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“It’s . . .it’s fine,” Zach said. He was fine .

“It’s okay if it’s not. If you’re not,” Hayes pointed out.

“He said—it wasn’t me . That he . . .well, that he would . But that he’s never dating again.”

Hayes was quiet for a long moment. “Is that better, or worse?”

Zach made a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, okay?”

“Well, he could change his mind—”

“Don’t do that,” Zach interrupted him, frustration leaking into his voice and making it harsher than he’d intended.

“Don’t do what?”

“Give me fucking hope. You said it, back at the beginning of this whole thing. He was going to have his big widower freakout.” Zach took a deep breath. “But you were wrong, it’s not a freakout. Freakout implies that it’s got a beginning, a middle, and an end. And I don’t think it will.”

“Shit. I didn’t want to be right,” Hayes said earnestly .

“God, I know that. I know that. I shouldn’t have said anything.

” He’d only been agonizing over this for weeks now.

Had it been better that he’d spoken up? Or would it have been better to keep the hope buoying him as long as possible?

Maybe if he hadn’t forced Gavin to make a choice, he’d have eventually changed his mind.

But who was he fucking kidding? He’d heard the closed door in Gavin’s voice. Saw it in his eyes. When he said he wasn’t ever dating again, he meant it.

“Yeah, you should have,” Hayes said, voice soft. “If you hadn’t, imagine what would’ve happened? You’d have hoped forever and fallen in even deeper, and I think that would’ve sucked even harder.”

“Yeah,” Zach said. But he wasn’t quite sure he believed it. That was the whole problem.

“You didn’t quit, did you?”

“No. No way. I . . .it’s not his fault, you know? I’m not even mad at him. Not really. He’s as much a victim of this as I am,” Zach said.

Hayes’ silence was telling.

“So yeah, no, I’m still here. We’re still coaching. We’re still friends. We still talk all the time, every night, same as before.”

Hayes still didn’t say anything but now his silence took a disapproving slant.

“It’s really fine,” Zach continued. “I’m learning so much. And the team is winning.”

Hayes sighed. “Zachy, you are so fucked.”

“I am not,” Zach argued, just because he hated how resigned Hayes sounded. Like he was hopeless, and he wasn’t . He was an adult, making adult choices. He wasn’t led around by his dick. Or his poor bruised heart.

“This is why I—” Hayes broke off, muttering a frustrated fuck under his breath. “This is why I cut it off with Morgan. I wasn’t going to hang around for months or God forbid, for years , waiting for him to toss me a scrap.”

“Yeah, you’re totally doing so good with that, by the way,” Zach retorted sarcastically.

“Fuck you,” Hayes said, without heat.

“I’m not hanging around for a scrap . This is my job . I work for him.” Technically he worked for Sidney and for the college, but he didn’t need to go into the details of the chain of command for Hayes right now.

“I know, and I’m fucking proud of you for doing it,” Hayes said. “But do you ever think that this is going to slowly kill you? Being that close but not close enough? You’re never going to get over him without having some space.”

Zach leaned back in his desk chair and squeezed his eyes shut, hating how his heart clenched at Hayes’ soft question.

“Yeah,” he finally admitted.

“But you’re going to do it anyway.”

“What else can I do, Monty?”

“Not let him that close?”

Zach debated asking that if Hayes had the opportunity to be this close to Morgan—but with nothing else—if he would take it. It would be a totally unfair question, because he knew how his best friend would answer.

He’d take all that intermingled joy and pain, no question .

“You know I’m not going to push him away,” Zach said defensively.

“I know. Just think of how this ends,” Hayes warned.

Zach knew exactly what he was thinking and not saying— don’t end up like me— but even if he should be considering the possibility, he couldn’t . Not now. “Me, becoming a great hockey coach.”

Hayes sighed.

“Hey, I caught your game last night,” Zach said, changing the subject.

“Oh yeah?” Hayes perked up.

“Man, that goal in the second? That was gorgeous fucking hockey,” Zach said.

He’d had the TV on low as he’d talked to Gavin on the phone.

He hadn’t even realized Gavin was watching the same game he was, until they’d both made the same embarrassing screech as Hayes had woven his way between three opposing players, barely set up, and then hit the upper corner of the net like he was born to do it.

“Damn,” Gavin had said. “That guy is good at hockey.”

Zach had never been prouder.

“Thanks,” Hayes said. “I think the team’s gonna be good this year.”

“Me too,” Zach agreed.

They relaxed into a companionable silence.

