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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MASON

“ Y ou fucker!” As Boyd broke free and kneed Jett in the ribs, I grabbed him up from behind in a half-nelson and flung myself backward, hauling him off my unconscious boyfriend. “Fucking homophobic prick!”

As the goalie skated out, Archer threw his gloves on the ice and tussled with him, grabbing his jersey and throwing punches and obscenities.

The crowd stood up and roared all around us.

Volkov went after Cook, knocking him to the ice, and then all hell broke loose. Gloves flew everywhere and guys from both benches hopped over boards and hightailed it across the rink.

Pulling on my forearms at his neck, Boyd said, “Admit it. You two fuck each other in the ass.”

“None ya, dickwad.” As I wrestled with him on the ice, rolling this way and that, my gaze caught on a pool of red spreading under Jett’s dirty-blond hair. Did Boyd fucking kill him? With heat swarming my aching chest, I freed an arm and punched Boyd in the ribs, over and over, between his pads, growling and sneering.

Refs and medics hit the ice and players scattered. Carlson yanked me off Boyd as I landed one last punch to his jaw. “I hope I broke a bone!” I yelled at Boyd.

“Settle down, Hopkins.” Carlson held both my arms behind my back. “Jarvis needs you.” He pointed me in Jett’s direction.

The medics laid out a stretcher and added a brace on his neck. “No. Fuck.” I ripped free of Carlson and skated to the medics and refs surrounding Jett and working on him.

“Stand back.” The ref pushed me aside.

“No, you don’t understand. That’s my…I have to be by his side. I have to.” As pain rippled through my chest and my vision blurred, I shoved the ref away and fell to my knees by Jett’s side.

A bandage was wrapped around his head and his face was pale. “Jett, I’m here. Fight, Jett. Don’t let those fuckers win.” I grabbed his cold hand and squeezed it.

“Hopkins, we have to get him to the hospital.” The medic wrinkled her brow.

“Is he going to be okay?” I blinked, and a hot tear fell down my cheek. I was going to fucking lose it right here in front of everybody. But how could I not? I never had a chance to tell him?—

“We won’t know until we get him a CT scan. His head hit the ice pretty hard.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry.”

Shaking my head, I breathed in deeply, fighting the urge to go after Boyd again and pummel him into the fucking ice. “Just a minute.” I leaned down next to Jett, and in his ear, I whispered, “I love you, babe. Come back to me.” I rose to stand on my skates, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and gave Boyd, now with his medics behind his bench, a death glare. The fucker was not getting away with this.

With Boyd crowding my vision, I took off.

“Hopkins, stop!” Volkov chased after me.

I slammed into the boards at their bench. With spittle flinging from my mouth, I jabbed my finger at Boyd. “You fucking homophobic asshole. You should be banned from the NHL for this. You should never play again. What the fuck is wrong with you?” My gaz e wound to their head coach, gaping at me. “This is your fault too. You let this shit simmer in your organization. It’s all on you if Jarvis doesn’t recover.”

Photographers crowded all around the glass behind their bench, taking shots of me.

“Hopkins, go to the bench, now!” Volkov and Carlson grabbed up each of my arms and dragged me across the ice.

The crowd punched fists in the air and shouted, “The squad, the squad, the squad…”

I looked up, and there I was on the fucking jumbotron. My rant on full display. A smile quirked my lips. These were my people. We were in my house, the one I played in through my college years. These Dallas fuckers didn’t have a chance.

As we skated to the bench, I stepped through the gate, my gaze catching the medics whisking Jett away down the tunnel and to a waiting ambulance to our team hospital, Tempe St. Luke’s.

“What the hell happened out there?” Coach Henderson pointed toward the ice while glaring at me.

I glanced toward the rink. All the refs, players, and medics had dispersed and the clean-up crew was scraping up blood.

I faced Coach. “What happened is Boyd’s a homophobic prick and tried to kill Jarvis. That’s what.” I lifted my chin. “And I wasn’t about to let that happen. Cut me from my line if you want, but I don’t care. Boyd had it coming.”

