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Nolan grabbed his phone and headed downstairs. “You’re assuming the Trailblazers make the playoffs.”

“They haven’t not made the playoffs in seven years.”

“Somebody’s been brushing up on his Trailblazers history,” Nolan teased as he removed his brown suede Chelsea boots and navy peacoat from the front closet.

“I’ve got to support my best friend’s boyfriend, don’t I? What does your dad think about the team’s chances of making the playoffs?”

“I don’t know.” Nolan leaned against the wall to tug on his boots. “Last time I asked if he was going for a fourth Stanley Cup in a row, he said he doesn’t think that far ahead. Only as far as the next month. That was six or seven weeks ago, though, so maybe he’s thinking about it now.”

Six or seven weeks ago had been Nolan’s first week on the job. Oddly, it felt like an emotional lifetime ago. He’d been in a different place then, when he’d sat in the stands in New Jersey watching the Trailblazers’ boring AF practice and typing his preliminary observations on his tablet. Then Dad had interrupted with⁠—

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” he said out loud. “King, I think I know who Freddie is.”

The Trailblazers holiday party fell on the second Sunday in December, and because it was family-friendly, it was a daytime event held at—ironically—the Community Sailing Center.

Or maybe it wasn’t ironic. Could be that it was the only decent party venue in the city. Nolan had no idea.

The food was served buffet-style and there was no assigned seating. Kids were, quite literally, everywhere, running from the craft table to Santa sitting on his red felt throne to the dessert section of the buffet. Craft supplies had inevitably ended up all over the floor, and one toddler cried in a corner because her brother wouldn’t give her the purple marker.

As much as Nolan wanted to, he couldn’t take off his day job hat and he predictably added several observations to his phone.

DeShawn James, who seemed to be friends with everyone yet stood a step apart from the group he was speaking with.

Prinnie, recently divorced and checking his watch like he wanted to be anywhere else.

The veteran players mingling with the younger guys.

Team Captain Dabbs speaking with every player at least once.

Sandro Zanetti playing Dad and double-checking that everyone had a way home if they planned on drinking.

The person Nolan thought was Freddie sitting with Roman Kinsey and his husband.

It was all so typical of this team—or of what Nolan had observed in the past few weeks—that he smiled as he stood by the windows overlooking Lake Champlain.

And then there was Eli, holding his stomach as he laughed with Deeley, Sandbaker, and Sandbaker’s girlfriend.

Nolan’s dad plucked a chocolate chip cookie off Nolan’s plate and stuffed half of it in his mouth.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

Dad shrugged. “Mine now.” He followed Nolan’s gaze to Eli and his friends. “It took a lot of guts for him to admit that he was overwhelmed.”

Nolan narrowed his gaze. “Okay.”

“I can see the difference in him. Without all of those extra activities on his schedule, it’s like a layer of tension I hadn’t noticed he was wearing has disappeared.”

When Nolan had been in his second year at university, he’d held a part-time job at a shoe store at the mall. The day he’d dropped his microeconomics class—a subject he wouldn’t revisit even on pain of death—he’d walked into work and his manager had taken one look at him and said, “Did you just finish an exam or something?”

“No. Exams aren’t for another few weeks. Why?”

“You’ve been looking tense lately, but not so much today. I thought maybe an exam or major project was off your plate.”

He hadn’t understood what she’d meant at the time. Hadn’t understood how a person could wear their stress or uncertainty or self-doubt like a second skin.