Page 24

TWENTY-TWO

SANTA

“Line two, thirty seconds,” Laney calls out, and our whole line stands from the bench at the same time. The game against Tampa started less than two minutes ago, and of course our first line started us off like it always does.

It’s after the first minute of the game that Laney likes to shake things up, so we never really know which line he’s gonna call next, but I had a feeling he was going to put us on the ice as soon as possible. I didn’t say anything to Charlie because I didn’t want to jinx us—and as a hockey player I take jinxes very seriously—and because I know that with the mood he was in all day, he wouldn’t have believed me anyway.

It’s a test, of course it is, since Laney wants to keep us on our toes even though we’ve proven to him that there won’t be any more fighting and that the team needs us to start winning some games .

Jules, Eagle, and Benny all skate over when Laney signals to them, and the shift changes go by fast. Less than ten seconds later, Charlie and I are climbing over the boards when Mater and Bates get to the bench.

And then it’s fucking on.

Tampa did a line change too, to their second line as well, so we’re pretty evenly matched when it comes to our forwards, but the two defensemen have nothing on Charlie and me.

We put on a show and I get an assist when Twocox puts one in the back of the net not even thirty seconds later.

Charlie blocks, and the way he got in the Tampa’s players’ way was a thing of beauty. It’s only thanks to him that I could focus on making the perfect pass, so of course I jump into his arms by the boards during the celly.

“Fuck yeah,” I scream with all my might.

Charlie’s smile could light up the whole fucking arena, but he doesn’t say anything. He hugs me back, though, before we get back to the bench and our first line comes out for the face off.

Laney sends out our fourth line after that, and he must’ve told them something while we were on the ice because the only line that goes for the attack is the first one, and they’re not trying that hard really...

So Laney wants us to do all the scoring.

That’s fair, I suppose.

“He told them to focus on defense.” I speak directly into Charlie’s ear as he lifts a water bottle and squeezes a big gulp between his guard. He nods as he swallows, the only indication that he heard me.

His jaw’s set, and he looks like one of those fragrance models in that moment, but it doesn’t have the same effect on me as it has whenever I’ve noticed how perfect-looking he is over the last few days.

Right now all I want is to get back on the ice and prove ourselves. I want to show the team what they’ve been missing, and I want to show our fans why they should cry with happiness at the thought of having the both of us on their team.

So that’s what we do.

During the sixty minutes of play time something beautiful happens.

Charlie and I get so in sync that I know what he’s doing at every possible moment. Because he does the exact same things I would. His thought process is exactly the same as mine when it comes to hockey.

We hit passes that seem like witchcraft, and we block for each other and for our three baby forwards like our lives depend on it.

Because in a way, they do.

Hockey is our life. It’s our passion, our one true love.

Outside of the rink, and when we’re not in full pads or training, we’re as different as two people could be, but here we’re the same. We act as one, and by the end of the night he got one goal and an assist, and I got the same .

We win four to one and it feels like we just made the statement of the fucking century.

When the horn goes off to signal the end of the third period, I go right over to him and engulf him in my arms, squeezing him as tight as I can.

“We fucking did it,” I tell him, my voice hoarse from all the shouting I’ve done for the past three hours.

Dazed and with his eyes unfocused, he looks up at me and repeats my words back to me.

“We fucking did it.” It sounds like he’s having trouble believing it for a second but then his jaw gets back to that stubborn set and he nods once. “We’re going to do it again.”

“Fuck yeah, we are,” I scream like a victorious gladiator, then go line up like a good little boy to shake hands with Tampa’s players.

In the locker room, we celebrate like we just got into the playoffs, and even Laney smiles.

Our teammates congratulate us on putting on a masterclass in being a defenseman, and I know right then this is the night that has the potential to change absolutely everything.

The next week passes in a blur.

We lose against Boston in overtime, and because they’re the team with the best record this season, we’d expected to be demolished, but we held our own until the very end when they showed they wanted it just a little bit more.

The good mood of the team doesn’t wane, though, and so when Laney asks me to sit next to him on our flight to Montreal, I’m surprised by his question.

“Do you think we should try putting you and Sweetheart in the first line?”

I frown at him, not understanding at all where this is coming from.

“We almost had them, Laney,” I tell him, feeling defensive over the whole team. “We are only just getting into rhythm and we almost beat the best team in the league.”

“I know, but...” He trails off, and that’s when I remember something I’ve always known about him but seemed to have forgotten at some point.

“But you want to win every game,” I say, knowingly.

“I do,” he admits, then shakes his head.

“We will get there, Laney. It is not even February. We have more than enough time now that I am not jeopardizing the team. I promise you,” I tell him seriously. “We will get back to the playoffs and we will dominate. Charlie and I are the right guys to keep the baby forwards safe and good.”

