“I do,” August replied.
“You play forward well,” Coach stated.
August tightened his grip on his stick. “I try my best to fill in where the team needs me.”
There was no one around to overhear their conversation, but August still felt exposed, and he knew where this was going.
“From today, I would like you to be forward,” said Coach Fedorov, frowning like he was already regretting his choice. “Callahan’s line—and first line power play. I know we like your height for defence, but after game against Toronto, you turned heads.”
Yeah, because August hadlosthis head.
“If…that’s what you need,” said August. “I’m comfortable in both positions. Even during today’s practice game, when you put me on the line, I didn’t slow things down.”
“No.” Coach straightened, and the frown that had been angry only seconds before, softened into a serious but impressed glower. “The switch will be good, yes? I think it’s what you need. Chemistry is great between you and Cote, even when on opposite sides. We will try it for tonight, and mind your goddamn hits to avoid stupid penalties, but this could be improvement for all.”
August gave his head coach a respectful nod, flinching again when his arm was smacked in the same place Callahan had hit him.
“Good talk,” said Coach. “Cool down and take break before tonight. I pushed you harder than I should have today, but I found answers I was looking for.”
“Will do, Coach,” said August. He held his breath until Fedorov skated away, leaving him alone with Niko.
“Shit,” said Niko, whistling in disbelief. “I can’t believe he switched you. Will you be okay playing right wing?”
August shrugged because it didn’t matter; he had to adapt no matter what position he was in. Hell, they could put him in net, and he would still do his goddamn best. Hockey was all he had right now, and the desperation to do better was starting to drive him mad.
“Are you going to text him?”
Pain bloomed behind his eyes, and August snapped them shut, groaning quietly. “No—I can’t.”
“He gave you his number,” said Niko. “I know it’s fucked up because of the history between you guys, but Quinn seems nice. He took you home and watched you until I got back, so I don’t think he hates you as much as you think he does.”
August wasn’t sure he believed that. He agreed that Quinn was kind, but he wastookind. Spotty memories aside, he recalled how easy it had been to…win his heart just by showing simple affection.
Quinn had been Esme’s dark shadow, always verbally berating anyone who he thought deserved the treatment, but it was the vicious, standoffish ones who were always touch-starved. Always eager to do anything to get the tiniest amount of praise for their hard work.
August couldn’t do that to him. He was a fucking mess, and if Quinn got tangled in his drama, he would get dragged down alongside him.
The apology had been enough. It would be better for both parties if a respectful distance remained between them. But fuck, sometimes it feltlike it had only been yesterday that he’d held Quinn in his arms, and the feelings that surged to the surface when that happened were—
“Let it go,” said August. He stood, trying to look intimidating by scowling and leaning on his stick. “This isn’t a romance novel, Neeks. We’re not going to end up together because I suddenly got my memories back and realized I still love him.”
Niko’s expression was eerily blank as he looked up at him. “Are you? In love with him, I mean.”
Instead of answering, August turned and walked away. The shower was calling his name, and he had a massage appointment booked before he went back to the hotel.
The hotel where he shared a room with Niko, who was hell-bent on pushing the fact that Quinn Harlow had left his phone number and a cryptic message for August to find after that bizarre night.
“Text me if you need me.”
Those six words written in pretty cursive had fucked him up for the following week. August didn’t know what Quinn was saying because he liked to talk in riddles—always had—but he assumed it meantif you need a shoulder to cry on.
August didn’t need a shoulder; he was crying on his own just fine, thank you.
He took his time gearing down to avoid being cornered in the shower by Niko. He also took his time because now that he was being switched to a forward, he had to change out some of his gear. New sticks were meticulously taped and cut shorter for more puck control, and he had to make sure they were curved correctly. His shoulder pads needed to be changed, which meant he had to triple-check everything before he was free to enjoy the rest of his day.
And because Niko was a persistent, insufferable bastard, he’d taken exactly the same amount of time needed to perfectly sync his shower with August’s.
“You’re a leech,” said August.
