Our only instructions on attendance were to wear white, keep it an absolute secret, and arrive at the location at or before eleven exactly.
I don’t know what this building is used for, but the shape is unique. Not quite churchy, yet it has that almost loud holy vibe to it like massive stone churches. There’s stained glass, but it’s not biblical. The windows are arched. The door is massive.
My car settles between a couple of my teammates’, and I stare at the building. It’s cold, which is unsurprising since it’s the end of December in Canada. There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, and the not-quite-a-church is decorated with white lights and white Chinese lanterns. The trees on the property are decorated with white lights as well.
As I get closer to the door, I find that the trees and shrubbery lining the path are not only surrounded by the same white lightsbut also white and silver ornaments. Most of them are balls, but there are some snowflakes too.
“This is beautiful,” a woman says as she passes me. I’m admittedly walking a little slowly.
“Enchanting,” Toby Eads says. He gives me a wink, his hand firmly in his husband’s. There’s no question why he’s here. His husband, Hector Atlas, is part of Felton’s Gays Can Play friends.
As I follow them inside, I find that there are quite a few of the GCP men, and it makes my chest warm. I’m sure I don’t even know half of what Felton has been through, but the fact that so many people disrupted whatever holiday plans they might have to be here for him… Well, it brings tears to my eyes. Just a little.
Ren is standing just inside the door. He smiles when he meets my eyes, and I grip his arm. “This is an amazing thing you’re doing.”
Ren’s head tilts a little. “I have more than thirty years of bad memories to erase. I think I need to begin big.”
I laugh.
His smile fades a little. “He deserves a lot that I’m not sure I’ll ever give him, but Felton has lived so long feeling unloved and unimportant. We’re working on changing that, and I wanted him to see in a big way just how much he’s loved and how important he is. Not only to me but to so many people in his life. I appreciate you being here, Coach.”
“I’m honored to have been invited to share your day.” I squeeze his arm gently and think about what he said on my way down the aisle to find a seat.
Dasan and I arrived separately. Obviously. When I see the end of the pew open beside him, I slide in as nonchalantly as I can. He turns his head and grins.
This man is breathtaking on a good day, but fuck, all in white, he’s ethereal. His long black hair is half pulled back with a stripof white leather except for a few errant strands framing his face. He gives me a flirty smile, his dark eyes twinkling.
“Hello, Coach.” He makes a point of looking me over, and I pretend that my cheeks don’t flush. “You clean up good.”
Me? The way his crisp white suit brings attention to his beautifully flawless bronze skin and dark features has me struggling to remember how to breathe.
“Coach is always sexy in a suit,” Max Latham, a Philly wingman who’s chaos off the ice, says as he twists around to look at us with a wide smile. “I’m not gonna brag or anything, but of all the pro sports, hockey has the highest number of sexy coaches.”
Dasan chuckles.
I grin when a small hand grips the back of the pew, then a face pops up between Max and Deryke Schneider, Max’s partner and one of Philly’s goaltenders. He’s a fucking adorable kid, who gives us huge smiles. Max and Deryke shift, their bodies angling to protect their little one.
Beside Dasan is Denny, and his little one shifts in Denny’s lap to look at the kid his age. It’s adorable to see a staring contest between two babies. If I’m not mistaken, both are less than a year old.
“Babies in white,” Denny muses as he shifts Ty in his arms so that the two boys are staring at each other. “Seems like a really bad idea.”
“Stains for days,” Max agrees.
“They’re wear-once outfits,” Tyler notes.
A camera flashes, and I peek down in time to see Zenia smirking at his phone. “We have picture proof that they’re clean and stunning for thirty minutes.”
Denny grins. “I’m not even going to tell you how many pictures we’ve taken.”
Max agrees. “I need a phone with more storage. And he’s not even a year old!” He leans down to kiss the top of his baby’s head. I can’t remember his name. Did I know it at all?
Noah Kain and Elixon Kipler sit in the pew beside Max, who turns again and hugs Noah.
“You’re so hot in white,” Max says, winking at Noah.
Noah rolls his eyes. Noah plays for L.A., and he’s a fast fucking player. I’ve been trying to get a transfer for him for the last couple years, but they want one of my guys who I’m not willing to give up. Thankfully, management—and by management, I mean the owner—allows me a lot of influence in trades, though not necessarily recruitment of new talent.
Beside Noah is Elixon, a retired hockey player. I’ve met him a few times, so I’m not surprised when he reaches over the back of the pew to grasp my hand and exchange a hello.
