Dedication

To my Uncle John. I think you would have liked this one (even if I suppose you would have been a Blackhawks fan, if you were into hockey). You were a wonderful example of being unafraid to be yourself, and wherever you are, I hope you know that you inspired me to do the same. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re the one family member that would actually enjoy reading my books :) I love you and miss you, and think of you whenever I see Garfield the Cat. <3

Chapter One

Nick Miles stood in the back of the locker room, quiet amidst the flashing lights and the barrage of media all talking over each other. They were asking essentially the same question: How do you feel about the trade, just phrased in different ways. They were focusing on Everett Sparrow, the top forward for the Buffalo Knights, who’d just been traded to the Philadelphia Foxes two hours before the trade deadline.

Nick was only in the locker room because he’d been called up from the Knights’ AHL affiliate in Rochester, where he’d been spending most of the season. He’d only played in the game tonight because one of the Knights’ defensemen had the flu. It was very likely the media didn’t even know who he was, much less that he, too, was part of the same trade.

Nick felt stupid standing in the background, but he also didn’t think he should slink off and hide. What if Sparrow tried to say something to him and Nick wasn’t there? But it was hard to listen to Sparrow try and act like he wasn’t completely devastated. He’d been a staple of the Knights’ offense for years, and a big reason why the team was almost assuredly playoff-bound.

Why he’d been traded was a mystery to Nick. He didn’t think Sparrow’s contract was up yet, and while Nick had been called up for a few games this season, it wasn’t enough to get a sense of whether Sparrow was unpopular or a problem in the locker room. Sparrow never really paid much attention to Nick, but guys like Sparrow – big-name players whose name and number adorned the backs of quite a few fans – usually didn’t. Most of the Knights were friendly enough to players like Nick, who rotated in and out of the lineup when one of the key guys was out. Nick didn’t take it personally. They were the same way on the Barons whenever a guy from their ECHL team, the Princes, showed up to take someone’s spot for a night or two.

The Knights got a goaltender and some draft picks for Sparrow and Nick. They were already leading the league in scoring and had quite a bit offensive depth; apparently, they thought it more important to have a reliable backup goalie for the playoffs.

It was just how hockey worked. But Nick felt bad for Sparrow as he watched the media close in, scenting blood. They knew he was upset, and they wanted him to admit it. It was a better story than the usual, “I’m excited for new opportunities but will miss my teammates and the fans here in so-and-so.” Nick shifted on his feet, wishing he could do something, but he might as well have been a non-entity for all the press was concerned.

Well, one of the reporters from HockeyTalk.com was giving him the eye but not to interview. Nick tried not to blush or make eye contact. He was terrible with girls, which made it a good thing he didn’t want to sleep with them.

He’d tried a few times, back in juniors and when he was consistently with the Barons. Nick was never sure enough of his status on the team or in the locker room to know if it would be a big deal or not if he came out. Last season, he’d been a starting defensemen for the Barons, but he still hadn’t said anything to his teammates. It wasn’t like he was dating anyone. He spent most of his time either on the ice, napping, at the gym, or traveling between Rochester and Buffalo. Not a lot of time to have a relationship.

And now he was going to Philadelphia to play for the Foxes. Maybe that was the reason Sparrow was so upset, and if it was, Nick couldn’t blame him. The Foxes were awful, very likely out of playoff contention and making trades to build a better team for the following season. Nick might have played in the playoffs if one of the key guys on the Knights was out, but it hadn’t been a sure thing. Sparrow, however? Yeah. That must suck.

The media finally left when it was apparent they weren’t going to get any expletives or tears out of Sparrow. When they were gone, the silence hung heavy, and Nick realized it was just the two of them left in the room.

Sparrow blinked rapidly as he met Nick’s gaze. His eyes were red, but he didn’t say anything.

Nick didn’t know what to say, either, so he just stared back.

“First trade?” Sparrow asked, his voice a little unsteady.

Nick nodded. “Yeah.”

“See it coming?”

Nick shook his head no.

“Me neither.” Sparrow looked down at his hands, which were clenched into fists, for a minute. He swore softly. “Guess we better clean out our lockers.”

“Guess so,” said Nick.

They worked in silence, throwing gear into bags and carefully stowing personal good-luck tokens. Nick had a stall with his name on it, but one where player nameplates were printed out on a computer and could be removed easily. Sparrow’s wasn’t the same kind of locker, because he wasn’t the same kind of player.

Nick pulled his gloves on and pulled the hood of his winter jacket up over his head. He was used to the cold by now, and wished that if he had to be traded to a terrible team, it could have least been one located somewhere warm.

They headed out to the parking lot. It was too cold for anyone to be lingering around in an attempt to get a player’s attention. The snow danced in the light of the few lampposts, covering the few remaining cars – including Nick’s. Nick had to drive back to Rochester and be ready to leave for Philly in two days. He had no idea if he’d be playing for Foxes or their AHL team, which was in Lehigh Valley. Sparrow would be with the Foxes, no question.

Nick stopped as Sparrow went to get into his Escalade, which he’d somehow remote started the second they got out of the building. Nick drove a 2002 Ford Focus and was lucky if it started when the key was in the ignition.

“So, uh,” Nick said, not wanting to just walk off but still as uncertain as he’d been in the locker room about what to say. “See you in Philly, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Sparrow muttered, yanking the door to his luxury SUV open with too much force. “See you in Philly, kid.”

Nick managed to get his own car door open, grabbed his ice scraper, and turned the car on so he could blast the heat. He watched Sparrow drive away, leaving tire tracks in the snow.

***

A few days later, when Nick was halfway to Philly, his agent, John, called to tell him he’d been given a spot on the Foxes’ roster and wouldn’t have to turn around and head to the minor-league Cubs in Lehigh. That was a relief. He was tired of driving. A sign of just how tired he was? Learning he’d made an NHL team roster merely made him smile. He knew John would call his parents, who would be thrilled. Maybe not as thrilled as they were when Nick’s brother, Jacob, got a spot on the hometown Winnipeg Aces, but still.

Nick’s brother had been the kind of player who was drafted at eighteen in the first round and went on to play in the NHL without a single minute played in the minors. All the firsts had gone to him – first juniors’ championship, first draft day, first time playing in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Jacob had been in the running for the Calder trophy for the league’s best rookie his first year, though he’d lost out to a guy from the Washington Centurions. Nick loved his brother a lot, but he was determined to be the first Miles brother to win the Stanley Cup. Except now that he was on a team in the basement of the Metropolitan Division, it might be a little while.

The idea that he was an honest-to-Gretzky NHL player started to sink in the closer he got to Philly. Nick would have his own locker and everything. The thought cheered him, and – along with a stop for coffee and a donut – helped the last hour of his five-hour drive fly by.

His phone chimed a few times, both with text messages and a missed call he’d bet was from his parents. But he needed to get to the arena in a hurry so he wasn’t late to meet the coach. Nick wondered if Sparrow was as happy about being here as he was. Probably not.

It wasn’t quite as snowy in Philly, but it was just as cold. Nick parked and made his way inside the arena in search of the locker room. He was still in his parka, and he pushed the hood off, tugging at the zipper as he traversed the corridors.

The coach of the Philly Foxes was Mike Samuels. He greeted Nick with a handshake and a distracted smile, waving him into the messy office.

Nick took off his parka, sat in the indicated chair, and slung the coat over his lap.

“I suppose you know you’re on our roster and won’t be going to Lehigh.”

Nick nodded. “Yes, Coach.” He remembered his manners. “Thank you. For, um, the opportunity.”

Coach Samuels had piercing blue eyes that made Nick think the man was opening him up: looking for weaknesses and searching for strengths. “We’re going to see how you fit in with the team, so it’s not a guarantee that you’re here to stay. But you’re a good player, a good D-man, and the trade is a commitment to building a strong team with a reliable core group of players.”

Nick knew this speech and what it really meant. There’s no hope of the playoffs this year, but maybe next season. Maybe. Rebuilding was a tricky and delicate process.

“You’ll be in the game tomorrow night here against Boston.”

That was exciting. Nick had never played against the Battalion before.

“Quiet one, aren’t you,” Coach Samuels said, but even though he laughed, it wasn’t mean. Nick blushed anyway and made some mumbled agreement before he was shown to his locker to put away his gear.

Nick wanted to take out his cell phone and snap a picture of his nameplate and number, but he didn’t because the coach was in there and so were a few other guys – trainers, probably, by the looks of them.

A few feet away was an empty locker with E. Sparrow written above it. Nick glanced at it every so often as he unpacked his gear, wondering if Sparrow had shown up yet, but not wanting to ask.

After he was finished, Coach Samuels handed him a piece of paper and a set of keys. “The team is putting you up at a place until you can find your own. We have a realtor that works with the team; I left her information on the fridge in the condo.”

Nick pocketed the keys. “Thanks, Coach.”

Samuels chuckled. “You’re a lot different than Sparrow, that’s for sure.”

So Sparrow had arrived.

Chapter Two

The townhouse was a few blocks from the arena. Nick pulled his Focus into the driveway and noticed the place had a one-car garage. That would come in handy for the rest of the winter. He’d never had a garage before.

He grabbed his duffel and left the rest of his belongings to have a look around. To his surprise, the door was already open. Worried, he pulled back to look at the number and checked it with the address on the paper. He went inside.

And found Everett Sparrow pacing the living room, looking agitated and speaking to someone on the phone.

“No, I haven’t changed my mind, and anyway, it wouldn’t matter—” he stopped as he got a look at Nick. He was clearly neither expecting nor pleased to see him. “Look, I have to go.”

Nick shifted his duffle to his other shoulder. Of course, Sparrow would be here too. He wondered why Coach Samuels hadn’t mentioned it. “Sorry,” Nick muttered, and looked around sort of wildly. He shouldn’t have to apologize for walking into his own place, but Sparrow made him nervous.

“Close the door,” Sparrow snapped. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Nick did so, and when he turned around, Sparrow was gone. Nick dropped his bag by the stairs and went to the galley kitchen, determined to get over whatever his shyness with his new teammate was. “The bedrooms upstairs?”

“Mine’s the first one on the left,” Sparrow said, not looking at him. He was staring in the mostly empty refrigerator, a poignant and determined gesture that said I don’t want to talk to you.

Nick wondered how long Sparrow had been here. “Cool. Coach said I should stay here until I found someplace permanent.” 

Sparrow didn’t say anything, which wasn’t really anything new. He was hot as hell, but his personality needed some serious work. At least, Nick could have some covert eye-candy while they were forced to share a house.

One thing they definitely couldn’t share was the garage. Sparrow had already parked his Escalade inside, so it looked as if Nick wasn’t quite done scraping ice off his windshield.

***

They took separate cars to the arena for morning skate, though Nick had offered to drive. Sparrow gave a curt shake of his head and was on his phone in his Escalade before Nick could so much as blink. Nick was irritated by Sparrow’s gruffness, but he was nervous about the day ahead, so he just climbed in the Focus – which he’d parked on the street – and tried to put his surly teammate out of his mind.

The Foxes were nice enough, greeting him with handshakes and a back slap as they filtered into the locker room. The team captain, David Anders, asked him how the house was and if he was settling in, if he needed anything. No one said much of anything to Sparrow, who was quietly unpacking his gear and wearing a pair of headphones. He got a few weird looks, and Nick saw more than a few eye-rolls.

