Page 14

Chapter 14

RYLAN

T wo days of avoiding Jamie Pirelli, and I'm already exhausted. Not physically—that wouldn't be a big deal. This is a bone-deep weariness that comes from constantly monitoring every move I make, trying to keep my professional distance at the same time as my body screams to be closer to him.

The familiar roar of the crowd reverberates through the concrete walls of our locker room. Tonight is our first home game of the year, another pre-season matchup, this time against the Chicago Outlaws. The air crackles with anticipation. The arena is packed with Seattle hockey fans eager to check out this season's team. Under normal circumstances, the energy would fuel me, but right now it only adds to the pressure weighing heavy on my shoulders.

Jamie's in front of his stall, two down from mine, bobbing his head to whatever's playing through his AirPods. The curve of his neck, the way his curls brush his collar, the familiar rhythm of his pre-game routine,everysingle thing about him makes my chest ache. I force my eyes away, focusing on taping my stick with mechanical precision.

"Okay, gentlemen,"Coach Shaw says from his position near the door."Keep it simple, stay with the plan, and build on whatworkedinSanDiego."

What worked in San Diego. Right. If he only knew.

The first period is a blur of overthinking and disconnection.EverypassbetweenJamieand me is a splitsecondoff, our timing is completely shot. The crowd's energy fades as we struggle to find a rhythm. Even my connection withAustinis off. And thesecondline isn't faring any better.

"What the fuck is going on with you two?"Austinmutters during a TV timeout, shooting a suspicious glancebetweenJamieand me."You're thinking too much."

He's right. We're playing like strangers instead of linemates who've been clicking in practice like we share one brain. The score remains tied at zero, but that's only because Louis is standing on his head in net, making saves that belong on highlight reels.

Halfway through thesecondperiod, though, something shifts. One of Chicago's defensemen, Morrison, who's built like a brick shit-house, crushes me into the boards. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, but even as I'm going down, I somehow know exactly where Jamie is. Pure instinct takes over, and I slide the puck through Morrison's legs in a perfecttape-to-tapepass.

When it hits Jamie's stick, it's like watching poetry in motion. He weaves through the Outlaws' defense and then dekes leftbeforeburying it, top shelf. The crowd explodes as he throws his arms up in victory.

Beforethinking about it, we're crashing together in celebration, and goddammit, even through the layers of pads and gear, the solid warmth of his body against mine feels like coming home. Our eyes meet through our visors, and his are sparkling with joy. We're both high on the thrill coursing through us and for just a moment, I forget why I'm supposed to be keeping my distance.

The goal breaks something loose, and we're back to playing on pure instinct, that magic connection humming between us like electricity. Jamie finds the back of the net twice more before the final buzzer goes: once off a no-look pass I thread through traffic, and again when Iwina battle along the boards and find him waiting right where I knew he'd be. It's a natural hat trick. The ice disappears under a shower of caps as the fans go crazy.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!"Coach Shaw beams in the locker room after our 4-2win."That's the chemistry we've been seeing in practice. Amazing team effort, but I think we can all agree that tonight,Chuckbelongs with none other thanJamiePirelli!"He tosses our mascot,Chuckthe stuffed sasquatch, over toJamie.

Jamie's grinlightsup hiswholeface as he catchesChuckand sets him on the top shelf of his stall."Thanks, guys. Let's keep doing it just like that!"His eyes are sparkling with victory when they meet mine, and he shoots me a quick wink.

That wink hits me like a shoulder right to the solar plexus. The genuine joy in his smile is contagious, and as the guys surround him, offering more congratulations and rehashing the best moments of the game, the force of my desire nearly knocks me over. But it's more than just physical--so much more. Jamie Pirelli may be the only person in the world who sees right through my thick walls of bullshit and recognizes thepersonbehind them. ThepersonI stopped believing I could be a long time ago.

Then Charlie crashes into him with a triumphant shout, and the moment shatters. But therealityhits me square in the face: we're perfect together on the ice.

And thatrealityonly twists the knife deeper when I remember all the reasons why we can't let that perfection spill over into the rest of our lives.