Page 20

CHAPTER 19

BELL

We pulled into the lot just after sunset, the sky a deep, dusky blue that made the strands of white twinkle lights seem to burn brighter in contrast.

Rows of trees separated by height stretched out in front of us, their silhouettes creating dark corridors beneath the golden glow. Bundled-up families and couples wandered makeshift aisles, their breath clouding above paper cups of steaming cocoa. Children darted between the trees playing games of hide-and-seek while their parents debated the merits of Noble versus Fraser firs.

The crisp December air carried the sharp scent of pine and woodsmoke from a small fire pit where an attendant in a red flannel jacket stood roasting chestnuts, his weathered face reflecting the dancing flames. Christmas music—something instrumental and nostalgic—played from speakers mounted on wooden posts throughout the lot, the melody occasionally drowned out by the distant buzz of a chainsaw trimming a fresh trunk.

The atmosphere was so aggressively festive that it was almost comical. It looked like we’d stepped onto the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie, not a tree lot on an abandoned five acres on the edge of Austin’s city limits.

I hopped out of his GMC, stretching my arms over my head, wood chips crunching under my boots.

Ethan met me around the front, tucking his hands into his pockets. His breath fogged the air as he glanced around, his eyes flicking between the trees and the crowd. He looked like he might bolt.

I bumped his arm gently with mine. “Hey. It’s just tree shopping.”

He exhaled a small, nervous laugh and shook his head. “And you’re just my roommate.”

I was much more than that, though we hadn’t given each other any official titles. Mine seemed to suffice for now.

I smirked. “Exactly. We’re just two hockey-playing roommates picking out a Christmas tree. No one’s going to think it’s anything more than that.”

“If you say so,” he replied, sounding skeptical but willing to go along with it.

We wandered down the first aisle, stopping now and then to inspect one of the trees up close. Ethan took the task quite seriously, measuring each tree’s height, circling it slowly to gauge its circumference, and running his fingers along the needles to test their freshness. Sometimes he’d step back, his head tilted slightly and his lips pressed together as he assessed the tree’s overall shape with an adorably critical expression.

“Too sparse on this side,” he’d murmur about one, or “The top’s crooked,” about another before moving on.

I mostly watched him, occasionally pointing out a tree that looked promising just to see him go through his meticulous evaluation process all over again. Even though this was my idea, I’d never cared much about Christmas trees before—my family had used the same artificial, professionally decorated one since I was a kid—but Ethan’s careful consideration made me appreciate the ritual of it.

God, he was beautiful in this light. Hair tousled, cheeks pink from the cold, his lips pursed in concentration. Despite his obvious nervousness when we’d first arrived, he looked relaxed now, almost content. Younger. Softer. Like the version of himself I got to see at night behind closed doors.

We were halfway down the next row when I heard a kid calling his name. “Hey! It’s Ethan Harrison!”

Two young boys—brothers from the look of them, maybe six and eight—came bounding toward us, faces flushed with excitement. Their parents followed several paces behind, looking equal parts apologetic and thrilled.

“Oh my god, and Stryker Bell, too!” the older one exclaimed, his eyes widening as he recognized me.

I noticed the immediate shift in Ethan’s posture—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the microsecond of panic that flashed across his face—but then something remarkable happened. Instead of retreating behind his public persona, he visibly softened. His smile reached his eyes as he dropped into a crouch so he wasn’t towering over the boys.

“Hey guys,” he said, his voice warm in a way I rarely heard him use with anyone but me. “You Aces fans?”

“You’re my favorite player of all time!” the younger brother squeaked while bouncing on his toes. “I have your jersey and everything.” He unzipped his gray puffer coat halfway to reveal the blue and gold Aces logo underneath. “My brother says Bell’s better than you, though.”

The sad, dejected look he tossed Ethan’s way had me barking out a laugh.

Despite just being told I was better, Ethan’s grin widened, and when he rose to his full height, he slung an arm around my shoulder. “Your brother’s right,” he said. “Bell’s the future of the franchise. He’s having a killer rookie season. Way better than mine was.”

