I’m stuck in the middle section of the plane while Parker gets moved up to sit with the other starters. The backup goalie who’s barely seen ice time is now getting treated like the starter, while I’m stuck sitting with the press and equipment staff.
And of course, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, Zane’s sitting three rows ahead of me.
I can see the back of his head, the way he keeps his shoulders and spine still like he’s expecting an attack from behind. Every few minutes, he adjusts his position or reaches up to touch his neck, and I catch a glimpse of his profile.
It pisses me off how good he still looks. How put-together and professional, like nothing can touch him. I try to block out the memory of his hands on me, his biceps wrapped tight around me, the way his hair felt between my fingers, the way his fingers felt on my?—
No. Fuck no, I’m not going there. Haven’t I learned my damn lesson? I let my emotions take over once and I’ve been picking up the pieces ever since.
The flight attendant comes by with drinks, and I order a Coke just to have something to do with my hands. I grip the can, rubbing my fingers up and down the side. Makes me think of how I nursed that beer in Vegas right before I met Zane.
Fuck. I can’t even drink a Coke without thinking about that night.
I gulp it down fast and squeeze my eyes shut. My phone was blowing up before we took off so I know once we land all hell will break loose.
Word travels fast in this league. By the time we land in Phoenix, every hockey blog and social media account will be talking about what’s wrong with Tate Barnes. They’ll come up with all kinds of reasons, the fucking vultures.
Cam catches up with me before we board the bus and plants himself next to me. “So, Mark and Tessa are pretty serious, yeah? They’re great together. I know Ethan loves him.”
I look at him. “Yeah, she’s awesome. It’s funny, after playing with Logan for so long, I only really got to meet her when she started dating Mark.”
“Yeah, well, you know how locked down Logan was. He hated mixing his private life with hockey.” Cam pauses. “I get that. People like to pry into celebrities’ lives and make judgments about how they live. It’s hard to balance expectations with personal happiness.”
And suddenly I understand what he’s doing.
But instead of shutting him down, I keep talking because I know the skeletons he’s hidden and how they almost destroyed him. And because I don’t want to be a dick. Cam’s a good guy and my friend. He can’t help me work out my personal shit but it’s a good reminder that we all have things to deal with.
Maybe I can figure this shit out after all. Cam went through a real rough patch last season and came out with his golden boy image still intact. It can happen for me, too, right? I can fix this. I can fixme.
We talk for the entire bus ride. It’s not deep, but it reassures me that I’m not on my own, that I have a support network around me. Ironically, Carter and Cam are gay, so I shouldn’t have a hard time talking to them about this. But until I come to terms with it myself, I’m just not ready to share it with anyone else.
“Logan really helped me get through all of my issues last season,” he says as the bus pulls into the back parking lot ofthe hotel. “I didn’t like having to cling to a lifeline because I’d always figured things out on my own.” He stares at me for a long minute. “But that was a lonely way to live. I didn’t like not having anyone to trust. And I sure as hell didn’t want to use him as a crutch for my own bad choices.”
With a shrug, he stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “In the end, it made me stronger, knowing that he’d accept me for who I was, not the decisions I’d made.”
I nod slowly. “You guys are lucky to have each other.”
“Yeah. I’m thankful for him every day.” Cam’s lips quirk upward and he claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll see ya at dinner.”
Then he turns and walks up the aisle, leaving me to weigh his words. They land hard and for the first time, I actually feel better when I walk into the hotel.
It doesn’t last long.
I’m with the guys, waiting for my room key, when I spot Zane by the elevators. He’s got a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, his face tight, forehead creased.
Our eyes meet across the lobby, and for a second, neither of us looks away. Then he turns away when the elevator door opens, and I’m left standing with a knot in my chest.
“Barnes,” one of the team managers says, handing me a key card. “Room 847.”
“Thanks,” I say.
The elevator climbs to the eighth floor. I tap my toe against the floor, anxious to take a hot shower and process my conversation with Cam. When I find room 847, I slide the key card and push open the door.
I reach for the light switch and realize it’s already on. My fingers freeze.
Zane sits on one of the two beds, his laptop open, his eyes wide.
For a few seconds, neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. We just stare at each other.
