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JAKE

I loved coaching juniors. They were elite athletes who’d willingly given up a slice of their summer break to work their asses off indoors. Warm-up laps, countless practice drills, and grueling competitions were part of the daily routine. These teens didn’t mind callouses, scars, and tough training sessions. This was their chance to see how the pros trained and to connect with agents and scouts hoping to spot new talent.

We made it fun for sure, but it was no picnic. We didn’t take it easy on them or play childish games. We were serious and focused and?—

“Ooooh, yeah. Who’s ready to par-tay?” Trinsky whipped his T-shirt off and whizzed across center ice bare chested, waving his tee like a banner to the utter delight of the teenagers gathered around the coaches armed with whistles and official-looking clipboards.

Nikitinova, a Russian defenseman with Detroit who’d had a short stint playing for Denver two years ago, howled with laughter. He was personally familiar with Trinsky’s antics and was obviously a fan of his brand of mayhem. So were the five other pros, snickering and egging him on. Even Denny chuckled.

My lips quirked instinctively because A, it was funny, and B…it was so like Trinsky to make an entrance. He couldn’t just glide in and introduce himself like everyone else. No, Trinsky had to get the entire rink’s attention and interrupt the flow of practice.

Annoying, am I right?

Yes, I was absolutely a gazillion times right. And this was exactly the kind of behavior that had made me request to not be in the same group. Even better if we weren’t coaching at the same rink.

But damn it, now that I knew Trinsky, I understood that he turned up his personality to put people at ease. That shouldn’t have made sense. However, I’d seen him in action…with Eddie and the countless teens he’d coached in Elmwood over the past few years.

His big gestures pulled spectators into the fray and sent a message: there was nothing to be afraid of here.

These kids didn’t have to ingratiate themselves to him. Trinsky didn’t need the hero worship. My guess was that his main goal was to defuse tension, get everyone to relax, so they could concentrate on their game or whatever the situation called for. His presence was going to be an interruption anyway, so…he made it memorable.

Trinsky liked attention, but he cared about the kids. Genuinely.

I swallowed hard, thinking about the dozens of instances where he’d made the grand gestures, instigated the big contests. My mind wandered to body surfing with Eddie, the huge grin on his face as his older brother constructed games he’d never lose so he wouldn’t be afraid.

You had to have a really big fucking heart to be so invested in someone else’s peace of mind. I couldn’t have been more charmed or humbled, but damn it, that wasn’t how I was supposed to play this.

Like a true buzzkill, I blew my whistle and gestured for everyone to settle down. I fixed Trinsky with a razor-sharp glare as he sprayed ice at my feet, proud of myself for not cracking a smile.

“Great. Trinsky’s here,” I deadpanned. “Gang, this is Mason Trinsky, forward for the Denver Condors and?—”

“Jake McMilligan’s favorite player in the league,” he finished, smacking high fives and fist bumps with the kids and coaches.

“Milligan.”

“That’s what I said.” Trinsky beamed at me and turned to Riley Thoreau, acting head coach for the Juniors and one of my personal idols. “Sorry I’m late. I just arrived last night, and I didn’t get much sleep.”

He had the nerve to slide a conspiratorial glance my way. My cheeks heated on cue.

“No worries. The groups are set. You’re with Nikitinova,” Riley said. “We’ve got a ton of drills to get through—turn and burn, forechecking, breakouts. Campers, you’re in great hands. If you have any questions, ask. If not, get to work and have fun.”

It started out the same as always. The two groups took over either side of the ice, did a few drills, and practiced puck handling and shooting. Coaches were encouraged to jump in and actively participate, which usually made it fun and made the time pass quickly.

Today, I was hopelessly distracted.

I’d thought I was doing okay at first. Denny and I had a decent system going. He fed them pucks while I corrected form. And between the upbeat music on the overhead speakers and the lighthearted chatter on the ice, the kids were engaged, honing basic skills and having fun. But it was a damn party on the other end of the rink, and of course, the loudest voice belonged to you-know-who.