I went still beneath his arm, my breath catching slightly. Ethan never touched me in public beyond the occasional fist bump or celebratory hug after a goal. But it wasn’t just the contact—it was the ease with which he’d done it, the casual possessiveness of his limb draped across my shoulders.

More shocking still was the pride in his voice as he spoke about me. Like he wasn’t just okay being seen with me, but he wanted to brag about me, wanted these kids to know how he felt about my skills.

The warmth of his palm seeped through my hoodie, and I had to consciously regulate my breathing. I forced my body to remain still, angling my shoulders in a way that felt teammate-appropriate, fighting the instinct to lean into his warmth or, worse, to reach up and cover his hand with mine.

My face felt hot despite the chill in the air, and I silently prayed the dim lighting would hide the flush I knew was spreading across my cheeks.

The older boy turned to face me, his expression suddenly serious. “My coach says you should be on the first line permanently.”

I scratched at the blond scruff dotting my jaw and tried not to blush too brightly. “Oh yeah?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his brows dipping in an indignant little scowl. It would have been adorable if I wasn’t so uncomfortable. Did I want to be on the first line? Of course. That was the goal, wasn’t it? But just because I wanted to didn’t mean I deserved to. I’d started the season sucking pretty badly but had thankfully found my groove right around the time … well, around the time Ethan and I had started fucking.

But it wasn’t just the superstitious stuff that kept me wanting to stay where I was. Ethan and I skated well together. Better than well, in fact. We made each other better. I liked looking over and seeing him barreling down the ice with me. Loved knowing where he was going to be, that he always knew where I was going to be, too. The reason my stats were so good was in large part due to him feeding me the puck.

“Yeah,” the kid said. “You’re on fire right now! You scored nine goals since Thanksgiving.”

“Ten,” Ethan gently corrected him. “He got another one last night against Vegas.”

Obviously, Ethan paid attention to what the team was doing and how we were performing, but the fact that he knew exactly how many goals I’d scored this season shocked me. It probably shouldn’t have—I knew his stats backward and forward, too—but I couldn’t help the grin that split my face.

“That last between-the-legs goal was so sick!” the kid exclaimed.

The boys’ parents finally stepped in, the father looking slightly harried and embarrassed. “Sorry about that. They spotted you and took off running.”

“No problem at all,” Ethan said. “I was just about to ask them if they were watching when Bell scored that hat trick against Seattle back in October.”

“The one where he went top shelf on that breakaway?—”

“—and then he deked the goalie so hard he fell over!”

“Twice! He fell over twice !”

“I watched the highlights like twenty times?—”

“—and then I made Mom print out a picture of it for my locker?—”

“—but my brother said your backhand goal was the best one!”

The two of them were practically vibrating, words tumbling out in a chaotic stream as they tried to outdo each other in enthusiasm. Their eyes were huge, their hands waving wildly around for emphasis, their voices rising until the younger one was nearly shouting about how he was going to be me for Halloween next year.

“Thanks, guys,” I finally managed when I found my voice. “Just got lucky.”

“Luck?” Ethan scoffed, his arm still heavy across my shoulders. “Don’t let him fool you. Bell has some of the best hands on the team. He’s one of the fastest, too.” His fingers gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “Bell’s already broken all my old college records. I’d bet good money he’s going to break a bunch more.”

The pride in his voice made something twist in my chest. I swallowed hard, trying to remember how teammates acted around each other. Casual. Brotherly. Not like I wanted to turn and kiss him right there between the Fraser Firs and Douglas Pines.

“That’s … he’s exaggerating,” I said, forcing a laugh that I hoped sounded normal.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice filled with so much warmth and sureness that I felt a lump forming in my throat.

The younger boy looked at me with newfound awe. “Can we get a picture with you guys?”

“Of course,” Ethan said, finally dropping his arm, leaving a ghost of warmth across my shoulders.

I immediately missed the contact, which was ridiculous because we’d spent the entire afternoon wrapped around each other.

