Page 9

Chapter nine

Carver

Carver: Just tape. Promise.

I ran my hand over my face, feeling the stubble I hadn't bothered to shave in the last two days. What the hell was I doing?

Inviting Pike over to "watch tape" was the thinnest excuse I'd ever manufactured, and I'd once tried to convince a ref that my stick had broken itself out of frustration with his call. The weather forecasters promised a blizzard. It canceled our evening game.

The knock on my door announced a visitor as I pulled a second beer from the fridge. I wiped my suddenly damp palms against my jeans and forced myself to count to five before moving toward the door.

I peered out the peephole and was blasted with a ray of sunshine. When I opened the door, Pike stood there with snow caught in his eyelashes, cheeks flushed crimson from the cold, and a grocery bag clutched to his chest.

"Blizzard party guest of honor reporting in." A playful smile spread across his face. He's killing me . The careful distance we'd maintained since that night at the arena—four days, seventeen hours—was suddenly dangerously fragile.

"Almost thought you'd changed your mind." I moved to the side, farther than necessary, to avoid an accidental brush of our shoulders.

"Nah, it just took forever at the store. People are buying bread like the apocalypse is coming." He shrugged out of his coat, revealing a faded University of Minnesota hoodie. "Didn't know what snacks you like, so I bought options."

"As long as there're no kale chips in there, we're good."

"That was my first choice. Healthy fuel for healthy bodies." His expression remained so earnest I nearly believed him.

"You're a terrible liar, Sunshine."

He laughed. "Fine, it's all garbage. Salt, sugar, and preservatives." He pulled out a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips—my favorite, though I couldn't remember mentioning that. "So, where's this Providence tape you were so eager to study?"

"Right." I gestured vaguely toward the television. "I've got it queued up."

That was a lie. I hadn't touched my laptop since sending the text, and I had no intention of subjecting either of us to game footage for the entire evening. It was a pretense designed to give us both something to hide behind.

Pike settled onto the couch, his long frame making my secondhand furniture look even shabbier than it was. I sat on the opposite end, far enough away to avoid accidental contact.

I found the Providence game, and it soon filled the screen as I mirrored my laptop to the television. The players moved with those mechanical, practiced motions they repeated thousands of times a season.

"That forecheck is brutal." Pike pointed at the screen. "It makes me feel better about how they bottled us up in the third period."

"Mmm." I was hardly listening. The floor lamp in the corner cast shadows across Pike's profile, highlighting the sharp edge of his cheekbone and the slight furrow that appeared between his brows when he concentrated.

"You're not watching."

I blinked. "What?"

"The tape. You're not watching it." He glanced sideways at me.

"I was thinking about the penalty kill." It was another lie, only twenty minutes into his visit.

"Right." He was quiet for another moment and then asked a question. "Is this weird? Me being here?"

"No. Why would it be weird?" I reached for my beer without looking at him.

"Because of what almost happened. At the arena."

My grip tightened around the bottle. He was going there . "Nothing happened."

"But it almost did."

I fixed my gaze on the television, where number 27 from Providence lined up a slap shot from the blue line. "We don't need to talk about it. It was a moment. We were both... I don't know. Neither of us was thinking clearly."

Pike's shoulders tensed. "Right. Not thinking clearly. That's one explanation."

Another stretch of silence followed, punctuated only by the television and the increasing howl of wind outside.

I was grateful for the opportunity to talk about the weather. "Storm's picking up."

"Yeah. They're saying it might be the biggest since—"

Suddenly, the room plunged into darkness, cutting Pike off mid-sentence. The television died, along with every lamp and the reassuring hum of my ancient refrigerator. Only the ghostly blue light of my laptop running on batteries remained.

I growled. "Perfect timing."

"You have candles? Flashlights?" Pike spoke from the shadows cast by the ambient glow from my laptop.

