Page 72 of Offside Angle

We flew back east right after the game. The flight was only two hours, but I slept through most of it. Then came the bus ride from New York into Brooklyn—another two miserable hours stuck in rush-hour traffic. By the time we finally got to the hotel, it was already around nine at night. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically, but my brain won’t shut off.

I’m lying on one of the beds in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling, when Jace starts pacing again in front of me. He’s been at it for the last ten minutes, hands buried in his hair, muttering himself steadily closer to a breakdown.

“If we lose tomorrow, we’re out, man. Out. Done. No more hockey until next season. I can’t—I don’t—what if I fuck up? What if I turn the puck over and they score because of me? Damian’s already pissed enough as it is, Elias is halfway to a fucking breakdown, and—”

“Jace,” I cut in. “Breathe.”

He stops pacing for half a second, then flops dramatically onto the other bed and joins me in staring at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just… nervous. Really fucking nervous. This is it, you know? Win or go home. And we’re not even at home.”

I get it. The pressure is crushing. But my mind keeps drifting somewhere else entirely. To Santi. To Lena. To the fact that my entire life has been turned upside down in the span of a week. I haven’t even had time to really process what happened with Lena, or what it means that I finally told my parents about Santi. Or what it means that I kissed him again.

That I want to keep kissing him.

Jace rolls onto his side to look at me. “You okay, man? You’ve been weirdly quiet since we got back.”

I just sigh and close my eyes. “Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good.”

Jace sits up on the other bed, clearly not buying my weak “I’m good” for a second. He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little unsure but determined.

“Look, man… I know we’ve only known each other this season and I’m not Shane or Vik or… Cole,” he mumbles. “But you are different from how you were before playoffs.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, half-challenging, half-curious. “Are you saying I play like shit, Moreno?”

Jace panics immediately, his eyes going comically wide.

“No! Jesus! You are an amazing defender!” he says quickly, waving both hands in frantic denial. “Honestly, if one day I could be half as good as you and Vik, I’d be happy. I just meant… you seem to be going through some shit. I heard you broke up with Lena, but you were off before that, so that can’t be it. Is there something I can help with?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. Jace is a good kid. A little chaotic, a little too eager sometimes, but he means well.

“Mm. If you don’t have advice on how to deal with suddenly liking men, I don’t think you can help,” I snort.

Jace raises an eyebrow at me, surprisingly unfazed. “I mean… men men or just… one man? ’Cause that’s different,” he says with a casual shrug.

I frown, turning my head to look at him properly. “How the hell is it different?”

“‘Men men’ is… a whole new category. That’s a big identity shift. But if it’s just one guy, then it’s just one guy. Doesn’t have to change everything unless you want it to. You can still like girls. You can still be you. Nothing says you have to flip some switch.”

I stare at him for a second, processing. There’s no judgment in his face, no confusion, no sense that he thinks I’m broken or weird. He’s talking about it with such casual certainty that, for once, the whole thing doesn’t seem quite so massive or terrifying.

I let out a long breath and rub my face with both hands. “It’s one guy,” I mutter. “Mostly.”

Jace nods without hesitation. “Cool. So… Santi, right?”

I groan and throw a pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up, Moreno.”

He catches it and laughs, but there’s something kind in his eyes when he looks back at me.

“Besides,” Jace continues, “are you panicking because you like a man? Seriously, have you seen this team? Is anyone straight here?”

I blink at him, then frown as I actually stop to think about it. I always thought I was the only straight one among the vets. Or at least… I was. Until recently.

Jace keeps going, ticking names off on his fingers with complete casualness.

“Nico is as gay as they can get, Roman is asexual. And if it makes you feel better, I’m pan.”

I tilt my head, staring at him. “Jesus Christ, how many are there?”