Page 6

Chapter 6

RYLAN

T he practice facility is packed, every seat filled with season ticket holders eager to get their first look at this year's team. Even the standing-room areas are crowded with fans, their phones out and ready to document every moment. The energy in the building reminds me of our championship season, full of hope and expectation.

I hate it.

Give me an empty rink any day with only the sound of blades on the ice, the thunk of pucks against boards, and the familiar rhythm of drills. But this circus of forced smiles and small talk? This is more like my own, personal version of hell.

"Look alive, Captain."Louis bumps my shoulder as we make our way onto the ice."Your face is doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That 'I'd rather be getting a root canal' thing."He grins, somehow already in performance mode. Lou's always been good at this part—the showmanship, the connecting with fans. Me… not so much.

I force my features into something resembling a smile, but Louis shakes his head."Maybe dial it back a notch. You've got a bit of a deranged serial killer look going on."

Before I can respond, a wave of cheers erupts from the crowd as Jamie Pirelli steps onto the ice, his whole face lighting up as he acknowledges the fans. He flips a puck over the glass to a kid in a Sasquatch jersey and one of the local network's cameras swings to capture the moment.

"He's good at this,"Louis observes.

I grunt in response, trying to focus on my warm-up stretches. But my eyes keep drifting back to Pirelli.

Nick used to thrive on stuff like this too. He was such an amazing talent that he had other kids coming to watch him play hockey by the time he was thirteen years old. I push the memory away and focus on Coach Shaw as he calls us to center ice.

"Alright, gentleman,"Travis says, his voice pitched low enough that the media can't pick it up."Let's show 'em what Sasquatch hockey looks like."

We break into drill groups, and I try to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of practice, but it's impossible to forget about the audience. Every time Jamie touches the puck, a ripple of excitement moves through the crowd. When he and I connect on aparticularlynice pass, the cheers are immediate. The media people are leaning forward, their cameras capturing everything.

"Looking good, boys!"Charlie calls after we score a beautiful goal on Louis. Jamie grins and raises his stick in a subtle acknowledgment to the fans who are cheering. It's kind of a perfect gesture: he connects with the crowd, but he doesn't disrupt practice. He'sclearlya natural at this kind of stuff. Yet another thing he has in common with my older brother.

"Collings."Coach Shaw's voice snaps me back to reality."Run that power play setup again."

I nod, grateful for something else to focus on. This is what I'm good at: the technical aspects of hockey, the precise execution of plays. Pirelli can handle the showmanship.

As we work through the drills, it's impossible not to see the way he elevates everyone around him. He's got Olivier Gagnon looking more confident already, setting up perfect one-timers for the rookie. The kid'spracticallyglowing under the positive attention.

"Pirelli's got good instincts,"Louis says during a water break, jerking his chin toward Jamie."And not only with the puck."

He's right. Jamie seems to knowexactlywhen to push the pace and when to dial it back. When to play it straight, and when to add a little flair for the fans. Even Austin's starting to thaw,especiallyafter Jamie sets him up for a booming slap shot that draws appreciative gasps from the crowd.

"Okay, we're going to wrap this up with some three-on-three,"Coach calls."Show them some real hockey."

As we line up for the scrimmage, Pirelli catches my eye. He's got a look on his face that makes my stomach flip."Ready to give them a show, Cap?"

I should say something professional about focusing on execution. Instead, I find myself caught in his gaze like a fly caught in a spider's web. The only difference is that I'm not sure I want to fight my way out of it.

When the scrimmage starts, everything else fades away. There's just the ice, the puck, and the impossible way Jamie Pirelli anticipates my every move. We're scoring on Lou almost at will, connecting on plays that shouldn't be possible for two players who've only been linemates for a few hours.

When Coach blows the whistle to end practice, the crowd erupts in genuine excitement. Jamie raises his stick to them again, that million-dollar smile lighting up his whole face. The cameras are eating it up, and I can hear the reporters already starting their commentary about our"explosive chemistry"on the ice.

"Good show, boys,"Travis says as we gather one last time."Hit the showers, then stick around for autographs and meet and greets. The PR team has everything set up in the lobby."

Jamie's already moving toward the boards, tossing more pucks to kids as he skates past. Every gesture looks genuine and unforced. Natural as breathing.

"Coming, Cap?"Louis asks, waiting at the bench.