"Yeah. Hold on." I stepped carefully across my apartment toward the kitchen junk drawer, where I kept emergency supplies. My fingers closed around a heavy-duty flashlight, and I clicked it on.

The harsh white light exposed Pike's face. His eyes were wide, and his hair slightly mussed from where he'd run his hand through it.

He squinted against the brightness. "You look like you're about to interrogate me."

"Sorry." I lowered the beam. "There're some candles in the bathroom cabinet. Give me a minute."

"I'll help." He followed me down the short hallway.

The bathroom was almost claustrophobic, with two hockey players crammed into it. Pike's shoulder pressed against mine as I rummaged through the cabinet, locating three thick emergency candles and a half-empty pack of matches.

He accepted one from my hand. "Didn't take you for a candle guy."

"I'm not. Power goes out in this building at least once every winter." I struck a match, the sudden flare creating a warm, golden glow. We were too close. My hand cupped around the flame, and his face was only inches from mine.

I cleared my throat. "Let's get back to the living room."

The apartment cooled rapidly without heat from the furnace. "Are you cold? I'll grab some blankets."

I grabbed a pile of worn family throws and joined Pike on the couch. We settled under a shared quilt stitched by my grandmother.

Pike pulled the fabric up to his chin. "This is cozy."

"Better than watching Providence's penalty kill?"

"Infinitely. Though I'm guessing the tape was always an excuse."

I considered pulling back and standing. He'd cornered me. "What's that supposed to mean? This is honestly better."

The warm, amber glow of the candle grew stronger. Outside, snow pressed against the windows, and the wind moaned. Without electricity, the constant background hum of modern life had vanished, leaving only our breathing.

"How about something to eat?"

Pike turned his head to face me. "Okay, if that will make it easier to talk."

I didn't say anything as I crawled out from under the quilt to head to the kitchen. There, I retrieved a bag of chips from Pike's groceries and settled back onto the couch.

We sat in silence, passing the bag back and forth. The silence didn't last long. "Can I ask you something?"

I swallowed, knowing whatever followed wouldn't be about hockey or the storm. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Pike flexed his fingers as if testing them after a hard practice. "I don't know what I'm doing." His voice caught slightly. "With you. With me. I've never felt like this around anyone, let alone a guy."

It was a brave confession. My pulse accelerated, but I stayed silent, afraid any response would shatter whatever courage had prompted his words.

"I used to think I was straight. Or at least..." He exhaled slowly. "I never questioned it, but now I'm sitting here, sharing a quilt, and I don't know what I want except..." His eyes locked on mine. "I keep looking at you like..."

My throat tightened. I didn't know whether to be excited or panic. I fumbled for something familiar to say—a deflection, joke, or anything to diffuse the intensity of the moment.

"Like I'm some kind of science experiment?" My attempt at humor fell flat.

Pike didn't smile. "LikeIwanttokissyou."Hisvoicewassoft,barelyawhisper. "AndI'mscaredofwhatthatmeans."

I stared at him. Not because I didn't want it—damn, I did—but because that sentence was a sparking wire, and my brain nearly short-circuited trying to process it.

I said the only thing I could. "Thendoit, orIwill."

Hehesitated."Shit.Okay."

Andthenhekissedme.

Except it was less of a kiss and more of an accidental nose bump with an awkward brush of lips. Pike's landed somewhere half on and half off my mouth. It would've been a disaster if it weren't so us.

Webothpulledbackslightly,blinking.

I grinned. "Ithinkthatwasmyeyebrow."

"No,prettysureitwasmycheekbone."He started to laugh.

Mynervesmelted into ridiculously giddy laughter. "Wannatryagain?"

"Fuck,yes.Slower.Like… 80%lessnose."

The next time, we got it right. Our mouths met in a soft, shy, and electric kiss. I didn't hear any orchestral swell of music or see fireworks streaking across the sky. It was only two guys mashing lips mid-blizzard on a worn couch under a hand-stitched quilt.