He stared at me for a beat.

Carlson came up behind me. “It’s not Hopkin’s fault. Those guys deserved what they got. They started it.”

“Let’s see what the refs say. They’re reviewing the footage now. But I do think there will be some suspensions.” Coach Dupont planted his hands on his hips. “Go see the medics, Hopkins. I’m not convinced your anger isn’t hiding an injury.” He blew out a breath and patted my shoulder. “I agree. He deserved it.”

With a scowl, I walked down the tunnel. There was no way I could keep my head if I played now anyway. All I wanted was to get to the hospital to be by Jett’s side. Fuck the rest of it.

After getting my face cleaned up and finding out I bruised and potentially even cracked a rib, I hit the shower, dressed in my suit and hurried out of the barn. I’d go home and change into something more comfortable before heading to St. Luke’s.

It only took maybe ten minutes, tops, to drive home, change, and get on the road again in my official team sweats. The hospital was only a few miles away as well, and when I hit a traffic light, I almost lost my damn mind. “What the fuck? Don’t you know I’m in a hurry?” I yelled at the light, slapping my steering wheel. Pain shot up my side, taking my breath away. Fuck. Gotta watch that.

The light changed and I drove on, past palm trees and plazas housing convenience stores and dive bars. I seriously didn’t remember getting hit in the ribs. Did it matter though? I had still been ordered to get an x-ray.

I drove into a parking spot next to a tall tan beacon of a building and climbed out of my car, being careful to close the door with my arm without the injured rib below it, and strode underneath a rounded entrance and through the sliding glass doors of the ER. For once, the place was pretty much empty except for a poor guy in the corner in a wheelchair.

A man sat at a wooden desk against a wall and looked up at me.

“Hi, I’m with the Coyotes and need to get an x-ray for a cracked rib and to see Jett Jarvis.” I winced as I placed a hand on my hip and my rib protested. “The, uh, team doc, Dr. Pauley, probably called something in?”

“Oh, and you are?” He typed on a keyboard and peered at a display.

“I’m Mason Hopkins.” I shifted my stance .

His brow snapped up. “Oh, the one who told off the Dallas team?” With a slight grin, he shook his head. “That was some brawl. Never seen anything like it.”

“You a fan?” I ticked my chin at him. Fuck, I just wanted to get back there to see Jett. I turned around and glanced at the television hanging from the ceiling. Shit, the dude had the game on. They were playing and Archer was tearing up the ice with the puck. You show ’em, buddy.

“Yeah, I wanted to go to the game tonight, but another guy called in sick, so…” He twisted his lips. “A nurse is coming up.”

“Thanks, man.” A pair of large doors swung open and a woman in scrubs strolled to me. “Mr. Hopkins? Right this way.”

I followed her back and strolled past a station with more personnel in scrubs, chatting and glancing at me as I walked by. Shit, how many people saw the fight? “Uh, can I wait with Jett Jarvis for the x-ray? I don’t need to take up a bed.” Might not even be broken, and if it were, it wasn’t like they’d do anything for it.

“Sure, but have you even looked at your face?” She wrinkled her forehead.

“Uh, no.” I mean, my eyeball ached and my lip felt fat, but it wasn’t the first time.

She pulled me by an empty bed and pushed me in front of a silver paper towel dispenser next to a sink. “Look.”

Staring at my reflection, I dropped my jaw open. Purple rimmed one eye and the corner of my lip and the swelling had gotten worse. Holy hell, Coach was right. In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t felt a thing.

“I’ll get you some ice packs too.” She grabbed my elbow and led me down the hallway, and then into a room with a glass wall facing out to the main room. “Mr. Jarvis is in here.” She held her hand out. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.” As I stepped to his bedside, I grimaced. He didn’t look so good. His face was so swollen I could barely recognize him. K issing his forehead, I wrapped my hand over his forearm and inspected the monitors and other equipment beeping around him, the IV bag hanging from a pole, the thin blankets and hospital gown covering his muscled body. “Hey, babe, you’re going to be all right. I’m here, and I’ll make sure of it.”

