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topguncortez · 6 months ago

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Slap Shot || Chapter 2

A Top Gun Hockey AU

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synopsis: Jake heads to his last game before his suspension and hears the speculated news right from the source. Sonny attends her first Dagger hockey game since getting the job.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: grief, mentions of sexism, injuries, losing a parent, locker room talk, hockey inaccuracies, mentions of cheating, workplace harassment, use of the word "puck bunny", mentions of sex

note: I have a graduation/summer celebration going on! help me get back into the writing groove by requesting something or sending in an ask!

There was something about the electricity in the air on game day. The anticipation, the anxiety, the stress, the crowds lining the block hours before the puck drops. It was all things that Jake had grown to love ever since he got up to the big leagues. He could remember the day of his first NHL game, there was a lot riding on his shoulders as the first round draft pick to a team that hadn’t even had a playoff berth in the new century. The line of fans was around the building and down the block, fangirls screaming and pointing at Jake’s truck as he pulled up to North Island Arena, or the Hard Deck, as some fans called it.

And even years later, the excitement was still there. The crowds were still around the building and down the block. And the fangirls still screamed and pointed at his truck as he pulled into the underground garage at the Hard Deck. Jake parked his truck in the same spot, right next to defenseman Bradley Bradshaw’s shiny blue bronco.

Jake straightened out his gray suit, a custom made gift from one of the various sponsors he had gained over the years. Aside from being one of the best hockey players, Jake Seresin was also the “pretty boy” of the NHL. And he wore that title with a badge of honor.

Making his way inside the Hard Deck, he sent a wink to the young social media intern who was in charge of filming the players as they walked inside. He couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered that one trick she could do with her tongue that had his head spinning.

“Looking good. . .” He nodded towards her, and watched as she nearly fainted from his acknowledgement.

The locker room was practically empty as Jake walked to his locker, stripping from his suit, and changing into his warm up clothes. He liked to be the first one to the arena, he liked to sit in the quiet locker room, and go over his plays in his head before it was filled with the sounds of his teammates getting ready for their game. Jake wouldn’t say he was superstitious and had precious pre-game rituals, but he had some things he liked to do before every game.

“Thought you weren’t playing,” A voice broke him out of his trance. He lifted his head to see his teammate, Michael Hendersob, standing in the doorway. His suit had long been shucked off, a pair of black shorts and a blue North Island sweatshirt on his body.

“Last game for a while,” Jake gave him a half smile, “Apparently, fighting your teammates is frowned upon.”

“So is sleeping with the coach’s wife.”

Jake scoffed, looking down at his feet, “I didn’t sleep with her. If anything, she threw herself at me. What was I supposed to do?”

Henderson rolled his eyes, grabbing some tape to work on his sticks for the game, “I don’t know man, walk away? Say no thanks?”

“I can’t leave a wanting lady unsatisfied,” Jake smirked and Henderson huffed. It was quiet for a moment, as Jake looked at the stick in his lap, before he spoke up, “Rumor mill says you signed for an apartment in the Villages.”

Henderson chuckled, “Yeah, a beautiful three bedroom ranch style, right on the beach. Thinking I should get a golf cart and some of those colored loofahs, maybe even a pineapple on the front door.”

“Oh I bet Liv would love that.”

If there was one woman who could make the whole North Island Daggers Hockey Team shudder in fear, it was Liv Henderson. The woman was the definition of the perfect WAG: beautiful, smart, classy, helpful, and strong willed. Liv had opened up her house, having most of the team dinners on Sundays when they could. Liv always joked that she wasn’t just raising three boys, she was raising 26 boys (including her own husband). Jake always jokes around that one day he was going to steal Liv away, but never in a million years would he think of doing that. He saw the way Henderson looked at the girl who was his highschool sweetheart. It made him ache for something like that.

