By the start of the Warriors game, I’d calmed down enough to sit on the couch under a blanket. The Warriors beat the Aces 5–2 in an easy game. Pack was at his best, fast and locked in. When he scored from the blue line in the second period, he held up his stick and waved.
That was our signal. “Hi babe, this one’s for you.”
After the game ended, I picked up my phone.
NICO: Congrats, you big lug! That goal was a beauty. Can’t wait to see you on our call. Ready for some fun, Coach?
He didn’t answer right away, which I understood. Postgame is always chaos. Forty-five minutes passed, then another hour. When my phone finally buzzed, my heart was already heavy.
PACK: Sorry it took so long. Reporters wouldn’t let us go, and a ton of fans were waiting when we left. The boys wanted to take Harpy out for his birthday. I know it’s really late for you, so let’s talk in the morning, okay?
No heart or sexy hint about tomorrow. Not even a “sleep well.” I stared at the screen, hoping for more, but nothing came.
NICO: Sure. Good night.
He sent back a thumbs-up. A goddamn, fucking, I’m-an-asshole thumbs-up.
I tossed my phone on the coffee table and stomped into the kitchen for a beer. Back on the couch, I stared at the ceiling and tried not to assume the worst.
It’s nothing.
Guys go out after games. I’ve done it myself plenty of times. But not after promising my boyfriend we’d spend time together.
The warning came back again:Sometimes, straight guys freak out.
What if it was Pack’s night to test what he wanted?
“A ton of fans waiting,” he’d said. I’d watched teammates grab girls from the players’ entrance more times than I could count. Hell, when I was a rookie, I’d found guys that way. Drinks first, then the hotel.
Fuck it to hell. Was Pack already back in his room with someone who wasn’t me, someone who didn’t have a dick?
I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up the beer. Jesus Christ. I hated that loving Pack made everything sharp and dangerous. I couldn’t lose him, but I couldn’t cage him, either.
Eventually, I went to bed. The night was far too quiet for New York, so my racing thoughts had free rein. My phone lay on the nightstand, already bracing for bad news. Somewhere, three time zones away, Pack was having fun doing something.
“Please don’t pull away,” I whispered into the dark.
30/
packy
I woke knowingI’d fucked up.
As the Vegas sun cut through the gap in the drapes, my legs felt surprisingly good for the morning after a game. But the knot in my stomach was so tight it hurt.
I reached for my phone. Nico’s message stared back at me:Sure. Good night.
Those three words should have been fine, but they weren’t. The message wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t Nix.
I scrolled up and read my message from last night. My stomach clenched harder. Usually, we couldn’t shut each other up, trading jokes and updates until one of us fell asleep mid-sentence. These texts looked like we were strangers checking boxes.
This couldn’t stand, so I started typing.
PACKY: Morning, handsome. Sorry I had to go out last night. It was my turn to pay, and I knew it was the middle of the night in NY. You doing okay?
I stared at the screen. Nothing. Finally, I got up, used the bathroom, and came back. Still nothing. Then the screen lit up.Typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, and came back. Then they disappeared again.
“Fuck.”
