It doesn’t work.
I lie awake until three in the morning, staring at the ceiling.
“This is killing me.”
Because it’s killing me too. All of it.
Game day is worse.
Our morning skate goes smoothly, but the tension between me and Zane is thick enough to make me choke. I feel it every time Zane gives me an instruction. Every time he “accidentally” touches me when he adjusts my positioning.
The other guys notice. Not the specifics, but something.
“You and Christensen seem tight,” Masterson says as we’re getting dressed after practice.
“He’s my coach. We work together.”
“Yeah, but there’s working together and then there’s... working together.”
My head snaps up to meet his questioning look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just seems like you two have good chemistry. You know, on the ice,” he says. “Because off the ice, it’s frigid as fuck. Which is actually kinda weird, but hey, it works.”
I grind my teeth together. I know he’s talking about dinner last night. The sun couldn’t melt the glacial looks he was shooting at me across the table.
Hours pass and we’re finally back at the arena. I’ve managed to avoid everyone by holing up in my room with my iPad, watching animal videos onYouTube. That shit always makes me laugh and relaxes me.
So much hangs over me right now. My career, Zane, my future. And I don’t feel like I can talk to anyone about it. My family is supportive, always has been. But how do I explain any of this after all the years of lying? That I’m gay and falling for a man who keeps pushing me away, making me question myself and why I’m not good enough? That the one time I allowed myself to be real, he disappeared without a trace and now I’m struggling because he’s pulling the same shit again with no explanation?
I just can’t seem to figure out how to crawl far enough out of the black hole to save my livelihood…and my fucking sanity.
So yeah, the animal videos were cute. But so goddamn temporary because the second I walked out of my room, the tension assaulted my mind and body all over again.
After suiting up, I head out toward the tunnel when Zane rounds a corner and stops short in front of me. My back stiffens as the scent of his cologne wafts under my nose, making my knees shake and my mind remember.
“You okay?” Zane asks in a low voice.
It’s the first thing he’s said directly to me all day that wasn’t about hockey.
“Fine.”
“You seem distracted.”
“I’m focused.”
“Are you?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you seriously asking me that? After spending the last two days pretending you don’t know me?”
“I do know you. That’s the problem.”
“No, the problem is that you want me but you’re too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So just fuck off. I’ll be fine.Again.”
I push past him.
But I’m not fine. Not even close.
I take my position on the ice, forcing myself to keep my eyes away from Zane. The guys are pumped and we start out strong against Seattle. They’re slow, not matching our pace at all. I make a few routine saves. They’re nothing spectacular but solid enough.