He opened a puffy and blackened eyelid to peer at me. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “Mason?”

My heart took flight. He wasn’t still unconscious. That was a good sign, right? “Yeah, I’m here.” I grabbed a chair from behind me and skidded it across the floor to his bedside and dropped in. “I’m not going anywhere until they let you out of here.” I squeezed his forearm.

“What the hell happened?” He licked his dry lips. “I can’t remember.”

I exhaled loudly. “Fucking Boyd wasn’t too happy you sank that goal. He came at you from behind and…” I looked him up and down. “I’m pretty sure he’s getting a suspension.”

“Yeah?” The edge of his lips twitched. “Ow. It hurts to smile.”

“Then don’t.” As an ache swept through my chest, I took him in again. If he was talking and not slurring, then maybe he’d go home tonight. I’d seen about a million concussions in my hockey career, and this was definitely one of them.

“Is the game over?” He knitted his brows.

“No, it was still on when I came in.” I grabbed the remote. Might be nice to watch the ’Yotes beat the shit out of Dallas. Maybe it would lift Jett’s spirits a bit. I turned on the television hanging from a pole above his bed.

The nurse walked in with an ice pack and a small towel in her hand. “He shouldn’t be watching television right now. He needs to rest his brain.” She snatched the remote from me and shut it off.

“Oh.” I glanced at him, his eyes clenched shut again. Maybe it was worse than I thought. “Can you tell me his condition? ”

She handed me the ice pack and towel and faced him. “Mr. Jarvis, do you give consent for?—”

“Yes, tell him,” he croaked, his eyes still closed.

Focusing on me, she said, “He has a mild to moderate concussion. The doctor graded it between a one and a two.” She eyed me. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Yes, I play hockey. Seen it many times.” I snuck a peek at Jett. He’d probably be benched for a few weeks, but then he should recover. “Anything else?”

“He’s got a few staples in the back of his head and two fractured ribs.” She hooked a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Speaking of which, I need to take you back to x-ray to see if you’ve got the same.”

“Yeah, okay.” I leaned in close to Jett and said, “Gotta go for a few minutes, babe, but I’ll be back.” I patted his arm, set the ice pack and towel on the arm of the recliner and left with her.

After the x-ray, where they made me do contortions of my fucking body that hurt like hell in order to get the images they needed, I made my way to the second floor of the hospital, where they’d admitted Jett and given him a room. Thankfully, I’d complained about the pain enough that they’d given me a big, fat Vicoden, and it was just kicking in.

As I entered Jett’s room, I spied a reclining chair. Holy fuck, a chair never looked so good. I was dying to see what had happened in the game. “Hey, babe, I’m back.” I slipped my phone out of my pocket and held it to my face. It had been blowing up while I was having my x-ray done, but I hadn’t gotten a chance to take a look. I pressed a kiss to Jett’s cheek.

He turned his head in my direction but didn’t open his eyes. “Babe…” He gave me a weak smirk.

I tapped the screen on my phone and notifications popped up, th en I scrolled through them. I had twelve voice messages and at least that many text messages. Most were from the squad and a few from the team. One message was from Mom. “Oh shit.”

After rolling the recliner next to Jett with my good arm, I climbed into it and looked him over. He seemed peaceful right now. I should take care of the shit show and let him rest. Setting the phone to my ear, I listened to Mom’s message first.

“Mason, we were watching the game. What the hell happened out there? Are you all right? What about Jett Jarvis? Call me. There are rumors…” Her breath hitched. “Call me. We’re all worried about you.”

Shit, I had to phone Mom first, which meant I needed to get up again and do this outside of Jett’s earshot. “Be right back.” I slid out and winced as a dull pain broke through the euphoria of the pain meds. Fuck the ice pack. I’d be okay without it.

“Where you going now?” His eyes opened to slits.

“Gotta make some phone calls.” I stopped at the door and turned to him. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” I seriously had to make this quick. I wanted to be there if and when the doctor came back with news.

