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He ducked out the door and went down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the media room, and to a bathroom in a section of the building that would be empty if the team wasn’t playing yet.

Zach’s memory was right; it was a single stall, with a locking door.

He pulled the door closed and dialed Hayes.

“Hey,” Hayes said, sounding distracted. Like maybe he was in the car. “Everything okay?”

“No. Everything’s not okay,” Zach said in a rush.

“He just got there. How bad could it be going already?”

“Bad,” Zach said darkly. “I finally got him alone, after the press circus, and I started saying how I was so glad he’d taken the job and gave him an opening to tell me . . .I don’t know, something. But instead he fucking talked about how I was his player. How he’d coached me.”

“Ouch,” Hayes said. But he didn’t sound particularly surprised.

“Yeah, it fucking sucked.” Zach hated how despondent he sounded. “I didn’t expect him to . . .I don’t know, fall to his knees or something, but I thought he wouldn’t deny the whole thing. ”

“Seriously? You thought he was just going to tell you, I know I spent the last four years alone because my wife died, and everyone thinks I’m straight, including probably me, but hey you wanna hook up sometime?” Hayes’ tone was kind, but blunt.

And maybe that blunt honesty was what Zach needed to get his head screwed on right.

“Right,” Zach said. “It was stupid. I was so stupid—”

“Not stupid,” Hayes interrupted. “ Hopeful . That’s different.”

“Doesn’t feel very different right now.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Hayes paused. “I told you he was probably going to have two freakouts. The gay freakout of course. And then the widower freakout. And you know, you don’t have to deal with either of those? It’s not your baggage, Zachy.”

“But, ugh ,” Zach said. “What if I want it to be?”

Hayes chuckled darkly. “You’re kind of gone for him, aren’t you?”

“Always have been.” He could tell Hayes this, because Hayes understood better than anyone else.

“But it’s worse now,” Hayes said, not asking but stating. And yeah, it was worse. Because of those heart-stopping moments when they’d nearly kissed, and more, too.

Because this thing between them, if Gavin could move past his baggage, and if Zach was patient enough to let him, could be real .

Not just a late night fantasy or a childish crush.

“Well, yeah. It’s an actual fucking possibility now. It never was before. It was just me being . . .well, stupid then, too.” Zach made a face.

“Doesn’t seem you’ve really moved past that,” Hayes teased.

“Thanks,” Zach retorted. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“I never denied it,” Hayes said lightly. And no, he hadn’t.

“At least we’re stupid together,” Zach said. What Hayes said made sense. A lot more sense than Gavin showing up in Portland, ready and willing to hook up with Zach.

Hayes hummed his agreement. “You’re gonna have to be patient.

Really patient, probably. And you know what else?

You don’t have to do this, Zach. You can just .

. .decide to be friends. Co-workers. You don’t have to hold back, and wait for someone who might never be ready to acknowledge that you’re more than just his old player.

Or that you’ve grown up, and he’s interested in you as more than just a professional acquaintance. ”

Zach knew he was right. But then Hayes had never taken his own advice. “How’d that work out for you?” he asked. Maybe that was unfair, but it was also true.

“It never did,” Hayes admitted with a sigh. “You know that. But you’re not in that deep, yet.”

No, he wasn’t in love with Gavin. Yet.

“I’m just saying. You could hold yourself back, if you wanted to.”

Zach knew that Hayes probably believed that was true.

But he hadn’t felt the way Zach had when Gavin had called him three weeks ago. Or the way his pulse had skittered when Gavin had walked in this morning. Or the way his gaze was always drawn to him, even when he wasn’t talking.

Like they were both magnets. Zach didn’t know if he wanted to avoid the pull, or lean into it.

No, that wasn’t right. He knew what he wanted to do .

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Zach said bluntly.

Hayes sighed. “Oh, Zachy.”

“I know,” Zach said morosely. “This is gonna be awesome and also is gonna suck hard, isn’t it?”

The long pause before Hayes answered told him the truth.

“Yeah, probably,” Hayes said. “But maybe, for you, it’ll turn out differently.”

Gavin should be exhausted.

Even though he’d spent the last three weeks during the contract negotiation trying to mentally prepare himself for how his life was going to be changing, it turned out that no amount of shopping malls and busy restaurants could’ve prepared him for having dozens of members of the press asking him questions.

The press conference had been organized chaos.