“Got a long road trip coming up,” Hayes observed.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Playing New York at the end,” Hayes added. “God, I hate going there. ”

“No, you hate that even seeing his number in the rafters gives you a boner.”

“You’re the worst,” Hayes said, his tone affectionate.

“Not true. Complete slander.” Zach chuckled.

“Don’t be a stranger again, okay? Don’t make me call you when you fucking ghost me again.” Hayes’ soft amusement morphed into sternness.

“I won’t,” Zach promised.

“Good,” Hayes said.

It had been four weeks since the conversation.

It was always The Conversation in Gavin’s head.

Always the moment he sincerely, completely, utterly fucked everything up.

Not because he’d lied—the opposite in fact—but because of how Zach’s hope had dissolved like sugar in water, drowning in the inevitability of disappointment.

He’d done that.

Gavin wasn’t stupid; it was always going to really fucking suck to tell Zach the truth. That yes , he was attracted to him, but no , nothing was ever going to happen. But it felt worse because of what he’d done the night before.

What he kept fucking doing.

He told himself it was only because he’d closed the door firmly on anything happening, and this made indulging in every mental fantasy he had about Zach safe.

But it wasn’t safe at all .

Didn’t mean that Jon had stopped harassing him about it. Didn’t mean he could stop doing it.

Didn’t mean he’d stopped feeling way too fucking guilty about it.

“I’m going to have to talk to Mal, aren’t I?” Zach asked from his seat on the couch. They’d just finished watching film of the last game. Analyzing the first line play in particular. How dynamite and dynamic Mal and Elliott were together.

Gavin leaned back in his desk chair, trying to pretend to himself that he wasn’t counting down the minutes until he could leave this office and go home. Then get off. And talk to Zach. Or the other way around. He wasn’t picky. He was going to be thinking about Zach no matter what.

“About the scouts?”

Zach nodded.

“Yeah, you probably should. They’re really into Elliott.

And well . . .the idea of keeping this going.

” Gavin gestured at the screen, where Elliott and Malcolm had thrown themselves into each other’s arms. On the ice was the one place they really seemed to gel, though Zach kept insisting there was more going on these days.

Well, that had been the idea, anyway. There were other tutors that Gavin could have picked to help Elliott pass his class, but Mal had been the perfect, if potentially risky choice.

He still remembered when, after he’d broached the subject, Zach had told him his pet theory. They’d both been flushed, not because either of them were even remotely into the idea of their left and right wingers fucking, but because of the fucking .

Gavin tried very hard not to think about sex and Zach in the same thought, at least when he was right in front of him.

It was bad enough that it happened every night, when he was alone.

“It’s hard to know whether I should push him to tell me what’s going on.” Zach sighed. “He should be talking to someone , though.”

“Maybe he’s talking to Elliott,” Gavin offered optimistically.

Zach looked incredulous. “If what’s happening is what I think is happening, talking is the last thing on their minds. You were twenty once.”

God, he didn’t even need to be twenty anymore to let even the idea of sex consume him. But the last thing he was going to do was confess that to Zach.

“Please, I really don’t want to think about Mal and Elliott that way,” Gavin said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Zach grinned. “Whether you think about it or not, it’s probably happening.”

“God,” Gavin groaned.

In some ways, Zach bringing it up and Gavin having to shut him gently down had been the best-case scenario, because he’d sworn to himself there would be no more mixed signals. No more almost-kisses. He’d toed the line, because anything else was unthinkable. He couldn’t lead Zach on that way.

It was enough of a miracle that Zach hadn’t gotten fucking pissed at him. Hadn’t quit. Hadn’t stopped being his friend.

They even still talked every night. Nothing had changed, except that he’d extinguished the hope in Zach’s eyes.

Yeah, ’cause that didn’t really fucking suck .

“I’ll talk to him. Feel him out,” Zach said. “After the game on Friday?”

“Maybe we should have Ramsey do it.”

“He already pushed hard enough.” Gavin heard the uncertainty in his voice. He’d told Ramsey not to get involved, and he hadn’t exactly followed that directive, but Ramsey claimed he’d only given Elliott a much-needed nudge.

And they were still scoring goals. More than ever, in fact.

Gavin didn’t need anyone to tell him, because he had plenty of emails from the Toronto scouts in his inbox.

Other scouts too. Sidney was practically foaming at the mouth, he was so goddamn excited.

Everyone was half in love with Elliott Jones, these days.

“Trust me, I’ve got this,” Zach said, getting to his feet and on his way towards the doorway, he stopped next to Gavin’s desk and put a friendly hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Like touching was totally normal. Like it was No Big Deal.