For once I ignored Trinsky’s hijinks, but I was having a hard time keeping my eyes off him. He was a pretty skater, graceful and sure. He had a knack for taking corners at a wicked clip, and his backhand was a thing of beauty. So was his wrist shot. All I could think was…I’d held those wrists captive. I’d licked the underside of his forearms, kissed his elbows, buried my nose in his biceps, and bitten his neck. I knew what his stubbled jaw felt like on my inner thighs and holy shit…I knew how amazing he felt moving inside me.

I couldn’t wait to do it again.

Tonight, I hoped.

He’d have to come to my place. Annie was going to be looking out for her new neighbor with one eye peeled out her kitchen window. She’d notice if I showed up, and?—

“You okay?” Denny nudged my shoulder.

I flashed a weak smile, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Oskar, a gangly kid from Virginia, panted for air as he gestured toward Trinsky’s group with his stick just as another boom of laughter ricocheted off the rink walls. “Are they even playing hockey?”

Denny glanced over his shoulder. “I hope not, ’cause we’re going to scrimmage them in a few minutes, and only one of us will be ready to kick some butt.”

“And that will be us,” I assured them.

These early scrimmages were supposed to be fun. We saved the competitive ones for the end of the session after the kids had acclimated to camp life, time away from home, and the thrill of meeting and playing with pros. So I really wasn’t sure why I got so aggravated with Terren, the right winger who randomly made himself a D-man and the goalie who hovered in the net instead of the crease.

I didn’t yell. Much. I shouted a stream of reminders in a positive tone that fooled everyone…except Trinsky.

He sidled up to me at the coach’s bench and grabbed my flask out of my hands, one of those reusable ones with an air-tight lid and a slotted tab ideal for hot drinks or plain ol’ water. “Not the league opener, Milligan.”

“I know,” I grumbled, my gaze snagging on his handsome profile.

“Okay, you forgot your role. You’re supposed to be pissed that I stole your mug from under your nose, but I’m still holding it, Jakey. Someone’s gonna notice if you go sweet on me,” he singsonged, raising the flask above his head.

He was right.

I put a hand out, eyes on the action on the ice. “Give it over.”

“Beg me.”

I growled as I turned to him. “Give me the fucking water, Trinsky.”

His slow-moving, mischievous grin was pure trouble, but I was strong. I wasn’t going to be distracted by those pretty green eyes or that dimple or?—

“Fine, but take a drink. You need to cool off.”

True. I gamely tipped the flask back, wincing as the top fell off and a full cup of ice cold water hit me in the face.

“Trinsky, you dick,” I sputtered.

He winked. “You’ve been pranked.”

“Yeah, I got that.” I pulled off my sweatshirt and dried my face on it, shaking my head ruefully. “You’re supposed to be setting a good example, asshole.”

“Me? No way. That’s your job,” Trinsky said loudly for the benefit of the coaches nearby. Then he slid his hand under my elbow and leaned in, his breath ghosting my earlobe. “Got a few stares on the ice. Punch me and make this look good.”

I shoved him instead. “Cool it. This is harder than I thought it would be.”

He made a mini production of picking up the clipboard I’d left on the bench, eyes lowered. “I know, but it’s pretty awesome too.”

It was. My heart was tripping over itself at the thrill of being so close to him. The smell of my shampoo lingered along with a trace of his aftershave and a hint of sweat. I wished I could lean in and lick him. I wished I could rub up against him and run my hands down his rock-hard body.

“Yeah. I might like it more if I wasn’t dripping water,” I groused without heat, my arm glued to his.

Trinsky snickered. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. If you’re too nice to me, everyone will wonder if there was an alien invasion or?—”

“Christ, our D-man is a tad aggressive. He reminds me of—” Denny stepped to my right and did a double take, his eyes narrowing at my freshly watered look. “What happened to you?”

“Trinsky.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a smile from blossoming out of nowhere. Mason noticed and pinched my arm as if reminding me to stick to the script. So I added, “Fucking asshole.”

Denny pulled a face and sighed. “You two are impossible. Don’t we have enough teenagers to deal with?”

I snarkily agreed that it was too bad Trinsky was immature. Trinsky thought it was sad that I had chronic “stick-in-the-mud-itis.” I told him he was ridiculous, to which he replied, “I know you are, but what am I?”