Then he’d had lunch with the university president and then dinner with Sidney Swift. Zach had been there, too, of course, but he’d been quiet.

Or maybe it was just that everyone else felt so freaking loud.

Gavin scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to close his eyes again and fall asleep.

But he couldn’t.

Maybe it was the sound of a city still buzzing around him even though it was nearly midnight. Or maybe it was the sliver of streetlight peeking through the curtains.

If she was here, Noelle would’ve told him he was being very stupid and lying to himself .

Of course, if she was here, he wouldn’t be here, in Portland. He’d still be in Seattle, probably, coaching the Sea Monsters.

Would he be happy? Gavin thought so. He’d been happy before.

Distracted, though, and taking everything that was actually important in his life for granted.

But they’d had a good life together, until it had been cut way too short.

An infection, raging out of control. And then a week later, she’d been gone.

No time to prepare. Barely even time to say goodbye.

Gavin opened his eyes again. Stared at the wedge of light. He’d need to get better blackout curtains, for sure.

He rolled over, grabbing his phone from its charger on the nightstand.

To look for new blackout curtains, he told himself, but that wasn’t the app he switched to.

Gavin’s fingers hesitated over the screen for a long moment. He’d never actually texted Zach before.

During the three weeks of contract negotiations it had been inappropriate, and Gavin hadn’t wanted to put him in a difficult position. And after, Gavin had flown into Portland, and there’d never been a need because if he needed to talk to Zach, he was right there.

His new assistant coach.

God, he was coaching again, and he was coaching again with Zach .

More than once, he’d thought, What the fuck are you thinking? Followed immediately by, You’re thinking straight for the first goddamn time in years.

Followed by, Maybe you’re not thinking ‘straight’ at all.

And wasn’t that the problem ?

Zach was so big and quiet and there .

Gavin had been much more sure he could dismiss that moment on the couch. It was just a moment. Less than five minutes. Nothing had happened. It should be easy to re-align his thinking back to Zach as being under his protection.

But Zach didn’t need his protection.

He’d grown up and Gavin was struggling more than he expected when it came to stuffing him back into that box.

Maybe if you say it enough times.

But he’d said it today, repeated it twice , straight to Zach’s face, who’d barely batted an eye, and that hadn’t changed anything.

If anything, it had gotten tougher. He’d gotten caught up at dinner, when he was supposed to be listening to Sidney blow hard about the upcoming season, watching Zach in the dim light of the restaurant.

The nick underneath his chin, from shaving. The thick strength of his neck and the vulnerable skin at the hollow of his throat, once he’d lost the tie he’d been wearing all day. The deepening shadows under his blue eyes.

The way Zach looked at him. The way Zach lingered at the entrance of the restaurant with him, like he hadn’t wanted to say goodbye either.

Gavin had forced himself to walk away, to take the car Sidney had called for him.

He didn’t know if he had it in him again.

He sent, You up still? before he could change his mind.

A second later, to Gavin’s surprise, Zach called.

“Yeah?” he answered. He’d thought Zach would be down with the texting, so the phone call was unexpected.

“Hey, sorry.” Zach’s voice was quiet. Intimate. And this was why Gavin had texted, not called. Because it was impossible to forget who he was talking to, when he could hear his voice.

“It’s alright,” Gavin said. He probably sounded just as hushed.

Maybe even exactly as he’d sounded that night.

“I realized I didn’t grab my glasses from the bathroom when I took my contacts out,” Zach said apologetically. “It’s hard for me to see my phone to text without them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Zach interrupted gently. “It’s alright. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It was . . .it was a long day.”

“Then why can’t I sleep?” Gavin questioned.

It wasn’t Zach’s job to lull him into complacency, into sleep. But suddenly, inexplicably, he wished it was.

“Ah, that’s it, then?”

“The noises, and the lights, and just . . . ugh ,” Gavin said, aware of just how whiny he sounded.

“You could’ve stayed out of town, a bit.”

Yeah, he could’ve. But he hadn’t been sure, even though he’d signed the contract for three years, if this would work out, and he hadn’t wanted to buy again. The small bungalow rental right down the street from the rink had seemed a better choice, at least in the short term.

“Didn’t seem like the right choice, when I’m trying . . .” Gavin swallowed the rest of the sentence. When I’m trying to rejoin the land of the living .

Because in some ways Zach had been right; he had been rotting out there.

He knew that was true, but part of him shrank back from admitting it out loud. From admitting to Zach .