On the ice it was all-professional. Nick had to struggle a little to keep up at first, but he found his groove and his D-man partner, Stefan “Rems” Remek, was helpful and nice enough if not overly chatty. Hockey was hockey, and no matter what team you were on or what language your teammates spoke, the game was the same. It was familiar and comforting to fall into the drills and let his body take over.

Nick had always been quiet and reserved, always worried that his preferences would be somehow obvious to his teammates, and it wouldn’t be taken well. By the time he’d learned that it shouldn’t be a big deal, hiding his sexuality was as instinctual as his hockey skills.

Chris Harris, the Fox’s enforcer known as “Harry” to the team, wandered over with Rems after morning skate. “Hey, Milesy,” he said, easily adopting Nick’s surname into a nickname. “I played with your brother in juniors.”

Nick made an effort to have a conversation with the easygoing Harris, and before long, they’d invited him to grab some lunch. It was a game day and that meant a light lunch, a nap, and then a team dinner. He was glad to have someone reach out to him, and as he left, he noticed Sparrow sitting on the bench in front of his locker, staring at his shoes.

***

“So he’s not very friendly, eh?” said Harry, as they were finishing lunch. “Sparrow.”

What should he say to that? Nick shrugged, feeling an odd sense of loyalty though he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to start rumors, but Sparrow wasn’t friendly; it’s not like it was a secret. “I don’t know him very well,” he admitted. “I was with the Barons most of the time and only played a few games with the Knights. He might just be having a rough time with the move. People really liked him in Buffalo.” There, that sounded polite enough.

“People won’t like him here if he doesn’t talk,” said Harry. He paused. “Well, they might if he scores goals and helps us win games.”

“We don’t do that a lot,” Remek added then sighed. “It’s been a rough season.”

Nick picked at the remains of his baked chicken and wished he could put cheese sauce on his broccoli. “He’s good, though,” he offered, feeling as if he should say something complimentary. “On the ice, I mean.”

“Sure.” Harry smiled, all easy charm. “Eat up, Milesy. You ready for the game tonight? I’d say we had a rivalry with the Battalion, but lately, the only rivalry we have is with the win column.”

Remek snorted, and Nick gave a small laugh. “I’m ready,” he said, and felt the first stir of anticipation. It wasn’t his first NHL game, but it was just as exciting a milestone for Nick. He wanted to do well here. He wanted to be worth the trade they’d made.

They lost to Boston, 4 to 1, but Nick played well, and the coach praised him for his on-ice efforts and gave him a friendly pat on the back after the game. Sparrow scored their only goal and earned himself some major points with the team, on the ice if nowhere else. Sparrow was a totally different man when he was playing hockey – a lot less broody and tense, he actually smiled when he scored his goal and celebrated with his new teammates. Nick wondered if the good cheer was genuine and hoped that it was. The guys knew that Sparrow’s trade was a huge adjustment, and they’d been giving Sparrow space in the locker room to make the adjustment. They were good guys, the Foxes.

The media that night were all over Sparrow in the locker room, asking about the trade and the new team. It was eerily similar to that night in Buffalo. Nick stood in the background, once again forgotten, just a new kid up from the minors to play with the big boys. That he’d come along with Sparrow was apparently of no interest. He couldn’t say he was sad to be spared an interview – he wasn’t the kind of player gifted at giving sound bites and the cameras made him uncomfortable – but it was mildly irritating to be ignored.

Sparrow shocked the hell out of him, though, at the end of his interview. “Milesy had a good game, too,” he added; it was an afterthought, but it sounded sincere.

Nick blushed and smiled a little as the cameras flashed at him. He answered a few questions about the trade and said that yes, he was very excited to be here on the roster. He was happy that Sparrow had remembered he existed, until it became apparent that Sparrow had mentioned him only as a means of escape.

When he got home, Sparrow’s Escalade was nowhere to be seen, so Nick parked his Focus in the garage.

Chapter Three

The team left for an extended road trip a few weeks later. The season would be winding down for the Foxes, who wouldn’t have a spot in the playoffs unless six other teams spontaneously ceased existing. In some ways, the lack of pressure was good for the team. They won a few games before leaving on the trip, and the consensus was that the trade was beneficial. Nick was finding his stride playing with Rems and was beginning to feel like he was part of the Foxes. It was a nice feeling, even if the team wasn’t that good.

Harry had sort of adopted him in a big-brotherly way. He was a bear of a guy, six-foot-three with a full bushy head of red hair and a beard, and the crowd loved him. He trash-talked constantly and drew a lot of penalties. Too bad the Foxes hadn’t scored a power play goal in thirteen games and were ranked dead last in the NHL. It didn’t stop Harris from doing his job, which Nick found endearing if not a little frustrating. The Foxes’ penalty kill wasn’t much better than their power play, and Harry ended up in the box about as often as he put other players in it.

On the road, Nick and Sparrow were roommates. Sparrow filled up the hotel room as if he were three times larger than he was. At home, Sparrow wore the typical pro-athlete uniform of sweats or running pants and t-shirts with either sports-or-brand-name logos. Which meant that Nick had not expected him to come walking out of the bathroom in Detroit wearing nothing but a pair of tight boxer-briefs.

Nick was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his suit, playing a game on his phone. He could feel his face turn as red as the bird he was lobbing toward a pyramid of pigs as he took in Sparrow standing all but naked in front of him. Sparrow was classically good-looking, chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones, short, spiky dark hair, and coffee-brown eyes. His body was as perfect as you’d expect for a guy who’d been playing professional sports for a few years, honed and toned in all the right ways.

Nick tried not to look, but it was impossible. Sparrow was right there. Besides, he could feel Sparrow’s dark eyes boring into him, so finally he gave up failing at Angry Birds and looked up.

Sparrow smiled like he did on the ice sometimes— when it was genuine. It made Nick’s insides flip around; it definitely didn’t help that Sparrow was hot as hell and smiling. “You blushing, kid?”

“No,” Nick mumbled, but he was and he knew it. It was probably obvious, as fair skinned as he was. He waved a hand. “I wasn’t expecting —”

“Me to look so awesome without a shirt?” Sparrow teased, and Nick snorted a laugh before he could help himself.

No, trust me, I expected that. “Don’t tease the new kid,” he said instead, a lame attempt at banter. He wasn’t used to this side of Sparrow. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be.

“You’re not new.” Sparrow went to the bag where his suit was hanging and started pulling things out to get dressed.

Nick was absolutely not thrilled to watch Everett Sparrow put on a suit. Not at all.

“Hey, Nick, I’m sorry about...well, a lot of shit, but that night in Buffalo. I was an ass.”

Nick had no idea that Sparrow even knew his first name. “Uh. It’s okay.” God, he sounded like a stuttering, broken record. Everett Sparrow was insanely hot and buttoning up a fitted dress-shirt in charcoal gray that made Nick hard, but Nick should not be gaping at Sparrow like a slack-jawed moron and speaking with all the mental acumen of a third-grader.

“It’s really not.” Sparrow bit his lip and looked down as he finished with the shirt, which was not helping Nick’s predicament. “I can’t believe I drove off and left you there in the snow. I was just...this trade was a surprise.”

Nick’s eyebrows went up. “I figured that,” he said, dryly enough that Sparrow’s head came up, and he smiled a bit at Nick.

“Yeah.” He pulled the tie out of his suit bag and went to stand in front of the mirror.

Nick wanted to grab an over-priced bottle of water from the mini-fridge and down it. His mouth was dry as he watched Sparrow tie his pale-blue tie into a perfect Windsor knot. “I mean you were one of the top scorers on the Knights. And the team was going to the playoffs. So I get it.”

Way to remind him of why he hated leaving. Nick wanted to groan. He wasn’t usually this bad with people. But God, he’d had no idea how attractive Everett Sparrow was when he wasn’t being an asshole or sulking. And when he was wearing a suit tailored to his lean frame and...yeah. Nick shifted uncomfortably on the bed, willing his ill-timed erection to subside.

“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t just that. I was sort of seeing someone, and it ended badly. So I wasn’t in a very good mood to begin with, and I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a jerk.” He finished with the tie and left off the jacket, sitting opposite Nick on his bed. “You’re fitting in well, though. That’s good.”

“Are you trying to talk me into letting you have the garage?” Nick asked, slightly uncomfortable with the big-brother-esque nature of their conversation. He already had a big brother, and he didn’t want another one. What he wanted was to get laid, a rough hand on his dick, a mouth. Something.

Jesus. It didn’t help when Sparrow tossed his head back and laughed, showing the corded muscles of his neck. “Nah, I like our little battle too much to pull that kind of shit.” The momentary brilliance of his smile faded to a dull glimmer. “Really, though. I’m sorry. I’m trying to get over myself.”

Nick didn’t know quite how to react to hearing Sparrow say that. It was honest and vulnerable, and Nick appreciated that Sparrow trusted him enough to show that side of himself. “It was kind of a dickhead thing to do. In Buffalo, I mean. With the car. Yours had an automatic start, man. I couldn’t even get my damn door open.”

When in doubt, default to bro-humor.

Sparrow had the grace to flush. “I know. I’ll make it up to you.”

“How? By giving me the garage from now on?” Or maybe a blowjob.

“You wish,” said Sparrow, and oh, yes, Nick did wish.

*** 

The bar was crowded for a Thursday, some local place where Harry and Rems dragged Nick after they’d won a game against the reigning Cup champs, the St. Louis Eagles. It was an improbable win, and it had bolstered the team’s spirits. They were playing now just to end the season with a little more respectability and give their fans some hope that next year would be different.

There were a lot of girls at the bar, scantily dressed ones, who were all model-pretty and leggy. Nick could appreciate that they were lovely even if he didn’t want to sleep with them, but it was clear Harry and Rems wanted him to do more than just appreciate the scenery. They were both single and thought Nick, who was also single, should be taking advantage of the so-called “local wildlife”.

Nick thought about his sister-in-law, Kristen. She was smart and pretty and would kick Nick in the shins if he ever referred to women as “the local wildlife”. She and Nick’s brother, Jacob, were the only two who knew Nick was gay, but that wouldn’t excuse him from a lecture if she was in a mind to give one.

Three girls were hovering around their group, holding drinks that were somehow just as pretty and bubbly as they were. One of them was quieter, though, and she drifted closer to Nick.

“Hi, my friends want to sleep with hockey players, but this is so not my scene. Can I pretend to flirt with you?”

Nick wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, but she immediately reminded him of Kristen, and that put him more at ease. “Yeah, sure.” Should he be worried that she didn’t want to flirt with him? Was it so obvious he was gay? He was fitting in so well with his new team that he didn’t want to risk losing the camaraderie he’d found here.

“Not that you’re not really cute,” she added, and then blushed just like Nick had in Detroit when confronted by a half-dressed Everett Sparrow. “Oh, lord. I’m so bad at this.” She smiled grimly. “Sorry.”

She was bad at this, with none of the I’m hot, and I know it confidence of her friends – despite objectively being just as attractive, if not more so. But she was genuine and a little awkward, and Nick could relate. He also shared her lack of skill when it came to picking up guys. “Nah, I get it. I’m not that great at it either.”

They both watched as Harry pulled one of the girls onto his lap. He did it with the same easy confidence with which he threw his gloves off on the ice, and the girl was clearly appreciative, winding her arms around Harry’s neck and giggling. Nick envied him the ability if not the result.

“My name’s Nick.” He held his hand out to the girl.

“Jade.” She shook his hand and grinned. “I’m a Pittsburgh Buccaneers fan.”

