I’m out.
I am no longer in hiding. I am no longer worried about what it means to be a gay man on the ice.
Something loosens in my chest, and my shoulders expand.
I am free.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I did not mean to forget you.”
He smiles, and it is beautiful. Warmth expands through me, and I stare at his pretty pink cheeks and his dark eyes.
“I know,” he says.
I smile happily back.
“You’ll have someone to take care of you?” Dr. Davis asks.
“Yes.” I reach for Mateo’s hand. His fingers tremble slightly in my grip, or perhaps I am the one trembling. “My boyfriend is here.”
Mateo’s mouth opens, then closes. His cheeks flush darker.
“Um,” he says.
“It is all going to be fine,” I tell him. Iwant him to stop looking so alarmed. I want to make this better, even though I do not remember how. “You will take care of me, and I will remember, and everything will be fine.”
“I—”
My eyelids are heavy. Mateo’s hand is warm in mine.
“Everything will be fine,” I say again.
Mateo’s hand starts to slip out of mine, and I tighten my grip. A startled chuckle escapes him, then he squeezes my hand. My eyes flutter shut, and I am definitely smiling.
CHAPTER
TWO
Mateo
Six weeks earlier
The man in the doorway is a giant. The Boston Blizzards is filled with them. Florian Richter, 24, defenseman, clearly belongs in the height-endowed category.
“Hi there.” I flash him a bright smile and wait for him to flash his.
Which he doesn’t do.
Well.
That’s fine.
Mine was wide enough for both of us. I dart my gaze up to him. Florian Richter is quiet and still, like he’s doing a risk management analysis of the room. He’s tall with light brown hair, the kind with red in it, and dark blue eyes, as if he was hired from a modelingagency.
It’s fine.
Handsome men, no problem.
They need massages too.