I sauntered into the hallway and ducked into the waiting room, full of blue vinyl couches and chairs separated by light wood tables, all sitting on dull beige industrial carpeting. I walked to a window at the far end of the room and looked out over the lights of downtown Tempe. No way I could sit for this call. I dialed Mom.

It rang once. “Mason? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Might have cracked a rib, but otherwise, a few cuts and bruises. You know, normal hockey shit.” I paced in front of the window, my gaze catching on a television hanging on a wall with the news showing the fight. “Holy shit.” I stared at it. The camera zoomed in on me, screaming at Dallas’s bench. I looked around. No one was in here, thank fuck .

“That fight looked terrible. How is Jett Jarvis?” Clanking sounded. “Just a minute, your father wants me to put the phone on speaker.”

“Mason? What the hell is up between you and that Jarvis kid?” Dad asked with a huff.

Rolling my eyes, I said, “He’s twenty-six, Dad. Not a kid. And neither am I.” God, would he ever see me as a grown-up?

“You’re all punks to me.” He chuckled. “But really, the word I’m hearing is he’s gay and you two have something going on.”

“We do.” My heart skipped a beat. No point in denying it. I was telling my parents about my fucking boyfriend. Who just had the shit beat out of him by a grade-A asshole.

“You do?” they said in unison.

I peeked around the area and held the phone closer to my ear. I’d give them the abbreviated version so I could get back to the room. In a soft voice, I said, “He’s not out to his family and things got complicated in Dallas. There are a few very homophobic players on the team and the organization didn’t handle it well. Jett came to the Coyotes, and well…” I grabbed my athletic shirt over my chest. “We started seeing each other. He was on his way to coming out, but…” But if shit were complicated before, how bad would it be now?

Glancing at the television, my heart jolted. Archer was being interviewed. Holy shit, what was he telling them? I had to find out what was going on. “Hey, I gotta go. My boyfriend is in the hospital with a concussion and?—”

“Boyfriend?” Mom squealed. “Oh, Mason, I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah, well, it looks like we’ll be walking into a shit show when we leave here, and I have to do some damage control. I’ll tell you more about it later.” I stopped pacing as a large man walked into the room, his eyes widening as his gaze found mine.

He recognized me. Shit. “Mom, Dad, I’ll tell you more later. But the fight was all on Boyd.”

“I know, son. He took a cheap shot going after Jarvis from behind like that. He had that suspension coming to him,” Dad said.

“He got suspended?” I paced again, but now I was light on my toes. I needed to hear just a little more.

“Yeah, at least a week.” Dad snorted softly. “Serves the asshole right.” He sucked in a breath. “Anyway, you go take care of your winger, son, and let me know if you need anything.”

I stepped toward Jett’s room. “I will, Dad. Love you both. Bye.” I hung up the phone and strode out of the waiting area.

The large man grabbed my arm. “Hey, aren’t you Mason Hopkins?”

“Yeah.” I halted and faced him. He better not start shit with me.

A smile broke out over his face. “Damn, you’re a hockey hero, man.” He held out his fist and I bumped it with my own. “How’s Jarvis? He’s here, isn’t he? I thought I heard the nurses talking about him.”

“Yeah, he’s here. He’s going to be okay.” I waved the man off. “Gotta go.” It was time to be by his side and figure out what the fuck had happened.

As I entered the room, a man in blue scrubs was there, flicking a light into each of Jett’s eyes. “Oh, there you are. I’m Doctor Hummel. I’ve been looking for you. You’ve got a hairline fracture in your rib.”

“Great.” As the meds spun in my head, I fell into the recliner. “Did you hear that, Jett? We have matching ribs.”

“No, his are worse.” He chuckled and faced me, his hands resting on the rails of the bed. “Two ribs and more of a fracture.” He stepped toward me. “You should really ice that eye.”

“Ah, it’ll be fine.” I had too much other shit to do to worry about a black eye. “When are we going home?”