That was the Foxes’ archrival team, so it made Nick laugh. “I see how it is.”

Jade was easy to talk to if nothing else, and Nick relaxed and bought her another drink. She worked in fashion merchandising and told him a hilarious story about trying out for America’s Next Top Model and how she’d tripped in one of the pre-casting rounds while trying to do a runway walk in six-inch heels.

The longer they were there, the night turned less PG, and Harry and Rems were in full pick-up mode, making out with Jade’s friends and being handsy enough that there was no doubt they’d be going home with them. Nick wished he could do that, too – not with girls, obviously, but he wished he could pick up a guy and take him home for some no-strings-attached sex. There had to be guys who wanted to sleep with pro-athletes just like there were girls who wanted to do that (Nick’s sister-in-law would blister his ears if he used the phrase puck bunny), but Nick couldn’t just buy them a drink and climb on their laps, could he?

Even if you could do that, you wouldn’t. Nick wasn’t a virgin, and he’d used the hockey player thing a few times for a hook-up or two on Grindr, but he’d been too paranoid to try it here in Philly. Not that he was so famous that he might be recognized, but what if it happened?

What if, what if, what if?

By the time they were all ready to leave the bar, Jade’s friends were heading home with Harry and Rems. Jade was trying to work her Uber app while one of her friends had a conversation with her conducted in the loudest whispers Nick had ever heard. She seemed to be trying to get Jade to go home with Nick. Nick wished he could explain why that wasn’t going to end up being anything but awkward, but instead he stood there and pretended like he didn’t hear a word they were saying.

“Milesy here is shy,” Harry announced, slinging an arm around Nick as he waited for a cab. “Milesy, don’t be shy. Girls might like you. It could happen. I mean, they like me.”

“It’s the beard,” Nick said, a little drunk and not as careful watching his words as he should be.

Harry just laughed, and he and Jade’s friend walked off arm-and-arm. Rems and the other young lady, she of the loud whispers, were making out waiting for a cab.

Jade sighed. “I told them I wasn’t going home with anyone.” She was a little unsteady on her feet, and Nick remembered her story about tripping and noticed she had on very high, spiky heels. To him they looked like torture devices for your feet.

“They’re going to lecture me about how I’m no fun.” Suddenly, she was right there, standing close and smelling sweet like the drinks he’d bought her. “I mean, you are cute, Nick. Maybe I should just...”

Oh no. “Sleep on my couch?” He gave her a look with his eyes that he hoped she understood. I’m not going to sleep with you, but I don’t know how to tell you that without insulting you. Or coming out to you. And I don’t want to do either of those things.

She took a step back and regarded him solemnly. Then she smiled. “You have video games at your house, Mr. Hockey?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yup. And water.”

She beamed, took his arm and walked only a little unsteadily at his side as he went to hail a cab. “Awesome.”

***

Sparrow wasn’t home when Nick and his new friend got there, which was weird since he never seemed to go out. Nick took Jade some water, and she kicked off her shoes and picked up the PlayStation controller. They both settled in for a few rounds of the new Star Wars game, Battlefront, and Jade was endearingly awful until she got a little more sober, and then she proceeded to kick Nick’s ass.

Somewhere in the midst of their only slightly inebriated battle, Sparrow came home. He took in the sight of Nick and Jade on the couch, and a weird look flashed over his handsome features. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know you had company.”

She waved and said brightly, “Hi! I met Nick at a bar, and we’re playing Battlefront. I hope he’s better at hockey than he is at this game.” 

Nick hadn’t really noticed until now just how close together they were sitting.

“I don’t know,” Sparrow said, his voice tight in a way that sounded angry. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play that game. He must save all his game for the ladies.”

Nick stared at him with narrowed eyes. That sounded like it was supposed to be mean, but he was tired, and this was stupid. It shouldn’t matter if Sparrow was jealous that Nick picked girls up, even if Nick wasn’t trying. He wished he was the kind of guy who could come back with something snappy or funny to clear the tension, but all he could do was watch as Sparrow climbed the stairs to his room.

The video game music was still playing in the background, and Jade was asleep on the couch before Nick finally got up and went to bed. And as tired as he was, he jerked off thinking about Sparrow before he fell asleep. He bit his lip when he came because he didn’t want Sparrow to hear him and think he was getting off with Jade. Even though he didn’t know why it mattered. He doubted Sparrow could hear him anyway.

Chapter Four

In the morning, Nick went downstairs and found Sparrow in the kitchen fixing breakfast. The smell of bacon made his mouth water, as did the sight of Sparrow in his pajama pants and a faded t-shirt.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Sparrow said, turning to give him a look over his shoulder. “Dude. Your girl was asleep on the sofa when I got up this morning. Did you fuck her and make her sleep on the couch? She took off, by the way. Said to tell you bye.”

Nick was in the midst of pouring coffee when Sparrow said that, and his heart raced. Unpleasantly. And he thought about how to answer. Tell him yes? Say no? He hated this. “I didn’t fuck her.”

“You just brought her home to play video games?” Sparrow smiled at him, and Nick’s stomach turned over like the pancakes Sparrow was flipping in the pan. “What are you, twelve?”

“No,” said Nick. “I’m gay.”

He heard himself say it, heard the silence that followed, and wondered what the fuck he was doing. His hand was shaking so hard coffee was sloshing in the mug, dangerously close to spilling. He put it on the counter and gripped the edge of it with both hands, breathing in, wondering if it was too late to take it back.

“Okay,” said Sparrow, but a heartbeat too late. As if it wasn’t really okay at all. “You want some of these pancakes?”

“Sure,” said Nick, even though he didn’t.

Sparrow sat across the small table from him to eat breakfast, but he didn’t meet Nick’s eyes. Not even once.

***

On the ice, things were easy. Nick knew the rules, knew the plays, and knew the expectations placed upon him– even if he didn’t always meet them. That in and of itself was an expectation – that he wouldn’t always be perfect, that he would receive criticism and pointers how to do better next time. He’d been benched a time or two for failing to play to his potential, and he knew it was only for his benefit. Hockey was something he understood, despite the nuances of the rules that were many and varied.

For a long time, being gay had felt like that, too. He’d thought that boys like him weren’t supposed to play hockey, or that boys who played hockey weren’t supposed to be like him. Either way, it seemed to be a rule: no one should know he was gay. But he knew things were changing, had seen the PSAs, and knew that they were in a culture more accepting than it had ever been. But that didn’t make it easy. Nick was a defenseman, and his role was not one given to highlight reels and glory. And he liked it that way. He wasn’t sure what he was most afraid of about coming out. The repercussions or the attention?

In Buffalo, they’d said over and over that they supported an inclusive locker room. But that wasn’t necessarily what Nick was most worried about. He’d seen the furor that had surrounded Michael Sam coming out in the NFL. How this fascination with a man’s sexuality – something that had nothing whatsoever to do with his sport – became the focus of his identity. Nick had been proud as an athlete and as a gay man when Sam had come out, but he’d been saddened at the media circus that ignored the athlete part in favor of something so personal. He knew it was inevitable, being the first; but he also knew he couldn’t be the one to do it.

There were rules in place to keep the locker room safe. There were rules in place to keep the ice safe. But there were no rules to stop the flood of media attention, and the thought of bringing that down on himself, on his family and his teammates...he couldn’t do it. Not for something that had nothing to do with how he played hockey. And he was ashamed of that, because someone needed to do it. Someone needed to be first, but Nick – quiet, reserved Nick – was not the right guy.

At least, that’s what he’d always told himself. Wait for someone else to do it, and then you can speak up, too.

Nick knew he wasn’t the only gay man playing hockey. But in this case, he felt like he was playing on a team all by himself.

***

“I told a teammate I was gay,” Nick told his brother, shifting the phone as he dried the dishes. They had a dishwasher but neither he nor Sparrow ever used it. Neither one of them could remember to buy detergent for it.

“Hey, really?” Jacob’s voice was warm and familiar on the other end of the phone. “That’s great, Nicky.”

“I dunno.” Nick stared out of the little kitchen window into the tiny backyard. He really did need to find his own place. He wanted to get a dog. Something he could live with that would be happy to see him. “I think he’s probably freaked out.”

Jacob made soothing noises and gave the appropriate calming reassurances, but Nick didn’t know if his brother even believed them. Nick had always thought if Jacob had been gay, he would have been strong enough to handle being the first one to come out in the NHL. Nick couldn’t even tell his parents, and he didn’t know why not. They’d probably figured it out a long time ago and were just waiting for him to say something.

“I’ll be glad to see you next month,” Jacob said, reminding Nick that the Foxes would be traveling to Winnipeg to play the Aces. The Aces were in the race for first place in their division and a Cup hopeful. They’d probably demolish the Foxes, but Nick had never played against his brother in the NHL and he was looking forward to it.

“I’ll be glad to kick your ass next month,” he said, laughing as his brother sputtered in his ear. “We’re good. Okay, we’re better,” he amended. “And I’ve stopped you from putting the puck in the net since I was seven, bro.”

He and his brother fell into the familiar banter, and Nick was dimly aware of the door opening. Sparrow was back, and all of Nick’s good cheer evaporated as tension took hold of him, coiling up tight.

“Gotta go,” Nick said, cutting off Jacob’s reminiscence of a game of ball hockey in which Nick had spectacularly failed (his words) stopping a game-winning shot of Jacob’s. This memory played out differently in Nick’s head, but he wasn’t in the mood anymore to belabor it.

“Hey, is it okay? I mean...no one’s giving you shit for being gay, right?” Jacob’s teasing gave way to older-brother worry.

“No.” No one’s giving me anything.

“You’d tell me if they were, though? Giving you shit?”

“Sure,” said Nick, but they both knew he wouldn’t.

Chapter Five

Sparrow was drunk.

Nick could tell the second he came home. He was sitting on the couch playing Star Wars Battlefront, and Sparrow was dressed to pick up but no one was with him. Nick had no idea how a guy as hot as Sparrow could fail to find some company. Or maybe he fucked them in the club and came home alone. Nick didn’t think so though. Sparrow would probably be a lot less scowly and a lot more mussed if he’d gotten some.

The thought of Sparrow pushing someone (him) up against the wall of a dirty club bathroom, their (his) legs around Sparrow’s narrow waist while Sparrow fucked (him)...

An AT-AT blew up his Dish Turret, and his controller vibrated. Nick’s fingers tightened on the plastic, the buttons digging into skin. “Hey,” he mumbled to the controller.

“Is the point of this game to blow things up?”

Nick looked up, noticing Sparrow’s slouch and the fierce scowl between his brows. Sparrow’s car had been in the garage so he must have Ubered it home or taken a cab. Good. The Foxes had a reputation for having players who liked to party too much, and Sparrow...well, usually people who partied looked like they’d at least had fun. Angry partying never led to anything good. “Yeah.”

“Can I try?”

Nick almost handed over his controller, but instead he motioned to the drawer beneath the entertainment stand. “Other controller’s in there.” His thumb moved over the joystick, back-and-forth, as he tried and failed to watch Sparrow bend over and retrieve the controller. His ass looked amazing in those jeans.

When Sparrow returned to the couch, Nick cued up the game again and selected two players. “You want to be on the same team?”

“I thought we were,” said Sparrow, and there was something weird in his voice. “Whatever. It’s fine. Just tell me how the controls work.”

Sparrow had clearly not played a video game since NHL ’94. Nick saved his ass about fifteen times, and if they’d been on different teams, it would have been a pretty quick game. 

