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“I never asked. When he first told me about it, he said it was something he’d been doing for years, and that’s all I needed to know. You don’t mess with a guy’s superstition or ask for details, you just accept it.”
“What’s yours?” Curious green eyes meet mine.
“I just told you, you don’t ask for details.” I bite back a grin.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He grins back. “So, why didn’t you ask Niko for advice about...things?” He swivels his wrist to finish the thought. “Is it because he’s so young?”
“He may be young in age but mentally he’s so much more mature than most of our teammates, and it’s clear he’s pretty comfortable with who he is. He would’ve been a good person to talk to if I knew what questions to ask. Although, asking my rookie teammate to help me figure out my sexuality probably wouldn’t have made the best impression.”
“Because you’re the captain?”
“And one of the older guys on the team. I’m supposed to have my shit figured out by this point in life. That’s what the new guys expect.”
“I know guys who didn’t figure their shit out until their mid-forties.” Tripp snorts. “One of them raised two kids before he sorted himself. And it’s not just sexuality either. Some people don’t find their calling until later.”
“I hear you.” I play with the hem of my shorts while I get my thoughts in order. “The thing is, it’s sort of my job to take care of the new guys. Show them the ropes and make them comfortable and stuff. The coaches rely on me for that. And everyone looks to me as the example of what to do. How to train and what to eat and how to behave. How can I be anyone’s good example when I can’t even answer a basic question about who I am? That’s why I couldn’t ask Niko, or any of them, to help me.”
“You know when I compare you to Thor that’s mostly an appearance thing, right? I’m not actually calling you a god.”
“I… What?”
“Gods are perfect. People aren’t. Flaws are what make us interesting. Not that having questions about yourself is a flaw, but if you were perfect, all your little hero worshippers would be suffering crippling anxiety from trying to live up to your greatness. Being less than perfect but still trying to set a good example gives them something achievable to work toward.”
When I do little more than let my jaw hang open Tripp points to his hair. “Dye job, not a state of mind. Oh wait.” He frowns. “I forgot it’s not blond anymore.”
I can’t help but smile at his defeated expression as he realizes his punchline missed the mark. “I’m not speechless because you said something insightful.”
“Really?” He arches a skeptical brow.
“No. I’m speechless because I just now realized I’ve spent years setting the wrong example. And because that’s the most words I’ve heard you string together without saying dick.” I bite the corner of my lip to temper my grin, hoping that gesture will lighten things up since I know serious Tripp is prone to getting skittish, and I don’t want him to go anywhere.
He grabs a throw pillow and hucks it at me. “Dick.”
“Uh, you ruined it.”
“Not possible. Everything is so much better when dicks are involved.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
He drops to the floor and crawls between my legs, careful not to nudge the one propped on the coffee table, smiling up at me with wicked intent as he reaches for the waistband of my shorts. “Dessert.”
***
“Watch the fast break. Come out of the crease, not too far. He’s gonna fake right. He’s gonna fake right. Nice stop.” I punch the air.
We’re tied in the last period of the first game I’m missing—everyone is stepping up to help give Gauthier the best chance of success—and while he’s let one get past him, he’s holding his own. It helps that our forward line is one of the best in the league, keeping the pressure on the other end of the rink. It’s a small comfort under the circumstances, especially since I’m not on the bench with them.
I get why coach wants me to lay low—speculation about my injury is just that—whereas confirmation could put a target on what people perceive as my weak side. But the inability to talk to Gauthier during the game puts us at a disadvantage. Even though it’s still early in the season, losses can add up. And though I meant what I said about Gauthier being capable, if we end up falling behind that will be on me.
“Ice.” Tripp hovers over me with the pack, and I reluctantly lift my ankle off the cushion on the coffee table so he can wrap the cold pack around it. It’s the fourth time he’s issued this order today, and while I want to appreciate it, I find myself being bothered.
“I thought you said you were a horrible caregiver?”
He flicks his head, clearing the emerald strands of hair from his eyes in a way that’s both casual and sexy as he reaches for his phone. “Turns out it’s not so hard when you program reminders in the calendar.”
“You actually put reminders in there to take care of me?”
“Seemed like the best way to make sure I didn’t fuck up.” He taps away at the screen and sets his phone by my foot so I can see the numbers tick down before joining me on the couch. “Twenty minutes.”
