Page 4 of Cold Comeback (Richmond Reapers #1)

Chapter three

Thatcher

He was already there, of course. Sitting in his stall, working on his stick tape job. When I walked in, his eyes flicked up to meet mine for precisely half a second before returning to his work.

"Morning." I dropped my bag.

"Drake." No warmth. No acknowledgment of last night's text exchange.

Cool. Time to pretend the "yes, Sir" never happened. I could play that game.

I unpacked my gear with more noise than necessary. My skates clattered against the floor. If he wanted professional distance, I'd give him professional distance with a side of fuck-you-too.

The rest of the team trickled in. Linc arrived humming something that might have been music if you squinted your ears. Pluto showed up with what looked like a breakfast burrito wrapped in six napkins.

"Morning, sunshine," Linc said, bumping my shoulder. "You look rested."

"Three alarms. Captain's orders."

Practice started normal enough. Warm-up laps, passing drills, and the usual chaotic disarray of getting twenty guys moving in the same direction. Still, there was something different in the air. Electric.

Every time Gideon and I ended up paired for a drill, the contact lingered. His hand on my shoulder during line changes. The brush of his glove when he passed me the puck.

"You two gonna fight or fuck?" Linc asked during a water break, voice low enough that Coach couldn't hear.

"What?" I nearly choked on my water.

"The sexual tension," Pluto added helpfully. "It's so thick I could tape my stick with it."

I glanced toward Gideon, who was studiously avoiding looking in our direction. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Linc grinned. "And I don't know what a puck is."

Coach blew the whistle. "Battle drills! Two-on-two down low. Winner stays, loser gets extra suicides."

Of course, Gideon and I ended up matched against each other. Of course.

The first rep, he stripped the puck from me clean and fed Pluto for an easy goal—standard captain stuff. The second rep, I returned the favor, dancing around his stick and tucking one five-hole before the goalie could react.

"Nice," he said as we skated back to the line.

The third rep, things got interesting.

I was cycling behind the net when Gideon arrived like a freight train. The hit stapled me to the boards, but I came up grinning. My parents raised me to avoid backing down from anyone.

"That's all you got, Cap?"

He wet his lips with his tongue.

The next hit came harder. And the one after that. By the time Coach called the drill, we were both breathing hard, and the rest of the team watched the show.

"Showers," Coach barked. "Weight room in twenty."

The gym was where things really went sideways.

Most of the team filtered out after their sets, but the core group hung around. I was doing pull-ups, mainly because they were one of the few things I could still do better than most guys, and partly because Gideon was spotting Knox on bench press about ten feet away.

"Showing off for the teacher?" Pluto asked.

It was an innocent chirp. The kind of thing that got said in every locker room in the world, but Gideon's head snapped up like it was a calculated insult.

"Focus on your own workout." His voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

The gym went quiet. Pluto blinked, genuinely confused. Gideon didn't snap at people. Gideon was steady. Controlled. The guy who told everyone else to calm down.

I dropped from the bar. "He's just having fun. No harm."

Gideon stared at me. "Some of us take this seriously."

"Some of us know how to do both."

Knox finished his set and sat up, glancing back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.

Linc cleared his throat. "Maybe you two should talk this out somewhere private before one of you says something stupid."

Too late for that, I thought, but I followed Gideon out of the gym anyway.

He led me down a quiet hallway near the equipment room. Most of the team had cleared out, and our footsteps echoed off the concrete walls. He stopped and turned to face me, jaw tight.

"We need to talk."

"Finally."

"About boundaries. About keeping things professional."

I laughed and clammed up when I saw the intense expression on his face. "Professional? You nearly put me through the boards out there."

"You think this is a game?"

"I think you're scared of what you want."

His nostrils flared. "You don't know what I want."

"Don't I?" I stepped closer. He didn't step back. "Tell me I'm wrong, Gideon. Tell me you didn't spend last night thinking about those texts. Tell me you didn't want to respond."

"It doesn't matter what I wanted."

"Bullshit." Another step. Too close. Locker-room-close. This’ll-end-badly-close. "Tell me I'm wrong and I'll back off. Tell me you don't feel this and I'll request a trade tomorrow."

His breathing was shallow. "The team—"

"Fuck the team. This is about you and me."

"My position—"

"Your position isn't going anywhere."

"Your situation—"

"My situation?" I was close enough to smell his soap now. Close enough to count his eyelashes. "My situation is that I want you and you want me and we're both too chickenshit to do anything about it."