“Dude, you’re awful at this,” Nick teased, at ease in the way that video games and competition allowed for. “I think you’ve blown yourself up more than you’ve made anyone else blow up.”

“Yeah, well, that’s pretty much the theme of my evening.” Sparrow tossed the controller down and leaned his head back against the couch.

God, Nick’s cock hardened so fast the lack of blood made him dizzy. “Getting blown?”

“No, failing at it. Getting blown. Blowing someone else. Both of those.” He opened his eyes and looked over at Nick. “That’s what I meant when I said we were on the same team.”

Wait. Was – oh. “You’re gay?”

“Yeah.” Sparrow laughed, the sort of harsh sound you made when things weren’t really funny.

Nick didn’t know what to say to that. He just sat there with the iconic Star Wars music playing in the background, gaping at his teammate and roommate and wondering if he could offer to improve Sparrow’s evening when it came to being blown. That was the wrong thing to do, and he knew it, but Nick was feeling reckless and horny and didn’t care.

“What?”

“I have never met another gay hockey player,” Nick blurted, like they were unicorns or some other mystical being found only in faraway lands. 

“Yes, you have.”

“Besides you,” Nick clarified.

Sparrow sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Yes, you have,” he said, again. Clearly this time.

Of course, Sparrow would know that. He’d been in the league a lot longer than Nick. “Oh.” They were still staring at each other. “But you seemed – when I told you.”

“You’re missing a word there.” Sparrow was regarding him with a half-smile on his face that Nick couldn’t read.

“Uncomfortable.”

Sparrow nodded. “I was. But not for the reasons you think.”

“Then why?” Nick asked, his voice two octaves lower and huskier than usual.

“Because of this.” Sparrow leaned in and kissed him.

Nick went still with shock as heat lit up his nerves and burned through his blood like fire. “Sparrow —”

“Everett,” said Sparrow, and kissed him again. “My name’s Everett.”

***

Sparrow. I’m kissing Sparrow. I mean, Everett. I’m kissing Everett.

Holy shit.

Nick was pressed back into the couch cushions as Everett moved closer, crowding him and kissing him with increasing urgency.

“Um.” Nick put his hands on Everett’s chest, intending to push him back. “Is this a bad idea?”

“Yeah.” Everett tasted sweet, like maybe he’d been drinking something with cherries or flavored syrup. Nick would have thought he drank something rough and ultra-masculine like Scotch, but what did he know? Nick mostly drank beer and shots other people bought him that he didn’t know the name of. He didn’t drink that much, and he hated being drunk, hated the idea of losing control and what he might admit.

“So should we stop?” Nick closed his eyes and did nothing to discourage Everett from mouthing at his neck.

“Do you want to stop?” Everett murmured against his skin. His hand went between Nick’s legs, boldly cupping his erection. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

Nick bit back a squeak and shook his head. “I don’t, but maybe – maybe we should.” What the hell was wrong with him? This was a fantasy come to life, even down to the Star Wars music still playing on the television.

Everett lifted his head. His eyes were blurry with what Nick hoped was lust and yet feared was alcohol. He sighed and moved away. “Maybe we should. I don’t – I don’t want you to do something if you’re not sure about it.”

Nick took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. It wasn’t working.

Fuck it.

He climbed over on top of Everett in one smooth move, straddling him and settling his weight so he could feel Everett’s cock against his. “I’m sure I don’t want to stop.” He wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but whatever. “But I don’t want you to pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow or be a dick or anything.” He paused. “About anything other than the garage.”

“Okay,” said Everett agreeably, and reached a hand up behind his neck to tug him down for another kiss.

It had been a long time since Nick last gave a blowjob, but he slid to his knees and kicked out at the coffee table to push it back and give himself some room. At some point, Everett must have grabbed the controller because the Star Wars music was replaced with the lilting, pleasantly generic PlayStation theme. Not exactly the stuff of his fantasies, but Nick got Everett’s pants open, and the cock that was waiting for him most certainly was. He took it eagerly in his mouth, hand working the hard flesh hard and fast.

“Jesus, Nick, slow down,” Everett rasped, one hand in Nick’s hair.

Nick flushed in momentary embarrassment. He was used to doing this quickly, with one objective in mind – well, two. Get off and don’t get caught. He eased his grip and pressed his face for a moment against Everett’s jean-clad thigh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; it just feels good, and I don’t want to come too fast.” Everett’s fingers were gentle in his hair. “Unless you get off on doing it like that.”

He did, but not on purpose. Nick licked at Everett’s cock and tongued the head, sucking lightly as he settled in to enjoy himself. Going slow was a novelty, and he liked it, liked tasting Everett on his tongue and liked rubbing Everett’s balls with his fingers. Liked playing and listening to Everett’s breathing get all rough and fucked up as Nick sucked him.

Everett was clearly trying not to fuck his throat, so Nick relaxed his jaw and took him deep and gave him a nod to show he could. Everett thrust a few times and moaned, his thighs trembling beneath Nick’s hands. “I’m going to come,” he warned, and Nick had to press a hand against himself and give his own cock a quick rub because Everett wasn’t the only one. Jesus, this was hot.

He gave Everett one last, hard suck and pulled off, finishing him with his hand. He wouldn’t have minded swallowing, but he liked being able to watch Everett’s face as he went over the edge and came in Nick’s fist.

While Everett caught his breath, Nick found the controller and put the PlayStation into Rest Mode.

Everett, his eyes still closed, flashed a grin at him. “I’m gonna get a chubby every time I hear that music now.”

Nick might never turn the damn thing off.

“Come here,” Everett said, moving and tucking himself back into his pants.

Nick knew, objectively, that he was going to get a blowjob – or a handjob, he didn’t care, either way it was going to be awesome – from Everett Sparrow, but it didn’t seem real until he was on the couch, legs spread, and Everett was kneeling in front of him.

“This what you want?” Everett’s eyes were half-open, his face still flushed, and his mouth wet and parted.

Fuck, yes, this was what Nick wanted. “Fuck, yes.”

Everett pulled Nick’s running pants down and freed his cock, which was hard and already slick. “Let me hear you say it.”

“Please,” Nick said, plaintively.

Everett’s smile was wicked. He leaned down and tongued lightly at Nick’s cock. “Please, what, Nick?”

He was going to come the second Everett put his mouth on his dick, and Nick just knew it. He took a shaking breath and tried again. “Please – fuck, please suck me, Everett. Please.”

He didn’t come right away, but it didn’t take long. Everett clearly had more experience going slow than Nick, and he knew how to use it – he sucked at Nick’s cock, teased with his tongue, even played lightly with his teeth. He held a hand up to Nick and said, “lick,” and made Nick suck on his fingers and get them nice and wet before he wrapped his hand around Nick’s cock and started sucking his balls.

“I – oh fuck, Everett – I’m –”

No need to say it, Everett knew. He kept sucking on Nick’s balls while Nick shot all over his stomach and his shirt, making a mess. His toes curled and his heels pressed hard against the floor as he arched and shook his way through his orgasm.

He was pleasantly tired and sated when he heard rustling and opened his eyes to see Everett rising to his feet. He reached out and ruffled Nick’s hair affectionately and with a happy smile. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that. You have no idea.”

Nick, still breathing hard and a mess, cock soft and pants still around his knees, stared at him. “I have some idea,” he said, and Everett laughed and held his hand out to help him up.

Chapter Six

Harry had started dating Melanie, one of the girls from the bar. “She’s hot, but she’s also like, super funny. And she likes my beard. You want to see her friend Jade again, Milesy? I know she liked you.”

Nick shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Jade? She was cool.” He wondered if that was enough to earn him a pass from matchmaking. He had liked Jade, and he wouldn’t mind seeing her again. Just not for sex, or dating, or anything else that involved his dick or his emotions.

“I get it,” Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Too much pussy out there, eh?”

“Dude,” Nick said, blushing despite himself. He’d never gotten into habit of talking about sex and women like some of the guys, either because he was gay or too shy. “I’m just trying to play hockey.”

“Bro, we play for the worst team in the league, and we’re not going to the playoffs,” Harry reminded him. “So you should play for pussy because at least you can’t lose. Chicks love hockey players, man. Even ones who aren’t that great, like me.”

Nick had to laugh. Across the locker room, he could feel Sparrow’s eyes on him. “I’ll keep that in mind, Harry.”

“Just trying to mentor you, kiddo,” Harry said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Nick’s shoulders and rubbing his hair enthusiastically.

Nick wondered if Harry would still do that shit, touch him casually and tease him, if he knew that Nick was gay. For a wild moment, he almost wanted to find out, say something like, how about I play for cock instead and see what happened. But he didn’t.

They left the next day for an extended road trip, one that would include Winnipeg where Nick would see his family. It also included a game in Buffalo against the Knights, their first since the trade.

Sparrow was quiet the day they left, hiding behind his sunglasses and playing on his phone during the entire trip. When they arrived at the hotel, Sparrow deposited his gear and his bag on his bed and said to Nick, “I’ve got to go out.”

Nick watched him go, worried and unsure if he should say anything. They’d hooked up a few more times since that night on the couch, but more than that, they were becoming friends – friends who played video games, friends who made dinner, friends who still fought over the garage. Nick knew this was going to be tough for Everett, coming back to Buffalo. “Okay, man.”

Everett stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. “Hey, Nick?” He didn’t turn around.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I know I’m being...just, thanks. For understanding.”

Nick nodded, though Everett couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Of course.”

And with that, Everett left and pulled the door shut quietly behind him.

In the morning, Nick woke up and looked over to see Everett’s stuff still on the bed that hadn’t been slept in.

There was a text on his phone. Stayed at my old place last night. Sorry, man, just needed some time alone to get my head on straight before the game. 

And after that one, a text that read: Turns out alone time is kind of boring, and they disconnected my cable.

Nick rubbed his thumb over the screen, smiling. He didn’t respond, but it wasn’t long before the door opened and Everett came in – looking a little scruffy but composed.

“You cool?” Nick asked.

“Yeah.” Everett walked over, leaned down, and kissed him. “I am.”

***

That night, the Knights made a nice announcement about Sparrow, and the crowd gave him a standing ovation.

“Didn’t you play here, too?” Harry asked, nudging Nick while they tapped their sticks on the ice to acknowledge the crowd’s tribute to their teammate.

“Nah, not really. Mostly for the Barons, the AHL team. I played a few games here and there, but not that many.”

“Still, that sucks they didn’t mention you,” said Harry. “You want I should hit someone for you?”

Nick just shook his head, declining his teammate’s pugilistic generosity. The last thing he wanted was some kind of tribute.

The Knights were a playoff team, and it showed. They were fast, effective, communicated well on the ice, and played like a team who knew how to win. They outplayed the Foxes and won 6-2, which wasn’t the way anyone wanted that game to go down. No one wanted any game to go down like that. 

There were plenty of media in the locker room, mostly to talk to Everett about returning to Buffalo. It was a surreal moment – Nick in the background, watching while Everett addressed the reporters, saying all the right things just like last time...only this press-conference was in the visitor’s locker room. Yes, Everett said, he was humbled and pleased by the crowd’s tribute. He was looking forward to next season and taking the skills he’d learned with the Knights to the Foxes. It was always hard to come back to a team and play on the other side, but that was part of the game.

