Page 12

TWELVE

carter

A sharp ring tone pulls me from a fitful sleep the next morning.

I slap the top of the nightstand, my head still buried underneath my pillow.

My fingers finally find my phone and I stab the accept button.

“Yeah?” I mutter, not even bothering to check the screen first.

“Dude, you better get down here. It’s a fucking mob scene.”

I fling the pillow off my head and shoot up off the mattress, my eyes immediately searching for Jack.

But he’s not here.

In fact, his bed barely looks slept in.

“What’s going on?” I ask Masterson, getting up from the bed.

“Is Jack down there?”

Masterson lets out a deep sigh.

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. Just hurry.”

I end the call, run into the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw on gym clothes, then dart out the door.

I slow down in front of the elevator bank, then say screw it and tear down the stairs .

Masterson didn’t say what happened with Jack, but there’s a fucking bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and I can’t get down to the lobby fast enough.

Can’t get to him fast enough.

I push open the door to find crowds of people gathered in the lobby.

Sirens wail outside, flashing red and blue lights from cop cars reflecting off the cracked glass entrance doors.

Masterson stands near the door with Tate and a bunch of the guys, peering out the window.

I run toward them. “What the fuck happened?”

Tate nods toward the cops and the angry mob of screaming men and women gathered outside.

“We came down here, grabbed coffee and some doughnuts and sat on those couches over there.” He points to a set of sofas off to the side of the entrance.

“All of a sudden, the front of the hotel was crawling with people waving fucking gay hate signs. Some of them had pictures of Jack on them.”

My chest tightens.

“Where is he now? Did anyone tell him?”

Masterson’s lips tighten as he nods toward the cops right inside the lobby.

I crane my neck to see Jack and Coach Enver in the center of the cop circle.

“Jack was coming in from a run, and one of those assholes threw a fucking rock at him. Cracked the side of the glass.”

“Jesus,” I mutter.

“Someone at the front desk had called the cops, but they didn’t get here until after Jack did. He was out for a run and didn’t realize the place was crawling with protesters until he got close. I saw the bruise on his face, and I was afraid someone might have clocked him. He wouldn’t say how it happened when we got inside,” Masterson says.

“Masterson ran out and grabbed him before he decked the fucker who threw the rock.” Tate shakes his head.

“That’d have been a goddamn nightmare for the PR team.”

I scrub a hand down the front of my face.

“What the hell is wrong with people?”

“They’re intolerant assholes.” Logan Shaw, one of our star veteran centers, edges into our group along with Mack Greyson, one of the defensemen.

“But with so few ‘out’ players in the league, it puts us all at risk. Those fucktards could have pulled a lot of bad shit if the cops hadn’t shown up when they did. And trust me, I’d have pummeled the bastard who threw that rock if I was the target.”

“Believe me, I wanted to,” Masterson grunts.

“But then we’d be just as bad as them. They wanted retaliation. They’d have loved to make us out to be the aggressors. It takes a stronger person to say fuck off and walk away.”

“We never had to deal with this before,” Greyson says in a low voice, looking around at the guys.

“If we’re gonna face this shit every time we go to an away game?—”

“Hey. We’re a team,” I say, my voice tightening when I see Jack and Enver break away from the cops and talk quietly together.

“We win together and lose together. We stand up to narrow-minded schmucks together. We support each other.” I look at each other faces.

“Always.”

Greyson pauses before nodding.

“I guess. I don’t know. I just worry about backlash.”

“Backlash, how?” I ask.

He shrugs and averts his eyes.

“I don’t know. I bet Jack lost endorsement deals when he came out publicly. Companies don’t want to have gay athletes promote their shit. What if that reflects on us, too? Because we’re associated? It can hurt us indirectly.”

“Look, I get your concern,” I say to Greyson.

“But if companies are gonna turn their backs on you because of who you choose to associate with, then fuck them. Jack isn’t some low-life criminal. He’s a gay athlete. And he does a lot for underprivileged kids in our community.” Anger rumbles in my chest. “Companies should want guys like him endorsing their products. He’s a good guy and a fucking star on the ice.”