“She’d have my balls in a jar,” Henderson shook his head, both men knowing it was probably true, “But it’s time, man. I’m getting past my prime. I can’t keep up with you young bucks out there on the ice. Besides. . . after everything that happened across the pond. . . I know it was a freak accident, but it scared me. I can’t imagine my wife, my kids, hell, the fans and my team seeing that.”

Jake nodded, knowing exactly what he was alluding to. The freak accident of two players on the ice, leading to one tragically losing their life. When news of the accident traveled, it made Jake feel sick to his stomach. Hockey was a dangerous sport. He’s seen guys skate off holding their teeth in their hands, or clutching their broken noses. Never, in a million years, would he imagine a team would have to hold their friend up as they took him off the ice.

“I plan to be here to watch them grow up, and not spend it trying to fix my scrambled brain,” Henderson spoke, breaking the tension, “Bad enough I got three fake teeth. Liv would come after me if I lost another.”

“It’ll be weird without you,” Jake looked at him.

For as long as Jake has been a fan of hockey, Michael Henderson has been playing. Jake could remember being a kid, going with the U12 USA team to a North Island versus the Flyers game, and waiting down by the tunnel to get his jersey signed by Michael. To be drafted to the same team as him is like a dream come true for Jake. What would’ve made it better is having Russ Hamilton as their coach. Jake knew there would come a day where Henderson would hang up the skates, he just didn’t think it would be this soon.

“You’ll get over it,” Henderson nudged him, and Jake scoffed, “You will. You’ll be sitting in this locker room a year from now and be like ‘damn, I'm sure glad that grandpa is gone’.”

“Never,” Jake feigned hurt, “You are my baby!”

“You’re fucking weird,” Henderson shook his head in laughter, and then cleared his throat, “You know. . . They asked me if I had a recommendation for a captain.” Jake felt his heartbeat pick up in speed, “The first name that came to my mind was yours. And I wanted to say your name so bad. . . but I couldn’t.”

“Why?” Jake felt a mix of anger and sadness that the man he considered one of his close friends and mentors wouldn’t have suggested him for the spot.

“Cause you’re not there yet,” Henderson said, honesty dripping in his voice. If there was one person on the team any of the guys could be honest with, it was Michael Henderson. Man was like a vault, harboring secrets of his teammates, “We all know you are the right man for the job. But you have to prove it. Being a captain is more than just having the skills and the stats. It’s what happens off the ice.”

“Look,” Henderson ran a hand through his hair, “I was your age when I was faced with either getting captain or getting kicked off. Liv and I had broken up and I just. . . I got sucked into the life of being a hockey player. As a captain, you have so many eyes on you. Not just from the coaches and the GMs. . . but the fans, the sports announcers, the kids. . . Being a captain isn’t just about what happens on the ice, it’s also about what happens off the ice,” Henderson sat down next Jake, “You are the man for the position. But you need to get your shit together. Or they’ll pick someone else and you’ll be sent somewhere else.”

Jake looked at his teammate, soaking in every word that he said. Even though there was only a 10 year difference between him and Henderson, he felt like there was more. Henderson spoke to Jake like an encouraging father, one that he wished and envied that his boys had.

“Thanks Hendo,” Jake said sincerely.

“Of course,” Henderson smiled, “Now, do me a favor. . . Keep the retirement village stuff a secret. Liv still hasn’t picked out the house she wants yet.”

Jake chuckled, slapping his captain’s shoulder, “Secrets safe with me.”

— — —

One part of pre-game that Jake hated, was warming up on the ice in front of fans. Some guys loved it, taking time to smile and pose for pictures and toss pucks over the glass. Jake hated it because it distracted him. The bright signs, the fans pounding on the glass, the blasting music and lights flashing around. Jake just wanted to put his headphones on and ignore the social media girl who held her work phone right in front of his face as he stretched out on the ice. He just knew that his friends and family are going to bombard him with links to the latest thirst trap of him stretching.