We went back and forth until I finally walked away in a faux huff. It was that or I’d burst out laughing and give us away. As it was, Denny was probably wondering how we’d lasted in the same building for so long.

Every coach and kid on that ice knew we didn’t get along. They no doubt assumed we were in the midst of another PR situation that required us to put up and shut up. And maybe that was sort of true. The rest was…well, it was ours.

“Are you as horny as me?”

That was his greeting as I dragged him into my foyer a few hours later. We stripped our clothes off in between soul-stirring twists of tongues and made our way upstairs. I didn’t bother with any niceties. If he wanted something to eat or drink, he’d have to wait. I had one thing on my mind…one thing only.

I tweaked his nipples and pushed him onto the mattress, diving on top of him. “So, so horny.”

Mason captured my face in his hands and kissed me hard. I melted in his arms and opened to him without a word. His fingers in my hair, his mouth on my jaw, his tongue trailing down my torso. Whatever he wanted was his. My cock, my ass, anything.

He bent my knees to my ears, crawled between my legs and licked my hole. I cried out in surprise and pleasure, surrendering to this thing we’d become. It wasn’t wrong. It was just…unexpected.

So when he moved inside me, claiming pieces of me I’d never given anyone, I didn’t panic or put up a fight. Quite the opposite. I held him close and let myself drift under the spell of him—the flex of his muscular abs pressed against my cock as he thrust…and thrust. We came seconds apart, Mason’s sweat dripping onto my brow, eyes locked on mine.

It wasn’t until we’d showered, redressed, and went downstairs to find something to eat that I realized how quiet we’d been during sex. We were usually pretty vocal and kind of nasty. Especially Trinsky. He loved pushing my buttons with porny dirty talk. The quiet had been poignant somehow.

And now, we were in my kitchen, polishing off sandwiches and potato chips, critiquing the skill levels of the new campers.

“The kid from Connecticut is good. He’s quick and agile. What’s his name?” Trinsky asked.

“Eli. He’s a little cocky.”

Trinsky scoffed. “What you call cocky is a lot of fucking bravado. Trust me, I know that story. What’s the deal with your goalie?”

“He’s struggling. I told Riley we need a goalie coach. He asked how we were getting along, by the way. Don’t be surprised if one of us gets reassigned.” I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and slid one across the island toward him.

He tipped his chin in thanks. “Good. You’re way too distracting for me. If they don’t move me, you need to complain. Trinsky is unprofessional, attention-seeking, or…just a filthy animal. Whatever you come up with, I support.”

“Why do you—hey, where’re you going?” I gathered our plates, furrowing my brows as Trinsky opened the sliding glass door onto the deck.

“Just exploring. Wow, nice yard.”

I left the dishes and followed him outside. “Thanks. Why do you want me to complain about you? Don’t you think we can handle being in the same rink a few hours a day?”

Trinsky tossed a casual grin over his shoulder and stepped to the railing. He took a long pull from the bottle and set it on the flat banister, searching my gaze. I had no idea what he was looking for.

“Jesus, Jakey. You have no idea what you do to me,” he said in a gravelly tone that went straight to my dick. “Today was a master class in acting, and I’m pretty good at it, but it’s different with you. If we stick to the current arrangement, they’ll figure out that I not only don’t hate you, but that I can’t keep my eyes off your ass in those sexy black joggers you always wear.”

I laughed. “Sexy joggers?”

“Very sexy.” He tilted his chin to the night sky. “Elmwood has more stars than anywhere else I’ve ever been. Or is this technically Wood Hollow since it’s a new development?”

“It’s still Elmwood. I bought the last parcel of land at the fringe of the forest and hired the contractor in charge of the new houses in Wood Hollow to build me one. My mom dealt with everything, though. She has great taste, and she knows what I like.”

“You’re close to her too.”

“Yeah. I told you my mom and dad are great friends. She loves Smitty now too…and the kids.”

He cocked his head curiously. “Just one big happy family, eh?”

