“I hope so. You’re my favorite person. Well, you and Jenna.”
“You’re mine too,” he answers. I notice he doesn’t include Jenna in his list of favorite people. Just me.
“Come on, let’s go. We don’t want to miss the fireworks!” I yell and offer my sticky palm to him. We stand up and sprint across the lawn hand in hand, the last of our popsicles sloughing off to meet their end on the grass below our bare feet.
Chapter 1
Kai
“Hey,it’sme.Ineed to see you. I saw you at my game last night, so I know you’re in the area. Meet me at the Beech Street Diner at twelve,please. I just want to talk.” I press the end call button and let the panic sink in. I stare at the date on my phone: January 11, 2020.
Three years. It’s been three years since I’ve seen or talked to Kendall. Not for lack of trying. I had called, emailed, and written her letters but had never gotten any responses. Until last night. In the second period, down by a goal, I glanced past the puck looking to pass to Jax, and in the space of a millisecond, I spotted her beautiful face in the crowd. In insanely expensive seats no less. She’d always drawn me in like the compass of an arrow pulled north. My eyes snapped to her, registering her favorite green hoodie—before lowering to the child in her arms. It was almost like she wanted me to see her and the child she was holding. He looked maybe two years old but that couldn’t be right. A jolt of recognition gripped my spine as I took in the entirety of his features. Kendall and I locked eyes, my deepbrown to her swirl of hazel, and she froze. Half a second later, I got slammed into the wall so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I woke up in the trainer’s office convinced it had all been a dream. But he confirmed that I had actually been hit hard—hard enough to lose consciousness. And the only person who was able to distract me long enough to break my laser focus and obsessive need to win was her. Had she been real? God, I hoped she was.
Because the only thing I love more than hockey, than my career, than that feeling of freedom on the ice is Kendall James.
Chapter 2
Kai
2016
“Areyousureaboutthis?” Jonah asks, gesturing to the tattoo I had selected. “You know you don’t have to do this. You could just back out. Tell them you changed your mind.” He leans over the glass display table at the front of the tattoo shop.
“Positive, it’s the lesser of two evils,” I reply, seeing as how the other option was shaving my head. I’m an attractive guy but I know my limits and that includes not being able to pull off being bald.
I had lost a stupid bet with my teammates that I could out drink our biggest defenseman, Mason. He was Hungarian, had almost one hundred pounds on me, and had been drinking since he was nine. I knew I would probably lose but that didn’t stop me from trying. And while Jonah’s right—I could just walk away—I would never hear the end of it from my teammates. Part of being a rookie means paying my dues, proving my worth, and showing that I’m a team player. If that means submitting myself to hazing tactics, grunt work, and following through with bets then sofucking be it. It’s a small price to pay to be a starting player for the Boston Bucks my first year in the NHL.
“Okay man, whatever you say,” he replies while making no attempt at all to hide his grin. Jonah leans his back against the counter and flips through a magazine while I take a seat in the chair.
“You didn’t have to come, you know. I would have been just fine without you,” I gripe, irritated I was spending my one day off in a tattoo parlor making a fool of myself. He may have claimed to come with me for moral support but I know he’d rather be here than with the rest of our teammates at the bar. Jonah and I had bonded during training camp this past summer and then became good friends both on and off the ice. If there’s one person I’d allow to be here for this fuckery, it’s him.
"And miss a front row seat to these shenanigans? Absolutely not,” he responds smugly. While the tattoo artist starts on my back, I watch Jonah flirt shamelessly with the guy working at the counter.Moral support my ass. He asks about different designs that he probably never plans on getting with feigned curiosity, seeing as how he often referred to his body as a temple. All in an attempt to get this guy's number and I know he will. He always does.
Jonah had first come out to me as bisexual during preseason before he made the same announcement to our coach and team. My initial response was: “Okay, what do you want to do for dinner?” Which I think was pretty shocking to him. I followed that up by explaining it didn’t change anything between us. He was still one of my closest friends and I supported him no matter what. To say that sentiment wasn’t shared by the rest of the league is a colossal understatement. But the world of professional sports just hasn’t evolved that much. Not in the seventies when Red Auerbach introduced the first Black startingfive. Not after David Kopay came out as gay and certainly not now.
And Jonah was no exception. But he assured me the shit he got from some of our teammates and the media wasn’t nearly as bad as what he suffered through in high school and college. He said he wasn’t concerned about the critics and trolls because his reputation spoke for itself and he was right. Jonah Gibson could play his fucking ass off. He was fast, agile, always where our offense needed him to be and he could score. He had the kind of raw talent and innate athleticism that once made me wonder why he wasn’t a first round draft pick. I know better now.
A few months ago, the media stopped commenting on his romantic conquests and sexual orientation and shifted the narrative to his game, his added value as a team member. They had no other choice because Jonah didn’t give them one. Jonah didn’t just make a difference, he madethedifference, he closed the gap, and he was helping us win games.A lot of games. His performance eventually forced them to shut the fuck up and start paying attention. And I was proud to call him my friend.
Once the guy at the front counter leaves to attend to another customer, he sits down in a chair next to me clasping his hands behind his head.
“What’s that one on your ribcage for? Is it a date?” he asks, pointing to my left side. I run my hands over my ribs debating whether to tell him the origin of this tattoo. Jonah had divulged a lot to me. He trusted me and I definitely trusted him. I could give him something.
Clearing my throat, I confess, “I got it for my ex, Kendall.” He knows she’s a touchy subject, so I hope he’ll just drop it.
“Ah, the one who has you all broody and depressed, never wanting to leave your apartment?” he questions.
“That’s the one,” I respond reluctantly.
“It’s a shame,” the tattoo artist chimes in, apparently feeling bold.
“What is?” I turn my head over my shoulder to look at her.
“A handsome guy like you being wrecked over a girl. You seem nice too.” She flashes a smile at me and it’s then I notice how pretty she is. In a terrifying, intimidating sort of way. All dark features and sharp angles.Is she flirting with me?I glimpse at Jonah who waggles his eyebrows as if to say,Yes, you idiot. She’s flirting with you.
“Thanks,” I blurt out.