Pike'slipswerewarm.Alittledry.He tasted like salt and vinegar, and something I couldn't quite identify, but I would probably crave forever.

When I angled my head and deepened the kiss slightly, his breath caught. It was a tiny sound that nearly undid me.

When we finally broke apart again, we were both breathing hard. I couldn't look away from him. With lips slightly parted, he appeared stunned.

Neither of us knew what to say. I looked down at my hands, suddenly fascinated by the scar across my right knuckle— a souvenir from a fight in juniors that I'd never properly let heal. Across from me, Pike's lip trembled slightly.

Finally, he whispered, "That didn't feel wrong."

Four more honest and straightforward words. They landed with more impact than any hit I'd taken on the ice.

"No, it didn't."

Still, neither of us moved to kiss again. The distance between us remained. What came next? What did this mean for his career, or mine, or the team? Were we something now, or only two people who kissed once during a power outage?

Pike shifted on the couch, drawing one knee up toward his chest in a posture that made him look younger and more vulnerable than his twenty-three years. He waited for his mentor to guide us through this uncharted territory.

Unfortunately, I had no map. No playbook. No veteran experience to draw from.

I retreated to the familiar—deflection, observation, and anything to avoid the raw, exposed feeling in my chest. I turned toward the window, where snow had completely covered the lower pane and was working its way up the second.

"Guess we're snowed in."

Pike nodded slowly, understanding what I wasn't saying. The kiss was something we couldn't resolve right away. It was too big.

He agreed with my assessment of the weather. "Probably until morning at least."

Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but charged with an awareness that hadn't existed before. Eventually, I stood, moving toward the kitchen to create some breathing space. "You want water? Or there's still some beer."

"Water's good."

I filled two glasses from the filter pitcher in my refrigerator, grateful for the mundane task. When I returned, Pike sat forward with his elbows on his knees, staring into the candle flame.

"Thanks." He took the glass from me, careful to avoid touching my fingers. "I should apologize."

"For what?"

"For making this complicated. You're my mentor. My teammate. And I just..."

"I kissed you back," I interrupted. "If anyone should apologize, it's me. I'm older. I should know better."

Pike shook his head. "Don't do that. I'm not some kid who doesn't know his own mind."

"I didn't say you were."

"But you're thinking it." He turned to look at me. "You're thinking that this is some... I don't know, phase or experiment or confusion."

"Is it?"

"No, it's not. I don't know what it is exactly, but it's not that."

Outside, the wind picked up again, howling around the corners of the building with renewed fury. We both glanced toward the window, where snow continued accumulating against the glass.

Pike turned back to me. "What happens in the morning? When the power's back on and the roads are clear. What then?"

It was the question I wanted to avoid. I had no clear answer. What were we in the locker room, on the ice, and in the real world beyond our snow-insulated bubble?

"I don't know. This wasn't in my plans."

Pike smiled, and I saw a hint of his usual sunshine in his eyes. "What, the veteran player doesn't have contingencies for everything?"

"They didn't cover the protocols for what to do if you kiss your second-season mentee during a blizzard in orientation."

He laughed softly. It dissipated some of the tension. "We could pretend it never happened."

I shook my head. "Too late for that."

"Yeah." He twisted the glass between his palms. "Too late." After another long pause, he asked, "Can I stay?"

The question was practical—the roads were impassable.

"Yes, but Pike... I need time to figure this out. We both do."

He nodded, understanding what I meant. Whatever was happening between us needed space to breathe before we defined it.

"I've got a spare room, and the sheets are clean."

He delivered a genuine smile. "Didn't have you pegged as someone who'd have a guest room."

"It's not by choice. It came with the place." I stood, stretching muscles stiff from sitting too long in one position. "I'll grab you something to sleep in."

Whether I was ready for it or not, Pike had worked his way under my armor. And despite all the complications, uncertainty, and potential for disaster, I couldn't bring myself to regret it.

Not the kiss.

Not the confession.

Not any of it.