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CHAPTER TWO

JETT

I scowled and stared at my phone while I sat on my black leather couch. Fucking hell, not a great start to a new season with a new team. How the hell, with all the guys on that app, was it I’d found Mason Hopkins? The fucker’s skull tattoo on his forearm had given it away. And, damn, was he full of himself. Who says shit like, your loss ?

I peered into my phone again, perusing our conversation. I’d tapped out the message about the chirp without thinking. Would he figure out that I’m a hockey player too? Or would he not think too much about it? Fuck me. I was about to walk into the same situation I’d had in Dallas. Homophobic pricks.

I tapped on my phone, bringing up Mason’s Instagram profile. I’d checked out all the new players on the team today. I’d wanted to see who I’d be playing with. And there he was, the guy with the skull tattoo on his forearm. Mason fucking Hopkins, the star center for ASU and newly anointed golden gay boy of the NHL. I scoffed. How the fuck did he get away with it? Was it because of his father?

With a deep inhale, I relaxed my shoulders and scanned the contents of my freshly rented home in downtown Scottsdale, all remodeled with high-end appliances, tile floors that looked like wooden planks, and black accents with iron pendant lamps and shit. It was a smaller place and good for now. I’d wanted to be sure I was staying before I bought a place. Plus, the sale of my home in Dallas still had to close.

I scrubbed my face, rose from my couch and strolled around my marble-and-metal coffee table. At least the move was over, and I could focus on hockey again. Hopefully seeing Hopkins at our first practice on Monday wouldn’t be too weird. No way he’d know we’d almost hooked up. I didn’t have any tattoos that might out me.

As I entered my kitchen, I set my phone on the counter and poured a lowball glass of my favorite whiskey, one I’d gotten in Cali while visiting my parents over the summer. Not only did California produce great wines, we now had some damn good distilleries.

My phone buzzed on the counter, the name across the top reading, Iris . As I plucked my phone off the counter, my gaze snagged on my reflection in the microwave, my green eyes a little puffy from lack of sleep and my dirty-blond hair parted at the side, the bangs falling to my cheekbone. I’d been growing it out, as was the current style, and I liked it. It fit more in line with my Cali-surfer style. With a smirk, I answered the phone and set it on speaker. “Hey, sis.”

“Hey, Jett. Just checking in,” she said. “How’s Phoenix? I hear it’s like over one hundred degrees there.”

“Yeah, but it’s cooling down at night.” I picked up my whiskey and sipped it, enjoying the honey burn sliding down my throat. “What are you doing on a Saturday night besides calling your brother?”

“Studying, what the hell else?” She giggled. “My course on regenerative engineering is a real killer. I have a feeling half the students won’t make it past the first month.”

“Jesus, but you will.” I skimmed my index finger along the smooth speckled quartz of my countertop. Whereas I had gotten all the athletic ability, my sister had all the brains. “So, how’s Notre Dame treating you this time around?”

“Same as all the other years. But I’m sort of sad a lot of my friends chose to do their master’s at other universities.” She sighed.

“And you knew Dad wouldn’t let you do the same, huh.” I pursed my lips. We’d both had to go to Notre Dame because it was Dad’s alma mater. Only I didn’t graduate. No, I’d left early to get started on my hockey career in Dallas. Strike one against me with Dad.

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s a bad school,” Iris said, and then lowered her voice. “Have you heard anything more from the Stars?”

“No, they’re keeping everything quiet.” My agent had worked out a sweet deal for me. I owed him so much. My chest pinched and I grabbed my phone and my whiskey, and then strode to the couch and sank onto the end of it. “Only a few people know of my status at the Coyotes, and they’ve signed non-disclosure agreements. My coaches and the top management.”

“You’re not coming out, even with two of the other players being out and queer there?” she asked.

“Fuck no.” I huffed. “Dad would disown me, you know that.” And there would be no way to keep it from him. “Because you know the next thing he’s going to do is start schmoozing the owner and working up business deals with him.” Shaking my head, I scoffed, heat twisting in my chest. “He thinks he can buy me time on the ice like I’m not good enough for my coaches to play me.” I gulped the rest of my whiskey like a shot, the buzz floating over my body. I knew she was going to press me on this.

“Jett…you deserve to be yourself. Queer people don’t have to hide anymore.” She breathed in deeply. “And who the fuck cares what Dad thinks?”

I planted my elbows on my knees and rubbed my forehead. “I guess I do? I don’t know why, but I still do.” My chest squeezed, and in an almost whisper, I said, “He’s the only parent we have left.” As far as I was concerned, his new wife, Eleanor, would never be my stepmother.

“At some point, he’s going to find out. What happened in Dallas was a close call. It would be better if he heard it from you and not on ESPN.” She huffed.

