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“No, of course not.” He huffs an exaggerated breath, like I’m being ridiculous. “But all those thingsarea factor, and this is your life we’re talking about here. You can’t make a decision like this based on—”
“I love playing hockey. But I also love you, and I know which of those two things I cherish more.”
“I love you, too.” He whispers back, and it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to me. If I hadn’t already decided to stay, that would have done it. “But we talked about long-distance before, remember? We can still do that.”
Pulling him forward, I kiss him—soft, and sweet, and only half the kiss I really want to deliver. When I drop my hands away from his face, it dislodges his grip on my arms but I don’t let him get far. Linking our fingers, I tug him out of the kitchen, turning the light off as we go. It’s late, and I’m exhausted, and this is a conversation we could be having in bed.
When we get upstairs, I leave Corwin standing in the center of the room, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. I pull out his pajamas and toss them to him, before heading into the bathroom. When I come back out, he’s changed and seated on the end of the bed waiting for me. He looks sad, but snaps his expression back to blandness when I reenter the room.Sorry pal, you’re not fooling anyone.
“Come on.” I fling the sheets back and crawl in, holding them up for him to join me. We lay on our sides, facing one another.
“I think we need to look at the contract.” He starts.
“Waste of time, since I’m not going to sign it.” I adjust my head on the pillow.
“Okay, fine, retire. What are you going to do if you’re not playing hockey?”
“Lawson gave me an idea, actually. I’ve got quite a few contacts in the AHL and ECHL—I think I might reach out and see if any of the local teams need coaches. Or maybe I’ll tag along with him and speak to Mackenzie, maybe he could use some offensive help as well.”
Corwin bites his lip, thinking, evidently surprised that I’ve thought this far ahead. “That’s a good idea.” He admits, and shuffles closer to me on the bed.
“See? Nothing to worry about.”
“God, but are yousure? What if you regret it?”
“Sure, there’s a possibility of that. But I can guarantee I’d regret leaving. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, not playing anymore, but if I can get a job with one of these local teams, I’ll be okay. It’s not as if I’ll never touch a hockey stick again.”
Corwin is silent for a minute, blue eyes intent on mine. “It would be easier to come out as a couple, if we were no longer teammates.” He finally says, softly.
“Yes, it would.” I smile at him and he returns it. “I’m going to tell Jack tomorrow that I’m retiring, okay?”
He inhales, long and deep, eyes fluttering closed before opening and finding mine. “Okay.”
Epilogue—One Month Later
Corwin
It’s a good thing I’m so adept at hiding my emotions; if I wasn’t, I’d havewhat the fuckpractically written across my forehead in ink. Beside me, Troy is smiling so wide it looks almost manic.
“Wow,” he says, “theyreallyhate each other.”
We both look over to where Lawson is standing, arms crossed, arguing with Nico Mackenzie. They’re on the far end of the ice, over by one of the goals. We can’t hear their words, but it hardly matters; they’ve been arguing about everything, all day. If Lawson says the sky is blue, Mackenzie says it’s grey and off they go.
I lean back, peeking around Troy to make sure the student athletes are still seated over on the bench, taking a water break. They’re chatting, voices overlapping as they talk over one another, completely ignoring their coaches. Turning my gaze back to Lawson, I decide I probably don’t need to intervene unless punches are thrown.
“Do you think so?” I ask, squinting across the ice at my friend.
“You don’t?” Troy looks at me, leaning on his stick. “This morning, when I first got here, I heard them arguing about the coffee pot.The coffee pot, Cor. That’s like the work equivalent of getting into a fight about the toilet seat.”
I look over at him, amused. “You and Sam fight about the toilet seat?”
“Of course not. But Jamie, who works with Sam, says she and her husband fight about the toilet seat a lot.” He shrugs. “Must be a straight couple thing.”
Chuckling, I begin skating over toward the goal opposite of where Lawson and Mackenzie are having their spat. Troy follows, and we start tapping the pucks back to center ice. The next time I look over, Lawson has unfolded his arms and is gesticulating; Mackenzie’s jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscles ticking from back here. Yesterday, Lawson told me helikedcoming here, and now I’m wondering if I’ve been duped.
“You guys got robbed during the playoffs.”
I turn. Carter Morgan, one of the netminders for the team, has skated over. He’s idly tapping his stick against the front of his pads, and is somehow managing to look down his nose at me even though I’m several inches taller. He’s got a silver hoop in his nose and tattoos peek out from his sleeves. I raise an eyebrow at him.