The guys skated around on the ice, passing pucks to one another and serving them to Bob Floyd, their goalie. When Bob first joined the team, Jake didn’t think he had what it took to be an NHL goalie. He was scrawny, and lanky, and looked like he weighed less than his pads. But after he had a game winning save against the Devils and nearly started a fight himself, Jake was suddenly Team Bob Floyd.

Jake quietly ran through the roster of the guys, checking them off one by one as they skated by, noticing that one was still missing. Jake was about to shout at Henderson asking where Holloway was, when the player in question skated out on the ice, a bubble now attached to his helmet. A prominent cut was still across his nose as bruising grew under his eye sockets. Jake couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips as Holloway skated right by him.

“Something funny, Seresin?” Holloway asked.

Jake just shrugged, “Oh nothing, bubble boy,” He stood from where he was kneeling on the ice, “Maybe next time. . . start a fight you can win.”

Holloway glared daggers into Jake’s back as he skated over to a bunch of awaiting blondes hoping for a chance to get a puck from the star player.

— — —

There was a chill in the arena as you walked through the door, being escorted by some intern to the box that Pete and Tom had invited you to. You knew this stadium like the back of your hand, and would have found your way to the box that was named in honor of your father by yourself. Even though your father didn’t spend a lot of time on the Daggers team, he still considered the organization as his family. He told you once that he truly never felt a connection to a team or an area like he did for North Island. It brought a smile to your face as the intern pushed open the door to the box with red letters painted on the frosted glass reading “The Hamilton Box”.

You walked right towards the edge of the box, looking out over the ice as both teams warmed up, skating in circles around each other. The last time you had been in this position, your father was standing next to you, pointing out certain players to keep an eye on and rattling off their stats as if it had been ingrained in his mind, which knowing him. . . it probably was. A strange feeling grew in your belly, it was a mixture of sadness and anger. Sadness that he wasn’t here next to you and anger that cancer had taken him way before his time.

“You miss it?” Tom asked, startling you from your trance of watching the players.

A sheepish smile grew on your face as you looked back at the ice. Only a handful of people knew the truth as to why you walked away from hockey, and Tom was one of those, “Every damn day.”

Tom gave you a warm smile, the type of smile only a dad could give to their child as he slung his arm over your shoulders, “Your dad always spoke so highly of you. Told us you were going to give us a run for our money some day.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered those days where you’d spend hours upon hours at the arena with your dad. Running drills until your body physically couldn’t anymore. Your dad never pushed you hard, it was always something you did on your own and your dad was just a grateful volunteer to be there. Those days seemed like a whole other life compared to what you were living now.

“I haven’t been on the ice like that in years,” You shook your head, looking down at your heels. You could’ve just worn jeans and some sneakers like you would usually wear, but you were still trying to impress your new employer, so dress pants, a deep blue dress shirt and black heels it was, “It wouldn’t even feel the same anymore. Not because of the injury. . . because he’s not here.”

Tom squeezed your shoulders, “You’d be surprised. I gave it up for years and thought the same thing. But sometimes, it feels better than it used to feel.”

You nodded your head as Tom walked over to a group of donors, working the crowd just like you remember him doing. Tom was always the face of the Daggers, your dad always poking fun of him for it. Tom always got the glory while your dad was doing all the guts. You shook your head laughing, looking back towards the ice, rolling your eyes as one of the players stood off to the side, flirting with a group of females.

It seemed as soon as the puck dropped, the Coyotes had already won the game. The Coyotes came in hot, and the Daggers were ice cold as they kept getting out played and out skated. No one seemed to be communicating on the team, simple plays falling apart and dumb goals getting passed Bob. The anger grew in Jake’s body as he got slammed into the boards for probably the 100th time in a row, and it was only the 2nd period. Jake usually thrived when he was behind the net, but his usual tactics were falling apart and he felt like Holloway was leaving him defenseless and open for being used as a punching bag.