As the boys positioned themselves between us and their father readied his phone, Ethan leaned slightly toward me and murmured, “So, which tree are we getting?”

The casual ‘we’ nearly undid me. Ethan was talking about decorating our home for the holiday, in public, while taking pictures with fans.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he wasn’t blowing my fucking mind.

The camera flashed, capturing a moment I knew I’d remember long after the Christmas season was over: the exact second I realized Ethan Harrison was trying—really trying—to build something real with me.

When the family was out of earshot, I looked at him, still feeling slightly stunned. “Who are you even?”

He laughed sheepishly, clasping his palm to the back of his neck. “What do you mean?”

I pressed my palm to his forehead. “Do you feel okay? Were you abducted by aliens and replaced with a replica version of Ethan Harrison?”

He shook his head and moved out from under my touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stopped, settling my hands on my hips and leveling him with a disbelieving stare. “Ethan, you smiled. You were nice. You touched me.”

He chuckled, the sound a little breathless. “I just … I remember what it was like, you know? Being that age and idolizing players. I would’ve lost my shit if I’d seen any of them out buying a Christmas tree.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I remember what that was like, too. I was so obsessed with one player that I even picked the same college as him.”

His cheeks went pink, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Right, your totally casual, not-at-all-a stalker reason for choosing Thackeray.”

We started walking again, weaving between the trees, the sound of saws buzzing and kids laughing creating a cheerful backdrop. Ethan bumped his shoulder against mine, the contact brief but deliberate, his profile illuminated by the twinkle lights overhead.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward again, and I was about to tell him that I knew his secret—that beneath all his stoicism, he was nothing but a sentimental sap—when a new voice spoke up from behind us. Softer than the other boys, almost hesitant.

“Excuse me?”

Ethan and I turned in unison to see an older kid—maybe thirteen or fourteen—standing a few feet away, frozen as if unsure whether he should come closer. He was slight, drowning a bit in a black hoodie too large for his frame, dark hair falling across his forehead. “You’re Stryker Bell,” he said, his voice cracking a little.

I stepped forward. “Yeah, that’s me.”

His gaze flicked nervously to Ethan, then back to me. “I saw you talking with those other kids, and you were so nice to them.” He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, and it looked like he was bracing himself to say something that made him uncomfortable. “You’re my favorite player. Not because of hockey. I mean, you’re really good. But it’s not just that.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the determination in his voice. “Oh yeah?”

He shifted on his feet, flicking another glance between Ethan and me. “Yeah. It’s because you’re … you. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not to make people like you more. You’re not afraid of what people say about you. And that means a lot.”

Ah .

I’d been out since my first day of college and had grown somewhat accustomed to being approached by adult LGBTQIA+ fans, but there was something about this kid—something in his eyes that reflected back a younger version of myself that stripped away all my practiced responses.

Suddenly, my tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

As if sensing that I needed a moment to gather myself, Ethan stepped forward to stand by my side. “What’s your name?” he asked.

The kid’s throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed down his nerves. “I’m Donnie.”

“Hi, Donnie,” Ethan said, his tone gentle as he asked, “You want me to take a picture of you guys together?”

Donnie gave a small, grateful smile and nodded while chewing on his bottom lip. “Would that be okay?” he asked, looking up at me with hope shining in his eyes.

Ethan pressed his palm lightly against my back, urging me forward.

“Uh, yeah. That’d be awesome,” I told him, finally finding my voice.

“Here, gimme your phone,” Ethan instructed.

Donnie reached into his back pocket and pulled out an older model iPhone, the screen cracked in several places. He passed it to Ethan, ducking his head with an embarrassed expression on his face.

“I’m … I’m not like him,” Donnie whispered when I stepped next to him, his chin jutted out toward where Ethan was standing a few feet away, adjusting the settings on the phone’s camera. “I’m like you, but nobody knows. I’m afraid to say anything.”

“I get that. It can definitely be scary. Just know that you don’t have to tell anyone until you’re absolutely ready.” I fought to keep my gaze from bouncing to the man whose bed I shared every night.