When the press left, the team gathered their gear in silence and made their way to the bus that took them back to the hotel. Their plane left in the morning for Winnipeg. When they entered the room, Everett and Nick were both quiet as they decompressed from the loss. It was just another game, no matter where it was. But Everett looked...not forlorn or even angry, but pensive. Like last night, before he’d left the hotel. Nick wanted to cheer him up because lately he’d gotten used to Everett smiling a lot more than scowling.

“That game sucked, eh?” Nick wasn’t usually one to break the ice, but Everett looked a little lost and lonely, and that got to Nick for reasons he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about just now.

“Yeah.” Everett was sitting half-dressed on the edge of the bed. He leaned his elbows on his knees and faced Nick. “The guy I was seeing, Aric? He wanted me to come out. I kept telling him that I couldn’t because of the playoffs. I said that we couldn’t afford the media distraction, that kind of thing. Then I get traded to a team where there’s no fucking chance of making the playoffs, and there we go. Aric thought it was the perfect time, and I said it was too hard to do with a new team, in a new city. I always had an excuse, so he ended it before I left Buffalo. He knew I was never going to do it.”

“I think it’d be hard to come out,” Nick said, flushing a little at his word choice. He’d never talked about this with anyone else before. “The media, I mean. I don’t really know what I think might happen. I just know it would probably be a lot of attention I don’t want.”

“Yeah, I get that. And I know someone needs to do it.” Everett leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I kept thinking, during the game. What if I’d done it? Would they have traded me? Would I even want to have stayed somewhere that only kept me on the roster because they were afraid of the backlash for trading a player who’d just come out?” He made a face. “Aric and I weren’t...it wasn’t that serious, so I mean, it wasn’t like my heart was broken. I just hated the uncertainty and the pressure.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Which is a stupid thing to say when you play sports for a living. Uncertainty and pressure are basically all it is.”

Nick thought about that. “Right, so why would you want to add more?”

Everett snorted. “Yeah, there’s that. It was hard to explain all this to Aric. He is a lawyer, and the only sport he likes is lacrosse, but that’s because he dated a lacrosse player in high school.”

Nick couldn’t imagine ending up with someone who didn’t love hockey as much as he did. What would they talk about? When they weren’t having hot, sweaty sex that was. “The Knights might lose in the playoffs. Especially if they play the Battalion in the first round.”

Everett gave an honest-to-god smile. “Yeah. Look, Nick, I’m sorry I vanished last night. I thought I wanted to be alone, but it turns out it didn’t really help.”

“Because of the cable?”

“Ha, ha. I just...I like you. And you get it, you know? You get hockey, you get being gay, you get why it’s not so easy to come out even if I wanted to. And I don’t want you to think you’re a rebound thing, because you’re not. You’re really not.”

“I didn’t think that,” Nick said, because he hadn’t. He crossed over to Everett, his heart hammering in his chest. He pushed him gently back on the bed and climbed on top of him. “I would have sucked you off to make you feel better, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nick started working at the buttons on Everett’s shirt, feverish in his desire to touch skin, basking in the tenuous, unknown thing that was growing between them. “But since you were gone, you gotta make it up to me.”

“I think I can do that,” said Everett, smoothly moving underneath Nick to flip him on his back, fingers already reaching for his belt.

***

After the game, Nick and his family went to get ice cream. They’d done that all the time back when Nick and Jacob were still playing and living at home, before juniors and billet families and teams took them away from each other.

He ate his chocolate-and-caramel sundae, waiting for the opportune time to introduce the subject of his sexuality. It wouldn’t be a big deal; he knew that. His parents were staunchly in support of LGBT rights, and Nick had no reason to think that wouldn’t hold true for their own son.

Still, his heart was hammering unpleasantly in his chest, and it was taking him twice as long as it normally would to eat his ice cream. The place was mostly empty except for his family as it was late after the game. Nick slumped down in his seat, pushing his spoon into the soupy remnants of his sundae.

“So, Kris and I have something to tell you guys,” Jacob said, startling him. He grinned over at Kristen, who was smiling contentedly.

“No,” said Nick’s mom, putting a hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears, and she made a squeaking noise.

Nick glanced at his father, who was getting up to hug his brother.

Nick had clearly missed something. “Wait, what is it?”

Kristen giggled. “I’m pregnant,” she said, while Nick’s mom engulfed her in a hug.

Nick was suffused with a warm, simple joy. He was going to be an uncle! “Oh, wow. Wow, you guys, that’s...how come everyone else figured it out before you said it?”

“What the hell else could it have been?” Jacob asked, snorting. He rolled his eyes. “I got the talents, the looks, and the brains, apparently.”

Nick took the opportunity and went with it. “I’m gay.”

“Oh, honey,” said his mother and rushed over to hug him.

“You should date another hockey player,” his father said, slyly, after giving him a hug of his own.

Kristen grinned at him across the table. His brother smiled encouragingly.

And that was that. They talked about baby names and Nick’s failure to find a nice boy to date while Nick and Kristen both ordered another sundae.

––––––––

Chapter Seven

Their last two road games were against the Vancouver Vipers and the Los Angeles Lions. The Vipers were the only ones heading to the playoffs, while the Lions, like the Foxes, were playing for their jobs. Both games were grueling and netted the Foxes an overtime win and a loss, respectively.

By the time they were back in Philly, Nick could see the potential for next season glimmering just over the horizon, no longer a mirage, but something real and attainable. This was going to be a good team; he knew it.

“Do you ever think about telling the guys?” Everett asked, forking over some pasta he’d made the two of them for dinner. It looked like spaghetti with fancy, green sauce on it. The cheese, rather than being the sprinkle-y, snowflake-like Parmesan of Nick’s experience, was clumpy. He poked it curiously with his fork. “It’s pesto and goat cheese,” Everett said, amused. “I promise it’s good.”

Nick shot him a sheepish grin and forked up a bite, thinking while he chewed. It was good, especially the goat cheese. “I dunno. I guess sometimes, but I hear shit on the ice, and I think maybe I shouldn’t.”

Everett sat down across from him, tucking into his own pasta. “People just say shit. You know that.”

“Yeah. But they say shit about gay people, and I’m gay.” Nick took a pull of his beer, in a bottle because pesto and fancy cheese aside, he was not a beer-in-a-glass kind of guy. “I know they think it’s just a word, but it isn’t.” Nick had been to the sensitivity training, and they were always trying to explain that, but it never seemed to sink in. “It’s like people use it like it’s a curse word, you know? A bad thing. And I guess I should say something, but I’m there to play hockey. And I shouldn’t have to. They should know not to use words like that, but that’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is,” Everett agreed. He leaned back in his chair, long fingers playing with the beer bottle. It was making Nick hard, imagining those hands playing like that on his dick. He felt kind of bad about that, seeing as how this was a nice dinner and a serious conversation and all. “But you know, you’re right. You shouldn’t have to speak up, but clearly someone has to.” He looked pensive.

“I’ve played with guys in the AHL who did. They’d say something like, hey, man, don’t use that fucking word around me, but if any of them were gay, I didn’t know about it.”

“I played with a gay goalie in college,” said Everett. His gaze went somewhere beyond Nick’s shoulder. “He was so fucking hot. Part of it was he was out and didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Watching him stretch was a torture.” He smiled.

“He go on and play after college?” Nick asked.

Everett shook his head. “No, but it wasn’t because of that. At least, I don’t think it was. He was injured and not even playing hockey. Boat accident or something.” Everett shook his head. “Sucks. He would have been a good first guy to come out, I bet.”

“Would you?” Nick asked. “If someone else did?”

Everett looked away. “I want to say yes. But I don’t know.”

Nick didn’t know what he would do, either. “I didn’t know you did the college thing,” he said, instead, because he really didn’t know all that much about Everett.

“University of Michigan,” Everett answered, taking a drink of his beer. “You went through junior hockey, yeah?”

Nick nodded. “OHL,” he said, referring to the Ontario Hockey League. “Kitchener Rangers.”

“You like it?”

They talked about hockey – what else – during the rest of dinner, and Nick offered to do the dishes, but Everett was apparently in a mood to chat, because he stayed in the kitchen to help. They talked idly about what it was like to grow up in a hockey family (some member of Everett’s family had been in the NHL since the 20’s) and how they hoped the team would do better next year.

“So you were glad about the trade, then,” Everett said, as they finished drying the last of the dishes. “Since it got you a full-time contract.”

“I was glad about that, definitely. I mean I worked my whole life for this. I can still remember that first game I got called up for.” Nick looked out their small kitchen window, smiling slightly at the memory. “I was so nervous I was shaking. It seemed like the game lasted three minutes – or maybe that’s because that’s all the ice time I got.”

Everett gave a good-natured chuckle. “I remember my first game, too. I forgot to take the skate guards off the blades of my skates during warm-ups and went down face-first.”

Nick burst out laughing. “I heard about that happening, but I thought it was a hockey urban legend.”

“Nope. Just an embarrassing story for Everett Sparrow,” Everett joked. “I don’t even remember if we won or lost, isn’t that funny? I remember we lost the game where I scored my first goal, though.”

“I like scoring goals. The few times I’ve done it.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to score goals.” Everett flushed. “I didn’t mean to sound like a dick.”

“I know. Just comes naturally, right?”

Everett snapped the dishtowel at him. “Right. Smartass. But you’re a good defenseman, is all I’m saying.”

“I get a lot of joy keeping hotshots from scoring,” Nick told him, straight-faced. “If I were more flexible, I’d be a goalie.” He cleared his throat. “Goalies are always hot, man.”

“You’re pretty hot,” Everett said, the timbre of his voice changing as he backed Nick up against the counter. “You were even hot in that stupid parka in Buffalo.”

“You were hot in that Escalade. As in, warm, when you drove off and left me in the snow.” Nick spread his legs, letting Everett have room to step between them and press close. “This is okay, right? I mean, this thing we’re doing. And how we’re still doing it.”

Everett went still and gave him an unreadable look. “You ask me that a lot. Are you saying you don’t want to? Because I’m not going to – I mean, it’s cool if you’re not into it. Into me. We’re still teammates, still friends, and I won’t fuck up your life by outing you because you won’t put out or anything.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m definitely into it, and trust me, I’ll totally put out. But I’m, um.” He could barely say it, but he made himself. “Into you.” He closed his eyes, mortified at how dumb he sounded. “Maybe you don’t want that.”

There was a pause, and then Nick felt Everett’s fingers beneath his chin. “Nick? Look at me.”

Nick opened his eyes.

“I want it. And I’m into you, too,” he said, leaning down. Right before Everett kissed him, he said, “I made you my date-dinner. That’s literally the only thing I can cook.”

Nick would have reminded him about the pancakes, but he was distracted.

Chapter Eight

The end of the season came quickly, and Nick was in a daze of hockey, working out, fucking, and trying to find a house that he liked enough to want to buy. Part of him wanted to stay in that little townhouse with Everett forever, but he’d probably start regretting that in winter when Everett still insisted on parking his car in the garage and leaving Nick’s on the street.

He could, if he wanted, buy himself an Escalade. But having money was a new thing, and mostly Nick wanted his parents to buy something for themselves...though of course, Jacob had already bought them a house when he got his first multi-year contract. Maybe Nick could send them on a nice vacation or something. Defensemen on the worst team in the NHL didn’t make a lot their first contract year, but it was still more money than Nick had ever had attached to his name in his whole life.

Everett – who had more money and a much larger contract – was also looking for a place. So he and Nick decided just to share the same Realtor and went to look at a variety of listings in their individual price points at the same time. It seemed easier that way.

