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SIX

Noah

I’d been coming in around the back of the net, doing my best to try to sneak the puck past Dmitry, but he was too fast. One big skate came out to rest on the post, blocking the wrap-around attempt. Dmitry, then, fell on the puck, freezing it, and one of the refs blew the puck dead as the players on my gray team circled the net like sharks.

“Nice try, rookie,” the Russian called from behind his mask. The Railers emblems on his shiny mask reminded me I wasn’t dreaming. I was really here working my ass off trying to make the team. “Has your papa not told you that there is no slipping pucks on the sly past Russian goalies?”

He tossed the puck to a ref.

“He might have, but I figured you might be super tired from all the shots on goal we grays have been taking.”

That made the good-looking goalie laugh. “You worry over your tired. My tired is not so very tired,” he replied, his thick accent similar to my pops. “If you are not too sleepy after this, many few of us are going to race after lunch. Come with us. Then, I can block you in go-karts as well as on ice.”

“Sounds good,” I said, giving him a gloved hand to catcher bump, then skated to the bench. Coach Morin was watching me closely. Not just me, obviously, but all of us. Still, I felt as if his attention was locked on me as I took a seat between my wingers. I glanced at Blake, scrubbing his face with a towel. “You going to the go-kart thing after practice?”

“Yeah, it’s fun. And Coach suggested it as a bonding thing. You going?”

“I guess. I mean I feel like I should maybe spend more time on the ice. My speed sprints weren’t as good as I would have liked…”

“Gunny, seriously, your speed sprints blew ninety percent of us away.” I kind of liked how, after only one day, I had my official nickname. That made me feel as if I were part of the team, even though I could be sent down at any moment. “Coach said we should go, so go. You can sleep here on the bench tonight to make sure you’re here when they unlock the doors at six.”

I blushed. Okay, so yeah, I’d been here at six this morning to put in extra ice time before the rest of the guys arrived. Coach had arrived first, picking me out on the ice practicing one-timers. He’d not said anything—he wasn’t a big talker unless you fucked up, then he talked right into your face–but he took note. Dedication. That was what got you on the final roster.

Going the extra mile. Pushing harder than the other rookies. That would secure my spot. Not standing on the ice alone shooting pucks at the net while my mind drifted to the sounds Brody Vance had made when he came. Which was why the sound of frozen rubber hitting glass was so prevalent during my solo time. The man was in my head. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake him. Maybe an afternoon out with some of the Railers was what I needed. Just some fun. Simple, easy guy stuff.

“I would like to race against you as well,” Nikolai added after rinsing the lactic acid from his mouth, then spitting the rinse water into the air in an arc that almost hit one of the linesmen. “I see that maybe you drive like you check. Only little bumps in the backside.”

“Last I heard, you liked bumps in the backside,” Blake tossed out.

Nikolai snickered.

Okay, so the walls were dropping. Seemed at least one of my future teammates—think positive Dad always says—was a little queer?

“I am liking bumps in the backside just fine,” Nik replied as he slung his leg over the boards. “You should know this, yes?”

My eyes went wide. No shit, were these two getting it on?

“He’s talking shit. We never bumped backsides,” Blake said as we hit the ice. “He likes to stir the pot when he can. We went out one time. No sparks, decided to be buddies. I mean, dating your teammate is tricky. If you break up, there’s shit in the locker room.”

“Yeah, that would suck,” I concurred.

“Big time. So you racing?”

“I’ll be there.” I held out my fist.

Blake thumped it as we skated in for the faceoff. Which I won, handily. Not to brag but… yeah, I was bragging to myself. That was a killer skill to have, and the coaches were keeping track. I’d have to buy my dads an extra tie for Father’s Day for all the time spent on the ice honing that talent.

The scrimmage lasted for about forty-five minutes, the blues beating the grays by one goal. I’d done pretty well overall, I felt, so when I got called off the ice by Coach Morin, I went along, as did O’Leary. My nerves spiked a bit. Why was the captain needed in this talk? Shit, was I being sent down already?

“Nothing to worry over,” Jack whispered as we thunked our way down the cattle chute towards the offices. “Just some medical stuff.”

Oh, okay, yeah that tracked. We pushed into the team doctor’s office.