“In a way. Mom and Eric have their own lives, and they love to travel. I see more of them during regular season than I do in Elmwood in the summertime. But they all spend holidays together whether or not I’m able to join them now. Nathan, Char, and Ells call her Mama Piper. Nath and Char are old enough to sort through the logistics of why I have a mother and father and they have two dads, but kids go with the flow. They love her and my mom loves them. She says it’s her practice for being a grandma someday…and then she taps her watch and tells me she has no plans to live forever.” My lips twitched in amusement. “It’s funny that my dad’s second family has taken some of the pressure off, though. Definitely odd modern-day dynamics.”

“Maybe, but you’re lucky.”

“Yeah, when I was little, I assumed every divorced couple was like my parents—friends who didn’t want to live together anymore.”

Trinsky snorted derisively. “No disrespect, Milligan, but you live in a fucking fairy tale.”

I frowned. “Well…I know it’s?—”

“You don’t know. Not really, and I’m fucking glad you don’t.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” And I was, but I also saw an opening. “You…you said you didn’t know your dad.”

“Nope. Never met him. He was basically a sperm donor.”

“Oh.”

I thought that was it, but after a long silence, Mason continued.

“I built up this fantasy in my head that he’d come home or that one of the guys she’d bring by would be the one who’d stay. That they’d give me more than a passing glance and that she’d give a shit if they turned out to be abusive assholes. For the record, my prayers were not answered.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I set my hand over his, aware this was the first time he’d ever talked about his childhood. I’d had a feeling it wasn’t a good story, and my heart ached for the little boy he’d been.

Mason’s jaw tightened. “I learned early on to trust my instincts and stay light on my feet. I knew when to stay away from my mom and when I could try to fix her. Nine years old, picking up needles, cleaning up bottles, and cigarette butts, and scrounging for loose change to buy food when the fridge was empty. My childhood was one fucked-up cycle of parenting a parent who was her own worst enemy. But…I got this glorious reprieve from her the summer I turned ten when she passed out behind the wheel and wrapped her car around a tree.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds awful, but it was a wake-up call.”

“Shit. Was she hurt? Were you in the car?”

“No, she was alone and she was fine, but it was her third DUI in two months. Mom lost her job, her loser boyfriend, and she had to go to mandated rehab. I was seconds away from becoming a casualty of the system and you know, I didn’t mind. I was hungry all the fucking time. I would have happily taken my chances with a foster family. But my Aunt Carla showed up in her Escalade and took me to live with her in her fancy house five miles away. I’d never heard of her. Ever. My mom’s own fucking sister. She was amazing. And no, the house wasn’t fancy, but it was a real house and there was food in the pantry. And there were kids in the neighborhood, and one of them had a dad who worked for the Kings.”

“The Zamboni man.”

His smile reached his eyes this time. “Mike and Ty Petrowski. I fly them out to Denver for a few games every season.”

“That’s cool.”

“That handful of years with an aunt who took on a kid she barely knew changed my life. I got to see how people with self-respect and discipline lived, and I found hockey. I never looked back.”

“Was your mom in recovery when she had Eddie?” I asked.

Mason sighed deeply. “She was. She’d been two years sober and had a new job when I returned home to live with her, and everything seemed to be going in the right direction. Then she got pregnant. And at first, I was happy for her, but Eddie’s dad was like every other piece of shit she’d ever dated. Toxic personalities who think being a man means being loud and aggressive. He’d moved half of his shit into the house, and there were nauseating plans for a big wedding and blah, blah, blah. I was too busy with hockey to get sucked into it. As long as she wasn’t using, I didn’t care. I just wanted…peace.”

“So she didn’t know Eddie would be…different.”

“Nope. She opted out of every test and probably ignored the doctors.” Mason took a deep breath and continued. “I will never forget seeing her at the hospital, a stricken look on her face and that piece of garbage boyfriend of hers crying that this was her fault. I didn’t know what was going on. Eddie looked like any ol’ wrinkly newborn to me. I heard words like special needs, health concerns, but I just saw a kid who needed to be cared for.”

“So you stepped up.”