Everett was picky, which shouldn’t have surprised Nick. He was beginning to pick up on that, the way Everett liked things to be tidy and neat. Nick was definitely not like that, but he tried to pick up after himself. He was bad about remembering to do his laundry, but he was twenty-four, and he figured maybe he’d grow out of his habit of throwing everything on the floor.

“I don’t think this place has enough natural light,” Everett said, scowling, standing in the middle of a kitchen that was twice the size of the one in their shared townhouse.

Nick didn’t think he’d ever use all those cabinets, but this was one of the houses for Everett, not him, so he didn’t say that. What were you supposed to put in all of them, though? All his glassware was plastic cups with restaurant/bar/hockey logos on them. A cabinet for each team, maybe.

The Realtor looked over at Nick, which confused him. What was he supposed to do? Agree? Disagree? He searched for something to say. “You really only cook dinner at night,” he offered then scowled when Everett burst out laughing.

The Realtor smiled, but Nick knew she was getting frustrated at the two of them. He wondered if he’d ever explained that the fancier houses they looked at were for Everett, and the cheaper ones were for him. Maybe she thought they had a strange budget.

Nick opted for a loft apartment in downtown Philly that he could rent, simply because it was easy to get to the arena and he liked the sleek, modern design of it a lot. It had two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and he loved the windows (“plenty of natural light for you to cook me dinner,” he’d told Everett) and his very own, covered parking space.

Everett ended up buying a recently renovated house in Chestnut Hill, which was unique, classy, and somehow traditional all at the same time. A lot like Everett, who did genuinely seem to care more about houses and where he was going to live than Nick did. Nick was still impressed he had another bathroom for guests to use, and something that wasn’t a futon for them to sleep on.

They stayed in the townhouse by mutual, unspoken agreement until the end of the season. Nick slept in Everett’s bed at night, after they’d fucked or just messed around, and he wondered how he was going to get used to sleeping alone.

***

It happened when the Foxes had just two games left in the season, and all things considered, Nick figured it could have been worse.

Harry was trying to get him to agree to go on a date with one of Melanie’s friends – not Jade, this time, but another one – and Nick didn’t know how to bow out gracefully without admitting he was gay and/or in a relationship. If he said he was in a relationship, Harry would want details, and Nick sucked at lying.

As Harry extolled the virtues of the girl in question, Nick looked around the locker room and thought not about what little remained of this season, but of the next one. Of sharing a locker room with these guys, going on road trips, doing drills. Showering. All of that shit that might be changed forever if he opened his mouth and just said two simple words.

But then he thought about the sick feeling in his stomach, the lies, having to pretend he was someone that he very much wasn’t...and, suddenly, he was tired of it, and knew what he had to do.

“Hey, Chris?” It was rare that the guys used each other’s first names, so Harry immediately stopped and gave Nick his full attention. His green eyes were friendly, his expression open.

Nick could taste his heartbeat, feel each pulse of it echo like gunshots in his chest, his head. “Can I – uh, can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure, Milesy. What’s up?” Chris gave him a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

That was the problem with this whole thing. Nick’s teammates were good guys. Nick’s teammates had always been good guys. They were still the guys who used gay slurs as insults, who said things were “gay” when they meant “stupid”, and swore it “didn’t mean anything” when they did it.

“I think you should – that is, I don’t –” Nick wondered if he should make something up about how he wasn’t feeling well, but he’d started this, and he had to finish it. The guys who were still in the locker room were having individual conversations, and no one was paying them any attention, but that could change at any minute.

“Milesy, dude, if you don’t want to go out with Kess, it’s cool.”

“I’m gay,” Nick blurted, the words escaping on a hurried, hot breath.

The moment stretched between them for an eternity. Nick felt stripped open, exposed, like he was waiting for judgment. He hated this, but the relief in having done it was so strong he was shaking.

Harry shrugged. “Okay. So, you want me to see if, like, Kess or Mel has a brother?” Very deliberately, Harry stepped up and slung an arm around Nick’s shoulders, just like he’d done a thousand times before, and hugged him. “It’s cool, bro.”

Nick felt his eyes sting, so he just mumbled, “Thanks,” and hit Harry in the arm.

“You want the other guys to know?” Harry asked, nodding toward their teammates. “I can, you know. Talk to them.”

“I’ll tell Coach,” Nick said, because he knew that’s what he should do. As tempting as it was to let the good-hearted team enforcer out him, it was his responsibility. “It’s okay if you say something, though.”

“Hey, so, you know how I say stuff sometimes...” Harry trailed off. He looked embarrassed. “I’ve probably said a bunch of stupid shit. You know.”

Nick did know, and Harry had. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Harry said, words that Nick had a feeling he was going to be hearing a lot of, before this was over. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Nick. “But you don’t.” It felt good to say that.

Harry looked away and nodded, and Nick went to see the coach.

Chapter Nine

Nick was nervous when he sat down to talk to Coach Samuels because he knew that there was a chance this could be deemed a “problem in the locker room” and he could be shuttled down to the minors. He was also just a little bit resentful, because at no point in time would guys like Chris Harris ever have to walk in, sit down, and tell his coach he was straight.

Coach Samuels listened without a change in expression while Nick got through his stammering, less-than-eloquent admission.

“Okay,” he said, sounding as if they were discussing plays. “Couple questions.” At that, though, he cleared his throat and the tips of his ears got red, like they did sometimes when he was mad. “Uh...not...personal ones. First off, anyone giving you shit about this? In this locker room, I mean. Or anyone in the organization.”

“No, Coach,” Nick said honestly. “I’ve just told you, Sparrow, and Harry, though.”

Coach nodded. “If you do get shit for this? You come tell me. Immediately, Miles. You don’t go have Harris punch them; you come to me. Got it?”

Nick nodded, though they both knew that players tended to handle their shit on the ice and without their coach’s help. “Got it, Coach.”

“Good. Second thing, you want this public information or not?”

That’s the thing that Nick didn’t know how to answer, and probably why he should have thought this through a little more before saying something. Part of him did want to just get it out in the open, and part of him didn’t. The part that feared the media attention, the part that had a tenuous and new relationship with a teammate who was in the closet, was the loudest. “I don’t – I don’t know,” he said, miserable, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s fine, Miles. You know this isn’t the first time in the history of professional hockey that a coach has had this conversation with a player, right?”

Where were all these gay hockey players in the goddamned minor leagues?

Afraid they won’t make it to the majors if they come out.

The part of him that wanted to step up and be the spokesperson for gay hockey players everywhere suddenly got a little louder, but Nick was smart enough to know that would be a huge, life-altering decision, and he couldn’t just make it on the spot. Besides, this was his first professional team, and he was coming out to the coach and the other players...wasn’t that enough?

“Not yet. But maybe. I just...need to see what happens.” Nick inhaled a slow breath and forced himself not to apologize for being gay. It was harder than it should be, and that was something he was determined to change.

Coach Samuels said gruffly, “You have my support, Nick. I want you to know that.”

Nick felt a sharp sting of tears at the back of his eyes and blinked at the ceiling to make them go away. “Thanks.”

“Good.” Coach waved his hand. “Now, let’s finish this season out, and we’ll...talk about next season later. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Nick and shook his coach’s hand.

***

At dinner that night, Nick told Everett about what happened that day in the locker room, and the meeting with their coach.

Everett was quiet for a long time. He’d made the pasta again – he really only did know how to cook pasta and the morning-after pancakes, but Nick didn’t mind – and then he said, carefully, “Are you glad you did it?”

Nick thought about it and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I couldn’t...it was just too hard.”

“Why wasn’t it too hard before?”

He knew Everett wasn’t trying to be a dick, but the question made Nick defensive. “What do you mean?”

Everett wasn’t looking at him. He shrugged, hunching in on himself and eating the pasta like it was tasteless cardboard. “You played for a few years on an AHL team and never told them, that’s all I meant.”

I wasn’t dating one of my teammates. “It just seemed like the right thing to do. I want to be part of this team, really be part of it. And besides,” he said, trying a smile, “I didn’t want Harry to keep throwing girls at me.”

Everett snorted. “I get that.” He looked at Nick finally, his expression carefully guarded. He clearly wanted to say something and didn’t know how.

Nick wasn’t the brightest guy in the world, but he knew Everett pretty well by now and figured out what it was. “I didn’t say anything about you. I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.” Everett looked down at his plate, toying with the pasta and no longer pretending to eat it. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“I mean we do hang out, though, so people might think things.” Nick felt a cold ball of worry settle in his stomach. He hadn’t thought about that. He too started messing with his food in lieu of eating it. “I hope it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not.” Everett pushed his plate away. “I think I’m done.”

For a moment, Nick wondered if he was talking about dinner or this thing with the two of them. He silently watched Everett clean up and put his unfinished pasta in a Tupperware container, noticing how dull the kitchen was with the one single window and the night beyond. He thought about the wall of windows in the house Everett had bought, bright and open, and wondered if he’d ever get to see it.

***

Nick had almost expected that Everett would want to sleep alone since he was in a weird mood, but he didn’t. He was all over Nick when Nick came out of the bathroom after having brushed his teeth, pushing him back against the wall and kissing him aggressively.

Everett wasn’t always aggressive, and Nick had learned that he liked being pinned down and fucked, liked it from behind and on his knees. It messed with some of Nick’s admittedly silly pre-conceived ideas of the roles men took when having sex with each other, and while he was younger and bigger, physically, than Everett...he’d always assumed Everett would want to top, not bottom. Nick had been surprised at how much he liked holding Everett down, watching him dissolve into breathless gasps and sharp moans, biting the pillow sometimes to muffle his sounds as Nick fucked him hard.

But he liked it when Everett fucked him, too, and that made him wonder what else he thought about being gay that wasn’t entirely true, but who the fuck was he supposed to talk to? He’d mentioned it to Everett one night, and Everett had laughed and kissed him, caught up in the good mood sex always put him in. “Nick, you do what you want and what feels good. That’s really the only rule.”

In Nick’s limited experience, things were never that easy.

Still, it was one of those nights he expected Everett to want to fuck him, and Nick shivered with anticipation as Everett pushed him roughly back toward the bed. But Everett didn’t want that, he sucked Nick until he was moaning and thrashing beneath him, cock wet and lying hard against his stomach, and said, “Fuck me.”

Nick scrambled up and reached for the lube and the condoms, stashed in the bedside table. The table in his room was a mess, littered with receipts and gum wrappers and papers, the drawer full mostly of loose change. Everett’s was neat, everything in its place – even the condoms were in little stacks. Nick grabbed one and put it on, kissing Everett as he did so. He slicked his cock with the lube and went to kneel, then remembered what Everett had said about doing what he wanted and what felt good.

So this time, he pushed Everett down flat on his back and crawled between his legs, grasping under Everett’s knees and lifting. Everett stared up at him, breathing hard, eyes blurry and mouth kiss-reddened. “What —” Everett trailed off as Nick slicked up his fingers, reaching down to tease at Everett’s hole.

“I wanted to do it like this,” Nick said, unnecessarily. He didn’t say that he wanted to see Everett’s face as he fell apart, wanted to watch instead of just listen. “That okay?”

For a half a second, Nick worried that Everett would say no. But, he didn’t. After that breathless pause, he nodded and relaxed back into the bed. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a startling intimacy in fucking someone face-to-face. Nick had done other stuff, handjobs mostly, while kissing a guy or watching him come. But there was something different about sliding into someone else’s body, holding their legs up and open, fucking into them, and watching them the whole time. Everett’s eyes were closed, but his face was incredibly expressive, open – he gasped, bit his lip, and nonsense words tumbled unchecked from his mouth. Nick wanted to kiss him, but he also wanted to keep watching, and when Everett reached down and grabbed his cock, it almost made Nick come to see Everett stroking himself, hard and fast, like he was racing for orgasm.