“Are you safe at home?” I asked, my memories from that time of my own life threatening to pull me under.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I live with my grandma, and she’s cool. She has a pride flag in our yard.”

“Oh, man. That’s so awesome. Go Grandma!”

He smiled then, a shy little quirking of his lips. “I think she might know. She asked if my buddy on my hockey team was my ‘special friend.’ I was like, ‘Ew, gross, Grandma.’”

I tried my best to keep my expression completely neutral, not wanting to give away the fact that I had my own “special friend” on the team I played for, and he was standing right there .

“She sounds really cool, Donnie,” I told him. “And I’m sure when you’re ready to talk to someone about it, she’d be a really good option.”

He shuffled the toe of his boot through the wood chips at our feet, his expression turning contemplative. A family brushed past us, their excited chatter about which tree to choose momentarily intruding on our bubble of privacy. “Yeah, you’re right,” he finally said. “I should probably tell her.”

“But only if you want to,” I reminded him.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, like he’d made a decision he’d been weighing for a while.

“I do.” He nodded once, his gaze lifting to meet mine with newfound certainty.

“That’s good then.” I offered him a smile that I hoped looked reassuring, the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. Being a young boy’s first confidant was no small thing, and I hoped like hell I’d handled this properly.

His fingers tightened around his backpack straps, then relaxed. “Thanks, Bell,” he said, voice steadier now. “Getting to talk to you … getting to tell you …” His words faltered as a slight sheen appeared in his eyes. “It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” I said after a beat, my words sounding rough and shaky as emotion welled inside me. “It means a lot to me, too.”

I cleared my throat, glancing toward where Ethan was patiently waiting. “You ready for our picture now?”

“Yeah,” Donnie nodded, his mouth splitting into a wide, happy smile for the first time since he’d approached us.

I stepped closer, angling myself next to him as Ethan backed up a few paces, framing us carefully in the camera view. The scent of pine intensified as a light breeze swept through the lot, stirring the branches around us.

“On three,” Ethan said, standing with his feet braced shoulder width apart and the kid’s iPhone raised in front of him. “One, two, three.”

After taking our photo, Ethan handed the phone back to Donnie, who shoved it into his back pocket and said, “Thanks again,” before disappearing into the crowd.

I stared after him for a long while, hoping he was going to find his cool as hell Grandma.

Next to me, Ethan cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

I turned to face him, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans and rocking back on my heels. “I think so.”

He lifted his chin, gesturing in the direction Donnie had gone. “That looked a bit intense.”

“Not intense, just …” I blew out a breath, trying to find words to describe what I was feeling.

Back in college, I’d had a few guys come out to me—some of who I was pretty sure were hoping to fuck me in exchange for their confession—and I’d had a few older teenagers slide into my DMs to ask for advice about being with a guy for the first time, but Donnie was the youngest kid to ever open up to me like that in person.

Something tightened in my throat, a complex knot of emotion I couldn’t immediately untangle. Pride, that this kid had felt safe enough to approach me. Sadness, for the uncertainty that’d been written in every line of his young body. Hope that maybe my visibility was making a difference. And beneath it all, a wave of responsibility I hadn’t anticipated when I’d decided to be open about who I was.

“Yeah, I guess it was pretty intense,” I told Ethan, meeting his gaze.

“Looked like he had a lot on his mind,” he observed, his tone casual enough that I couldn’t tell if he was asking me to confide in him or not.

Donnie’s story wasn’t mine to tell, though, so all I said was, “Just working through some things.”

Ethan hummed, the sound thoughtful, as he continued walking down the row of trees. “Yeah, lots of that going around lately.”

My gaze stayed locked on him as he continued on ahead of me. After about twenty seconds or so, he turned to face me, a grin now pasted on his handsome face. “You ready to go find our tree?”

And just like that, we were back to our mission, but it felt like something fundamental had shifted between us tonight. Things felt different … charged with possibility and a new kind of understanding.

Whatever happened next, I knew deep in my bones we were building something together, even if I didn’t know what that was just yet.