“I had to. Eddie’s bio dad was a motherfucker, and Mom was a mess…and there was this tiny little baby in the middle of all this ugliness. I wanted nothing more than to hightail it to Aunt Carla’s, but I couldn’t leave Eddie with them. I was a teenager, but I was almost as big as I am now, and I was done being intimidated. I kicked the asshole out and asked my aunt to help us again. This time, for Eddie’s sake.”

I ran my hand along his spine and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Wow. You’re a hero.”

He huffed incredulously. “Am I? I don’t think so. It wasn’t like I put my life on hold for Eddie. I wouldn’t have a career if I hadn’t worked my ass off, but yeah, I did what I could.”

“How?”

“I don’t know…I learned how to make a bottle and feed him. I played with him, and later on, I helped deal with the specialists and therapists. My mom reconnected with other family members around that time through her sister, so this village came out of the blue and made life a lot easier. I was able to be a typical teenager too, but Eddie was always a priority for me. We bonded right from the start.” Mason smiled. “He’s so fucking happy and it’s contagious, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“You read stories of kids like him who’ll never progress mentally beyond eight years old, but he’s proved them wrong. Eddie’s only a few years behind his age group, he’s curious, he retains information well, he loves dogs, the ocean, his friends, and riding on the bus. And he knows sign language. That’s kind of fucking cool.”

“It is,” I agreed. “So he’s the reason for the children’s charity.”

Mason shifted to face me. “Yes. Resources are crucial, and if I can do anything to help a kid feel safe and cared for, I’m in. So yeah, I’m involved in a few charities…some for kids living with disabilities, some for kids who’ve been in abusive homes, or have parents who struggle with addiction. There’s all kinds of ugly shit out there, and I lived it.”

“It sounds like you and your mom are good now.”

“We are. She’s climbed a mountain, and I’m proud of her. She’s a different mom to Eddie than she was to me. I got the neglectful, selfish B, he gets Mother fuckin’ Theresa.”

I snorted. “Nice comparison.”

“It’s true. She loves that kid. She puts him first…above anything she wants for herself. I didn’t get that treatment, and I could be bitter about it, but that’s life. And by the way, I’m not trying to negate your childhood trauma or one-up you.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw ruefully. “I actually don’t really know why I told you any of it. I should probably apologize.”

“Oh, please. I don’t want any apologies. Thanks for sharing your?—”

“My oversized baggage?” he quipped with a laugh.

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way.”

“I would.” Mason snickered merrily. “That’s the shit that comes off the conveyer belt with a big-ass red warning label attached. Although it honestly doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Eddie’s good, my mom’s good.”

“What about your aunt?”

“She passed away five years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too. She was a great woman and an amazing role model. She was this lesbian trailblazer who didn’t take shit from anyone. I want to be like her someday.”

“I think you’re well on your way.”

Mason beamed. “You’re right. I even went bi.”

I rolled my eyes. “You realize that you don’t just go bi, right?”

“Yeah, so I’m bi. But you’re the only one I notice, Jakey.” He pulled me into a headlock and kissed my ears, ignoring my protests. “I tested the theory at camp today. Lots of decent-looking coaches, and none of them got a pulse out of me. Nada , zilch.”

“Oh, brother.”

“Seriously. Nikitinova isn’t tough on the eyes, and he has a cool accent. Doesn’t do anything for me, though. Who does it for you?”

I scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“A great one. C’mon. Let’s take a test…Batman or Superman?”

“Batman.”

“You’d choose Batman over Henry Cavill?” Mason widened his eyes incredulously. “’Cause I think I just got a Superman chubby.”

I laughed. He was ridiculous and manic with it, but he was hopelessly charming too. We finished our beers and sat side by side at the picnic table, talking about absolutely nothing of consequence. I liked the sound of his voice and the feel of his body pressed against mine in the warm summer night. I liked that he gazed reverently at the stars while debating which version of Spider-Man he thought was most badass. I liked that Mason Trinsky was unapologetically himself.

And more than anything, I liked that he let me in and showed me his scars.

Maybe there was no way we could be lovers in the real world, but somehow, I knew we were going to be the best of friends for a long, long time.