Nash
As morning arrives, sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating our quiet space as we awaken, a tangle of sheets and limbs. I steal a glance at Leo, warmth curling in my chest, grateful for the newness that’s taken shape between us.
Breakfast at the team’s designated area feels like a pressure cooker. The space is alive with conversation, laughter dancing through the air as players share jokes and recount highlights from the game.
I steal a glance at Leo, who’s seated a few tables over, laughter ringing in his voice as he converses with a group of players, his charm effortlessly pulling everyone in. The distance between us feels monumental in that moment; every shared secret flickersunder the scrutiny of prying eyes. Our earlier moments of intimacy feel like a world away, swallowed by the spiraling tension around us.
“You are being very quiet today,” Sean jabs. He stuffs his mouth full of eggs.
“I’m tired,” I point out. I look down at my bowl of oatmeal.
“Are you and Leo having trouble again? I swear, you two are like an old married couple,” Marcus chimes in.
“Just give us the scoop, Nash. We won’t tell anyone,” a teammate presses, and I can see them leaning in, anticipation sparking in their expressions. “You can’t hide something like that. If it’s true, spill it!”
There’s a moment—just a fleeting heartbeat—where the weight of my secret feels unbearable. And yet, it’s that same fear that locks my lips shut; the stakes feel too high to risk everything we’ve worked for. “There’s nothing to spill,” I insist, voice steady though my heart races against the tide of rising panic. “We’re teammates and friends. That’s it.”
“What, are you two sharing some mystery woman?” Sean questions.
A few guys laugh, making crude jokes about us passing around a woman. Leo and I laugh, too, allowing the guys to run with this drama.
A murmur runs through the table, the laughter dying down as uncertainty settles in. It’s as if the silence amplifies every unspoken fear, and I can’t help but look back at Leo.
Just then, my phone buzzes again, the message shocking me back into awareness.
Unknown Number: I know a secret about you.
The ominous text reads, echoing like a haunting reminder of our precarious balance.
“Nash?” Leo’s voice breaks through my spiral, concern etching itself into the edges of his expression, and I feel the world shift once more. This wasn’t just about me anymore; we’re in this together, bound by the fragility of what we’ve created.
“Yeah?” I reply, trying to project calm, though my heart races against my chest.
Leo pushes away from the table, stepping closer as the tension thickens between us. “What’s going on?” His tone is soft but firm, a subtle pressure that shifts the weight of the room.
“I got a text that someone knows about us,” I admit quietly, aware of the weight my words carry in the open air. A ripple of uncertainty crosses his features, and I see the acknowledgment settle in his eyes as he processes the magnitude of the moment.
He nods, determination etched across his brow. “Then we need to be smart about this. We can’t let it slip,” Leo replies, urgency saturating his voice. “I won’t let them ruin what we have.”
“Agreed,” I say, voice steadying as I draw on the resolve rising within me. Together, we’ll navigate whatever challenge lies ahead. We find our footing, though it’s delicate, a reflection of our desire and the weight of secrecy burdening our shoulders.
Chapter 22
Nash
Back home, Leo and I have to be even more careful.
Arriving at the rink, I step inside, the chaos around me immediately enveloping me in its infectious energy. Teammates shout back and forth, the atmosphere humming with excitement, and I can feel adrenaline coursing through me as I lace up my skates.
“Hey, Nash! You ready for some action?” A voice calls from the locker room, and I can’t help but grin at my teammates, the rush of excitement pulling me in.
“Always,” I reply, the banter flowing smoothly, but the thrill is tinged with anxiety. Every laugh shared carries the weight of our secret.
As I slip onto the ice, the sharp crunch beneath my skates fills the space around me. The rink is alive, and I lean into the rhythm of practice, allowing the adrenaline to swallow me whole. Every shot, every pass, becomes a distraction, but still, the watch weighs heavily on my mind, tucked into my pocket as if hiding the most potent piece of my heart.
After several laps around the rink, I take a break to grab water, catching snippets of conversation bouncing around. Dylan Peterson, a teammate known for his teasing ways, stands with a few guys nearby, laughter rippling through their group like wildfire.
With every glide across the ice, I remind myself of the depth of what we’re building, the necessity of vulnerability—and the fragile hope that lies hidden beneath the weight of our choices. Whatever comes next, I know I can’t allow fear to overpower the connection we’ve formed, and in that understanding, I find solace as I move forward, ready to embrace whatever lies ahead.
