Page 47 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

He cuts his eyes away, weighing his words.

Blowing out a breath, he turns his concerned blue gaze on me.

“It’s just… Lily is such a ni ce person.

And he’s her brother. I don’t want to see anyone hurt, but especially not her.

And baby Adaline,” he says, his accent curls around her name, making it sound like she’s some kind of princess. Which she kind of is, to us, at least.

I sigh a breath of relief when I realize that Ives’ issue isn’t with us, it’s that he thinks we’re cheating on my wife.

Which is what everyone is going to think.

I bite my lip and make plans to tell Gideon we have to be more careful.

When it was just about our relationship together, I don’t think I really cared if it got out.

But having people think I’m running around on the most amazing woman in the world doesn’t sit right. We need to come up with a plan.

“Lily knows,” I tell him quietly. “It’s okay. She and I… We’re married, but it’s not real.”

His brow furrows for a moment, but then his eyes widen. “Ah!” He says, sounding very French. “A lavender marriage, then?”

“A what?”

Thomas Valdez chooses that moment to walk in on our conversation. Plopping his bag down on the bench between us. He grins happily, completely oblivious that he’s interjecting into a very private conversation.

“It’s when a straight person and a gay person get married, right? Like a beard?”

Ives and I both freeze. His eyes try to convey an apology, but I shake my head slightly, hoping that Valdez will move on to the next topic.

But Valdez, as happy-go-lucky as he is, is more observant than I thought he was. Because he looks back and forth at me, then Ives, then me again, then behind me. I look over my shoulder to find Gideon watching. He smiles when I catch his eye.

I look away quickly, trying to hide the automatic smile that wants to stretch across my face. My cheeks heat.

We’re so screwed.

Tentatively cutting my eyes over to Valdez, I watch his face cycle through a myriad of expressions as he processes what he thinks he heard and what he definitely saw. He settles on a wide-eyed, open-mouthed grin.

“No shit!”

Ives and I hurry to shush him.

“Sorry, sorry. We’re all good. I’m not about to out your shit, man.”

The rest of practice has me on edge, but also riding a high that doesn’t make sense. How can we go from being two repressed, closeted, pining wrecks to making eyes at each other across practice and having our friends notice and grin about it? Fucking Tim Landon even catches on!

We’re screwed. But I can’t stop myself from watching him, catching his eye, shivering when he brushes by me, either purposefully or not.

I can’t help it though. I’m so happy. Content.

Life is perfect.

Perfect can only last for so long, of course.

“Caldwell! My office!”

Shit.

I can’t imagine why Coach wants to see me. The team is on a winning streak, including the week of away games we played last week. We annihilated Abbotsford on Tuesday, and we’re feeling confident about hosting Dallas tonight.

Unless…

I told Gideon we need to be more careful.

Now that a handful of our teammates know about us, and we’ve stopped trying to make it less obvious, there’s going to be more attention paid to our comings and goings.

We can’t be sneaking into offices and utility rooms to make out, or getting off in the showers just because we think the rest of the team has left.

We almost got caught after the game Tuesday, when one of the team trainers heard me moaning and came to check who was in so much pain they could be heard outside the training room.

I had just enough time to fall to my stomach, and on top of my very erect, very exposed dick, and roll behind the tub we use for ice baths.

Gideon had to make up some shit about his knees hurting and got put on the watch list for tonight’s game.

He might actually miss out on ice time because he couldn’t wait until we got home to get my dick in his mouth.

Shit. That has to be it. I told Gideon there’s likely to be more attention on us, and there might be cameras that we aren’t aware of.

He keeps telling me I’m paranoid, but look at me now, clunking my way to Coach’s office before I can even get my skates off.

I’m overthinking everything, wondering why Gideon isn’t walking down this hallway with me.

Instead, he’s in line to check in with the trainers about his knee, eyeing me curiously.

All I can do is shrug and try not to look like I want to vomit.

I’m still turned around, having a silent but panicked conversation with Gideon, not paying attention to where I’m going. Coach stops to unlock his office door, and I run right into him, pushing him face first into the door.

“Shit. Sorry, sir.”

“Jesus, Caldwell, what are you doing?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry,” I repeat.

Coach Dempsey eyes me like I’ve grown another head. “Why are you nipping at my heels?”

“You… You called me to your office, sir.”

“Yes. After you change out. Get your pads and skates off first.” He shakes his head, completely at a loss for why I’m in front of him right now.

“You sounded mad.”

“Caldwell, you’ve been here for almost an entire season.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s just what my voice sounds like. You think you’d have figured that out.”

That’s true. Ugh. I’m making a complete ass of myself.

“Sorry, sir. I’ll, uh, go get changed.”

“Well, you’re here now. Just, uh… stand over there,” he says, gesturing behind the two chairs in front of his desk. I wouldn’t fit in them with my pads, of course. Ugh, I’m so stupid.

Coach goes behind his desk and rifles through a file drawer. He finds what he’s looking for and turns back to me, once again looking at me like there’s something wrong.

I’m about to get reamed. Probably fired. I’m going to get a bad reputation and probably won’t ever play professional hockey again. Gideon will be next. He’ll hate me again if he loses this.

“Why do you look like you’re about to vomit all over my carpet, Caldwell?”

I close my mouth, rolling my lips together so I don’t start word vomiting everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life .

“What do you think you’re here for, Silas?”

His use of my first name, paired with the softer tone of his voice, is somehow more jarring than if he were yelling, and has me looking up to meet his eyes. His forehead is wrinkled, eyes narrowed in what looks like a mix between concern and amusement.

Now I’m confused, but feeling a little less like I’m about to be shitcanned. “Am I in trouble, sir?”

“Have you done something to warrant getting in trouble?”

Uhhhh… “No?” I cringe when it comes out sounding more like a question than an answer, and I blatantly avoid eye contact.

Coach Dempsey snorts a laugh. “Alright, I don’t want to know,” he says, holding up the folder to indicate that we’re moving on. I breathe a sigh of relief and accept the folder when he holds it out to me.

The front cover has the logo for the Calgary Flames embossed in the center.

“I got a call this morning…”