The doctor’s office felt cramped with everyone crammed inside—Coach Morin in a chair; Steve, team nutritionist extraordinaire, and Jack O’Leary, team captain and a role model of mine, leaning against the wall. We’d been called in for one of those meetings… the kind where people dissect my vulnerabilities due to diabetes. But I was used to this kind of scrutiny. It came with the territory, and honestly? I was good at handling it. If I made the team, there would also be a professional available to support me, but of course, that was an added cost to the Railers and might be the one thing that took me off their list. The team athletic trainer, Jordan Mahesh, was here, too, as was the team physician, Dr. John Tibel. I’d talked to the team doc online, but this was the first time we’d met in person. I shook everyone’s hands, then sat.

I leaned forward in my chair, trying not to fidget as all their eyes focused on me. I wasn’t nervous, but I didn’t want to come off as overconfident, either. I wasn’t on the team yet.

Steve adjusted his glasses, and his voice was calm and professional as he picked up the iPad, where the data from the continuous glucose monitor I wore was sent. The same information ruled my life—available on my phone and watch.

“Now, we’ve already talked at length, Noah, but for our records, you’re wearing a CGM on your chest during training, and I have the data here that looks good.”

“Thank you.”

“How has that been working out for you?” Dr. Tibel asked.

“It’s been… fine,” I said, patting where the disc sat beneath my shirt. “I’m used to a CGM—I’ve been wearing one for years. Switching to my chest has required some adjustment, but I’ve managed well. The readings have been quite accurate.”

“And you’re managing with injections instead of a pump.”

“Yeah, a pump would be dangerous. One hit, and it could stop working.”

He nodded, tapping a note. “Good call. How’s practice been? Any lows?”

I hesitated, glancing at Coach and Cap before answering. “I had a couple of warnings,” I admitted. “But I caught potential lows early. I’ve got gels and tabs on hand, and I’ve been careful to check my numbers regularly. I don’t want to be a liability out there.”

Cap raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed. “You’re not a liability, but if you’re on the ice and something happens, it affects the whole team.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said quickly, not wanting to sound defensive. “I’ve been managing diabetes for years. I’ve established routines. I understand my body, and I know how to handle it.”

Steve nodded. “Consistency is key—checking your levels before, during, and after practice, and ensuring you’re fueling properly.”

Cap’s smirk softened into something more encouraging. “You’ve got potential, rookie. Just focus on what you can control, and the rest will fall into place.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart raced. I wasn’t only proving myself to them—I was proving it to myself too. And while I wasn’t on the team yet, I knew I could earn that spot. I just had to show them.

When the med meeting was over I rushed to the locker room to shower, change, and meet up with the guys. They’d lingered in the hall, waiting for me, which made me feel pretty good. In a pack of about a dozen players—mostly single guys, as the married players were heading home—we made our way out of the players’ exit, waving at one of the security guys as we exited. The weather was warm. Fall wasn’t officially here yet, but you could see autumn in the shorter days of September.

We all piled into our cars. I dug inside my personal bag for a snack-size bag of assorted nuts to munch on. Settled behind the steering wheel, I cracked open a bottle of spring water, synced my phone to the stereo, and tore open the little green package of nuts. At the moment “No One Mourns the Wicked” blasted out of the speakers, I caught sight of a fire-red Maserati skidding into the parking lot. Whoever was behind the wheel was either super skilled or stupid ballsy. He slid sideways into a slot by the players’ entrance. Ooh, I was impressed. Not .

“Dumb ass showoff,” I mumbled as Glinda began to sing. Now, I couldn’t possibly hit the notes that Ariana did, but I gave it my best as I reversed out of my spot, my head filled with lyrics as I left the arena behind.

Krazy Karts HBG was one of my favorite places to hang out. Having lived in this area my whole life, I knew exactly where to go, so I arrived right behind the rowdy crew known as the Dirty Dozen. We joked around as we entered the indoor racetrack, teasing each other and calling each other out—just that kind of shit. The team had reserved the track for us for two hours of team bonding. Nothing communicates I-want-to-work-hard-alongside-you quite like crashing into your coworkers to cause them to wipe out.

The track was being readied for us, so we lingered in the lobby shooting the shit as guys do. Talk drifted from hockey to women to music. Blake, Nik, and I were standing by the front door beside a vast board with local events pinned to it when the door flew open, sending the pamphlets into a frenzy as a blast of warm air entered with a man in dark shades and a ballcap pulled low on his head. I gave him a quick glance, started to reply to something Blake said, and then, the realization of who was here hit me. It was his mouth. Those lips. I’d kissed those lips only a few days ago.