Jake shook his head, a loud groan leaving his gritted teeth as he skated out from behind the net, going right up to Holloway, “You just going to sit there with your thumb in your ass and not do anything!?”

Holloway just shrugged, “You seemed like you had it,” If looks could kill, Holloway would be dead as he skated over the blue line.

Jake’s eyes move around the ice, watching the puck as Bradley stole it away from a Coyote player, passing it over to Holloway. Instead of skating back to the net, to get set up for a goal or assist, Jake skated right at Holloway, checking him, sending his teammate flying towards the ground. Jake was quick to juggle the puck before lining up to make a perfect slapshot, sending it soaring past the Coyote goalie. The arena erupted in cheers as the buzzer sounded. Jake smirked as he skated past Holloway, who was getting up from the ice.

“The fuck was that!?” Holloway yelled.

“I had it,” Jake winked. The small movement being broadcasted on the jumbotron for everyone to see, making the crowd go even wilder.

The Hamilton Box erupted in cheers as people high-fived and clinked their drinks together at finally getting on the scoreboard. You could hear Tom’s loud cheering as he pointed down to the ice, the players getting ready for the game to get back and action. You rolled your eyes, all the goal did was put the team on the scoreboard, they were still getting beat 4-1. Your eyes landed on the jumbotron hanging above the center of the ice, the goal and Jake Seresin’s wink to his teammate were being replayed over and over, making your blood heat up. If there was one thing you hated, it was show-offs.

“Not a fan?” Pete asked, noticing the look on your face.

“Not a fan?” You asked, eyebrow raised, and nodded your head towards the replay still being shown, “Not a fan is an understatement.”

Tom had walked over to the two, a glass of champagne in his hand, “It was a good play.”

“That?” You scoffed, “That was bullshit. He bodychecked his own teammate to make a goal, and for what? To make ESPN’s “play of the week”,” You mocked, looking back at the ice just as Jake got shoved up against the boards. . . again, “Hockey is a team sport. You’re only going to be good if you work together. That little display of. . . whatever the fuck, isn’t how you win a cup. If Jake Seresin wanted to play by himself, he should try golf.”

You turned your body as Tom and Pete shared a look, “What?”

A smile broke across Pete’s face, “Nothing. . . you just sound like your dad.”

You tried to keep up your facade, but it slowly faded as your ears turned pink and a smile threatened to arise on your face. You cleared your throat and turned back to the game, stomping your heel for extra drama. Both men chuckled softly, before following suit and watching the second period get under way.

— — —

They should’ve won.

They should’ve fucking won.

The Coyotes were supposed to be an easy, breezy team to play before the Daggers hit the road for 2 weeks. But apparently, the Coyotes had gotten good overnight. . . or the Daggers underestimated them.

The moment the final buzzer went off, Jake was pissed. A final score of 6-2 in bright block letters dancing around the jumbotron as Jake skated off the ice towards the locker room, not stopping to acknowledge fans or his coaches. Everyone knew better than to stand in the way of Jake Seresin and the locker room after a brutal loss. The second the door closed behind him, he was breaking his stick against the ground with a loud yell.

��You’re lucky Bauer endorses you,” Bradley mumbled as he walked in after Jake, kicking the pieces of splintered plastic.

“Shut up, Bradshaw,” Jake muttered, throwing the remaining stick off towards the side. He sat down on the bench with a groan, immediately going to undo his skates, “That was fucking stupid.”

“We got outplayed,” Bradley shrugged, “What can we do?”

“Don't get outplayed.”

Bradley couldn’t even respond as Jake was already shucking off his uniform and pads, before grabbing his towel and heading to the showers. On the nights where they lost, Jake was the first one out of the locker room, doing all that was humanly possible to avoid talking to the press. Tonight, he seemed to be wanting to move even quicker, knowing that the press was going to ask him about the bodycheck he delivered to Holloway and how he felt about his upcoming suspension.

