Page 20

Chapter Twenty

RIVER

Today is my last day in the house, and I dread leaving Nate in the morning. He clings to my side, following me everywhere I go.

Like a lost puppy.

I stuff some clothes into a box. Nate is beside me, his eyes tracking every movement. He helps me pack, but awkward silence fills the room. Neither of us says the words on the tips of our tongues.

I don’t want to leave him.

He’s afraid I will forget him.

Nate’s still in recovery and on shaky ground. Most days, I see a vast improvement. Other days, when he wakes up from nightmares, he attaches himself to me. I worry about how he will console himself at night and if not having me here will cause him to spiral again.

“That’s the last of it,” I tell him when the final box is stacked in the back of the moving van.

Nate stares at the boxes and frowns.

“Hey.” I clutch his wrist and pull him closer. “This isn’t the end, Nate. We only have a few more months. And then, you can come live with me on Long Island.”

Nate shakes his head, his eyes glassy. “I hate this.”

“So do I. But we still have the winter break. You can stay with me. We’ll have a few weeks together. Just us.”

“And your team,” he adds with a sneer.

“I want you with me wherever I go. Okay?”

Before he can respond, Parker stumbles out of the house with Monroe, Waters, and Carter dressed in black and gold Kingston University jackets and track pants. Nate and I are wearing the same outfits, per tradition, on game nights. They’re playing against the Wolverines, one of our toughest competitors.

“Brooks, we need you focused tonight,” Parker says as he walks toward us. “Stop straining those muscles and eat with us.”

He glances at me for confirmation.

“I’m not the team captain anymore,” I whisper, tipping my head at Parker.

After I gave my notice to the team and withdrew from college, our coach named Parker team captain. He deserves it. For the past four years, he’s carried the weight around the house. Without Parker, the place would be a disaster. The guys also respect him.

“You too, Rousseau,” Parkers says as if it’s an order. “It’s your last supper.”

“It’s not like you guys will never see me again,” I point out, inching toward the house with Nate at my side.

“We’ll see you on our TVs,” Parker beams proudly. He slaps my back. “You’re going to crush it on the ice. Don’t worry about us. We’ll bring home another Frozen Four title without you.”

I laugh. “Cocky motherfucker.”

“You know it.” He shoves a hand through his black curly hair and smirks. “Coach said you can sit on the bench with us tonight for your big farewell.”

“We’re gonna miss you, bro,” Carter says with a lopsided grin. “Won’t be the same playing without you the rest of the season.”

“Ah, you guys will do fine. Just trust yourselves. Listen to Parker. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Parker winks and heads into the house.

Monroe offers his hand for me to shake. “Good luck, Rousseau. I’d say we’ll miss you, but I’m sure we’ll watch all of your games.”

“You guys can come to the home games,” I tell him. “I’ll send tickets to Nate.”

“Oh, sweet,” Monroe says, pumping his fist in the air.

As we step inside the house, Waters tugs on my shirt. I turn to face him, and he surprises me by giving me what could pass as a hug. His giant arm slides across my neck and taps my shoulder.

“Sorry for always giving you shit. You’re a good dude, though. Great player. And not a bad housemate…” His eyes flick to Nate. “When you’re not, ya know… making fucking noise.”

Nate glares at him and mutters, “I’m not in the mood, big guy.”

“Calm down,” Waters shoots back at him. “I was just fucking around.”

“Yeah, and we had a deal,” Nate reminds him. “And don’t forget it.”

Once I’m settled in with my new team and feel comfortable, I will tell the world and shout about our love at the top of my lungs.

I want the future Nate promised me.

The marriage proposal.

The engagement ring.

The wedding.

I want all of it with him .

Our housemates gather around the massive dining room table. Three giant lasagna pans, several baskets of garlic bread, and salad are spaced out among the place settings. We always load up on carbs before a game. This way, we have enough glycogen stored up for those quick bursts of energy on the ice.

Parker sits at the head of the table, a bottle of water raised in his hand. “To Rousseau, may he one day be an NHL legend like his father.” He dips his head and smiles. “We will miss you, brother.”

“To Rousseau,” the room chants.

Nate’s eyes find mine as we drink. He forces a grin, hiding the pain in his eyes. Already, he looks so lost, and I’m still here.

Fuck .

* * *

I sit on the bench beside Coach Marten, watching the game as a spectator for once. It feels weird to share the same space as my team and not play, especially when they fight like hell to get points on the scoreboard.

We’re down by two points in the second period with less than a minute on the clock. I feel responsible for the deficit. If I were on the ice, I would make different choices than my former teammates. Their dumb mistakes are costing them the game. Parker might be a good leader, but he’s not that skilled of a hockey player.

The puck sails down the ice, and Nate rushes after it. He checks a player into the boards, knocking him into the Plexiglass. Nate sweeps the puck with his stick, but the winger recovers quickly, shoving Nate from behind.