Rubbing my eyes with my thumb and index finger, I said, “Yeah, I know.” I pursed my lips. “I have to do better and be more careful about who I’m hooking up with.” And make sure they have nothing to do with any hockey organization. Jesus, I’d almost slipped up tonight.

“You have to stop hiding,” she said.

“Maybe someday. Like after Dad’s gone.” I straightened, holding my empty glass to my face. I needed more if we were going to continue this conversation. Hopping up from the couch, I strolled into the kitchen, poured another and sipped it.

“Can you imagine the look on Eleanor’s face when she finds out?” She chuckled. “You make sure I’m there when it happens.”

My tense muscles relaxed. She was trying to lighten the conversation. “Yeah, her and her fucking church can shove it up their asses.” I freed a soft snort, returned to my couch and sank in.

“I don’t think Dad buys all that crap, you know. He goes to her church and donates, but he’s only doing it for appearances.”

“Yeah, I’d agree to that.” I scanned around the main room of my house, taking in my prized autographed jersey of Brett Hull hanging in a frame on the wall. Yep, my hero and also a right winger. Won the Stanley Cup for the Stars back in 1999. Speaking of parents… “Did you ever get out to see Mom’s bench at the park where we buried her ashes?”

“Yeah, I went out there my last full day home on break. It’s being taken care of. I’m sure Dad is paying someone to maintain it.”

An ache wound through my heart. Funny, I had to do the math now to see how long it had been. I was twenty-six this year, so Mom had passed fourteen years ago. Shit, that long? I still had nightmares of the pile-up on Highway 5 that caused her death. “You know, if Mom were still alive, I’d probably have come out by now.” I pressed my lips together.

“I know. A lot of things would have been different. But here we are. And at some point, you will have to come out,” she said. “Do you really think it will have a negative impact on your career? I mean, things are changing.”

“I don’t know anymore. Let’s see how Hopkins and Carlson, the new queer guys on my team, are treated.” I sipped my drink. If they could break the mold, then maybe I’d consider it. All I had to lose was my last living parent. My chest tightened. Okay, not yet.

“Got any exciting plans for the rest of the weekend?” she said in a cheery voice.

“Nope. Just going over game footage and working out at the facility with my new trainer.” I wasn’t going to tell her about trying for a new hookup later. “You?”

“Well, I’m going out with my new study group tomorrow night.”

“Yeah?” I smiled. “Anybody interesting?” It was about time she found someone. She deserved someone who’d dote on her.

“Uh, yeah…” She chuckled. “There’s a dorky but good-looking guy I have my eye on.”

“And he’s single and straight?” I huffed a laugh and settled into the couch. Finally, an easy conversation.

“As far as I know. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow night.”

“Well, keep me posted.” I checked the time in the corner of my phone. If I wanted to find another hookup for tonight, I’d have to move this along. “Anyway, I should get going.”

“Okay. Well, talk to you soon.” She sighed. “And let me know how it goes with the new players. I hope you can feel comfortable there and no one gets bullied this time around.”

“Yeah, I will. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye. ”

I hung up the phone and tapped my app open as I sipped more whiskey. Let’s see who else I could find. I’d point-blank ask them how they felt about hockey first.

It was the first day of training camp and I walked up to the rink’s glass doors in my best blue suit and white sneakers. A few puck bunnies waited on the walkway, eyeing every guy strolling in.

A blonde woman with a high ponytail, a cropped top, and form-fitting yoga pants smiled at me. “Hey, Jett.” She waved. “Got any plans for later?”

As my cheeks heated, I dipped my head, a grin creeping over my lips. “Just working on my skills.” As footsteps clomped behind me, I stopped and turned around.

“I’d be happy to help you with that.” She clasped her hands on her well-endowed chest and bounced on her toes.

Hopkins, walking up behind me with Carlson in tow, scoffed. “I bet you would, honey. But this guy’s not the one for you.”

My grin dropped and I glared at him. “And you are? Do you even like girls?”

“I like them just fine. As friends .” Hopkins winked at me. “But everyone knows hot guys like you are my jam.” He flicked his tongue over his lips.

My jaw dropped. Was he really saying this shit on the first day, right outside the barn? Was he nuts?

Carlson yanked on his arm. “Dude, we just got here, man. Don’t start shit.”

With a smirk, I tilted my head at Hopkins. “Listen to your friend there. He’s obviously smarter than you.” I tongued the corner of my mouth, looking Hopkins up and down, the intensity in his light-blue eyes, the way his straight, brown hair fell to his impossibly high cheek bones, the sharpness of his nose contrasting with his plump lips. And the jawline stubble? Yeah, that was doing it for me. Even my dick took notice. Fuck, he was even more gorgeous than in his app photos.

