Fuck.
Why do I even care?
The remainder of practice is clean. Focused. No one else feels like testing my patience. When we head into the locker room, I toss my gloves and helmet onto my bag, then drop onto the bench and let out a long exhale.
Zach eyes me as he removes his gear. “You good?”
“Just need a good night’s sleep.” My phone dings, and I reach into my bag and pull it out.
My fingers curl around my phone hard enough to crack the screen as I read the alerts.
Father: Family dinner tonight. 6 PM sharp.
Father: Don't even think about being late.
Dammit.
Only one hour. Barely enough time to shower. Definitely can’t go back to the dorm. So, we’re going in sweats.
Shit.
Across the locker room, Henneman’s just starting to remove his gear. This is going to be a problem. “Hey, we need to leave in fifteen minutes.”
He freezes midway through pulling off his helmet. “W-why?”
“Family dinner.” I take a measured breath, straightening my spine. Fuck my father for this last-minute bullshit. But there's no other option. “You need to shower here.”
All the color drains from his face, eyes are wide the whites show from across the room as he drops onto the bench. “I can't—I need to—I can go back to—”
“No time.”
Both hands drag down my face. If I force him, he breaks. If I don’t, we’re late.
“Everyone out!” Zach's voice booms through the locker room as he grabs players and shoves them toward the door. “Now!”
Viktor joins him, even yanking Jenkins by the hair. “Out you go,pissant.”
Once they’re gone, Zach locks the door and then faces us. Henneman has his skates and upper gear off. His gaze bounces between me, Viktor, and Zach.
Viktor dips at the waist, one hand extended toward the showers. “All yours.”
Henneman slowly removes the rest of his gear, eyes on us. When he’s down to his base layers, he looks over at me, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“Move it. We have to go. You don't have a choice right now.”
He takes a shaky breath and removes the shirt.
Fuck.
I fumble through my bag, searching for nothing. But it keeps me from looking at the way his skin shines from sweat, at how much muscle he has, like he should be playing football instead of hockey. He’s so goddamn big. And his nipples—
“Connor?”
“What?”
When Henneman doesn’t say anything, I look up. He’s just standing there, unblinking. So, I get up, grab his arm and then lead him to the showers. “Knight is by the door. No one’s getting in.”
I grab a clean towel from the stack, then hold it out to him. “They won't look. And no one touches you. You have my word.”
