Page 32

Nicko, February 1st

W e continue to play insanely good hockey. Sometimes our goals are nothing but sheer luck, and at other times our line works like a well-oiled clock. Despite the success, I miss the natural click I felt when sharing the ice with Xander. Instead, Kristiansson, Zollweg and I usually stay for an extra hour of passing and shooting drills after Coach is done busting our asses in training.

Since football season is over, Micah has fully taken over our kitchen, feeding us with healthy carbs and lean proteins, which has done a lot to bring my weight back up. Well, that and the candy bars I stuff my face with during classes. But due to regular morning runs and extra gym sessions with Sasha, my stomach still feels constantly empty.

Just like my inbox.

It doesn’t matter that we have raked up more wins over the past weeks, there’s still no word back from the Rebels. I’m tempted to reach out to my dad and ask if he has heard any buzz about them dropping me, but I don’t want to act out Xander’s nepo-baby prejudices.

“You could ask Hart if he has received his contract already,” Linden points out when I confide in him one evening.

“Nooo,” I whine as I let myself fall back onto the carpet of our living room floor, then slowly roll onto my belly to start my stretching routine. “He’ll know that I have absolutely nothing then.”

“So?” Linden frowns at me over the top of his biology book. “If the Rebels don’t plan on signing you, he’ll find out anyway once training camp starts.”

“I knoooow, but I don’t want to see his stupid smug grin when asking him about it.”

Linden huffs out a laugh at that, then shakes his head at me. “I thought you guys were getting along after spending Christmas together.”

I think of how Xander sucked me off in the guest room, swallowing my release as I buried my fingers in his hair.

“We’re not.”

“But you message each other now.”

That is technically true, but our exchange is strictly game-day related. Basically, we’re telling each other what plays we fucked up. We also have an ongoing argument about dog breeds and what kind of puppy we would get if we had the chance. Xander is dead set on a pit bull even though a Chihuahua would clearly be the better fit for him.

If the Rebels won’t sign me, I can beat him to getting a dog at least.

***

We're going to leave for two away games on Saturday morning, so I have some extra time to attend Nate’s home game on Thursday night. Depending on our team’s position in the conference, we usually stop that routine when it gets into the final phase of the season. The Bats’ and Badgers’ hockey teams have been friendly enough over the past few years, but even the tightest friendship ends when there’s a chance of making it to the Frozen Four.

The Bats step on the ice with the shattered confidence resulting from a last-minute loss on Tuesday, falling into a defensive position right from the get-go. I really want them to put an end to their downward spiral. My reasoning is not purely altruistic: If they beat Maine, we might be able to advance past them on Saturday.

“Come on, Nate!” I pound my fist against the plexiglass when my twin skates toward the tunnel after the first period. Instead of my brother, number 48 stops in front of me, raising one brow.

I still hate how he’s able to do that.

“What are you doing here?” Hart asks as his teammates pass him on their way to the locker room.

“Just witnessing another of your downfalls,” I answer casually, a small grin tugging on my lips. “Did you fuck up your Wordle today, or what is this shitshow?”

Xander rolls his eyes at me, ready to follow his team, but I stop him with another punch against the glass divider.

“Wait! For real now: You have to focus on the left blueliner. He’s hurt or something. He always turns away from the hit.”

“Thank you, Coach Van der Hoff, but we actually reviewed a lot of tape and–”

“That’s not something you see on tape, Xander, come on now! I think Nate got him good with his check. If he’s not taken out, you need to bring the pressure onto his side.”

Xander cocks his head at me, squinting. “That’s a pretty shitty move, Hoff.”

“It’s called hockey. You won’t get any points for being holier than Maine.”

“And you won’t get a chance to advance past them if we lose tonight.”

I shrug at his conclusion, grabbing a handful of popcorn as I settle back into my seat. “Never claimed to be on your side, Xanxan.”

I don’t know what the coaching staff did to convince the Mother Teresa of hockey, but a few minutes into the second period Xander checks the left defender into the boards with absolutely zero reservations. I wince in sympathy, although the sentiment is short-lived when Nate gets the puck, hammering it toward the net. It rebounds from the pipe, but it finally breaks the spell.

With one minute left on the clock for the second period, the Bats swap their first line in again. Maine’s center fucks up a pass, and the puck hits Nate’s tape instead. He sends the rubber disc flying to Xander, who breaks off in a mad dash.

The Maine defense is closing in on him immediately, Nate and Baker too far away for a passing opportunity.

I bite down hard on my thumb as I balance on the edge of my seat. A risk-averse player like Xander is not going to make a shot from this position, but he’s about to lose the puck and–

“SHOOT! Shoot, godfuckingdamnit, SHOOT!”