I nod, squaring my shoulders. Time to put on the public face, and be the leader everyone expects. But as I follow my team into the locker room, I can't shake the feeling that Jamie Pirelli is about to complicate my life in ways that have nothing to do with hockey.

JAMIE

Most of the guys head right into the showers, but I take my time removing my gear. My hands are shaky as I unlace my skates, the post-practice high already fading as I think about the media scrum waiting for us.

In Florida, I learned the hard way that reporters aren't your friends. Fans are one thing, but reporters are vipers. No matter how casual they act, how much they smile and joke and act like they're your friend, they're always looking for an angle. And I've given them plenty of ammunition over the years.

Riley from the PR department pokes her head into the room."Hey, Pirelli? Media wants to talk to you and Collings about your chemistry out there today."

"Great."I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Riley's just doing her job.

"Don't worry,"she adds with a kind smile."Rylan's great with them. Follow his lead."

Speaking of our captain, he's ready to go, of course, dressed in his Sasquatch-branded workout gear. He looks more at ease than I've seen him all day. Not like he's about to walk into a nest of snipers.

"Ready?"he asks, stopping in front of my stall.

Not even close. But I nod, jamming my forest green Sasquatch ball cap on backwards over my wet hair. Itprobablymakes me look like some kind of punk kid, but whatever.

The media room is packed with way more reporters than I expected for a simple practice. Everyone wants their pound of flesh.

Rylan takes the center seat at the table with practiced ease. I settle beside him, trying to resist the urge to hide behind him. Bothliterallyandfiguratively.

"We'll start with local media,"Jared Dawson, the team's PR manager calls out, and the questions begin.

"Collings,"someone calls out."The team looked great today. How much of that is due to the new additions?"

"We're excited about the energy all our new players bring. Pirelli, in particular, has a creative playing style that complements our system well. But camp only started yesterday, we've got a lot of work ahead of us."

His answer is perfect: professional, inclusive, and measured. No headline-grabbing quotes, nothing that could be twisted out of context.

"Jamie."A sharp-featured woman in the front row fixes me with a predatory smile."Your departure from Florida was... controversial. Any response to Vladimir Belov's recent comments about team chemistry?"

My stomach churns. Of course they're bringing up Belov. That asshole got under my skin sobadlythat we ended up brawling in the locker room at the end of last season. The final straw? His disgusting"jokes"about me being HIV positive and leaving an at-home test kit in my stall. I don't believe being HIV positive is anything to be ashamed of, but it sure as fuck isn't a joke. In what was no surprise to anyone, the Jags PR team stayed quiet about the incident, allowing the media to invent their own stories of what caused the fight. Given my history, it was easy for them to make it all my fault in the court of public opinion. Earlier this week he tweeted something shitty about how much better Jaguars were"clicking"since the departure of certain former players,obviouslytargeteddirectlyat me.

Anger flares in my chest. My mouth opens, a sarcastic retort about Belov's own questionable"chemistry"with certain cocktail waitresses right on the tip of my tongue. It would feel so good to throw that hypocritical asshole under the bus...

But Rylan cuts insmoothlybefore I can speak.

"We're focused on moving forward,"he saysfirmly."Jamie's our teammate now, and he's already showing why our management was so eager to bring him to Seattle."

The tension drains from my shoulders as I realize what almost happened. One snippy comment and there'd be headlines about me being a bitter, vindictive ex-teammate. Fuck.

The reporter tries again. "But surely the concerns about—"

"Like I said,"Rylan interrupts, his tone pleasant but inviting no argument,"we're looking forward, not back. Next question?"

I shoot him a grateful look. He gives me the briefest nod, so subtle that I doubt anyone else notices, but it settles something in my chest. He has my back with the media… Like a team captain is supposed to… Huh. That's a nice change .

The questions continue about easier things like our new line combinations, and other expectations for the season. Rylan handles most of them, and his answers areconsistentlythoughtful but never reveal anything of substance. It's like watching a master class in media management.

"Jamie,"another reporter calls out."You and Rylan showed some serious chemistry during the scrimmage. Did you expect to click so fast with your new captain?"

This one I can handle."Honestly? No. That kind of connectionnormallytakes more time to develop. But Rylan's a great player, it makes it easy to read off him. The whole team's been very welcoming."