Clearing my throat, I swiveled and gripped tighter to the duffel bag hanging off my shoulder. Hopkins was going to be trouble. I could feel it. I had to stay away from him.

I found my stall in the locker room and changed into my athletic clothes, all the while keeping my head down. I had yet to find out what rumors were swirling around here over my trade. As I tied my sneaker, a shadow crept over the floor in front of me, and I peeked up.

“Hey, Jarvis, you never graduated from college, right?” Hopkins, all ready to go in a team shirt and athletic shorts, gave me a smirk, crossing his arms over his muscled chest.

“What’s it to you?” I scanned the locker room, many of the guys watching us from the corners of their eyes. They were all focused on what was to come and not this bullshit. I finished tying my last sneaker.

“Well, you implied I wasn’t smart out there.” He ticked his head toward the hallway. “I did get my degree, so yeah.”

I stood up to my full height of six-four and stepped toward him until our chests touched. He was about two inches shorter than me. Good. “What’s your problem, Hopkins?”

Heads swiveled our way.

Carlson ambled to us and pursed his lips at Hopkins. “Dude, chill.” He looked around us and held up his hand with a grin. “Nothing to see here.”

Narrowing his eyes at me, Hopkins said, “See you in the workout room, Jarvis .” He stomped off with Carlson.

“Way to start off strong.” Barking out a laugh, Volkov, the team captain and a left winger from Russia, walked to me and patted me on the arm. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve got out there. You were top-notch on the Stars.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to the ’Yotes.”

With a shake of his hand, I said, “Thank you, I appreciate that, man.” I looked around the room, many of my new teammates grinning and up-nodding at me. “See you all out there.” I made my way to the workout room.

A half-hour later, I stood at the pull-up bar, fisting my hands and opening them. We were running through our off-ice testing, and it was my turn to see how many pull-ups I could do. I flicked my gaze to Hopkins, who was watching with a permanent smirk that had taken residence on his face. What was his deal, anyway?

A male trainer stood next to me with an iPad. “Okay, let’s start.”

Jumping up, I grabbed the bar and counted each pull-up. “One, two, three, four…” As I got up to ten, I grimaced, my biceps and shoulders burning. Fuck, I had to keep going. Up I went. “Ten, eleven.” I threw a glance at Hopkins, shaking his head at me. The fucker. “Twelve, thirteen.” My body shook and my muscles screamed at me to stop. Slowly, I hauled myself up. “Fourteen.”

“Dude, that all you got?” Hopkins curled his arm, showing off the bulge of his bicep.

“Quiet, Hopkins.” The trainer shot him a glare.

What the fuck was his problem with me? I shook my way up to fifteen. Did I have another one in me? I hung from the bar for a beat.

“You can do it, Jarvis.” Volkov clapped his hands.

“Naw, he’s done. Five dollars says he can’t make another one.” Hopkins snickered.

“Five? How about ten, and you’re on.” Volkov held out his fist and Hopkins bumped it .

Shit, now I had to. I stared at the bar and willed my arms to pull me up. They trembled and protested, but I inched upward. I was halfway there, and I kicked my legs. Fuck, I wasn’t going to make it. I peeked at Hopkins, a shit-eating grin on his face. Fuck him. A burst of energy lit me up and I tipped my chin over the bar, then dropped to the floor, panting and rubbing my throbbing hands together. “Let’s see you beat that, Hopkins.” I gave him my best smile.

He stared at me for a beat and his lips quirked. “That’s easy. I can do at least twenty.”

“No one does that many.” The trainer shook his head. “But I’d like to see you try.” He huffed a chuckle.

“You can pay me when we get back to the locker room, Hopkins.” Volkov patted him on the back.

So, this was how they got the team bonding going. “You know, Hopkins, how many pull-ups you can do is not an indicator of how good you are on the ice.” I smirked at him. “Some great players can’t even do ten.”

“Yeah, but I’m a great player and I can do at least twenty. How old are you, anyway? You getting washed up already?” He tapped my gut before jumping on the bar, pounding out pull-up after pull-up.

I stepped back, planted my hands on my hips, and watched the muscles bulge in his arms. Fuck, the guy was in great shape.

“Eighteen, nineteen.” Hopkins’s voice wavered and his arms shook as sweat beaded on his upper lip. He hung on the bar and glanced at me.

“You done?” The trainer tapped on his iPad.

“Hell no.” With a deep breath and a growl, he counted out two more, then fell to the floor and rubbed his biceps. “Fuck, that’s going to hurt tomorrow.”

“Good, then I’ll know right where to hit you.” With a snigger, I gave his bicep a hard squeeze.

“Ow, shit.” He bumped his shoulder into my chest and flicked me a glare. “Fucker. ”

“Fucker?” I widened my eyes. “We’re supposed to be teammates, Hopkins. If you’re lucky, you might even get on my line with Volkov.” I glanced at Carlson, who was about to take a sprinting test on the treadmill. His mouth had dropped open, and he was shaking his head.