Nick shifted and put Everett’s calves on his shoulders, then reached down and knocked Everett’s hand away so he could stroke Everett off himself. Everett’s hand flailed around, and he found the lube, tossing it gracelessly to Nick, who managed to get some on his hand before wrapping his fingers tight around Everett’s dick.

The rhythm was hard to find at first — thrust, stroke, thrust, stroke — but he got it, it fell into place and became muscle memory like so many hockey drills, only infinitely more enjoyable. Everett came first, face twisting up into an expression of pure pleasure that was beautiful because it was honest, his whole body flushed as his cock throbbed, and he came all over Nick’s hand and his own chest.

The sight was one thing, feeling Everett around him like that was the end of it for Nick – he lost all that rhythm and fucked gracelessly, dimly aware of Everett dropping his legs to wrap them around Nick’s hips and pull him in closer. He buried his face in the crook of Everett’s shoulder, driving his cock with harsh, staccato thrusts, and coming with a low sound against the sweat-slicked skin of Everett’s neck.

They lay next to each other as sweat cooled and hearts calmed, not saying anything. Everett turned at last to look at him, but instead of saying something, he just yawned.

Nick slept with him that night, the two of them tangled up together on top of messy sheets.

Chapter Ten

The Philadelphia Foxes ended their season with a win over their rivals, the playoff-bound Pittsburgh Buccaneers. It was a meaningless loss for the Bucs, who were still pissy about it; therefore, the Foxes enjoyed every second of it. It was not a meaningless game for them, because it showed their fans that maybe next season they could expect more of the same – hard hits, goals, regulation wins – and even a trip to the playoffs.

Nick’s teammates were aware he was gay, and there were a few who didn’t quite manage to meet his eyes when they talked, but he doubted it would even be an issue in the fall. Harry and Rems were their usual selves (though Harry took some delight in trying to find Nick a boyfriend, which always made Nick cringe and avoid looking anywhere near Everett), and Nick didn’t know if being out to the guys meant the slurs from his teammates would stop. They’d only had the one practice and then the game, so it was too soon to tell.

With the end of the season came exit interviews, training plans, schedules, and goodbyes. It also brought the end of Nick and Everett’s tenure as roommates, as they both moved out of their townhouse into their respective new digs. Everett’s stuff arrived in a truck from Buffalo – Nick had packed all his belongings in his Focus. They helped each other move (which wasn’t that hard, in Nick’s case), bought furniture (which was), and ate pizza and cheesesteaks amidst all the boxes. Nick’s apartment was close to the arena, to nightlife, and to SEPTA, and Everett’s felt like a vacation away from all of it.

It was in Everett’s new living room, in his comfortable furniture with his big-ass television, that they watched the playoffs. The Buffalo Knights made it to the second round, where they lost to the Buccaneers in a heartbreaking game seven overtime loss. He and Everett watched the whole thing with the sort of eagle-eyed focus only an athlete has with his sport – finding the minutia and the signs of fatigue that others might miss. Neither were surprised when the puck found the back of the net for the Bucs, and Everett stood up and took Nick’s empty beer bottle with his own. Nick quietly watched the post-game handshake on the television.

“So,” Everett said at length. “That’s how it would have ended.”

Nick nodded. He, too, wondered what it would have liked to have been on the ice for a game like that – even one that ended in a loss. It was the kind of game you talked about in your dotage, regardless of the outcome. “Guess so.” It was impossible to know that for sure, if the team might have won with Everett – and even Nick – on the ice. But he understood the reason behind Everett’s words, what it meant to be able to put this away and move on.

Everett reached out and took the remote, switching off the television. He slowly drew his fingers through Nick’s hair, which was too long and desperately in need of a cut. Nick tipped his head and looked up at him, expectant.

“It was worth it,” he said, softly, and Nick’s heart – already in danger of being lost – slipped away completely, given over to the man smiling down at him like he was better than the playoffs.

“Only because they lost,” said Nick, and they both laughed.

***

For once in his life, Nick had a clean apartment – but it was only because he spent all his time at Everett’s. He learned about Everett’s family, with whom he was not close, and his friends from college, with whom he was. A few of his college pals came for a visit, and Everett introduced Nick as his boyfriend, and if the guys and their assorted girlfriends and wives were surprised, no one said anything. They were friendly, and they liked him, teased Everett about Nick being a teammate, and put up with their hockey talk.

Nick took Everett with him to the Miles family get-together in Thunder Bay, worried the entire time how it would be to bring someone along. Jacob teased him and said he was just as nervous when it he took Kristen the first time – it was almost the test to see if one’s significant other could fit in and pass muster. But the Miles family embraced Everett, and Everett fit in well: he loved talking hockey, he was helpful, and he was polite. And while Nick wouldn’t have said he was affectionate, he didn’t shy away from casual touches that were normal between couples, either. They didn’t fuck, but they were sleeping in a sleeper sofa in the living room of the family rental and had, by tacit agreement, declared that too weird. Besides, they were only there for a week.

As they were packing up Everett’s Escalade for the drive back to Philly, Nick’s mom took him aside and kissed him on the cheek. “I like him a lot, Nicky,” she said, smiling. “Everyone does. Don’t worry.”

Nick was worried about how much he liked Everett, and what would happen in a few short months when hockey came back and drew a line between them, one that neither of them knew how to cross, if they even wanted to. And that was part of what kept Nick awake at night, listening to Everett breathe in the dark. Did Everett want to cross it? Because Nick did, and it scared him to death.

***

Everett had a calendar in his kitchen, a free thing he’d been given with some welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift basket or his utility bill, Nick wasn’t sure. He saw it every time he was there, watching Everett cook (he’d picked up a few new recipes) or having breakfast or grabbing a beer. Saw the inexorable progression of days that lead to the end of the summer, which brought back the responsibilities and the uncertainty.

At the end of June, they went for a week’s vacation in the Dominican Republic and stayed in a suite overlooking the ocean. They went ziplining and other excursions during the day, drank at the pool bar at night, and fucked with the doors open so they could hear the sea as they fell asleep.

On their last full day, they went for a walk on the beach at sunset, like any new couple caught up in the delights of first love. While they walked, they were quiet, having found an ease in each other’s company where it was comfortable instead of awkward. As they watched the sun dip down in the horizon, Nick was startled to feel Everett reach out and take his hand.

They walked like that for a little while, holding hands on the beach while the sun went down. Nick thought about his first game in the NHL and wondered how it was this simple moment managed to dethrone it as the happiest of his life.

That night, bolstered by their stroll on the beach and some very good rum, Nick told Everett he loved him. After Everett fucked him into the mattress so hard the headboard nearly fell on top of them, Everett said it back.

Then they went back to the real world, and the calendar said July, and that was the end of their summer, the end of it being easy.

Chapter Eleven

Nick waited every day for the talk he assumed they’d be having, the one where they discussed the necessity of faking it in front of the others. The one where they had to pretend to be teammates and good friends. But as summer lapsed into fall and the pre-season began, Everett said nothing about pretending and neither did Nick.

Nick felt the uncomfortableness between himself and some of his teammates in the locker room, but he tried not to dwell on it. Harry and Rems treated him no different than ever, even after the “inclusivity training” that the Coach swore up and down was mandatory for all teams in the league this year. Nick spent the whole time slumped in his seat, red-faced with embarrassment every time they discussed anything having to do with LGBT issues, then making himself sit up straight because he wasn’t ashamed, he wasn’t.

When they discussed the improper use of gay slurs as insults on the ice and the fines and suspensions that could result, Nick looked around the room to see if maybe, just maybe, his teammates were paying attention a little more than usual. But they were hockey players, athletes used to rigorous training and movement, and none of them liked sitting still. A few of them glanced over at him and winced as if they’d just now realized there were real people on the end of those insults.

Nick thought sourly that while it was great his teammates might stop using homophobic language, it didn’t necessarily translate to every team in the NHL. They’d say the same thing his teammates would have said – that they didn’t know, they didn’t mean it. The only thing at the end of those words was anger, not people.

The Foxes started out with the optimism of a shiny-new season, and when no one seemed to remark on Nick’s sexuality, things fell into a comfortable and familiar pattern. He’d never started a season with an NHL team, but he’d started hockey seasons every year of his life since he was four. Nick was used to it – the excitement, the anticipation, the desire to start off strong and establish a team identity that would carry them through the regular season and beyond.

Everett was like a different person in the locker room this year, and everyone noticed. He was friendly, he smiled, he joked around, and hosted a party at his house because summer was lingering and his pool was heated. He played well with his line-mates in the pre-season, as did Nick, and there was no reason to think anything terrible would happen to bring everything to a screeching halt and make a mess out of the life Nick had worked so hard to have. Or at least, that’s what Nick kept telling himself.

In mid-November, Nick walked into the locker room and found Everett and one of their teammates, Cam Thomas, having a heated discussion that looked half a second away from turning violent. Everett’s expression was dangerous, making him look like the sullen, angry man he’d been last season instead of the new-and-improved Sparrow – who finally had a nickname, “Birdie”, which he pretended to hate, but Nick knew he really liked – and making Nick’s stomach clench with sudden worry.

Everett wouldn’t tell him what happened, but Harry did.

“Oh, it was Thomas, you know how he is. He said something gay—” Harry caught himself with a wince. “Ugh, sorry. I meant he said something stupid. But it was something stupid about being gay,” he offered, as if that were an excuse.

Nick, who had learned to just stare at his teammates when they did shit like this until they apologized, crossed his arms over his chest. He’d put on more muscle this summer because Everett was as finicky about his workout schedule as he was everything else, and there was no missing the gym or cheating on the pre-camp diet. Sometimes, Nick woke up dreaming of pizza.

“He said it was nice that Birdie didn’t care about hanging out with a – with you,” Harry said, scowling, and Nick knew with certainty what word Thomas had used.

Not thoughtlessly, this time, but on purpose. Anger simmered, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna happen,” he said. “People are stupid. He’ll get over it.”

“So I gotta listen to that kind of shit until Cam Thomas learns not to be a fucking asshole?” Nick was angry at the unfairness of it all. “Until, what, he’s the one who’s comfortable? Fuck that, man. Fuck that.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Look, Milesy. Think of how many of us there are who don’t care, and don’t let yourself get caught up on the one guy who’s probably gonna end up sent to the minors anyhow. He’s not that great on the ice, if you haven’t noticed.”

Nick appreciated his loyalty, but it was hard to explain how infuriating it was to be told that his comfort in his own locker room came second to a homophobe’s. That he should be grateful for the rest of his teammates not acting like assholes because he was gay.

But when the coach pulled him aside and asked if he’d changed his mind about coming out officially, Nick just shook his head and said things were fine. Nick never said a goddamn word to Cam Thomas, not even goodbye when the asshole was sent to Lehigh.

The incident with Thomas, though, proved that the guys had started noticing how much time Everett and Nick spent together. Nick didn’t know what to do, because he didn’t want to drag Everett into anything, but what was he supposed to do: ignore his own boyfriend and pretend he didn’t exist?

“Have you asked him if maybe he does want to come out?” Jacob asked one night when Nick was outside by the now-covered pool at Everett’s, shivering in his Foxes hoodie and keeping an eye on Everett through the kitchen windows.

