We hadn’t done that in…
Well, ever. We had never sold out a game before.
It was weird that people were paying attention to us now. It would be nice if that shit came with raises, but whatever. We could fight that battle after proving for another season or two that people thought our games were worth watching.
“Step down,” Antoine told me.
I braced myself for my skates to hit the ice, and I breathed a little easier. This was my second home. My spot. Somewhere I knew without needing to be guided. Somewhere that felt safe. Those places were few and far between in my life, especially now with the asshole, dipshit, motherfucker trying to make life difficult.
But I wondered if maybe it was my fault. If it was my karma.
I’d been playing a fucked-up game with my reputation for a long time, and while I’d told one person the truth about it—and Hugo was more than kind and understanding—no one else knew that I was a lying piece of shit. That I would rather let people believe I fucked anyone who was willing, instead of the truth.
Well, Vanya knew now. I hadn’t told himeverything, but somehow, he’d figured me out, and maybe that was one of the other reasons I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Dropping down to my knees, I spread them wide and began my stretches on the ice. The music was playing loud enough to be annoying, but not so loud I couldn’t hear Antoine and Daniel skating up and dropping down next to me after their laps.
“You ready for this, boys?” Daniel asked.
Like me, he grew up in Toronto. Unlike me, he had decent parents who didn’t rip him and his siblings from their childhood home in order to chase some bullshit influencer dream.
“The Hawks are going down,” Antoine said, tapping his stick on the ice. “Did you hear some of the Glaciers are here?”
“Oh, why the fuck can’t they leave us alone?” I blurted. I knew exactly who he was talking about. Vanya had to be here. He’d been weird when we parted ways last night, and I knew he wasn’t going to let it go.
And if I was being honest with myself, which would be new and fun these days, I didn’t want him to let it go. The way he’d touched me, the way he’d leaned into me and whispered into my ear and nearly fucking kissed me had almost destroyed what little control I had left. I’d told him never again, but those words tasted like the most bitter lie, and every single time he was within touching distance, I felt my resolve cracking.
I’d wanted him. I wanted him to pin me to thewall and fuck me into oblivion, all while Hunter watched. And then I wanted him to take me home and do it all over again where no one else could see.
I should have been fucking sainted for the way I’d walked away and didn’t call him over to get at least a hand job last night.
“You don’t like your brother’s fiancé?” Daniel asked.
Oh. My stomach dropped. It wasn’t Vanya, then? I probably deserved that.
“Nah, he’s alright.” I did like Alexio, so while it was crushing that Vanya hadn’t come, I didn’t mind that my brother’s future husband was watching. I just wished someone else were too.
“Come on, Gomez,” Antoine said, pulling me toward the wall.
I fought the urge to scoff, but it was what it was. Just like the music for me would always be the goddamnAddams Familyintro—never mind our last names weren’t spelled the same. Frankly, the name was probably more fitting for my brother, but since everyone seemed to think I was constantly horny…
“And in the goal tonight, number thirty-seven…Micah Adaaaaams!”
Ba-da ba-dum, snap snap.
Luckily, I didn’t have to smile with my mask over my face, and I grabbed Antoine’s stick as he led me over to the crease, where I would stand for the anthem and all the other bullshit fanfare that came with opening the game.
Not that I minded. At least, most days, I didn’tmind. But having Hunter stuck in my head, knowing he could be lurking and waiting and watching, it fucked me up.
“You good?” Antoine murmured.
I grunted and tapped my stick against his helmet. “I’m good. We’re gonna fucking smash them.”
“You goddamn beautician,” he said, knocking his head against mine. I listened to the sound of his skates as he headed to join the line, then prep for face-off.
Taking a deep breath, I sank down into a gentle split as the music began to play, and instead of Hunter’s voice in my head, it was replaced by the sound of the crowd and—with any fucking luck this season—a decent string of wins.
“You glorious motherfucker! A shutout! I’m gonna make out with you right here!” Antoine crowed, squeezing the back of my neck, and nearly made me trip over my skates.