“Boys, hey.” Volkov stepped between us, placed his hands on our chests and pushed us apart. “Save that shit for the games and the opposing team.”

“Why? Isn’t a little rivalry how great teams are made?” Hopkins threw an arm around my shoulders. “We can kiss and make up later if you want.” He puckered his lips at me.

The whole room filled with laughter and howls.

“Stop it.” I shoved him away, fighting the grin trying to break out on my mouth. If he only knew we’d been about to hook up the other night. Biting my lip, I strolled to the single-leg squat test. I had a feeling Hopkins was going to be on me all day. I couldn’t wait to hit the ice with him in the next few days and check his ass into the boards.

The rest of the day at camp was uneventful while we concentrated on our on-ice tests and followed it up with post-workout routines. Now, I was home and cleaning my dinner dishes. It was chicken breast and brown rice time. As I set the last plate into the dishwasher, my phone buzzed on the counter.

I picked it up and answered the call, setting it to speaker so I could dry my hands on a towel. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jarvis. It’s Will. How’d today go?”

My agent . “So far, so good.” I folded the towel and draped it over the handle on my oven, then grabbed the phone, strolled into the main room, and sat on the couch. Maybe he had news about Dallas? “Anything change with regard to our negotiations?”

“No, the players who caught you with your uh, hookup, haven’t said a peep about it outside of the organization and don’t intend to. They don’t want to sully the new season with?—”

“Rumors of cock sucking in the locker room?” As heat filled my chest, I tensed my jaw. The homophobic assholes should have been the ones asked to leave, reprimanded by the league for the constant bullying. But the league wasn’t there yet in respect to queer rights.

He freed a stuttered chuckle. “Yeah, guess that’s one way to put it. But you’ve got two out queer guys on the Coyotes. Did you get a chance to mingle with them at all?”

Huffing a sharp laugh, I said, “Yeah. Hopkins is interesting. He’s giving me a rough time and I have no idea why.” There was no way he knew it’d been me on the other end of the app, right? And fuck if I was going to tell Will about it.

“Huh, interesting. He’s a hothead, so I guess I’m not surprised. Word is, he’s been in quite a few bar fights. Never arrested or anything, but he’s tight with his buddies from ASU, and they made sure that shit was covered up.”

“I see. Three of them are still in college playing for the Devils, right?” I’d done my homework. It hadn’t been hard, with all the damn photos and tagging these guys did of each other on Instagram. Being in the league since I was twenty-one, the last five years of my social media apps had been nothing but PR-approved photos. Hopkins would have nothing on me. Why was he taking up residence in my head?

“So, you know Coyotes management would be fine if you decided to come out. They’ve already prepared Hopkins’s and Carlson’s statements, and Carlson has a live-in boyfriend. They’re even implementing special policies and inclusivity training to stop the sort of thing that happened to you in Dallas.”

“Shit, really?” I had no idea this organization was taking it so seriously. Maybe things were turning around. “That’s good because after all the crap I went through in Dallas, if I saw someone direct that shit at Hopkins or Carlson, I’d probably beat the fuckers into the dirt.” I fisted my free hand as heat rose inside me. No one deserved what I went through, the jeers from your own teammates, being left out of cellys and pushed away, or the name-calling.

“You keep your head down and play as well as I know you can. Leave any handling of that shit to the coaches and team management. This is your time to shine, Jarvis.” His smile carried through the phone.

I knew there was a reason I’d picked him for my agent. The guy really believed in me. Even when no one else did. “Thanks, Will. I’ll do my best.”

“Think about coming out, huh? I know your family situation is fucked up, but it might be time for you to let that shit go and be yourself.” He chuckled. “I haven’t lined up any beards for you this season, by the way.”

“Yeah, let’s see how things go.” With a sigh and my heart lightening, I tipped my head back and gazed at the black ceiling fan in the center of the room. Maybe I could come out. Iris wanted me to and now I was somewhere I’d be protected. “I want to see if Hopkins and Carlson take any heat first.” Better to be safe than sorry. It was one thing to put policies in place and another to actually enforce them.

“Okay, well, you let me know. I gotta be going,” he said.

“Yeah, talk to you soon. Thanks, Will.” I hung up the phone and rubbed my chin. What would it be like to be out? Carlson had a live-in boyfriend? The guy was only twenty-three. At twenty-six, I’d only had hookups. I’d never let myself have anything more than a random hookup, and even then, I’d never had penetrative sex. No, that, in my mind, required too much emotional attachment.

I glanced at the clock on my phone screen. I should do some stretching, then get ready for bed. Tomorrow was another grueling day, and I needed to be rested.