“You’re many things, Morelli. Fine isn’t currently one of them.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough.
I lowered my voice, leaning in slightly. “Relax. No one’s treating us any differently. Look around—it’s the same locker room chaos it always is.”
Marco’s eyes swept the room. Jensen was arguing withHarris about something. Kuzmin was examining his skate blades with intense focus. Kinnunen was laughing at something on his phone. But across the locker room, Boucher’s eyes were on us. He leaned against his stall, arms crossed, watching. Always watching. Though there was nothing suspicious about me taping my stick at Marco’s stall—I’d been doing it since my first year with the Glaciers.
I focused on my tape job, refusing to let Boucher’s scrutiny make me nervous.
Marco started pulling on his shin pads. He fumbled with the left strap—pre-practice nerves making him clumsy.
Without thinking, I leaned over. “Here.”
He didn’t argue, just let me take over. I’d done this a hundred times for him—untwisted the strap, threaded it through properly, tightened it to exactly the tension he liked.
My fingers brushed his leg as I worked, and I felt him go still for just a second.
Anyone watching would see a teammate helping another with his gear.
They wouldn’t see the way my pulse jumped at the contact. Wouldn’t see the way Marco’s jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened slightly when I pulled my hands away.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
“No problem.”
I settled back and grabbed my stick again, starting on the knob tape. Exactly twelve wraps, the way I always did it. Marco continued gearing up beside me, and we fell into the rhythm we’d perfected over three years.
This was fine.
This was also killing me.
Because sitting this close to him—close enough to smell his body wash, to feel the warmth of him, to hear his breathing—and having to pretend he was just my friend and roommate? When all I wanted was to lean into him, to touchhim properly, to let my hand rest on his shoulder and mean something more than casual contact?
It was suffocating.
On the ice, it was worse.
The moment Marco stepped onto the rink in his yellow NO CONTACT jersey, my chest pulled tight. He looked good—strong and confident, with no hesitation in his movements.
I wanted to skate over to him, check in, make sure the foot felt okay. But that would draw attention—we didn’t usually hover over each other during practice. We were professionals. We trusted each other.
So, I took my position for warm-ups and watched him from across the ice, tracking every movement, looking for any sign of hesitation.
“Savard!” Coach’s voice snapped across the ice. “Focus on your own drills!”
Heat flooded my face. “Sorry, Coach.”
I forced myself to stop watching him so obviously. But it was impossible not to track him in my peripheral vision, not to notice every stride, every turn.
The drills progressed—passing sequences, positioning work, defensive zone coverage. Marco integrated back into the lineup seamlessly, his hockey sense as sharp as ever even after weeks off the ice. When Coach set up a two-on-two drill in the offensive zone, I found myself on the wing with Jensen, facing Marco and Kinnunen on defense.
“Let’s see some chemistry out there,” Coach called. “Make the D work.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Marco coughed slightly, his shoulders shaking just enough that I knew he’d caught it too. The puck dropped, and the drill began. Jensen controlled it, carrying it into the zone. Kinnunen stepped up to challenge him, and Jensen slipped apass across to me on the wing. I took possession, looked for an opening, saw Marco closing the gap from his position on the blue line.
I tried to cut inside, but Marco read it perfectly—just like he always did. He angled me toward the boards, stick positioning perfect, forcing me to make a desperation pass back to Jensen. His defensive coverage was textbook, and even though I was the one getting shut down, my gut unclenched. We’d just connected, reading each other’s movements the way we always had. The way we’d connected in previous seasons. Before my game went to shit.
And I couldn’t show any reaction beyond what any forward would show when facing a solid defenseman.
