For once in my entire damn life… I havenothingto say.
SEVEN
TODD
What the fuckdid I just do?
I stumble back from him like I touched a live wire, breath coming hard, heart pounding behind my ribs like it’s trying to break out. My gloves and stick are forgotten on the ice. I can still feel the drag of his hoodie in my fists, the sharp inhale he took right before our mouths crashed together. His rough stubble dragging over my chin. God, what did I do?
I kissed him.
The words hammer through my skull as I skate faster, like I can outrun what just happened. As though I didn’t just lose every ounce of control andkissLogan fucking Brooks against the boards like I’ve been thinking about doing since the second he swaggered back into my life.
My chest heaves. My legs burn. I don’t stop.
God, what thehellis wrong with me?
I skate another lap—maybe two—trying to shake the way his lips felt against mine. Too hot. Too real. Too much. My heart’s still pounding, and my mouth still tingles, and my brain won’t shut the hell up.
I kissed him.
I kissed him.
And he kissed me back. That’s the worst part. He didn’t shove me off. Hegrabbed me. Made a sound I’ve never heard from him before—low and so goddamn raw, as if he wanted it just as bad as I did. And he’s been waiting for me to snap.
Fuck.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to scrub the memory away, but it won’t budge. It’s etched in. The way he tasted. The way he looked at me right before I skated off. All wide-eyed and speechless like I knocked the air out of him.
He liked it.
I groan, low and pained, dragging my hands down my face.
What if he tells someone?
What if he doesn’t?
What if he wants to do it again?
Nope. No. I’m not going there. I can’t. I’ve worked too hard to keep this part of me locked down. Hidden. Out of sight, out of reach. I can’t afford to let it out now—especially not forhim.
He’s cocky. Chaotic. Dangerous in ways I don’t even have words for. He’s not safe like the guys on Prism. He’s not anonymous.
I need to be anonymous.
It’s safer that way. Cleaner. Easier to pretend I’m just another straight guy chasing the NHL dream, with nothing for the media—or my father—to sink their teeth into.
Logan? He’s the opposite of anonymous.
He’s loud, he’s bold, he draws eyes without even trying. Hewalks into a room and people look. He smirks, and they lean closer. If I let myself want him—if I let anyone see that I alreadydo—then I’m not just another promising player anymore. I’m the gay captain. The queer prospect. The label slapped on every stat line, every scouting report, every fucking headline.
Shaw comes out in final season—how will it affect his draft stock?
Queer captain leads Saxton toward Nationals—too much distraction?
I’ve seen how it happens. Doesn’t matter how many goals I score or games I win. It won’t be about the numbers anymore. It’ll be aboutthat.
And I can’t take that risk.