“I know he doesn’t,” Nick said, but maybe that wasn’t true. “He didn’t the last time he was dating someone.”

“Nicky, you two practically live together,” Jacob pointed out. “You’re in love. You think he’s going to break up with you if you just ask him about it?”

It was so much easier for Jacob, Nick thought. Jacob and Kristen had been the same – they’d met, they’d dated, fallen in love, moved in together, gotten married, and were now expecting a baby. His brother would never understand that things wouldn’t be that easy for Nick, no matter how much he wished they could be.

He tried to say that, and Jacob sighed. “I know, Nicky. I mean, I don’t know, but I get what you’re saying. But relationships don’t work if people make decisions for each other and don’t communicate. Trust me, little brother. I don’t care if it’s two guys or two girls or what, that shit is universal. Just talk to him already.”

Maybe his brother had a point.

That night in bed, Nick said, “I love you. A lot. I mean, I...really do.” He smiled at Everett and got the same kind of smile in return – sweet, intimate.

“I love you, too.” Everett said it easily, never in hesitation. “Even if you totally blew your net coverage during that game with Carolina in the third period.”

Nick hit him in the arm. “Score more goals, then, hotshot.”

Everett’s sweet smile turned into a leer. “You want me to score, Milesy? That it?” He moved fast with his athlete’s grace, straddling Nick, and grinding his half-hard cock against Nick’s. “Because I definitely can.”

“Only because I don’t want to stop you,” Nick informed him, pushing up and sliding his hands into Everett’s hair – which was back to being too-short to grab, but he liked the buzz of it under his palms.

“Is that what you told that guy from Carolina?” Everett asked, biting at Nick’s jaw.

“He’s not my type,” Nick joked. “Stop chirping, Birdie, and fuck me.”

Communication was going to have to wait.

***

By December they were a totally different team and everyone knew it. The Foxes were coming together on the ice, and Nick’s skill as a defenseman was being noticed along with Everett’s significant offensive contributions. They lost games, of course, but there was no repeat of the horrific nine-game losing streak that had prompted the Foxes’ management to orchestrate a trade at the deadline last year.

“You don’t think one of us will end up traded again, do you?” Nick asked Everett in a hotel room in Montreal. The room had two beds, but they were in one of them, closest to the window.

“Nah. We’re both playing well. You’re having a hell of a season.” Everett sounded proud of him.

“You too.”

They were quiet for a moment, and just before Nick could come up with some worrying scenario in which he’d be shipped off to San Jose or somewhere equally impossibly far away, Everett said, “Move in with me.”

Nick stared at him. And stared some more. “Uh. Huh?”

“Your skill with words is so impressive, Milesy.”

Hockey chirping was a hard habit to break, even in bed with your boyfriend. “Fuck you. And I – you really want me to move in?”

“You realize you practically live there already, right?”

“But...yeah, I do. So why are you asking me?”

Everett started laughing. Nick loved his laugh, a bright happy sound he’d barely heard last season and now heard all the time. “Jesus Christ, Nick. You and romance are like...like...”

“Like you and winning faceoffs?”

“Oh fuck off,” Everett said, but he was grinning. “Seriously, just move your stuff in.”

“I pretty much already did.” Nick rolled onto his stomach, bracing himself on his elbows. “My apartment is, like, the place we crash after games when winning makes you horny, and you can’t wait long enough to back to your place to fuck.”

“I do like that,” Everett agreed. “But I can learn to appreciate delayed gratification. I guess.”

“Or put the seats down in the Escalade,” Nick suggested. He swallowed hard as the implications of Everett’s words sunk in. “You’re asking me to move in and give up my apartment.”

Everett nodded. “It’s stupid for you to pay rent, you know.”

“Yes, I know I don’t make as much as you do, highly ranked power forward,” Nick said, only half-joking. “But you know what people will think.”

“They already think it, Nick.” Everett’s smile faded. “Cam Thomas was the only one dumb enough to say something, but they all know.”

Nick didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he was thrilled at the relationship milestone and on the other, he was uncertain what it meant that Everett just planned to do it and not say anything. “You going to tell the team you’re gay?”

“I think they figured it out,” Everett said wryly. “Also, remember that game in Buffalo last week? Or, uh, remember what happened after that game?”

Nick remembered. They’d won, and soundly, and Everett had been all over him the second the hotel door closed. “Yeah, I remember. I was sore for two days.” Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Nick smiled. “It was awesome.”

“Our room was next to Brick’s,” Everett said, referring to their teammate. “We weren’t quiet. You do the math.”

Nick groaned and buried his face in his arms. “Did he say something?”

“Only that he’s never heard you put that many words together in a sentence,” Everett joked, but there was worry running beneath it. “And that he got why I was so much, uh, nicer. Now that I was getting some.”

Nick just mumbled into his arms and didn’t lift his head. “Great. Fuck, that’s embarrassing.”

“That he heard me railing you into next week?”

“That he heard me getting railed by anyone.” Nick lifted his head and propped himself up again. “Jesus.”

“I think it was his way of telling me that he didn’t care,” Everett said. “And also that the Hilton has shitty insulation in their walls.”

“I do want to move in with you,” Nick said, and his heart was racing. “But I don’t want to have to pretend we’re roommates. And I know you don’t want to come out, and I – I guess what you’re saying is we don’t have to since everyone knows? Is that it?”

Everett nodded, but he didn’t look at Nick. “I don’t want to pretend, either,” he said softly. “But it’s not the same thing as pretending if we just don’t talk about it, is it?”

Nick’s voice was steady as he answered, surprised by the vehemence of his own reaction to that statement. “Yeah, Ev. Actually, it is.”

“So what does that mean?” Everett asked, after a moment of tense silence.

“It means we do what we’re doing, and I’m keeping my apartment. Because I can’t – I’m not saying that you have to come out or we’re breaking up. But it’s a big deal, moving in together. I want it to be...” he searched for the right words. “Honest, I guess. But I’m not unhappy, Ev. I’m not making you do anything, either. This part is your decision, not mine.”

Everett stared at him a long time without speaking, then turned off the light. Before Nick fell asleep, Everett said, “Coming out to the team would make you say yes?”

“I said yes already,” Nick reminded him, moving close, putting an arm around Everett, and settling against his back.

Everett didn’t say anything else – not that night, or the day that followed, or in the weeks after that.

Chapter Twelve

When Nick found out about the trade from Buffalo to Philly, he’d had no idea it was coming, having never thought himself important enough to be included in any sort of last-minute player deals.

And he had no idea what was coming when Everett took him out to dinner – a nice place, a date place, somewhere they hadn’t been since last summer, and said, “I want to come out, Nick.”

“Thanks for making me move in the middle of a Philly winter, asshole,” said Nick, but he was grinning.

Everett didn’t smile at his joke, which was probably not a big deal. He was giving Nick the intense look he wore on the ice or on the bench during a game. “You have like four things in your apartment. But I don’t mean coming out to the team – I want to come out to the league.”

Nick stared at him. “You – what?”

Everett nodded. “You were right, what you said about being honest. And I want to be honest. But this isn’t just about me. So if you don’t want me to come out to everyone, I’ll just tell the team, and you can move the last three things you probably don’t need into my house, and we can call it good.” Everett pushed his water glass on the table between his hands. No booze for them, mid-season. “I wasn’t ready before, but I am now. If you’re not, though, it’s fine. You gave me the same choice and loved me, anyway.” He groaned. “This sounded so much better when I practiced it in my head.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Not for me,” Nick managed.

“I know. That’s why I want to.” Everett smiled at him. “You made me realize I could.”

A swirl of emotions almost undid him right there at the table, a heady mix of love and pride and trepidation, anxiousness and fierceness and everything else. “Won’t I sound like an asshole if I say not to?”

“You didn’t think that about me, even when it was true.”

“I kind of thought you were an asshole,” Nick muttered. “Mainly about the garage.”

“And now we have a house with room for, what, three cars and a pair of jet skis?”

“Stop distracting me with extreme sports,” Nick retorted, thinking. “If you want to do this, then I support you. Of course. Even if this means about a thousand more of those horrible seminars.” He threw caution to the wind and reached out to touch Everett’s hand, still a little shy about public affection but figuring he’d get over it. “You could think about it, you know. My lease is for a year, anyway.”

Everett laughed, and so did Nick. They ordered dessert, and then they drove past Nick’s apartment and went home.

***

“Wow,” Jacob said, when Nick called to tell him the news. “How the hell is he going to follow this gesture up when he proposes?”

Nick hung up without answering and called his parents next.

“Oh, honey, that’s so wonderful,” his mother said. “You tell Everett we’re so proud of him, and he’ll always have a place in our family.” She paused. “Unless he breaks your heart, then that place will be in the garage.”

“Mom!” Nick had to laugh. “I’ll tell him, though.”

“He could always sleep in that car of his,” his mother said pertly. “It’s certainly big enough. I’m sure those seats fold down.”

Nick knew for certain that they did. Everett had yet to learn to appreciate delayed gratification.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

Nick stared out the window at the snow falling, his mind made up and a sense of peace settling over him. “I’m not going to let him do it alone.”

“Of course, you’re not,” his mother said, no surprise whatsoever in her voice. “That’s my Nicky. You’re a defenseman through-and-through, honey.”

Hockey parents were not like other parents, but he appreciated the sentiment. “Thanks, Mom. For, you know. Your support.”

There was a slight pause and a sniff. “Oh, Nicky. Honey, I couldn’t be prouder of you. I understand why you waited so long to tell us, but I hope you know that it never was an issue. And Nicky – just think. Your little niece or nephew will grow up in a world where it’s always been okay to be gay or bi or whatever else and play hockey. Just think how wonderful that will be.”

Nick surreptitiously wiped at his eyes, touched and absolutely unable to respond to that in any meaningful way. “You just want more free hockey tickets,” he said, only half-teasing.

“I wouldn’t say no,” she said agreeably. “Now put Everett on the phone.”

Everett took the call, confused at first and then looking a little misty-eyed himself when he handed Nick his phone back.

“She said the thing about our niece and nephew living in a world that always accepted gay athletes, huh,” Nick said, amused. “I wish I was that good at always knowing what to say.”

Everett’s smile blinded Nick, like lights shining off the ice. “You are,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

***

It was a sunny winter day when Everett Sparrow stepped up to a microphone, looking sharp in a suit and incredibly determined. And Nick Miles, no longer just a face in the background, stood right by his side.

Everett reached out and took Nick’s hand, and together, they faced the crowd.

“Thanks for coming today,” said Everett. “We have something we’d like to tell you.”

The cameras flashed, the light blinding, and Nick squeezed Everett’s hand.

Avon Gale lives in a liberal Midwestern college town, where she spends her days getting heavily invested in everything from craft projects to video games. She likes road trips by car, rock concerts, thunderstorms, IPAs, Kentucky bourbon and tattoos. As a queer author, Avon is committed to providing happy endings for all and loves to tell stories that focus on found families, strong and open communication, and friendship. She loves writing about quirky people who might not be perfect, but always find a place where they belong.

In her former life, Avon wrote fanfiction at her desk while ostensibly doing work in non-profit fundraising for public radio and women’s liberal arts education, and worked on her books in between haircuts and highlights as a stylist. Now she’s a full-time writer, delighted to be able to tell stories for a living.

Avon is represented by Courtney Miller-Callihan of Handspun Literary Agency.

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