Jake showered quickly, washing the hotspots of his body, knowing that he would take a more in depth shower at home. Or maybe he’d take a bath. There was nothing Jake loved more than his clawfoot bathtub, it was the selling point for Jake when he was house hunting. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Jake stepped out into the locker room, which was fuller with his team mates all stripping off their uniforms and equipment. A cloud of tension was thick in the air as no one hardly said anything. What was there to say?

They should’ve fucking won.

“Seresin,” Coach Simpson said as he walked into the locker room. Jake’s back tensed, his breathing deep, “We need to talk.”

Jake took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, before reaching for his deodorant, “Not now.”

“Yes,” Simpson grumbled, “Now.”

Jake turned around, “No.” Simpson’s jaw clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me?”

Jake clenched his jaw, “Not tonight, alright, Coach? I played like shit. We all played like shit. My body hurts. I’m tired. And quite frankly, I think I am the last person that should be talking to the press tonight,” Jake turned back to his locker, grabbing his sweatpants. With not an ounce of shame in his body, he turned back around to his coach, and dropped his towel. Simpson quickly looked away, annoyance even more evident on his face.

“Fine,” Simpson grunted, “Get your shit and get out.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Jake smirked, slipping on his sweatpants and chucking all of his stuff into his duffle bag, “See you in two weeks.”

“Actually. . .” Simpson licked his lips, as if the next words were going to pain him, “You will be joining us in Edmonton. Won’t be playing, but you’ll be there.”

“Perfect. . . guessing they didn’t want me and Emma alone in the same place.” Before Simpson could yell at him Jake walked out of the locker room.

Although his mood had lifted slightly, the moment he was in his truck, and turned on the Paul Marquez Show, his anger returned.

“Going out West, we had the Coyotes and Daggers. . . and man did those Coyotes chew them up and spit them out,” Paul’s voice sounded out over the speakers as Jake put the truck in drive. He knew it was stupid to listen to sports analysts who hated him after playing probably the worst game of the season. But Jake was a sucker for pain, “Jake Seresin scored both of North Island’s goals for the night getting them on the scoreboard but it wasn’t enough.”

“Oh it was enough,” The voice of Denny Lester filled the cab of the truck, “Hitting your already injured teammate. . . an injury that you caused, is certainly a new one.”

“Seresin’s time in the penalty box was certainly lower than it was during last week's game stretch against the Devils,” Paul Marquez’s voice sounded through the speaker again, “Could this mean that the Dagger bad boy is turning a new leaf?” Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes towards his sunroof, “Or could it mean that the trade deadline is fast approaching, and Seresin’s title could be on the line.

Jake quickly turned off the radio, not wanting to hear the analysis on the encroaching trade deadline. He had the date circled on his calendar in bright red marker, and hung it on his fridge. Jake always believed the trade deadline came at the worst part of the season. Teams had been playing together for months, most had players returning from All-Star Weekend, the end of the season was winding down and the playoff teams started to become clearer. Trades could either make or break a team. Even if you were one of the benchwarmers that got traded, it was still a hit to the team.

If you would’ve asked Jake last season if he was worried about the trade deadline, he would’ve laughed in your face and told you that you were stupid for even asking that question. But this season was different. He was different. Jake hated to say that the years of getting rammed into the boards were starting to catch up to him. . . but those years of getting rammed into the boards were starting to catch up to him.

Jake pulled into the underground garage of his apartment building, turning his truck off and grabbing his duffle and suit bag from the car. His shoes squeaked against the marble of his luxury apartment building, as he nodded his head towards his doorman and the elevator attendant. Yeah, he lived in one of those buildings. When he first got to the daggers as an 18 year old, he had splurged most of his first NHL check on getting all the things he imagined, including the luxury penthouse on the 15th floor of the “Hamilton Building '' named after nonother than his hockey idol.