He blew out a long breath. “I’m going to keep him here for observation for a few days.” He tilted his head. “You two, uh…” Flicking his finger from me to Jett, he said, “Together?” His eyes narrowed. “I saw the footage of the fight. ”

No way to deny anything at this point, and what did it matter? “Yeah, we’re together.”

Jett mumbled and shifted in the bed.

Fuck. I shouldn’t be speaking for him. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” I darted a brow up.

“Don’t worry. This conversation is strictly confidential.” He leaned in closer. “Let me take a quick look at that eye.” He chuckled. “Can’t help myself.”

“Sure.” I stood and folded my arms over my chest. I really had other shit to do.

He swiped the light from his flashlight through it a few times. “Looks okay. Just a shiner, I guess.” He stepped back. “You need to make sure you’re taking deep breaths occasionally and cough softly at least once an hour. It’ll hurt, but?—”

“Yeah, okay.” I glanced at Jett, who appeared to be fast asleep. “When can I get back in the rink?”

“When you can tolerate the pain.” He gave me a sly grin. “Which I’m sure, for you, will be at the next practice.” He moved toward the door, shaking his head. “Try and give it a few days, okay? You two deserve to let your bodies rest and heal.” As he glanced behind him, he tapped the doorjamb and left.

“Sure thing. Thanks.” He knew damn well I wasn’t going to rest. With a sigh, I slid my phone out of my pocket. The messages were increasing. I sat in the recliner, opened the group chat with the squad and read the top few messages.

Ace

You okay, Hopkins? What the hell is going on? How’s Jett?

Myles

Please let us know you’re both okay.

Tyler

You’re all over the news. Are you guys coming out?

Jonah

You okay, buddy? I’ll fly down if you need me.

Warmth spread through my chest. God, I loved these guys. A new message popped up.

Archer

I’m here with my dad, Coach Dupont. Tell us what room you’re in so we can come up. We have a lot to talk about.

Yeah, no way was I going to be able to rest. I texted the guys back on the group chat.

Mason

First, we’re both okay. Second, I have some shit to get through, then I’ll talk to you all and let you know if I need anything.

All three typed back, okay .

I sent the room number to Archer, picked up my ice pack from the arm of the recliner and placed it over my eye. At least I was doing one thing right. Feeling around the bed with my free hand, I found Jett’s and squeezed it.

A few minutes later, Archer and Coach Dupont stepped inside the room. They both glanced at Jett, winced, and then focused on me.

Coach planted his hands on his hips and peeked at our entwined hands. “How is he?”

“Concussion and broken ribs, but he’ll be okay.” God, I had to get up again. We should let him rest and not talk at his bedside. I set my ice pack on the armrest again and forced myself out of the chair.

Jett popped his less-swollen eye open and waved. “Hey, guys.”

“Babe, we’re going to go take care of some things. You rest. You hear me?” I patted his hand. Coach Dupont surely knew our status by now.

Giving me a slow nod, Jett said, “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” He made to laugh but coughed instead. “Ow, fuck.”

“Take it easy.” I kissed his knuckles and guided Coach and Archer out of the room and into the empty waiting room. What time was it? It felt like the middle of the night at this point. My gaze flashed to the television droning on by itself. The evening news was still on, so it couldn’t be after ten.

I dropped onto a couch while Archer sat next to me and Coach took a chair opposite us, resting his elbows on his knees. “The organization sent me to come talk to you because you’re one of my son’s best friends.” He rocked once. “I suppose it’s also because they know I’m queer as well, and they figure this could be a delicate subject.”

With a slow nod, I said, “Okay, that makes sense.” I turned my gaze on Archer. “Someone going to tell me what happened after I left? I mean, I was so busy getting here and dealing with Jett, I don’t have a clue.”

“Boyd was suspended for the week. It was clear he blindsided Jarvis. But you…” Coach twisted his lips. “It hasn’t been decided yet. You got involved in a fight that wasn’t yours.”

“I was defending my boy—” Fuck. “My teammate and making sure he wasn’t injured even worse.” I glared at him. What the fuck? How could I be in trouble for this shit?