Nate doesn’t see it coming and crashes to the ice. He stops moving, head turned to the side. My heart plummets into my stomach, racing into overdrive.

“Get up,” I whisper, unable to contain my anxiety.

Players skate around him, and the referee moves them aside. He bends down and tries to wake Nate. When he doesn’t respond, I hop over the wall without thinking, my sneakers landing on the ice.

I slide my way over to him, holding my arms out at my sides for balance. Kneeling beside Nate, I cup his cheek and get in his face.

“Nate, wake up,” I choke out, on the verge of tears. “Please. You can’t do this to me.” Since he’s unresponsive, I lean down and whisper in his ear, “You promised me forever. I’m holding you to it. So, please open your eyes.”

A few seconds later, his lips part, and then he groans from taking such a brutal hit. Hockey is a dangerous sport. It’s not for the weak.

His eyes flutter open. “River,” he whispers.

“I’m here,” I say, leaning closer. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, he spits his mouthguard onto the ice, and then his lips are on mine, his tongue invading my mouth. I’m so relieved to have him back that I don’t fight the pull between us. Getting lost in the moment, I kiss him so hard my chest aches.

Someone cheers.

A few people clap.

The arena bursts into catcalls and howls.

Women are screaming our names.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” they chant.

“Oh fuck,” I mumble, refusing to look at everyone staring at us. “What did we…”

Nate sits up and clutches my neck. “Might as well give them what they want. Our secret is out.”

I wonder if he did that on purpose, but at the moment, I don’t care. A sense of relief fills my chest as our teammates crowd around us, clapping.

Am I in The Twilight Zone ?

This must be a dream.

I look up, mouth hanging open in shock, my pulse pounding in my ears. “So, um… We’re together.”

“We know,” Parker says.

“We’ve always known,” Monroe adds. “It’s cool. No one cares.”

“Yeah?”

He nods along with my other teammates.

“Okay,” I say, at a loss for words. “Thanks, I guess… for keeping our secret.”

“It wasn’t ours to share,” Parker says, tucking his stick under his arm. “But dude, we gotta get back on the clock. So, can you guys wrap this up?”

Nate snickers. “Ah, fuck you guys. If I want to tackle River to the ice and fuck him, I will.”

“Wow,” Carter responds, “Too far, bro. Didn’t need to hear that.”

“Thought you were cool with us,” Nate tosses back at him, holding his right side and wincing.

“Yeah, I am. But I’d rather not think about you guys fucking. I heard enough weird sounds coming from your bedrooms over the years.”

Nate is unsteady from his fall, so Monroe and I drag him over to the bench. He hisses at the pain in his side and almost falls. By some miracle, we manage to get Nate on solid ground.

“Rousseau, Brooks, what the fuck do you think you’re doing on my ice?” Coach Marten barks out. “This isn’t a reality TV show. Save that shit for when you go home. We got a game to win.”

“Sure thing, Coach,” Nate grumbles.

“Sorry, Coach,” I add. “Won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” he snaps, glancing down at a clipboard. “Brooks, go see the doctor. You’re out for the rest of the game until he clears you to play. And Rousseau…” He clasps my shoulder. “Good luck in the NHL. I’m proud of you.”

I flash a smile. “Thanks, Coach. I learned a lot from you.”

He laughs. “No, you didn’t. That was all your dad. But thanks for humoring an old man.”

With my arm around Nate, I lead him out of the rink. The team physician guides us to a room where he performs a few neurological tests on Nate.

“I don’t see any immediate causes for concern,” Dr. Reynolds says with a hopeful grin. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t show symptoms of a concussion later. You know the signs. Keep an eye out for them. Can you remove your jersey and gear for me? I need to examine your back and ribs.”

Nate undresses, and I gasp at the reddish-purple marks already forming on his skin. The one on his back is about the size of my hand. He also has a puck-sized one on his ribs.

“You took a header,” Dr. Reynolds says with a sigh. “I don’t see any swelling in your abdomen, which is a good sign. Are you having any difficulty breathing, vision changes, or dizziness?”

Nate shakes his head.

“How about nausea?”

Another head shake.

“If you start to experience any of the symptoms I mentioned, you need to get to a hospital. Understand me?”

“Yes,” Nate mutters.

The doctor turns to me. “Can you keep an eye on him? His condition could change at any time?”

“I’m leaving in the morning.”

Dr. Reynolds looks at Nate. “Do you have someone else around just in case? A roommate?”

Nate nods. “I have eight of them.”

“Good,” he says. “Well, if you’re feeling okay, you can watch the rest of the game. But I’m not clearing you to play. Sit this one out. We’ll assess your condition before the next game.”

From the expression on Nate’s face, I can see he’s relieved. He didn’t want to play tonight because that meant less time with me.

We exit the room, our hands linked and savoring our final moments together because we won’t have this for a while once the sun comes up.