The elevator dinged and opened right into Jake's living room, which was mainly black and white marble floors with black couches, white walls and a black-brick fireplace. He was a simple man, and liked to keep his house simple. He didn’t have time for decorations and besides, it was just more stuff around to collect dust. His housekeeper already had enough to do cleaning the two floor, 8 bedrooms, 6 bathroom penthouse.

Jake tossed his duffle and suit bags on the floor by the elevator, knowing Donna will pick it up and put it away in his closet in the morning. He didn’t know how she did it, but his bag and clothes were always washed and put away by the time he woke up in the morning. She was like Santa Claus, but with less breaking into people’s houses. He slowly made his way to the kitchen, wanting his post-game snack which consisted of chocolate chip cookies and homemade ice cream, both made by Donna.

He came to a stop in the doorway, his eyebrows furrowing at the stranger with her back to him, sitting at his kitchen island. The black dress she wore hugged her frame, and the black heels on her feet made her golden tan legs look like they went on for ages. Her hair was curled and flowed down her back, and the slightest hint of a tattoo peaked out from under the neckline.

“I didn’t order anything, but I am sure glad you’re here,” Jake smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway.

The girl jumped, her phone clattering to the island and her hand going to her chest, probably to slow her erratic heartbeat. She waited a moment, before turning around on the barstool, shock written on her face, before it quickly twisted in disgust and anger.

“Oh you got to be fucking kidding me,” She cursed.

Jake chuckled, “Nice to meet you too, sweetheart. Usually that’s not the response I get. And usually the girls are wearing less clothes when I walk in. But I get it, want a bit of a-”

The girl slid off the barstool, holding her hand up to cut him off, “I am not a fucking puck bunny,” She pointed her finger at him, and then waved it between the two of them, “And this is not going to fucking work,” She turned back around towards the island, gathering her phone, purse and coat. Jake couldn’t help but admire her ass in that black dress. He was a sucker for a woman in a little black dress and heels.

“You’re in my apartment wearing a black dress and heels. What else am I supposed to assume?”

The girl scoffed, turning her head with her jaw slightly ajar. Jake let his mind wander a bit, wondering how soft her lips were. They were plump and covered in what he guessed was lipgloss by the way they shone in the dim light of his kitchen.

“You don’t even. . .” She shook her head again, “God you are worse than I remember,” Jake cocked his head in confusion, “I should’ve asked for a fucking name before I drove here. Hell! Before I even agreed to this!”

“What are you going on about?” Jake asked, his eyebrows furrowed, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you or-” The girl scoffed again, even louder this time, “Okay. . .” He pondered for a moment, trying to rack his brain for the right thing to say, “Well, I’m not that bad of a lay. I’ve been told I’m pretty-” The glare she sent him was enough to make him shut up, “Okay not here for a lay.”

“Not even fucking close,” She grabbed her phone again, quickly opening the uber app.

“Sorry for assuming, sweetheart.”

“Quit with the sweetheart,” She mumbled, refreshing the app to see if a car could come get her. It was a Friday Night in North Island. . . how was there not a single Uber available? She was contemplating walking back to her hotel at this point, “That’s not my name.”

Jake nodded his head, moving from the entryway of the kitchen and over to the opposite end of the island. He’s had his fair share of rejections, but none like this. Usually girls were always down for a one night stand with him. But there was something about the way this girl wasn’t even going to give him the time of day that intrigued him, “Can you tell me what your name is?”

She continued to tap away on her phone, hoping and pleading to whomever that an Uber would become available, but it seemed like she was shit out of luck. She looked up at the man in front of her again, his eyebrows raised, waiting for her response to his question. A strange sensation filled her chest. Embarrassment. Hurt. Anger. She should’ve known that she didn’t mean anything to him, when he had only left a sticky note on the nightstand after what she would consider was the best weekend of her life. She shook her head, pushing away the embarrassment and turning it into fuel for her anger. She set down her purse and coat, holding her hand out to Jake.

“Y/N L/N, your new personal PR manager. . . oh! And your new roommate.”

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