“Heard the trip went well.”
I pulled my jersey over my head. “We didn’t kill each other, so I’d call that a success.”
“Not what the internet says.” He grinned and held up his phone. “Social media thinks you two are basically married.”
“Thensocial mediacan fuck off.”
“I’m serious. There’s a whole edit set to a love song. You and Paquette doing drills with the kids, laughing, looking at each other like?—”
“Like what?” I grabbed the phone from his hand. The video was thirty seconds of carefully chosen moments: Pack and me demonstrating passes, standing with our arms around each other after the one-on-one, whispering during Q and A.
“Like that,” Kai said, taking his phone back. “Chemistry, man. The commenters are losing it.”
“It’s called acting. We were told to play nice for the cameras.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound convinced. “And the part where you’re staring at his ass while he shows a slapshot?”
“I don’t give a damn about his ass.” True. I hadn’t cared for years. “You’re seeing things.”
“Only what the whole world is seeing.” Kai clapped me on the shoulder. “Relax. I’m giving you shit. But get ready because the boys have questions.”
Great. That’s exactly what I need.
Practice was brutal. Coach ran us through neutral zone drills until my legs throbbed, then threw us into a scrimmage that got physical. I didn’t mind. The harder I worked, the less I thought about everything else.
It worked until Theo hip-checked me into the boards. While I was catching my breath, he leaned in with a grin in tow. “Saw the edits, Romeo. You and Paquette gonna make it official?”
“Eat shit.”
“Just saying, you looked happy. Never seen you smile that much during PR stuff. You usually hate it.”
I shoved past him and skated toward the far end of the rink, the cold air burning my lungs. Good. I needed something to focus on besides the heat crawling up my neck.
After practice, the chirping continued in the locker room. Jace joked about “star-crossed rivals,” and Noah showed me an Insta post calling us “hockey’s cutest enemies.” Even Bennett, who liked to stay out of the bullshit, raised his eyebrows as I walked by.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Really? You seem tense.”
“I’m always tense. It’s called being captain.”
He nodded slowly, gave me a goofy grin, and let it go.
By the time I got home, my jaw ached from clenching. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed onto the couch.
The apartment was too quiet. I’d lived there for three years and still hadn’t figured out how to make it feel like home. When I moved in, I hired a decorator who did his best. I had nice furniture and a good view of the city, but the place felt sterile. My teammates called it the “sad bachelor pad,” and they weren’t wrong.
I checked my phone. No messages from Packy. No messages at all.
What the fuck do I care? Why would he text me? I haven’t considered texting him.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened TikTok. The video Kai had shown me was the third thing in my feed, so I watched it again, then let it run one more time. We looked comfortable. Happy, even. At one point, Pack turned to say something to me, and the way his face lit up made my chest tighten.
That’s the Pack I remember, the one from before everything went to hell.
I thought about a party early in our second year. Some guys from the club team had crashed one of our post-game get-togethers. One of them, a big dude with a red face, was already several beers past his limit. I’d been out as bi for a while by then. Most people were cool about it, but this asshole hadn’t gotten the memo.
