair.

“How’re the dogs?”

She smiles as she sits down. “Wonderful. I’m rescuing another one this week.”

“Wow. How many is that now?”

“Four.”

We share a smile before she lets out a long breath. “We need to talk.”

I’m not sure if I should brace myself or not, so I do just to feel safe. I grip the arms of the chair. “Okay?”

“I don’t talk about my family a lot in our sessions, but my youngest brother is on the spectrum for autism. We have found a really awesome program out in Colorado, so, unfortunately, we’ll only have two more sessions together before I move.”

“Oh.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But the good thing is, my replacement will be sitting in with us on the last two, so we can get to know one another as a group. I want to have weekly Skype calls with you until you’re comfortable.”

“And if I don’t get comfortable right away with them?” Valid question since it took over four months for me to open up to her.

“Then we can increase the frequency of our calls. I will continue to work with you until you are. I’ll even do sessions with you both. I’ll be heading back here monthly to check on my other siblings, so we can meet up if need be.”

Panic. All I feel is panic. But I know this is best for her, and I’m sure this wasn’t an easy decision. I nod. “This sucks, but I want the best for your brother.”

She smiles happily. “You’re too sweet, Wesley. Thank you. We’ll get you taken care of, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” But I am worried. Didn’t I say I wanted things to even out? My therapist leaving is not evening out! Fuck me. I love this woman; she’s the first therapist who has gotten the truth out of me, the one who supports me when I get in my phases. I don’t want to do this all over, especially when I wasn’t too confident about opening up to her.

“So, was it a rogue elbow or stick that got you, or was it a fight?” she asks, a grin pulling at her lips as I meet her gaze.

She isn’t going to like this. “I was mad we were losing, and since I had been with an opponent’s sister, I felt the need to pick at him about it.”

She gives me a very stern look. “Do you feel better?”

“My face hurts, but it did please me to get back at him for beating us.”

“Fine, but this all stems from the past, Wesley. And you gotta ask yourself, did it take away the pain of being molested?”

Well, no. But then, nothing has.

This is going to be a long session.