Sunscreen. Right. I’d not laid eyes on my bottle of sunscreen since I’d tossed it under the sink on my return from Caye Caulker. My heart skipped a beat as I recalled smearing thick white lotion on Tian’s warm skin. Tian. Holy hell. Had he made the team? Would we see each other there? What would I say if we ran into each other? Would it be horribly awkward? Would we talk, or share a beer, or pick up where we’d left off in the Caribbean?
Only time would tell…
I knewthat the US team needed promo photos.
Didn’t mean I had to like having them taken.
“Okay, Jack, if you could turn this way and lift your chin. Hmm, Louisa, can we do something about the wild hairs of that beard. Oh, and please give him more concealer under his eyes. I’ve wheeled bags through customs that were smaller.”
I shot a look at Pete Starinski, or Starry as he was known in Florida. “Did that picture-taker just call me old?”
Starry, another defenseman, chuckled. “I think so. Do we want to slap him upside the head with these pretty red, white, and blue sticks?
“Let me think about it,” I replied as Louisa, a lovely woman corralling us idiot hockey players, arrived to touch up the bags under my eyes.
This patriotic imagery was nice; don’t get me wrong, but what I wanted most right now was, in order of importance, to get to Italy, find Tian, kiss him, and fall asleep. If the kissing ledto other things in the privacy of a hotel room, then sleep would naturally have to be put off. Personally, I’d have been happy to skip all of this. Not that I wasn’t proud to play for my country but being draped in the flag and told to pretend I was thinking deep thoughts was not Jack O’Leary.
It was too much hoopla. I just wanted to get over to Europe, play hockey, and beat Canada. That was half of the conversation among the top players from America on the flight over. That was the Holy Grail for us, and it wasn't easy to accomplish. But we had fantastic players and coaches. We had a solid chance. I’d give it my all. This was my first and for sure last time I would ever be invited. I wanted to go out big. Retirement was a year away now and what better way to clock out than with a gold medal, a Cup win, and Tian in my life. Somehow. Somehow, we would make it work.Ifhe was interested in making it work.
“His beard is too wooly,” Louisa announced to the room.
The photographer, some wiry guy with a bowl cut hairdo and thick glasses, stormed over to me.
“Mr. Hockey Player, your facial hair is being contrary. Please shave.”
“Yeah, nope.” I stared down at the pencil-thin man in the black shawl and matching leggings. “Not going to happen. Just pluck a few.”
“How can I do my job when these idiots don’t listen,” he huffed then set Louisa to tugging out wild red hairs with her little silver tweezers. The other guys in the room were in hysterics.
I’d give the press a lot of leeway, but I wasn’t shaving my beard. Tian had loved running his fingers through it and that meant it was staying. At least until we had a chance to meet up and talk in Italy. Then, if he had someone else in his life—something against which I prayed every other day—I’d shave it. Maybe. Maybe not. It was a lucky beard now. Maybe this wild,thick ginger mass would sit on my face until they planted me in the cold green hills outside Dublin next to some of my distant relatives.
“Seems you would have better control of your beard,” Starry teased an hour later when we were all finally done being plucked, contoured, and photographed.
“They have a mind of their own,” I tossed over my shoulder, Starry at my side. We D-men tended to hang together like a troop of monkeys. I was ready to go home and finish packing, counting down the days until I could see Tian again. We’d been given a nearly three-week break to participate on the US team, and I planned to make the most of it. I’d never been to Italy. I’d had daydreams of shady coffees in romantic little cafes with Tian tucked into my side.
Winning gold and seeing Tian.
TEN
Tian
I wasat the final qualifier at the US Grand Prix at Mammoth Mountain. I was there, sore from the last brutal practice runs, every joint aching from repetition, but ready to put it all on the line. This was the one—secure a medal here, and my place on the Olympic team was locked. I was already all but in, but just one more podium would seal it. I could feel the weight of the season behind me, a trophy rack of medals from every stop so far, proof that I hadn’t just had a breakout year—I’d sustained it.
I was sprawled on the couch with ice packs on my knees when the alert buzzed through my sports app. I’d added the Railers to my New York feed weeks ago, telling myself it was just to keep tabs on the competition, not for any other reason. The roster announcements for Team USA hockey were coming out in drips and fragments, and I thumbed the notification open without much thought. Then I saw it—front and center, Jack O’Leary. My chest tightened. He was going to Italy. He was going to the Olympics.
And I’d probably be joining him—and the thought made my stomach lurch. Pride, excitement, and raw nerves all tangled together. The Olympics had been the dream since I’d firststrapped into a board, but now it wasn’t just about medals and sponsors. It meant being in the same place as Jack again, and I couldn’t decide if that possibility thrilled me, terrified me, or both at once. The thought of seeing him again—being forced into the same orbit because we were both Team USA—made my chest tighten. Maybe I’d get the chance to talk to him, maybe even undo the whole once-and-done thing we’d sworn to on the cay. Did he even want that? Did I? I was the best I’d ever been, standing at the peak of my career, and yet the idea of Jack looking at me, of him being proud of me, pulled at me as much as any medal ever could.
My cell buzzed with a reminder I was scheduled at a MarvTech meet and greet. I shuffled into the bathroom, stretching out cold muscles, feeling new aches where I’d taken a stupidly bad tumble on loose powder. Rookie mistake.
A call came in from my parents as I brushed my teeth, and I spat out the paste. I might need to be downstairs by ten, but I’d never miss a call with my mom and dad. Fuck the rest of the world.
“Morning, sweetheart!” Mom chimed, her voice bright and warm.
“Morning! How’s the room?” I’d set this up for them, the best view of the mountain and the halfpipe, a suite at the Mammoth Mountain Inn overlooking the competition runs. They were thrilled with it, sending me photos of the fireplace and the balcony view last night, even though I knew Mom wouldn’t be standing there watching when it was her baby descending at nearly forty mph, with the kind of trick that made her cover her eyes every time.
“A huge bed, Tian. Beautiful!”
“Big bed, but your mom stole all the covers last night,” Dad grumbled, his voice echoing.