A different reporter tries to bait me again, but I'm ready for it this time."Jamie, how does it feel being in a more progressive locker room?"

"It's great. Like I said, the whole team has been very welcoming."

But this reporter isn't done."My next question is for Team Captain Collings: Since Pirelli joined the Sasquatch, has anyone expressed concerns about sharing facilities with—"

"We are done with that line of questioning."Rylan's voice cuts through the room like ice. His expression hasn't changed, but there's steel in his tone."This organization judges players on their hockey skills and their moral character, nothing else. Next?"

The rest of the media session passes in a blur. I focus on breathing, on keeping my expression neutral, and on not giving them anything they can use against me or the team. Rylan continues fielding most questions,occasionallysetting me up for safe responses about hockey-specific topics.

Finally, Jared calls time. As chairs scrape and reporters pack up their gear, I keep my ass parked, not quite trusting my legs yet. My hands are still trembling from the adrenaline ofnearlyfucking up again.

"You okay?"Rylan asksquietly, leaning closer so the lingering reporters can't hear.

"Yeah."I manage a weak smile, looking up to meet his concerned gaze."Thanks for the assist back there. I was about to open my mouth and make a nasty comment without thinking. You saved me from myself."

"That's what teammates do."His voice is soft, almost gentle, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. Our eyes lock, and that same electric current from the ice crackles between us. He looks away first, a flush creeping up his neck.

"The vultures aremostlygone,"Charlie announces, poking his head in."Coast is clear if you want to head out."

But Rylan's already moving toward the door."Come on, Pirelli,"he calls over his shoulder.

I haul my ass out of my chair and follow Rylan and Charlie into the locker room. I'm relieved that Rylan was there to prevent me from screwing up, but I'm also pretty damn dejected. Even now, in a new city with asupposedlyfresh start, everyone is still trying to define me by my sexuality first, my hockey second. It's depressing as fuck.

After gathering our stuff, the three of us head toward the players' exit when a tentative voice calls out,"Um, excuse me? Jamie Pirelli?"

I turn to find a teenager, maybe thirteen or fourteen, clutching a Sasquatch jersey from last season's Pride Night. The white fabric is covered in rainbow and trans pride pins, and there's a bisexual pride flag patchcarefullysewn onto one shoulder.

"Hey."I smile,genuinelythis time. Talking to young fans,especiallyqueer kids always gives me a boost.

"I just..."The kid twists the jersey between nervous fingers."I wanted to say thank you. For being out. It's so awesome to have a queer player on the Sasquatch! It means a lot to kids like me."

Beside me, Rylan goes very still.

"Thanks for telling me, Ireallyappreciate it."I reach for the jersey."Want me to sign this?"

The kid's face lights up."That would be amazing!"

While I'm signing, they tell me about playing for their local community team, and how their teammates have beensurprisinglycool since they came out as non-binary last year."My captain and our coach have been awesome. They shut down anyone who tried to give me crap."

"Sounds like you've got some good leadership on your team,"I say, glancing at Rylan, who's watching the interaction with an unreadable expression.

"The best."They clutch the signed jersey to their chest."Thank you so much!"

After they leave, Rylan, Charlie, and I walk toward the parking lot."That was brilliant,"Charlie says, his green eyes wide."Does that happen often?"

"More than you'd think,"I reply to Jamie while trying to read Rylan's expression. He's still silent."It's the best part of being out."

"Cool,"Charlie responds."Right, my car's over there, and I've gotta get home to let the new puppy out. Sandy's gonna murder my ass if that dog pisses on the carpet again. I'll catch you tomorrow, mates."He heads off in the direction of his car, leaving Rylan and me.

Rylan's still silent like he's deep in thought."That must feel good. Talking to kids like that,"he saysthoughtfully.

"Yeah, it does,"I say."It's easy to focus on the hard parts of being an out athlete, but most people don't think about the positive impact it makes on kids like that."I bump his shouldergentlywith mine as we reach our cars."Plus it feels fucking awesome when they tell you how much it means to them."

His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before he looks away."Yeah,"he sayssoftly.

"You good?" I ask, suddenly getting a strange vibe.

He shakes his head and looks around like he's trying to reorient himself or something.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll catch you tomorrow,"he says, and we each get into our cars.

I pull out first, and when I glance in my rearview mirror, he's sitting in his driver's seat, watching me, his expression thoughtful.