“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“Derek isn’t Nico.”
“I know he’s not. Sully’s a good guy—one of the best I know. But that doesn’t mean the situation isn’t complicated.” He sighed. “You’re my brother. I’m always going to worry about you. Especially when you’re being a stubborn little shit.”
“I prefer the term ‘determined.’“
“Stubborn little shit,” he repeated firmly. “But if you say he’s good to you, I believe you. Just... be careful, okay? And if he hurts you, I’ll have to kill him, and that’ll be really awkward because I still have to play with him.”
“Your priorities are heartwarming.”
“I’m a complicated man.” He picked up the last spring roll and pointed it at me. “But I mean it. You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right. If Derek’s that person, then... I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
I felt something loosen in my chest. “Thanks, Avery.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He bit into the spring roll. “Just… no PDA when I’m around.”
“No promises.”
“You’re the worst.”
“I learned from the best.”
He threw a napkin at my head. I caught it, grinning.
Maybe things were going to be okay after all.
45. Derek
Things had shifted between us since Théo told Avery.
We weren’t hiding exactly but we weren’t shouting it from the rooftops either. It was exactly how I’d been when I was engaged to Mackenzie—I just didn’t talk about my private life. Never had. Some of the guys knew I’d been engaged, knew it had ended, but I’d never been the type to share details in the locker room or post couple photos on Instagram.
With Théo, it was the same. We existed in this quiet pocket of domesticity—dinners at my apartment, mornings tangled in my sheets, his toothbrush next to mine in the bathroom. Avery knew. Hana and Kenzo knew. I confirmed it to Petrov who promptly declared he didn’t want any details. That was enough for now.
Théo seemed comfortable with it, which was what mattered. After everything he’d been through with Nico—the rumors, the fan accounts, the constant speculation—I understood why he wanted to keep this private. Protected.
I was happy to give him that.
Life settled into a rhythm. Training, games, road trips—and in between, the quiet hours with Théo that had become the best part of my day. It almost felt normal. Like this was how it had always been.
A few weeks after the Winnipeg game, we had a three day stretch of off days which was the perfect amount of time to get my tooth fixed. I was sitting in the waiting room at BeckettModern Dental, trying not to think about the fact that someone was about to drill a titanium screw into my jawbone.
The temporary flipper I’d been wearing to fill the gap left by my missing tooth was uncomfortable and vaguely humiliating. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror without it, I looked like a career enforcer instead of a first line winger. The chipped tooth had been fixed easily enough—some bonding, a little reshaping, good as new. But the implant was a whole production.
Today was stage one: the titanium screw. Dr. Gabriel Flores—Gabe—would drill it into my jaw, then I’d wait a few months for everything to heal before they could attach the actual tooth.
Simple. Routine. Nothing to worry about.
I was still nervous as hell.
“Derek Sullivan?”
I looked up. The pretty blonde dental assistant in black scrubs smiled at me. Her name tag read Penelope. “We’re ready for you.”
Gabe was, objectively speaking, movie star gorgeous.
He had the kind of face that belonged on a billboard—sharp jaw, warm brown eyes, thick dark hair. His smile was perfect, which seemed like a job requirement for an oral surgeon. He was tall, broad shouldered, and moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how good looking he was but had the grace not to be obnoxious about it.
