"I know." His voice was thick with sleep.
"I mean it, Theo. Not your friends, not your family, not—"
"I said I know." He didn't move away, but I felt a subtle tension enter his frame. "I heard you the first time. We're a secret. I get it."
The flatness in his voice made my chest ache. But I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know how to explain that the alternative was losing everything I'd spent years building. So I just pulled him tighter, closed my eyes, and let myself have this one night.
The secret started small.
A brush of fingers in the equipment room when no one was looking. A text message during film review—just a word, maybe two, nothing incriminating. His hand on my lower back in the tunnel before a game, so brief I could pretend it was accidental.
We developed a language. A code.Good practicemeantI want to see you tonight.Need extra film reviewmeantcome over. I had never been creative before, never needed to be, but necessity turned me into a liar. I got good at it. Too good.
Three weeks in, we had stolen more moments than I could count. Quick kisses in the video room after everyone else left. His mouth on mine in my car in the parking garage, windows fogged, both of us breathless. Once—reckless, dangerous—I had pulled him into the equipment closet between periods and kissed him until we both had to bite back sounds that would have given us away.
The thrill of it was intoxicating. Every secret touch felt electric. Every coded text made my pulse race. I had spent ten years in careful control, and now I was high on risk.
But there was a cost.
I couldn't sit next to him at team dinners. I couldn't laugh too hard at his jokes. I couldn't let my eyes linger when he stepped out of the shower. In public, I had to be Captain Moretti—distant, professional, maybe a little harder on him than necessary to prove there was nothing between us.
And Theo played along. He smiled and nodded and called me "Cap" like it didn't hurt. Like we were just mentor and rookie, nothing more. Like he hadn't been in my bed the night before, learning what made me come apart.
I told myself he understood. That he'd agreed to this. That he knew what he was signing up for.
I told myself a lot of things.
The breaking point came after we beat Dallas 4-2, securing our spot at the top of the division.
The team was flying high, energy crackling through the locker room. Someone suggested hitting Rush Street, and suddenly everyone was in—drinks, dancing, celebrating like we had won the Cup instead of just another regular season game.
I should have said no. I should have made an excuse, gone home, and kept my distance.
But I didn't.
The bar was packed with Storm fans who cheered when we walked in. My teammates spread out, buying rounds, taking selfies, and soaking up the attention. I found a corner booth and nursed a beer, watching Theo across the room.
He was in his element. He was laughing with the rookies, doing shots with Martinez, completely at ease in his own skin.
He glowed. That was the only word for it. People gravitated toward him like he was the sun and they were desperate for warmth.
A girl approached him. Pretty, confident, hand on his arm. She said something and he laughed, shook his head, and gestured toward the bar. Not interested, but kind about it. She persisted. He stayed polite.
My jaw ached from clenching.
"You good, Cap?" Hayes slid into the booth across from me, drink in hand.
"Fine."
"You look like you want to hit something."
"Just tired." I took a sip of beer and forced my shoulders to relax. "Long week."
"Yeah." Jamie followed my gaze across the room. "The rookie's fitting in well."
"He's doing his job."
"He's doing more than that. The kid has heart." Jamie grinned. "And he has half the bar trying to take him home. Good for him."
