Page 48 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

GIDEON

Silas is in Coach’s office for way too long.

He’s still in there when I leave the trainer, after proudly showing off my miraculously healed knees.

When the trainer narrowed their eyes at me, reading me for the liar I am, I had to do a mad scramble for an explanation, and ended up mentioning Dr. Shelton’s diagnosis.

It was that or have them know that I’m lying.

Which means they’d either bench me for lying about an injury, which I have a history of, or do a deep dive into what I was really doing in that room.

He's still in Coach’s office when I get out of the showers and get dressed.

I wait for a while, but my nerves get the best of me, and I move to wait outside Coach’s office.

I’m bouncing my knee nervously, trying to come up with a legitimate reason to knock on the door, when finally it opens and Silas toddles out, still in his full gear.

He’s white as a sheet and looks like he might be sick.

Coach follows him out the door, reaching to shake Silas’ hand.

“Congratulations, son. Try to get me an answer by tonight, if you can.”

He nods, shell shocked, and turns to face me. If it’s possible, he actually gets paler .

“Shepherd!” Coach barks. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, nothing sir. I was just waiting for Silas.” Coach’s brow furrows. “I’m his ride,” I tack on, feeling like I need to explain further.

A few uncomfortable moments go by, where Coach’s gaze flicks back and forth between me and Silas. I realize too late that he’s probably waiting for us to move it along and stop blocking the door to his office.

Silas jumps like he’s been kicked, probably making the same realization that we’re making this weird, and starts shuffling towards the locker room. I turn to Coach and give him a respectful nod before turning to follow Silas.

When I get to the locker room, Silas is still in a daze. He takes off his shakes, pads, and under layers without saying a word. It’s not until he’s down to nothing but his compression shorts that he finally turns to face me. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it.

After he’s paced the length of our row of lockers twice, raking his hands through his already sweaty, wrecked hair, I stop him and pull him to me.

"Silas, baby, talk to me."

Coach didn't seem upset when Silas left his office. In fact, I'm almost positive I heard him offer some congratulations. What could be upsetting him this much?

I duck my head and put myself in his line of sight, catching his worried gaze.

"What's got you so upset?"

He swallows hard, throat working around whatever words he's struggling to get out. I watch his eyes fill, the soft hazel orbs glassy, blinking fast. He pulls back and picks up a folder from the bench and shows it to me .

"Coach got a call from Calgary today," he says finally, his voice hoarse. "They need a fill in, just for the rest of the season."

My stomach drops, like the floor just gave out under my feet, and I'm plummeting straight down.

Silas rambles, rushing out some of the details, but I have a hard time processing what he's saying. I nod along, because I can't speak.

"Temporary… Rest-of-season contract…Third line coverage… Injury… Three weeks. Eleven games…"

Calgary's first line center took a hard hit during one of their away games two nights ago.

We saw the playbacks—it was brutal. It's not surprising he’ll be out for the rest of the season, and that they'd need to restructure their lines.

But how did they land on Silas? He's a rookie player with decent stats despite playing for a team with a losing record, but nothing that would quite stand out to a scout or recruiter, I wouldn't think.

NHL teams usually call up players from their own AHL affiliate farm teams, it's unusual that they'd seek out an outside player.

Not that any of that matters. What matters is that he's holding a NHL contract in his hand. No matter how temporary it is, that's a big fucking deal. I should say something. This is amazing. I'm so proud of you. You deserve this. Any of those options would be welcome, and true.

But I can't get my mouth to form the words, or my voice to push past the sudden knot in my throat.

He looks down, like he might be ashamed when he should be proud. When his eyes meet mine again, I know what he's thinking. It's what I would be thinking. I don't want to leave . Not now. Not when everything finally feels right.

And, God forgive me, part of me wants to indulge those thoughts. To beg him to stay. To wrap my arms around him and keep him here. With me. But I can't do that. I can't be the reason he passes up a once in a lifetime opportunity.

So I swallow down the selfish parts of me and reach for his hands. They're balled into fists, but I force them open and slide our fingers together.

"You're going," I say quietly, firmly.

