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“Don’t say it,” Hayes interrupted him, his voice hard.

“I know you’re fucked up about him. You always have been, even before, well . . .even before . If you want me to talk about it, all there really is to say is that I have a feeling Finn’s just as fucked up about his dad.”

“In a different way,” Hayes said.

Zach rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

What were they going to do about it? Zach didn’t know yet. He knew how it felt to have expectations riding on you. He’d learned to balance that pressure, though not as well as others he knew. If he had, maybe he would’ve enjoyed playing professional hockey more.

“It’s still new. I haven’t even talked to the kid, yet.”

Hayes didn’t say anything. He seemed annoyed, but then he’d been the one who brought it up in the first place.

It was definitely time to change the subject. It had been time to change the subject before it ever came up in the first place.

“I almost kissed Gavin—or he almost kissed me.”

Hayes froze, halfway to reaching for his can of beer on the side of the pool. “Seriously? Seriously ?”

“I mean, yeah. Pretty sure. It didn’t happen, but it might’ve, if I’d grown a pair and actually gone for it before he panicked.”

Hayes took a long drink of his beer and shot Zach a look. “Okay. Rewind. Tell me the whole fucking story, okay?” He shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe you didn’t lead with that.”

Zach did. From the moment he’d gotten out of the car, to the invite to the porch, to the house, to dinner and the beers they’d drunk.

“And in the morning,” Zach finished, finally, “he was really weird. Could barely look me in the eye. Practically shoved me out of the house and into my car. On my way out told me he didn’t want the job.”

“Ouch,” Hayes said.

Zach had been telling himself since it happened that it hadn’t sucked. But it kind of had, actually.

He’d gotten used to nice Gavin until cold shoulder Gavin had unexpectedly shown up.

“Yeah,” Zach said morosely. “It was probably the first and the last and the only chance I’d ever get. I should’ve just gone for it.”

Hayes floated closer. Slung an arm around Zach’s shoulders. Hayes was an inch shorter than him and built a little smaller, but it felt good to have his best friend pull him in and comfort him. “Listen, no. You shouldn’t have.”

“Really?”

Hayes nodded. “Really. Imagine if you’d actually kissed him and he’d kissed you back? How insane would his freakout have been?”

“But I would’ve known then. What it felt like.” Zach knew he was whining.

“And what, you think you’d have been better off?

No. No, you wouldn’t have been. Take it from someone who thought, once, that something was better than nothing.

It’s not. It’s . . .” Zach could hear the pain in Hayes’ voice.

But he kept going anyway. “It’s not better.

It’s worse. ’Cause you know what it’s like, and you can’t forget it, even if you never get it again. ”

Zach didn’t know what to say to that. He just hung onto Hayes harder. Hugged him tighter. “God, man, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Hayes’ voice had gotten lighter, but it sounded so forced. “I’m glad I learned for both of us. Maybe after this you’ll be able to move on.”

For half a second, he nearly considered asking Hayes if that had ever helped him, but he didn’t. Because the answer was obvious.

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice. Why would I see him again? He’s not taking the job.”

“Imagine if he did though?” Hayes was smiling now, like he was contemplating what an utter clusterfuck that would make of Zach’s life.

“Let’s not,” Zach muttered.

“I’m just saying—the guy probably thought he was straight. How old is he again? Fifty?”

Zach made a scoffing noise. “He’s almost forty. Unlike—”

Hayes interrupted him before he could say it.

“So he went his first almost forty years thinking he was straight, and then he lost his wife, and the grief fucked him up so bad, he moved into the middle of fucking nowhere and quit the job he loved. Then his ex-player shows up, all grown up, and reminds him he’s not dead, yet. ”

“It wasn’t like that,” Zach argued, even though he could see it .

“I think it was exactly like that,” Hayes retorted. “It’s kind of amazing he didn’t have a meltdown in front of you.”

And suddenly, Zach was worried.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been, but Zach was wishing he’d gotten his new phone number or something, because now he couldn’t even check in to make sure he was okay.

Of course, checking in to make sure he was okay would also mean acknowledging what had almost happened, and now that Zach was thinking about it, he wasn’t sure he could’ve.

“Now you’re freaking out,” Hayes said bluntly.

“Well, what if he isn’t okay with it? What if he doesn’t have anyone to talk to?” And okay, Hayes was at least partly right; he was panicking about this, now.

“He’s a grown ass man. He got through his wife dying. I think he can get through a little sexuality crisis.”

“Is it little though?”

Hayes laughed and made a big deal out of trailing his gaze up and down Zach’s body. “Maybe not so little.”

Zach elbowed him in the side. “Don’t be an ass.”

“It’s my turn,” Hayes said calmly.

“I did leave my card there.” When he’d pulled it out of his pocket, he’d thought it was a mistake to do it.

But Gavin had barely been able to look at him and if Zach was being very honest, he’d barely been able to look back.

The crush he’d believed long-dead had come roaring back with such ferocity it made him a bumbling nineteen-year-old again.

But he’d tucked it half under his breakfast plate.

Maybe when Gavin found it, he’d throw it away.

Or maybe he’d keep it .

“Oh yeah?” Hayes waggled his eyebrows.

“It was stupid—really, really stupid. But I thought . . .well, anyway, if he wants to talk to me about it, he’d be able to.”

“You think he’s gonna text you—sorry, call you , ’cause he’s old—and be like, please Zach, pretty please talk me through my sexuality crisis? ”

“Now that you say it, it sounds very stupid,” Zach grumbled.

“You’re worried. It’s cute.”

“No, it’s stupid,” Zach argued. “I’m . . .well . . .you know.”

“Yeah, if anyone knows what that’s like, it’s me,” Hayes said.

“I just hope he has someone to talk to,” Zach said.

“Man, you are gone .”

Ugh, he wanted to tell Hayes he was wrong, that it was just the remnants of an old childish crush, that he’d be over it so fast—that there wasn’t even anything to get over—but Zach wasn’t sure.

Because it had lingered for the last four years, in the back of his mind, and that was before he’d ever believed, even for a second, that Gavin might be attracted to him.

And now? As much as Zach might try to deny it, something had happened last night.

He just needed to remind himself that nothing else was ever going to happen again. That was the first and last time.

“Come on,” Hayes said, patting him on the arm. “Let’s get out. Shower. Grab some food.”

Zach knew what Hayes was trying to do—this was why he’d come here, anyway. He’d known Hayes would be honest and then do a good job of distracting him.

He just needed to let himself be distracted.