Page 7 of Shattered On Ice

I put a bowl in the cupboard a little too forcefully, rattling the contents when I shut the door firmly.

I pull open the pantry, intent on stopping myself from a full-blown panic attack along with this slippery slide down memory lane. Sour Patch watermelons are usually my go-to to drag my nervous system out of the past, but any sour candy will do. I snag a bag of the green and pink sugar-coated gummy candy and stand in the dark pantry, shoveling a handful of the sweet-tart watermelons into my mouth to stave off the anxiety spiral. I chew and let the pinch of the sour tang flood my taste buds, jolting my senses out of the soaring panic that was taking over while my memories play on.

The whole situation made me hate hockey, and while I support Rook’s choices and career, I don't watch his games or even pretend to like the sport, and he seems to understand.

I chew another handful of sour watermelons and bounce my foot as I watch the recognizable pattern unfolding before me.

That was the last time I was tempted to get close to someone Rook was on a team with.

Until now.

Until Westin.

Three

Westin

Glittering diamonds of sunlight bounce off the waves of the lake as I arrive at the marina, where Nico has rented a big wake surfing boat. Nico’s Reggaeton is already blasting from the speakers as I walk down the dock.

“Westy!” His smile is bright and genuine as he flips me off from the dock. “Get your pale ass in here and help me load this shit.” He’s standing over a large ice chest, shirtless, with bright yellow trunks slung low on his hips, his dark hair curling out from under a backwards hat. He looks made for summer.

I glance down at my white shirt and blue shorts. My skin is a bit pale, but that’s to be expected after eight months of playing inside an ice rink for fuck’s sake. I don’t have Nico’s Puerto Rican heritage for a built-in killer tan to lean on. I’m just glad I brought sunscreen. I hop into the boat, taking the ice chest he hands me before waving at Ryder and Knox, who are stowing their towels and bags under the front seats.

“Hey,” I greet them all, my smile pulling hard at my cheeks.

This is exactly what I needed, a day of chilling on the lake with my friends to kick off summer. I’m glad Knox is once again joining us. He makes Ryder happy, and a happy Ryder is better than the grumpy goalie we’ve all come to know.

I point at my bag. “I brought rum.”

Ryder bursts into cackling laughter. “Okay, Jack Sparrow.” He takes the bag and pulls out the bottle of Don Q. “What good is rum on a lake? You should have brought tequila or Jack if you wanted to get us wasted on the hard stuff.”

Nico scoffs. “No man, that is the good stuff! Puerto Rican rum is where it’s at.” He turns to me and squeezes my traps a few times as his smile grows wider. “I knew I liked you, Dumont.”

Knox puts a long arm around Ryder’s waist and pulls him back into his broad chest, engulfing the big goalie. “Why are you complaining? Rum and Coke is your favorite. You’ll drink the hell out of that bottle and be happy about it, won't you, Reckless?”

Ryder melts into his fiancé’s arms with a big sappy grin on his face. I carefully look anywhere but at them, trying to push down the jealous bubbles that surface because Ryder gets to live his hard-fought truth so openly while I stay firmly in the dark closet. It’s stale and fucking lonely in here.

It’s not that I think my team wouldn’t accept me if I came out.

It’s everyone else.

A cold sweat dampens my skin despite the sweltering heat, and my stomach drops. A phantom locker room door slams with a reverberating crack in my head, sending my thoughts spinning along the path of being found out. Panic is rising in my gut even now, when I logically know I’m safe, yet freaking the fuck out anyway.

“You bring any sunscreen? Ryder forgot his, and I’m not used to bringing any.”

I shake myself out of my anxious memories and glance at Knox, who’s looking at me expectantly. “Oh, yeah, of course.” I hunt through my bag and hand it to Knox.

“Fucking beauties,” Chad says as he jumps heavily into the boat beside me. He looks around, making a gleeful sound that I know means trouble. “Oh, Knox, do me next!”

“I swear to God, Chad, I’ll throw you in the lake with the anchor wrapped around your neck if you say shit like that to my man again,” Ryder grumbles.

Chad laughs at Ryder’s menacing face, and I take a seat in one of the captain’s chairs to watch this drama play out.

“Relax, big fella, I don’t want a piece of that tight end. He’s all yours. I just want him to slather his cream on me when he’s done with you. That is, if you leave him with any left in his tube.”

I’m frozen watching the scene play out, worried tensions will escalate, and I’ll see the real side of my team that they’ve been masking to make Ryder feel comfortable. I look between Chad and Ryder, wondering if this is still playful, or if it’s going too far and the words will become barbed.

Ryder growls, and Nico bursts into a fit of choking laughter, just as another set of feet comes to a stop on the dock next to the boat.