Page 27

December

“Finn’s looking so solid,” Zach said as he leaned against the boards. He’d put skates on today, so he was on the ice, as Gavin leaned over the edge, his chin nearly brushing against Zach’s shoulder.

He shouldn’t like it as much as he did, but that ship wasn’t just sailed, it was out of the fucking harbor.

At the worst times he remembered all of Hayes’ warnings. How if he didn’t put some space between himself and Gavin, it would be impossible to move on.

And last month, when things had been fresh, he hadn’t imagined that he’d ever want to. But as he dug in, getting ready for the long haul of having Gavin in a lot of ways but never as deeply or as completely as he craved him, he was beginning to wonder just how shitty this was going to be.

“Yeah,” Gavin agreed. “God, on Saturday? He was on fire. I’ve never seen him play like that.”

Zach nodded.

It was definitely shitty. And he was definitely still doing it .

“I wasn’t sure about this thing with Braun. Thought it could get messy—”

“It could still get messy,” Zach warned.

Morgan was a problem; he never stopped being a problem. Which Zach supposed couldn’t be all that surprising, because he’d been a thorn in Hayes’ side—in his heart— forever.

That was apparently just what he was. Persistent and annoying and always fucking digging himself in someplace he didn’t belong.

“It could, but I don’t think it will.” Gavin sounded optimistic about this, which was cute but also naive, because everyone knew when Morgan found out that his greatest rival was coaching his son, he was going to lose his shit.

It was only a matter of time and how long and how severe the shit-losing was going to be.

“You just like the results so much you’re not worrying about the consequences,” Zach said and felt rather than saw Gavin’s smile against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Gavin admitted. “But that shutout! I was actually worried about the Phantoms’ offense, but I shouldn’t have been.”

“Clearly,” Zach said.

“We should run a shootout drill at the end of practice,” Gavin said.

They still did them, because everyone needed them—not just Finn, but the offensive guys too—but they had been doing them less in deference to Finn’ s mental hangups.

But Zach agreed; that shutout was a natural extension of an undeniable growing confidence, and if that was Jacob Braun’s doing, then he’d give the guy credit.

“Yeah,” Zach said. “It’s a good time for it.”

“Agreed.” Gavin rested his chin on Zach’s shoulder for one last glorious minute and then he was rising, heading over towards center ice, where a knot of players had gathered, Ramsey starting to run them through a set of drills.

Ramsey was good. Always seemed to know what they needed to do before he and Gavin really considered it, and Zach hung back, observing as they worked on their power play.

The first team was good—running like a machine these days, and it turned out, almost annoyingly, that booster at the bar had been right, because it was the best producing power play in the conference—but the second needed work.

Gavin beckoned him over as Ramsey gave the second power play team a gentle-ish ass reaming.

“I should move Mal to the second team,” Gavin said.

He kept saying this stuff. Talking about how other teams, particularly NHL teams, were dividing up their good players.

If Gavin brought up the Penguins’ two-headed monster one more time, Zach was going to scream.

Or pin him against the boards and kiss him so hard his mouth would be red and wet and bruised for a week.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Zach said.

“They need a better leader out there.” Gavin sounded annoyed.

“Those guys are all just young.” They were all freshman and sophomores, and he and Gavin had discussed, more than once, who was going to be the guy who stepped up and took a leadership role in that group. So far, it hadn’t really been anyone.

“Hasn’t stopped Jones,” Gavin pointed out in a low voice.

And yes, Elliott was a sophomore, but he played like he was already in the pros.

That was great, everyone was thrilled about it, but also, nobody had figured out yet how he’d made that jump.

Zach knew Gavin was still worried it was because of Malcolm.

And what would happen if Malcolm ever stopped being a factor.

“They’ll get there,” Zach said.

Gavin made a face as their third and fourth line centers totally missed each other on an easy pass and Ramsey’s sharp reprimand cut across the ice.

“We need production from everyone , not just the first line,” Gavin huffed.

“Maybe if Finn—”

“I’m not putting this whole team on his back,” Gavin said.

“Fair,” Zach agreed. Finn had enough pressures, without needing to be the savior all the time. Elliott and Mal—and to a lesser extent Ivan—didn’t seem to mind that. But Finn did. Probably because Morgan Reynolds was a built-in pressure crank.

“Okay,” Gavin said, when he’d finally seen enough, which was at least five minutes after Zach had seen enough.

“I’ll go let Finn know we’re going to do the drill,” Zach said, and Gavin nodded.

Finn’s helmet was pushed up and he was squirting water into his mouth from his water bottle .