“You exposed sensitive information on live television that was under NDA. You violated a contract.” He pushed his lips together.

My mouth dropped and I narrowed my eyes. “What?” No fucking way. “But I never signed an NDA, and it’s not like I came out and said Jarvis was gay and had been bullied by those fuckers.”

“But you made statements that got the press talking. They want answers. They want to know the real reason Jarvis left Dallas.” With a heavy sigh, he dipped his head and focused on me. “The league wants an investigation. Do you think Jett is willing to come out and talk?”

I stared at him. But what about the situation with his dad? In his condition, could he handle it? “I don’t know.” Slumping my shoulders, I scowled. “This is all sorts of fucked up. He’s afraid he’ll lose his father if he comes out and he doesn’t have a mother. She died.”

Archer wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I know. I told him. Everything.” After kissing my cheek, he said, “Nobody understands Jett’s situation like Dad and I do.”

He was right. They both knew what it was like to lose someone and then try and hold on to what was left. “Okay, so Jett needs to rest right now. What can I do to keep this shit storm from blowing up any further in the meantime?” I leaned into Archer’s side.

“First thing is finding out if Jett wants to come out formally. The Coyotes will back him if he does.” Coach clenched his jaw. “But I have something to tell you.”

“What’s that?” My gaze rose to meet with his, and I braced myself. Whatever this was, it didn’t look good.

“Jett’s father and stepmother are on their way here from Italy.” His gaze softened. “They care about him, Hopkins. He’s their son, and they’re worried about him.”

I scoffed. “His dad, maybe. But his stepmom? I don’t think she gives a fuck about him.” I wrapped my hands together and squeezed. I had to find a way to keep her from him until he was better. I bore my gaze into Coach. “In fact, she’s a homophobe too.”

“Why do you say that?” Coach straightened.

I raised my chin. “When I stayed behind a few weeks ago with Jett, I met her. She was a piece of work.” I glanced at Archer. I’d spent so much time with Jett since then that I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him about it. “She had to be put in her place multiple times by Jett’s sister and his dad. ”

“So there’s some hope his dad will be okay with his sexuality?” Coach wrinkled his brows.

“Maybe. But he’s sort of spineless when it comes to her.” I glanced at my sneakers for a beat, thinking. How could I describe her to them? “She rules the roost, and she’s basically the church lady. But a mean version of her.”

“The church lady?” The corner of Archer’s lip curled. “What the hell?”

“You know, the old SNL character Dana Carvey used to play?” I watched Archer. Wait for it…

“Oh, good lord.” Coach rubbed his eyes and freed a stuttered chuckle. “Literally.”

Archer barked out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I am not, and you’ll see if you meet her.” I cracked a grin, the first real one since the fight. It was good to get this out in the open with them. My attention returned to Coach. “When are they getting here?” I needed to know how much time I had to work with.

“Not until tomorrow afternoon, I think.” With a pat on my knee, Coach said, “If you want, we’ll do our best to delay them.” He glanced at Archer. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

“Okay. That gives us tonight to rest up and we’ll see how Jett is doing tomorrow.” I rubbed my chin. “The direction we take starts with him. It’s his decision, and I’ll stand by it either way.”

“Yep.” Slapping his thighs, Coach stood. “You’ve got to be tired. We’ll leave you to get some rest.” He side-eyed me. “I take it you’re staying here?”

“Got a recliner waiting for me.” I gave him my best grin. They were doing all they could for us.

I hopped up along with Archer and faced him. “Thanks, man.” Exhaustion weaved through my body. Holy hell, I was tired, and the rest could wait.

“Anytime.” He gave me a quick hug.

“And thank you, Coach Dupont.” I held out my hand and he shook it .

“Anything for my son’s friends.” He patted my shoulder. “We need you both back. When the two of you are on the ice, you’re unstoppable.” He grinned.

Damn, that was good to hear. Then maybe the rest of the organization wouldn’t have a meltdown when they figured out Jett and I were more than teammates. “Anyway, I’ll talk to you both tomorrow.”