“Am I?”
“Did you leave early last night?” He gestured toward the zombie contingent at the far table. “I’m surprised you’re not as hungover as them.”
I had, actually. Slipped out after the third round when Petrov started teaching everyone Russian drinking games. But I wasn’t about to admit I’d rushed back to my hotel room to FaceTime Avery’s brother.
“Half Irish,” I said. “Built different.”
“Mm.” He didn’t push, just returned to his omelet. But I caught him glancing at me again a moment later, something thoughtful in his expression.
I wondered what he saw. What anyone saw, lately.
A few weeks ago, Petrov had cornered me after I’d nearly crushed him with a barbell, demanding to know what the hellwas going on with me. I’d been distracted then—tangled up in the uncertainty of whatever was happening with Théo. The tension. The wanting. The uncertainty.
This was waking up and reaching for my phone before my eyes were fully open. This was smiling at nothing. This was wearing a hoodie that smelled like someone else and feeling like I’d gotten away with something.
“You know,” he said, still focused on his omelet, “when I first got together with Bradley, Morrison told me something.”
I blinked at the sudden shift. Volsky wasn’t exactly known for volunteering personal information. In fact, this might have been the longest stretch of non-hockey conversation we’d ever had.
“He said the guys who last in this league aren’t the ones who give everything to hockey. They’re the ones who have something worth coming home to.” He took a sip of coffee, his gaze drifting briefly toward the window. “Took me a while to understand what he meant.”
I thought about my years with Mackenzie. I’d thought she was my something worth coming home to. Turned out I’d just been filling a role—stable, dependable Derek who paid the mortgage and never complained. I’d given so much to hockey and the rest to her, and in the end, I’d had nothing left for myself.
“There needs to be balance,” he continued. “If it’s all sacrifice, you burn out. Or you wake up one day and realize you don’t know who you are outside of the game.” He set his coffee down. “I’ve seen it happen. Guys who retire and fall apart because they never built a life beyond the rink.”
“Is that what Bradley is for you?” I asked. “Balance?”
“Bradley is...” he paused, searching for the right word. “Bradley is the reason I remember there’s more to life than winning a game. He makes me laugh. He makes me think about the future in a way that isn’t just contracts and stats.” A raresoftness crossed his face. “He makes me want to be better. Not just as a player.”
I nodded slowly, something clicking into place.
“I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy.”
He met my eyes. “We all deserve that, Sully.”
The words landed heavier than they should have. I thought about Théo—prickly, guarded Théo who was slowly letting me past his walls. Who wore my hoodies and slept on my pillow and saidmissed youlike it surprised him.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m starting to believe that.”
34. Théo
The Frost beat Colorado, lost to Utah, and were now in Winnipeg. Derek and I had been texting constantly—trivial things mostly but sometimes the messages turned softer late at night when neither of us could sleep.
Hana had invited me to have dinner and watch the Chicago versus Winnipeg game. I double checked the address she had texted me, then stepped back, looking up at the gleaming art deco-inspired steel skyscraper.
The ground floor was a shiny, picture perfect Walsh & Wilde—twice as big as the one across the street from Derek’s apartment. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the pristine displays of organic produce, the artisanal cheese counter, the juice bar where a smoothie probably cost $20. The kind of place where everything was locally sourced and aesthetically arranged and made you feel vaguely judged for ever having eaten a gas station hot dog.
There was an escalator that took me up to the lobby, which had marble floors and a bank of elevators flanked by abstract art that probably cost more than my mom’s house. A massive floral arrangement sat on a circular table in the center, fresh peonies and eucalyptus that perfumed the air.
Hana was chatting with the doorman—an older man with kind eyes and a neat grey mustache—who was laughing at something she’d said. She was dressed casually in an oversized black Frost jersey with a teal #22 and CARTER-VOLSKYstitched across the back, black leggings, crew socks with teal stripes, and teal hightops. Her hair was pulled back with a teal headband.
I was suddenly very glad I had stolen another hoodie from Derek’s collection. At least we matched in our team gear.
She beamed when she saw me and waved me over. “John, this is my friend Théo! Thanks for keeping me company. I’m going to head upstairs now.”
“Nice to meet you, Théo.” John tipped his hat. “Have a good evening and go Frost!”
I smiled and pumped my first in what I hoped was an enthusiastic gesture. “Nice meeting you, John.”
