Puck Off

A St. Clair Ironheads Novel
by Jace Wilder

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Pairing: M/M
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Secret Relationship, Forced Proximity, Grumpy/Grumpy, Praise Kink, Hurt/Comfort

The Wall. The Viper. The rivalry that set the league on fire.

Jaxson Cole is The Wall—the NHL’s most feared enforcer. For sixteen years, he’s built an empire of ice around his heart. No distractions. No complications. No one gets close. His father’s voice still echoes in his head: You’re not soft. You’re The Wall.

Nico Varis is The Viper—the league’s deadliest sniper with a mouth that matches his skill. He’s everything Jaxson hates: flashy, arrogant, and way too pretty for his own good. Their rivalry has been headline news for years. Every game becomes a war.

Then one night at a charity gala changes everything.

What starts as hate-fueled collision becomes something neither expected—stolen moments in a secret cabin, rules designed to keep feelings out, and a connection that terrifies them both. Because Jaxson hasn’t let anyone past his walls in sixteen years. And Nico has never wanted anyone this badly.

But in the NHL, secrets don’t stay buried. When the playoffs pit their teams against each other in a seven-game war, Jaxson and Nico must decide: protect the walls they’ve built, or risk everything for a love that could destroy their careers.

Because the only thing more dangerous than playing against your rival… is falling in love with him.

Puck Off is a high-heat MM enemies-to-lovers hockey romance featuring two stubborn athletes who can’t keep their hands off each other, a secret cabin getaway, playoff pressure, and a public declaration of love that will make you believe in happy endings. Contains explicit content, praise kink, and enough tension to melt the ice.

⚠️ Content Notes

This book contains explicit M/M sexual content including: praise kink, light D/s dynamics, possessive behavior, and detailed intimate scenes. Also includes: parental homophobia (past), internalized shame, coming out journey, and two men learning to be vulnerable. All content is between consenting adults. Guaranteed HEA.

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Chapter One: The Wall

The tape made a sound like a whisper when Jaxson wound it around his knuckles. Three wraps. Tight. Then across the palm, between the fingers, and back again. The same pattern he’d used for fourteen years. The same ritual that turned his hands into weapons.

Around him, the Ironheads’ locker room hummed with the chaos of game-day prep. Dmitri was chirping the rookies about their playoff beards—pathetic wisps that wouldn’t intimidate a church mouse. Kowalski had his headphones on, nodding to whatever Norwegian death metal got him ready to drop gloves. Someone had cranked the speakers, and a bass-heavy beat rattled the lockers.

Jaxson heard none of it.

He sat in his corner—the corner that had been his for nine seasons, the corner no one else dared claim—and focused on the tape. On the steady rhythm of the wrap. On the way it compressed his knuckles until they felt like stone.

You’re not soft. You’re The Wall.

His father’s voice. Always his father’s voice, even six years after the funeral.

Jaxson tore the tape with his teeth and pressed the edge flat. He flexed his fingers once, twice, testing the restriction. Perfect. Tight enough to protect, loose enough to grip a stick—or a jersey, if things went sideways.

Things always went sideways when the Ironheads played the Sovereigns.

“Yo, Cap.”

Dmitri’s voice cut through Jaxson’s focus. The goalie dropped onto the bench beside him, all six-foot-three of Russian-born chaos crammed into goalie pads that made him look like a refrigerator with legs.

“You coming to the thing after?” Dmitri asked, pulling on his mask and adjusting the straps. “Kowalski’s got a table at Mick’s. Wings. Beer. Maybe some of those waitresses who pretend to like hockey players.”

“No.”

“No?” Dmitri clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Jaxson Cole, the Wall of St. Clair, says no to wings? What, you got a hot date?”

The question landed like a check to the ribs. Jaxson kept his face blank—a skill he’d perfected long before he ever stepped on NHL ice.

“I’ve got tape to review.”

“Tape.” Dmitri snorted. “Always tape. You know what your problem is? You need to get laid. And not by your hand, before you make that joke.”

“I wasn’t going to make that joke.”

“Because you have no sense of humor. This is what I am saying.”

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