He nods but dismisses me after that, and as I walk back to my seat next to Charlie, I hope he comes to believe my words eventually because right then he sure as hell thought I was talking out of my ass.

Our win against Montreal gives me a new sense of satisfaction because it was easy .

Every game is tiring, every game is a battle—that never changes—but the easy games, where I get to watch Bear skate a circle around center ice when he’s named player of the game because he got a shutout? Those games are the best .

Again, the celebration in the locker room is over the top—my favorite kind of celebration—and I hope we can keep feeling this way after every win this season. That we never take a single win for granted.

And it seems my wish comes true, because then we go to Detroit and win both games to finish the roadie the right way.

Sitting in the dark, silent plane, Charlie’s breathing steady on my right, I think back to all the moments on the ice from these two weeks.

Strangely enough, while we were playing, sitting on the bench, or even during intermissions, I wasn’t plagued with need for him. But the second we stepped foot outside the arenas we visited, he was all I wanted.

He’s all I want all the time .

And right now we’re flying back to Vegas, where I live with him. Where I’m still supposed to spend every second of the day with him according to what Laney told me yesterday.

How am I going to keep resisting him?

Should I keep doing it?

What if... getting to know each other better is what’s actually good for the team? What if we only become more unstoppable if we kiss some more?

I mean, I’ve never jacked off more in my fucking life. It has to be okay to give my hand a rest, right?

I use it for my job, and that’s very important indeed. So yeah, maybe to become an unprecedented force on the ice, and to keep my body and mind healthy, I should definitely make out with Charlie.

For fuck’s sake, we’ve both been taking two showers a day, so he has to be going through the same as me, doesn’t he?

There’s no way this is one sided. Just no way in hell.

So . . . yeah, I need help.

“I, uhm,” I start awkwardly when we get to Charlie’s house hours later. “It’s a tradition for me to go have dinner at Bear’s place after roadies.”

No it isn’t, but I need some damn space before I decide to risk everything for a chance at another taste of Charlie’s lips.

“Oh, uh.” He hesitates, looking back at me. “That’s fine.” His throat bobs with a hard swallow and I refuse to feel shitty for this little white lie.

“See you later, then,” I tell him simply, then go right back through the front door to my car .

Should I feel bad that I clearly interrupt sexy time between my best friend and his man?

Maybe, but I don’t.

“I need your help,” I tell Bear urgently before he can start growling at me. On the way over here I rehearsed everything I want to say in a way that won’t clue Bear in to the fact that everything I’m saying is about Charlie, so I launch into my monologue straight away.

It’s the first time since I’ve known Bear that I’m lying to him, because I’m scared that the truth would disappoint him. I never want to let him down.

“You remember I told you about the man I kissed?” I say just as Drew comes into the room. I spare him a smile but decide I can’t stop now because that would mean risking losing my nerve.

“I remember,” Bear says glumly.

“Okay, so I want to kiss him again but I am not sure how to... go about it?” It sounds like a question because it is. And I definitely don’t appreciate his answering snort.

“You grab his face and kiss him like you’d kiss any woman, dude, fuck,” he shouts. “It’s fucking stupid that you think kissing would be different in any way.”

Okay, clearly I didn’t explain myself properly, and maybe I forgot to tell him this other man has never been the man-kissing type either?

“He is not gay,” I start, as patiently as possible. “I am the first man he has ever kissed. I understand the literal kissing Bear, and I do not appreciate your tone.” I lift my nose in the air and put on my most offended expression.

In truth, I came here because our first kiss was born out of... well, I can’t be sure since I haven’t asked Charlie exactly why he kissed me. But I still hated him when it happened. The second time, what made me kiss him was initially relief.

Relief that I hadn’t been kissed—and liked being kissed—by a man who would say such horrible things. Relief that I could let myself want him, and of course that was short-lived when I realized what a risk it could be to the team.

Right after the relief came the lust and need.

This time... it means more. This next kiss I’ve been imagining is something I do not want to fuck up.

“Oh,” Bear says, and frowns.

“If I can pipe in?” Drew says, surprising me.

“Of course you may.”

“What if you just talk to him?” I frown at the suggestion. I know it seems like the most logical way to go about this, but...

“How would that conversation even happen?” I cry, letting my desperation show as I walk to the couch and throw myself on it dramatically.

“Easy,” Drew says brightly as he walks over, sits next to me, and pats me on the shoulder. “You meet with him and you say, ‘Hey, I really liked kissing you and I know it’s something new for you as well so I was hoping we could talk about it.’ ”

It takes me a second to process his words, and then I look at him skeptically.

“That’s it?”

“Yup.” He nods sharply. “Now how about you go do that , so Bear and I can get back to what we were doing, huh?”