There’s no way Xander heard me over the noise of the crowd, but the moment the words leave my mouth he lifts his stick and slaps the puck, with no finesse and a lot of raw force. The buzzer goes off and the dark green corner around me explodes.

For a moment, Xander looks completely befuddled by his own goal. He just stands there, stick held loosely in his right hand, staring at the net, as his teammates swarm him with hugs and shoulder pats.

I laugh, surprised and still in disbelief when he skates over to me, pounding his fist against the plexiglass.

“Today’s Wordle,” he calls out, his voice muffled by the mouthguard, “was SCORE!”

I snort when he takes a few strides back and has the audacity to point his fucking stick right at me.

***

The third period drags on like cold molasses. The game is only playing out between the blue lines, with the Bats fiercely defending their lead while Maine presses on with all they got. In the end, St. Bernard’s takes it home. It’s not a pretty win, but it’s worth two points.

I wait in the parking lot for Nate when Xander slides into the passenger seat of my car.

“Sure, make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I snort.

“Nate’s gonna get out in a minute anyways,” Xander tells me, stretching out his long legs with a comfortable sigh.

I look over to my brother who is stuffing both of their duffel bags into the trunk.

“Yup. Party at the Delta’s house. I would ask you to come but I know–”

I wave him off before he can finish that sentence. For my last semester I have a full schedule on Friday mornings.

“Go easy on the drinks!” Xander calls after my brother when Nate exits the car a moment later.

My brother gives him a mock-salute, then tracks up the lawn to the frat house. Silence falls over us like a heavy curtain while we watch him disappear into the building.

I bite the inside of my cheek, realizing this is the first time Xander and I are alone since Christmas break. Somehow the string of DMs we exchanged over the past few weeks feels meaningless now, neither of us getting a word out.

“Do you know how to get back to the dorms from here?” he asks the moment I put the car in reverse. His voice is scratchy, probably from bossing his teammates around on the ice. Yet it reminds me of his husky moans when I entered him from behind.

“Yes,” I murmur, then clear my throat to repeat louder, “ Yes .”

“Good.”

The answer is curt and sharp, a verbal piece of broken glass. Xander’s head is turned away from me as I navigate the dark streets of St. Bernard’s Campus. Every time he shifts in his seat, a whiff of his shampoo fills the air. For some reason, the soft citrusy smell always takes me back to that bus ride after the game against the Grizzlies.

“Can I ask you something?”

I blink myself back into reality, then roll my eyes at him.

“Why do you always say that before your actual question?” I huff as I stop at an intersection to let a group of students cross the street. One of the girls is swaying dangerously, although I’m not sure if the cause is alcohol or the heels she’s wearing.

“It’s polite not to jump people out of the blue. Usually you would answer with, Yes, of course, and then a conversation could ensue,” he explains with the patience of a middle school teacher.

That tone ticks me off every fucking time. For the sake of my emotional stability, it should be punishable to be infuriating and hot at the same time. So I won’t be trapped between wanting to push him out of the car or pull his pants down.

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re a total brat, Hoff.”

“No, I just think it’s funny how you prepare me for your questions, then jump me without warning in a forest.”

Xander coughs in surprise, finally turning toward me. “Don’t make it sound like you didn’t want it.”

I press my lips together to prevent myself from answering. The sad truth is, I would drive us right back to that forest so it could all happen again. Whatever he started when he barged into our locker room—maybe even with that kiss at the Halloween party—has not gotten out of my system yet. Even with hockey fully taking over my life again, those memories are my favorite shower entertainment.

“Why didn’t you come to St. Bernard’s?”

“What?” No polite prelude could have prepared me for that question.

There’s a honk from an upcoming car behind us. We’re still standing at the intersection, which has been completely empty for a while now.

“It would have made sense, right? Nate and you playing together. You visit his games; he calls you every day. You could have even roomed together.”

“We could have roomed together anyways, but Nate decided he’d rather stay on campus,” I remind him, a note of bitterness in my voice. My roommates can be nosey fuckers that have problems respecting boundaries or cleaning schedules, but they have also become my closest friends. Yet I fully expected Nate to move into the Nook with us when Linden and I got that offer. Instead, he decided to stay with Xander.

“Living in the dorms is cheaper,” he points out with a frown, like that was a factor Nate would have seriously considered.

“Yeah, and you are there.”

Xander raises a brow at me, then tilts his head. “Is that why you didn’t go to St. Bernard’s? Because I am here?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Jesus fuck, Xanxan, keep that ego in check. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“True, since it’s too busy rotating around your knee instead.”

