Connor
So it turns out Gavin Marshal sleeps like the dead. I don’t know why this surprises me. Maybe because I’ve never slept well a single night in my life. Regardless of why, I find myself envious of how peaceful he looks sprawled out on his back with one muscular arm lazily flung over his head. I can’t keep my eyes off the rise and fall of his barely covered chest, which is peppered with an enticing distribution of dark chest hair. Not too much, but not too little either. Just right for the Gay Goldilocks that lives in my brain always trying to find the perfect balance of what I’d like to run my fingers through.
I also find myself tuned into the rhythm of his breath. He’s not a snorer, which is a relief, but also surprises me. I guess I assumed a man of that size was bound to be a loud sleeper.
Wrong. Once again. It seems I’m always wrong about Gavin.
Or am I?
Some things I’ve been right about. I think? Like the fact that he’s lonely. But it’s not like he’s hiding that well. All you have to do is look past his rough exterior to see that hint of isolation in hiseyes. Almost like he’s haunted by it. It makes me curious what he’s seen. Where he’s been. How life has shaken out for him.
He told me once it was either the NHL or a fishing boat, and he seems to have chosen hockey like a man determined to skate away from his fate. I wonder when the last time was he went home. I wonder if he has family and if he does, will they come cheer him on in Milan?
I also wonder what it’s like to be such an unknown. I mean, not that he’s not famous. Anyone who pays any attention to hockey knows who he is. But that’s all anyone knows about him. There are no clues about where he lives—I assume Buffalo, but who knows. There’s no evidence of family and I know for a fact I’ve never seen one gossip blog picture or social media post of him on a date. Ever. Which is ridiculous. Every other superstar player in the league, excluding me for obvious reasons, has gone viral at one point or another from some grainy picture of them making out in a dark corner with an unnamed woman.
My father would kill for a photo like that to come out involving me. He’s even tried to orchestrate it, but each time I’ve managed to foil his plan.
It helps that I’m not particularly social. Sure, I’ll go out and celebrate with my teammates after big wins but I’m almost always the first to leave and go home or head back to the hotel if we’re on a road trip. I like peace and quiet. I like it when I no longer need to turn on the charm and put on a show. The only time I can do that is when I’m alone. Or, it would seem, when I’m in this room with Gavin, who doesn’t make me feel like I need to be perfect in every way. Perhaps it’s because he’s so openly flawed. So unabashedly unafraid to have everyone assume he’s exactly the unapproachable tough guy bruiser they think he is.
That attitude and his general way of being affords him a lot of privacy. It seems to allow him to keep himself hidden in plain sight. It’s possible he’s a secret ax murderer that no one knows about. Nope.Don’t go there, Connor. You still have to share a room with this guy.
This guy who is suddenly rolling over and turning to face my direction in the bed across the room from me. I quickly shut my eyes to avoid getting caught staring.
I keep my eyes closed and listen to him get out of bed. He unzips his duffle bag and rustles around in it before I hear him zip it again and walk to the bathroom, shutting the door.
With him in the bathroom, I reopen my eyes and grab my phone. Five a.m. Damn. It’s still early. We can get another couple of hours of sleep before we meet for team breakfast and then practice.
I put my phone back down on the night table as he exits the bathroom.
“Hey,” he says with a nod.
“Hey,” I say back and expect him to get back into bed. Except he’s changed into a pair of shorts, which even though they’re loose and long, still manage to show off his thighs, which pull at the fabric, and a black tight-fitting tank top that ripples with his pecs and abs. He looks like he’s ready to go to the gym. Interesting.
Gavin puts his earbuds into his ears and grabs his phone.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He grunts. “I gotta hit the gym.”
“But we have practice today.”
“So?”
“So…” I don’t know what to say. He looks at me, obviously waiting for me to continue. There’s a reason he looks the way he does. A reason he’s built as solid as a tree on skates and feels like a brick wall when he runs into you. I swallow. “Have a good workout. Team breakfast is at eight.”
He gives me a two-finger salute. “Aye aye… Captain.” He draws the last word out and smirks, teasing me, of course, then leaves. His teasing as he leaves makes me uneasy. I am the team captain, as he just aptly pointed out, and here I am still in bed while he’s up and heading to the gym.
My lips purse and twist to the side as I wonder if naming me team captain was a mistake.
Gavin
The best thing about Las Vegas hotels is that the gym is always empty at five thirty in the morning. Even better, they’re almost always filled with state-of-the-art equipment that hardly anyone has used, making it easy for me to keep my routine. Which is key. Sometimes I think it’s part of the reason I haven’t let myself get too comfortable in Buffalo and have kept my apartment stripped down to the bare minimum. It’s easier to keep my head clear when I’m not sitting still. Working out, spending time in gyms and on the ice is where I find myself the most relaxed. It also helps that my routine wears me out, allowing me to sleep in peace without my life from before hockey seeping into the forefront of my mind.
Hockey saved me and my dad both. I don’t want to think about what could have happened to us had my dad not gotten me into it at such a young age. I’d probably be some pill-popping twenty-five-year-old with a bad back bouncing from boat to boat back in Alaska, and my dad might not be around at all. Yet here I am now, getting ready to represent my country on the world’s stage. I want to make the most of this opportunity. And to do that, I need my strict regimens.
Seeing the way Connor was when I got back last night makes me wonder if he would benefit from a similar tactic. He seemed like he needed to get out of his head. But I wasn’t about to invite him to join me this morning. That would be the first step in caring, which is something I definitely shouldn’t be doing.
I went to sleep last night thinking about the look on his face when I returned to the room around eleven. After milling around, watching Bouchard lose his ass in the casino, we parted ways and I went up to my room, hoping Connor had held up his promise to not wait up.
