“Yup. Before he stabbed me in the back.” He leansforward, pouring himself another drink from our pitcher. “Drinks on me, gentlemen.”
I look over at Felix. His eyes look faraway. “You alright?” He swallows then leans into me.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he whispers in my ear.
I turn a little bit toward him, cupping his cheek. “Hey, don’t worry. You have a table full of hockey players over the height of six-four. No one’s doing shit to you right now.” That makes him smile. “Then we’ll get a little vacation in a couple of weeks. Some time away. You’re safe, okay? I mean it.”
“What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Oli’s brows rise with a smirk.
“Probably that hot kiss everyone saw during the second intermission.” Knox grins.
“Do you think that was smart?” Atlas bites out.
“Fuck smart. Anything that makes the bigots squirm is automatically amazing to me. I just know people are pissed.” Knox takes a drink.
“It doesn’t matter what people think.” I watch Felix, his eyes faraway. I slide my hand over the top of his thigh with a slight squeeze.
I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but I know is the best parts of my day begin and end with him. Watching him journal, listening to music, or watching TV. It’s all mundane shit on the surface, but watching him do those things fills me with joy.
I look over the bar, seeing my teammates. I guess now’s as a good a time as any. I stand up. Oli lets me pass him to get out of the booth. Some eyes are on me and I clear my throat. “Hey, everyone!” Slowly the bar starts to quiet. Now or never. “I uh, just want to say how fucking proud I am. You all played a hell of a series. Games like these are why I became a player.”
“Yeah, when you coming back, Grey? We’re defending our title with our best defenseman next year,” I hear Sev yell.
There’s a ringing in my ears. It’s final. This is it. It’s time to move on. While I’m upset that I wasn’t out there with them on the ice tonight, I don’t feel like I missed anything. My eyes slide to Felix, and his slow smile drowns out the noise around me. I look back to my friends. “The thing is, I won’t be.” Murmurs echo through the bar. “The injury I sustained was worse than they originally thought. With age and just being in this career, I’ve been advised to retire. If I get injured again, it won’t be good for me. I want to quit on a high, and not in a wheelchair.”
“What the hell!?” Viktor walks up to me with watery eyes, pulling me in for a hug and clapping my back. My throat feels tight. I’ve played with most of these guys for a long time and I miss them all. I miss hockey deeply, but I’m starting to realize that maybe there’s more to life. There are more memories to make, they just won’t be on the ice. My story isn’t over; it’s just taking a different path.
My teammates come up to hug me, and by the time I’m at the end, I blink to see Atlas. He looks so sad, and I don’t know why. He knew this before, but he just looks defeated. “I hate this.”
He hugs me tight, burrowing his face in my neck. I hug him tighter. “I’m not going anywhere. You know where I live. Anytime, you’re welcome.”
He pulls back, nodding. “You seem a little too busy lately for that.” He squeezes my shoulder before walking off. What the hell does that mean?
“Atlas?!” He ignores me, walking through the bar.
“I got him,” Knox says, going after Atlas. “No drinking and driving on my watch.”
I go back to sit down confused as hell. “What’s his problem?He already knew.” Andre looks at Oli, a look passing between them. “What?”
“Nothing, he’s just not feeling good. He’s tired. Adrenaline.”
Something passes through his hazel eyes, then he looks down at his drink. “What? What’s going on?”
“Hey, it’s nothing, alright.” Oli stands. “He played like hell. We all did.” Everyone cheers when he yells this. Everyone raises their drinks, and while the rest of the night is filled with laughs and cheering, I can’t help thinking about my best friend. I know him better than anyone, and even if he didn’t feel well, I know he’d still celebrate.
So what the hell is going on with Atlas?
TWENTY
Grey
“Hey.” Felix looks up from whatever he’s writing in his journal. “Do you want to make a little fire outside? Sit on the grass?”
“Sit on the grass?” He smirks. “You sure you can handle it?”
“I’m confident I can sit on grass. Standing back up is where you come in.”
“Okay.” He closes his journal. I want to get him out of the house. It’s been a week since the playoff game, and just like I thought, our kiss made all the social media rounds. Our team’s social media manager called me and asked if she needed to take any action, but I declined. I don’t care who knows or what conclusions everyone is running to.