Silas shakes his head, eyes wide and panicked. "No. No, I can't. I can't leave you, and Adaline, and Lily. Not right now. Not when we just got to this good place. Our family matters more to me than warming a bench a hundred and fifty miles away."

"Silas. This opportunity, it's not something that is likely to happen again.

Even if you spend three weeks riding the bench, you'll still have a NHL contract under your belt.

That gives you leverage and clout. I guarantee you, at worst, you're looking forward to your first NHL affiliate contract and not just the one-season AHL contract you have now.

Not only that, but Silas, they had to seek you out for this.

Strings had to be pulled, contracts written, and a lot of money thrown around to specifically have you go to Calgary.

I don't think that's a coincidence, and I don't think they'd go through all that trouble to have you sit out the whole time. That means something."

"What I have here means more."

Huffing an exasperated laugh, I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight before taking his head in my hands and holding it so he has to look at me. "Don't be an idiot," I tell him.

He scowls, and I have to laugh, even though my chest hurts.

My instinct is to push him away, to make him want to leave me, to show him that I'm not worth risking everything for.

But we've come so far. We can't let something like our careers get in the way of what we have and will continue to build.

Every AHL player is here waiting for their chance to be called up, and here he's done one better.

"You know damn well that if it was the other way around, if I'd been called up for an opportunity as big as this one, you'd be shoving me onto that plane."

He hesitates. "That's different. It'd be more expected. You already have a contract."

The words sting more than I want them to.

Not because he's wrong. I do have a contract with a NHL affiliate.

But I'm still here, and I'm unlikely to be called up anytime soon, if ever.

With all the damage I've done to my team and reputation this season, I'll be lucky to still have a contract at all when it comes time to renegotiate.

"And I've screwed up my chances enough to know I'd never let you do the same," I tell him honestly.

His shoulders slump, like all the fight has bled out of him. I tilt his chin and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then lean into the space just beneath his ear.

"I'm proud of you," I whisper. "More than I can say. So fucking proud."

He buries his face in my neck, and I take a deep breath with the pressure of his arms banded around me, knowing I'll have to go without for a few weeks.

"It's just a few weeks," I say out loud. "We can handle that, right? And we have how long to prepare?"

"Just tonight. They want me to fly out tomorrow morning to meet the team for practice before their away game Saturday."

My heart clenches. So soon?

"Well we better make the most of it, then, yeah?"

Silas' voice is raw with exhaustion, eyes red-rimmed and blurry.

He's been on a brutal travel schedule, and just wrapped up back-to-back games, the second of which went into double overtime.

He called as soon as he got back to his hotel, not wanting to miss Addy's bedtime if he could help it.

Lily kept their chat brief, then handed her phone over to me to continue talking while she put Addy down.

Shoving a throw pillow beneath my head, I lean back and hold the phone above me. Maybe the visual of looking up at him will make him feel closer, and vice versa. But he doesn't seem to notice. He's just so tired.

"Go to sleep, baby. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

He makes a noncommittal grunt. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Go get some rest, I'm going to catch up on your game highlights."

"Ugh, no. Don't. Please."

"You don't want me to watch my NHL player boyfriend look all sexy on national television? As if."

He groans and wipes a hand heavily down his face. I drop my attempts to flirt and try to listen to whatever he wants to tell me.

"I'm botching it."

Poor guy. "You're not."

"You saw that first game, right? Ives texted me a picture of everyone huddled around the TV in the hotel lobby, so I know you and the whole rest of the team saw how badly I fucked my first big game."

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. Everyone knows that Landon would trip over his own skates and fall on his ass. And Valdez would chase the puck around like a golden retriever and end up giving it to the other team."

He scoffs, but I don't think the jokes are helping.

"You know what Dr. Shelton would say, don't you? She'd say that you're putting too much pressure on yourself to perform. Stop worrying about doing well and just play. It's what you were made to do, Silas. Playing hockey, and taking a cock, because no one takes a cock like you do."

That gets a small smile out of him, and my stomach unclenches a little. "Any cock?" he says, managing to pull some humor into his sleep weary tone.