I take the next turn to maneuver my car into the parking lot of Xander’s dorm. Once I switch the engine off, the interior light turns on, illuminating his handsome face. There’s a small smile playing around his lips that takes the sting out of his words.

I narrow my eyes at him anyway. “Asshole. You might have not been the reason why I didn’t go to St. Bernard’s, but you could still be the reason I’ll go to jail.”

Xander waves me off, but makes no move to get out of the car. “So? If it wasn’t me, what was it then?”

I gnaw on my lip. He’s not wrong to pose that question.

“Do you know that we would have been roommates in freshman year?”

“What?! No!” Hart gapes at me, and I laugh at the way his eyes widen in shock. His face is incredibly animated when he isn’t trying to uphold The Responsibility.

“Yes. Hoff came after Hart; there was no one in between,” I explain with an amused chuckle. My fingers trace the outline of the car key as I’m trying to decide if I will give him the whole truth.

“But Nathaniel is before Nicholas.”

“Administration didn’t want us to room together. They probably thought it would stop us from socializing.”

“Clearly they didn’t know Nate then.”

I snort at Hart’s comment. My brother probably met more people in his first semester of college than I would want to engage with in my whole life.

“No, clearly they did not. They originally intended to pair him up with a footballer who left in the first week. Hancock, I think? And I got Hart, Alexander.”

Xander scrunches up his nose at the sound of his full name. “So I was the reason,” he insists after a moment of silence. The interior lights have switched off again, leaving us in complete darkness.

“Still with the big ego.”

“Well?”

I sigh when he presses on, closing my eyes for a moment. I wasted a lot of time picturing how the past years would have unfolded had I made a different decision. Playing for the Bats, I might have never suffered last year’s injury because I wouldn’t have been on the ice on that specific night. Instead, I might have sat in jail for smothering Xander in his sleep during our first semester.

Or we could have actually become friends, and that fucking interview would have never happened. But then he would have probably found something else to bitch about.

We also would have played together, and that thought is enough to make my stomach flip.

“My mom thought it wouldn’t be good for Nate’s career if he kept playing on a team with me,” I tell him reluctantly.

“What?! Did she say that to you?”

I squirm in my seat, my gaze wandering outside. A small group of students passes our car, fully clad in forest green and carrying a banner. When they step into the shine of a streetlamp, I can make out the bat displayed on it, wings spread wide and yellow eyes gleaming maliciously.

“Nicko?” Xander probes, his voice unexpectedly soft. I instantly think back on the way he helped me up the stairs of this dorm, calming me down when I freaked out over my knee. In hindsight, my reaction makes me want to hide under the seat.

“No.” I take a deep breath, then push out the rest: “I overheard her talking to Nate one evening. About how he had to develop his own game and stop letting me–”

“Overshadow his play?”

My head snaps up when he repeats the exact same words my mother used.

Xander snorts at my reaction. “Come on, Nicko, no reason to beat around the bush. Everyone knows you’re the better hockey player. Nate knows you’re the better hockey player.”

“Feels wrong to say it,” I murmur. I have no trouble chirping on the ice and smack-talking Xander specifically, but when comparing Nate’s and my game, I always feel like I took something from him.

“It’s just a fact. You’re the better hockey player; he’s the better person.”

“Do you sweet-talk all your hookups like that?”

Silence falls over us while my words hang in the air, big and suffocating. Way to prove that I haven’t gotten him out of my system. Not when every time he moves, a whiff of that damned citrus smell conjures a personal highlight-reel of our Christmas break. I swear the interior of the car has gotten about twenty degrees hotter, and I wish he would get out already.

“Just the ones I can’t stand,” Xander finally responds. His voice is barely above a whisper now, amusement laced through his words.

When I don’t have anything to say in return, he reaches over the console, a hand coming to rest on my bad knee. He squeezes gently, and I hold my breath. All our touches so far have been pulls and shoves, either angry or needy, but always impatient, always rushed. He has never put his hand on me in this careful manner, at least not when he was fully aware of my identity.

“So you thought you would achieve what exactly? Give Nate room to develop as a player? Spare him the direct comparison to you?”

“Something like that,” I grumble. I can’t think with his hand on my knee, not when I’m so laser focused on keeping still while a soft warmth spreads up my right thigh.

“And I guess you didn't consult him before making that decision?”

“No.”

“Obviously not, because why would you?”

My sight has gotten used to the dark, so I’m very aware of him rolling his eyes at me. “There are no creative writing or literature classes at Bonham Tech. He couldn’t have just gone there; he would have had to choose a college out of town,” I explain as I let my hands sink into my lap. My fingers are still wrapped tightly around the keychain so I won’t get tempted to reach for him.

