Page 68 of Hotshot
“Fucked?”
“Maybe, but there’s no point in being bitter or lamenting what could have been. This is where you’re supposed to be now. This version of you—the sought-after, superstar hockey player. Maybe everything was always leading you here. You aren’t the same scared kid who moved to this town, Denny.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve turned into Hockey Man. It’s what I do. It’s my superpower. On one hand, it’s an honor. I fucking love the game. But it’s become my new identity, the thing I hide behind. I know that about myself. I’m all for one thing at a time. I’m not the guy who can be a bunch of things at once. I can’t be an out and proud hockey player and someone’s significant other, so I have to choose.”
“And you choose hockey.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t that suck of me? Some of the best people I know are out and proud. My coaches, my mentors. I feel like I owe them, but I can’t do it. The scrutiny is already so intense.”
“Hey, stop beating yourself up.” I splayed my palm on his knee and squeezed it. “Good thing you’re with me. See, the cool thing about our deal is that I don’t expect you to come out for me, and I never will. You gotta follow your gut. You’ve worked your ass off to get where you are, Den. Enjoy the ride as best you can. And quit being so fucking hard on yourself, sweetheart.”
Denny covered my hand with his and tilted his head skyward. “Thank you. And fuck you. I’m not a sweetheart.”
I chuckled softly, holding his chin as I brushed my mouth over his. “Not so sweet at all. C’mon. Let’s go before the mosquitoes eat us alive.”
Denny nodded, but instead of getting up, he grabbed my shirt, slipped his hand around my neck, and fused his lips to mine.
We stayed like that for a long while, connected in a light and breezy kiss that felt startlingly poignant.
Until he bit my lip and pulled away.
“You’re coming to that barbecue.”
“Huh?”
“Coach Smitty and his husband, Bryson, do a yearly pre-camp barbecue. It’s fun and…it’ll give you a chance to meet everyone. That’s what you wanted, right?”
Yes, that was why I was here. To ingratiate my family to the community. To grow a business and finish what my dad had begun. This was a job. Nothing personal.
But it was beginning to feel very fucking personal.
15
HANK
The Paluchek-Milligan Start of Summer Barbecue was apparently an annual affair. This year it coincided with Jake’s return home from Boston and an influx of the NHL and AHL players who’d arrived early to coach Elmwood’s wildly successful juniors camp.
It was a gorgeous day for a party—seventy-five degrees and not a cloud in the sky. The sweet summer vibes were impossibly idyllic and welcoming. I soaked up the scenery, my gaze bouncing across the spacious yard decked out in red, white, and blue bunting.
A sea of smiley folks gathered on the lawn, sipping sodas and summery cocktails while kids and dogs ran circles around them, howling like mini lunatics. A familiar Bob Marley tune piped through a Bluetooth speaker, reminding everyone that every little thing was gonna be all right. For a few hours, I believed it.
I was greeted warmly and handed a beer within seconds of arriving solo to the barbecue, where I was the undisputed outlier. Denny had been asked to help set up, and that was cool. There was no reason for us to be attached at the hip, and I wasperfectly capable of holding my own socially. The trick was to not talk about the mill.
Not a problem. Hockey, vacation plans, and the weather were safe topic changes if I got stuck with anyone who wondered who’d invited me, since I obviously didn’t know our hosts.
I wasn’t shy, though. I introduced myself to Bryson Milligan, an impossibly handsome silver fox holding a sleepy toddler with olive skin and a pink bow in her curly dark hair.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Bryson, and this is our daughter, Charlotte. She’s almost two…and she’s a little tired, aren’t you, baby girl?”
Charlotte shook her head, burrowed into her father’s shoulder, and held up three fingers. “I’m three.”
“Wow. That’s a good number,” I commented.
Bryson chuckled softly and whispered, “She ages herself to be like her brother, Nathan, who’s out there running amok. Make yourself at home. Smitty is at the barbecue with Denny and their high school all-star team. Denny’s talked about you and…I know Smitty would love to meet you too.”
I spotted Denny at the far end of the yard, standing with MK. Her arm was around his waist in an affectionate embrace as they chatted with a giant tattooed man with broad shoulders and a jolly aura. I hadn’t met the high school hockey coach yet, but I’d heard a lot about Smitty. I stepped off the deck, intending to weasel into the conversation.
Something stopped me, though.