“Brody?” I choked out. He paused at the door, his gaze swinging my way as those lush lips of his flattened.

“I’m incognito,” he snapped, then moved inside, the door gliding shut behind him. We had a moment, and not one of those romantic, drawn-out lovers reunited moments. More like a what-the-fuck-do-I-say-now moment. “I went to the arena, but you’d left.”

“Dude, stalker much?” I asked.

My linemates had fallen silent.

“What?! I… no, of course not. Why would… please. No, I was just in the city and wanted to check in to see if you were okay.”

My brows knitted, and I moved closer and lowered my voice. “Seriously? What? You think that you’re so amazingly stunning that I would be lying in my bed crying into my pillow because we jerked each other off? You’re really not all that, Brody Vance.”

He really was all that. Totally all that and a box of thin mints. Fuck, now I wanted a mint chocolate chip milkshake. Brody was nothing but bad for me.

“Why don’t you just announce our shit to the world?!” he snapped.

“Fuck, I?—”

“I’m incognito,” he said under his breath and took off his glasses. Every hockey player in the waiting lounge gasped. Yeah, after dating Jemima Wren, he was that famous. And fuck me, just as gorgeous. “Did I not say that I wasn’t?—”

“Oh. My. God,” someone shouted—thankfully, not one of the team.

Two members of the go-kart staff rushed over to get selfies and autographs.

“Oh hey, how are you?”

I slunk off as Brody did the publicity stuff that he did so well. Smiling, charming everyone in the place, making people feel important when he didn’t give two shits about them; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so cold to them when they’d shared an intimate moment. Oh no, wait, it was only me he treated like a cold sore.

“Gunny, you feeling okay?” Blake asked as he and Nikolai joined me in the far corner.

“I’m good, just shocked to see someone I know here,” I lied, then felt bad about it.

“You know Brody Vance?” Nik asked, his eyes wide.

“Friend of a friend,” I dismissed.

“Mmmm Jemima Wren,” Nik added, “driver is big lucky.”

“So, how about we sign in for this karting.” I tried to move them along, because Brody didn’t want anyone to know he was into guys, and I didn’t want to do any more lying, so whatever. I’d cover his ass on that front even though I’d whispered some pretty personal crap a few minutes ago. And now I felt guilty. No one should be outed, no matter how bad they made you feel. Shit. Shit. Shit. Now, I had to fucking apologize to Brody.

“You two seemed very tense-filled,” Nik whispered as he glanced over Blake to glare at Brody. “Is there fiction between you two?”

“Friction, he means friction,” Blake explained when I shot Nik a confused glance.

“We just kind of know each other,” I lied, again. “Didn’t really hit it off. Nothing big.” I forced a smile that they accepted, mostly.

When the rush of people wanting to breathe the same air as Brody died down, he made his way to me. The hat now resting on some staff member’s head, his sunglasses tucked so debonairly into the V of his polo shirt. The dude looked like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ, and that irked me to no end. It also made my dick perk up, which irked me even more.

“They said they wouldn’t share photos for a while,” he said, as if that mattered to us. “And hey, I hope you don’t mind me showing up like that.” He was talking to me alone, when my linemates pulled a Homer Simpson melting into the bushes. Then, he lowered his voice. “I really wasn’t stalking you. I’d just had a rough moment back in… look… I don’t know why, but I found myself driving here.”

“Cool. Whatever. You do you, man.”

“I thought that we could maybe talk after we raced.”

Talk. What the—Wait. Racing? “Are you shitting me? You’re racing? Here? With us?”

“They all want me to.” He waved a hand at the rest of the Railers, staring at him as if he were some godhead. “I can see that you’re not feeling that so?—”

“No, hey, I would love to race you.” What kind of jerk would I be to deny the guys the chance to race a Formula One legend? Or, more importantly, to Nik, someone who’d had sex with Jemima Wren. I waited as he processed. He seemed unsure of… well, everything. That uncertainty made him seem a little less asshole and a little more human. Just a little. Like the size of a dust mote.

“Okay. That’s fun.” He pushed out. The man looked as if he were about to have a dental extraction without any laughing gas. I felt that way too, so we did have that in common.

“Cool. Yeah. Fun.”

So very not.