I snap my lips closed when Masterson flashes me a questioning look.

Then I shift away from Logan’s heavy stare.

Enver walks toward us and claps his hands together.

“Okay, nothing more to see here. Everyone get dressed and we’ll meet back here in an hour to get to the arena for warmups.”

The team scatters, headed back to the elevators.

I glance at Jack over my shoulder.

He stands against a wall, alone, head buried in his phone.

His face is red, hair messy and falling over his eyes.

My heart hurts for him.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Masterson says.

I whip my head around, not realizing he was still next to me.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate you going to bat for him,” he says.

Shaking my head, I tear my eyes away from Jack.

“I don’t know about that.”

But I actually do know.

He’d hate me defending him because it would make him feel weak and vulnerable.

“I didn’t realize you guys had gotten so chummy after just one night rooming together.” Masterson studies my face.

“I thought things were kind of tense between you after the junior hockey days.”

I twist my key card between my fingers.

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.”

Nobody on the Raptors knows what really happened on that last night at hockey camp…

the last night I saw Jack.

And they definitely don’t know why I’ve tried so damn hard to forget it all.

Not even Jack knows the truth, even though it’s gotten so much harder to hold it all back.

Masterson claps me on the back.

“See you in an hour?”

I nod, loitering a little when I see Jack push off the wall and walk toward the stairs again.

His broad shoulders slump, his hand clutching the phone tight.

I follow him, watching people in the lobby point and stare at him.

My gut clenches.

This isn’t breaking news.

Jack is openly gay.

Why the hell is he in the middle of a witch hunt?

True, we’re playing in one of the most intolerant states in the country, but it’s not like he hasn’t played here before.

He traveled everywhere with the Renegades, so why is he being targeted now?

I wait a beat before ducking into the stairwell after him.

I jog up the concrete steps, keeping him in sight.

He suddenly stops short and twists around, fire in his eyes.

“What the fuck do you want, VK?” he growls.

“I told you already, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah, and then you show up with your face smashed in and the next day someone tries to stone you.”

“You’re saying I can’t take care of myself?” His voice is laced with anger, jaw clenched as tight as his fists.

I shake my head, taking the remaining steps two at a time until we’re facing one another on the landing.

“I’m just concerned. We’re part of a team and that means?— ”

“Look, I don’t need any of your ‘rah, rah, go team’ bullshit. What happened back in Oakland…” He looks away and tugs at his hair.

“It’s shit I have to deal with. And today? Ignorant assholes. Not like I haven’t run into them before. I’m fucking fine. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

“I don’t pity you, asshole.” I roll my eyes.

“Trust me on that. I just want to make sure you’re okay. We’ve got a game to win and I want to make sure your head’s in the right place.”

The lies roll off my tongue because what the hell else am I supposed to say to the guy?

He may come off as the Ice King, but he’s not the prick he believes he needs to be to protect himself.

I think someone hurt him.

Badly.

And he’s got spiked steel bars surrounding him to keep out anyone who might give a shit about more than what he can do professionally.

Those bars only came down once in the whole time I’ve known him, and it was the night when he kissed me.

“My head is fine,” he says through clenched teeth, the vein in his neck throbbing as he glares at me.

“Is it?” I inch closer, his scent wafting into the air.

My brain screams at me.

Don’t do it. Don’t breathe him in.

But damn, it’s definitely me who’s the weak one.

I pull him deep into my lungs, my heart stuttering as his scent infuses me.

My pulse wobbles in my throat.

Finding my voice, I rasp, “Because we have a big game to play today, and you need to bring it.”

With a flash of his eyes, he presses his hand against my chest. I’m sure it’s meant to keep me away, but the heat of his fingertips sears the skin right through my t-shirt and all I want to do it melt into his touch .

“Are you really just worried about the game, Carter?” he says, his heavy stare paralyzing my ability to breathe.

“Or is something fucking with your head, too?”