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Xander concludes after a moment, his brows drawn together. Usually that is enough to set me off, but right now it only makes me want to smooth out his forehead with my fingertips.

“No, he wouldn’t have done that to me,” I croak out. Nate has always been way more independent than me. He would have easily thrived a thousand miles away from Bonham. But he would have never left me behind.

“So if I didn’t want to fuck things up for him, that was the only solution. And look at him now! He’s going to be with the Pioneers next season, while I–” I clamp my mouth shut just in time, before more truths tumble out.

Xander gives me a funny look, then opens his own mouth only to close it again. Neither of us says anything for a while, but he also doesn’t pull his hand back. It’s still resting on my knee, his thumb rubbing a small circle onto my sweatpants. The look in his eyes is absent, so I’m not sure he realizes what he’s doing.

“Have you ever thought about how it could have been? Us playing together, I mean,” he wonders aloud, and I swallow hard, because after playing two games with him, it’s the one scenario I can’t get over. Well, that and a few other ones, with significantly less clothing involved.

“No,” I tell him, because it’s the reasonable thing to do, but he laughs, rough and deep and rich.

“Liar.”

“I would have probably tried to kill you.”

“Yes, but after that we would have gone on to win the Frozen Four.”

The idea is absolutely outlandish, but I still find myself smiling. “Ridiculous.”

“Maybe…” Xander hums and leans forward, his upper body so close now the air turns static between us, “...we will move on to win other great things next season. Like the Stanley Cu–”

I do the only sensible thing and grab him by the collar of his team jacket. The hopefulness of his words clashes with the thought of my empty inbox. At this point, we might very well not play a single game together again, even when he just stroked my ego. But if there’s the slightest chance of it happening, I really don’t want him to jinx it.

Xander lets out a surprised yelp as I pull him in, the sound swallowed by my lips. His hand has left my knee so he can steady himself on the seat as he leans further over the console. His mouth is just as greedy as mine, his tongue tracing over my lips before entering.

I’m blindly feeling around for the zipper of his jacket, my mind racing with how easily we can get into the backseat, when he suddenly breaks the contact.

At first, I figure he’s getting into a better position, but when my body instinctively chases his, he stops me with a flat hand to my chest.

“No, Nicko,” he breathes, and I blink.

“No?” I echo in confusion. He was kissing me back a moment ago, coming onto me in the forest, and seeking me out the night before we left for school again, so I definitely didn’t expect to be turned down.

“You wanted to get me out of your system over Christmas. If we’re going to continue this, you have to buy me a drink first.”

“Buy you a drink,” I repeat, dumbfounded. That sounds suspiciously like a date, and something inside me recoils at the mere thought, my pulse spiking like I’m a rabbit getting chased by a fox. I only now realize that my hands are still hovering in the space between us, trembling slightly.

“Yes, buy me a drink, maybe even with dinner,” Xanders nods, as he takes both of my hands in his, squeezing them. “I didn’t say come out in public or propose to me. Just spend some alone time with me before trying to get into my pants again.”

He winks at me, and I huff out a short laugh.

“I don’t even know if I like you.”

“Same. But now that I want to punch you less often, I’d like to find out if I could. We’re going to play together in the fall, and I want to know more about you than your hockey stats and what your cum tastes like.” Xander smiles carefully at me, and I close my eyes to mull the words over in my head.

His hands are still wrapped around my own as I think of the past weeks. The way his warm body engulfed me after he literally blew my mind on the last day of our break. The spark I felt when he pointed his fucking stick at me after scoring just an hour ago. He still ticks me off with his know-it-all attitude and judgmental looks, but I can’t deny the goosebumps his touch leaves on my skin, the flutter in my chest when I remember the way he picked me up like I weighed nothing.

“Fine. Let me buy you a drink then.”

“Tsk. If that’s how you approach other people, I can see why Nate worries about your love life, Hoff.”

“Ugh!” I throw my head back to stare at the ceiling of my car, then take a deep breath for extra courage. Of course, he had to pick this moment to remind me of why I hate him.

“Let me take you out for drinks and dinner, please? ”

When my eyes meet his again, there’s a soft smile dancing around the corners of his lips, his hands pulling me close until our foreheads lean together.

“Yes. Now, is there a graceful way to get into the backseat?” he asks mischievously, and I snort in surprise.

“I thought you wanted me to buy you a drink first?”

Xander’s hands cradle my jaw, his hot breath tickling my skin as he peppers my face with kisses.

“The promise will have to do, for now.”