He froze. "Tell me I'm wrong," I whispered.

He didn't tell me I was wrong.

Instead, he grabbed the front of my practice jersey and shoved me against the wall.

His hands slid under my shirt first, fingertips hot against my skin, and then his mouth crashed into mine.

The kiss was desperate. Hungry. Nothing like the careful control he showed everywhere else. His mouth was hot and demanding, and I parted my lips for him like I'd been waiting my entire life for the moment.

His hand raked into my hair, gripping tight enough to make me gasp. The sound seemed to break something in him, because suddenly his other hand was on my hip, pulling me closer, and every rock-hard inch of him pressed against me.

My hands touched molten skin under his shirt, sliding over muscle. He groaned into my mouth.

"Fuck," he breathed against my lips, and then his mouth was on my neck, finding a spot that made my knees buckle.

I pushed my leg between his, moving just enough to create friction. "Gideon—"

The sound of wheels on linoleum cut through the haze. A janitor's cart, getting closer.

We sprang apart like we'd been electrocuted, both breathing hard, staring at each other like we couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

"Fuck," Gideon said again, but this time it wasn't desire. It was horror. He ran both hands through his hair. "Fuck."

I reached for him. "Gideon—"

He backed away. "This—damn it, this can't happen."

"But it did happen."

"It was a mistake."

The words were a vicious slap. "Right. Your reputation."

"The team. My position. You can't—your situation—"

"My situation," I repeated. "You mean my baggage."

"That's not what I—"

"Isn't it?" I straightened my shirt and tried to get my breathing under control. "Don't worry, Cap. Message received."

So much for the captain who lectured rookies about discipline.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the janitor rounded the corner, pushing his cart and humming off-key. We nodded at him like ordinary people who definitely hadn't just been groping each other against the wall.

"See you tomorrow." It was the only thing I could think of to say.

"Drake—"

I was already on my way out.

The parking lot was a furnace. The asphalt radiated August heat around me as I pushed through the doors. I sat in my rental car for a long time, engine running, AC blasting, trying to process what had just happened.

When I flipped down the visor mirror, there was a red mark on my neck where his mouth had been. I touched it, and my skin was still sensitive. Still humming. Fuck, I looked like I'd been mauled by someone who'd forgotten how to keep control.

I could still taste him. Could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin.

My phone buzzed. For a second, my heart jumped, thinking it might be him. It was only a notification from some app I'd forgotten I'd downloaded.

I drove back to the hotel on autopilot. My brain replayed the last ten minutes on loop. The desperation in his kiss. How he'd said my name. The look on his face when he'd called it a mistake.

In my room, I paced. Ordered room service I didn't eat. Stared at my phone and typed messages I'd never send.

I can still taste you.

Delete.

Don't do this.

Delete.

It meant something and you know it.

Delete.

Finally, I called Linc because I needed to hear a friendly voice; he was the safest option.

"Drake! What's up, man?"

"Nothing much. Just... settling in."

"Yeah? Richmond still treating you okay?"

I thought about Gideon's mouth on my neck. "Yeah. Learning the ropes."

Linc rambled about his day, complained about his landlord, and asked if I wanted to hit up a movie tomorrow—regular stuff. Friendly stuff. It helped a little.

After I hung up, I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

I kept replaying Gideon's words. I got hung up on one thing. Mistakes usually felt wrong when you were making them. That hadn't felt wrong. It was the most right thing I'd done in months.

Before falling asleep, I whispered to the empty room: "Try telling my body what we did was wrong."

I woke up to my phone buzzing. The Bone Yard group chat lit up with a message from Wren: "Team dinner tomorrow night. Mandatory. Bring your appetites and your best behavior. Local press will be there. Angelo's on Main Street, 7 PM. Don't embarrass me."

Someone had already responded with a GIF of a dancing skeleton. Pluto asked if there was a dress code. Knox complained about "performing like a trained seal."

I stared at the restaurant name. It was on the route between the hotel and the practice facility. Angelo's was small. Intimate. The kind of place where you couldn't hide in a corner booth.

Every conversation would be audible, and Wren would seat us strategically for photos. Gideon and I would have to sit at the same table. Make small talk. Pretend that a day earlier, I hadn't been pinned against a wall with his tongue in my mouth.

I sat up, instantly wide awake. My phone showed Gideon had been active in the chat thirty seconds ago. So he was awake too, probably thinking the same thing I was.

Seeing him was going to be hard enough. Seeing him and acting like everything was normal in front of the team AND media?

I was so fucked.