“Hey,” Zach said to Finn, “we’re gonna run a shootout drill, for the end of practice.”

Finn nodded. Zach swore he saw a shadow of something flicker across his face but before he could catalog and understand the emotion, it was gone.

Part of him wanted to go back to Gavin and tell him this was a bad idea, but if he did, then Finn would know why Zach had changed his mind, and that might push him even deeper into his own head.

No. They needed to do this. For the whole team, but for Finn, too.

Zach returned to the boards, leaning against them again, Gavin’s elbow pressing against his arm. “Mal,” he called out, when Finn was ready.

Mal was a deceptive shooter. He looked focused, but not particularly aggressive, until the last moment. It was a great strategy to lull goalies to sleep. Finn wasn’t fooled by it, and he shouldn’t have been. They’d been doing this since August. Finn should know everyone’s tells by now.

Changing direction abruptly, Mal sped up, finding his zone.

“Come on, Mal,” Elliott shouted from across the ice. “Stop fucking around!”

Gavin chuckled under his breath as Mal skated faster—nobody was unsure as to why—and then shot the puck, a dart right around Finn’s knee pad.

Elliott yelled in excitement, and even Malcolm looked pretty pleased with himself.

The only one who didn’t was Finn, who was frowning now .

Elliott went next, and used his speed the whole way, unlike Mal, and slipped a puck right between Finn’s legs, quicker than he’d been anticipating, and now that was two.

“That’s it,” Zach called out, clapping his hands. If he didn’t seem happy, then it would be worse. Finn would believe they all doubted him.

Gavin nudged him, and he didn’t need to say why.

Zach glanced over at Finn, who was looking tense.

“You good?” he asked. Tried to make it a casual question. They could shut this down, no question, but Zach wasn’t sure that would be a better option.

“Fine,” Finn retorted.

“Alright,” Zach said, nodding. He sent Ivan next, and then Ramsey. Finn got Ivan’s shot, but not Ramsey’s.

It was a great display by their offensive players, but Zach wasn’t surprised that by the end of the drill, Finn looked like he was a mess, missing shots he’d normally have stopped, no question.

“Hey, Finn,” Elliott called out, empathy written across his face as soon as the drill was over, but Finn wasn’t having it, skating off the ice as fast as he could.

“Just let him go,” Zach said, even though he knew he’d probably be the one following him. Trying to rebuild what they’d just broken.

“Shit,” Gavin muttered under his breath.

“Should I—”

But before Zach could get the question out, Ramsey had joined them, and shook his head no.

“I’ve got this,” Ramsey said .

“Andresen,” Gavin warned.

But Ramsey just shook him off, like he usually did. “No, really. I’ve got this. I know what to say.”

“Okay,” Gavin said.

When Ramsey was gone, when they were the only two left at the rink, Gavin turned to Zach. “I fucked that up.”

“If you fucked it up, so did I. I didn’t know—I thought he was solid.”

“He was solid,” Gavin said, frustration leaking into his voice. “Morgan wasn’t at the game on Saturday was he? Another sneak appearance?”

Zach shook his head. “Not that I was aware of. Besides, I saw him on ESPN when I got home after the game. He was on set. He wasn’t here, in Portland.”

“Well, maybe he opened his stupid fucking trap again,” Gavin muttered.

“Or maybe he’s already done the damage and now it’s just a process to repair it,” Zach said.

Gavin slid a look his way. “Yeah?”

“There’s years of baggage here, G,” Zach said. “You get that. It’s not just a blink and you’re better kind of thing.”

Zach thought that nobody might understand it better than Gavin. Sure, instead of an overbearing parent or too much pressure it was grief and loss, but in the end the result was the same. He’d gone to Michigan to hide out, and he refused to even consider dating again.

And it had been years .

“I do get that,” Gavin agreed. “Kinda wish I didn’t. ”

Nobody probably wished that more than Gavin, but Zach figured he was probably a close second.

“Yeah,” Zach agreed. They shared a look.

The kind of look that he kept telling himself he needed to stop indulging in, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it.

Not when that look felt so good. Intimate and real and warm.

Like Gavin’s chest cracked open briefly and he let Zach see deep inside, to his heart.

It was impossible not to show Gavin his heart right back. Even if it would be better. Easier.

“Zach—” Gavin said in a low voice. Zach told himself it didn’t sound seductive, and that Gavin wasn’t looking at his mouth, but goddamn it, he was.

Gavin exhaled hard. Said, “Sometimes, I do wish things were different.”