"I don't mind." Theo’s voice was cheerful, unbothered.
My hands stilled on my shin guards.
"That's one way to look at it," Jamie laughed. "Or maybe he's just a hardass."
"No, I mean it," Theo said. The cheerfulness dropped away, replaced by a quiet sincerity. "I've watched tape of him for years. He's incredible—the way he reads plays, his hockey IQ. If he thinks I'm worth the extra time, then I'm going to prove him right."
I stared at the floor.
There was no resentment in Theo's voice. No fear. Just trust.
I finished changing in silence. I ignored the team's plans for lunch, grabbed my bag, and left.
My condo was a reflection of my internal state—controlled, sterile, and cold.
The furniture was minimalist. The colors were neutral. There were no photographs on the walls, no personal touches that might reveal a human being lived here.
I made a protein shake I didn't want and answered emails from my agent about my contract extension. I tried not to think about the way Theo’s hips had felt under my hands. I tried not to remember the catch in the kid's breath when I had stepped into his space.
My phone buzzed. Kieran.
Kieran:You free for dinner? Haven't caught up in a while.
I stared at the screen. Kieran was my closest friend—the only person who had seen glimpses of the man behind the captaincy. But even Kieran didn't know everything. He didn't know about the careful hookups two towns over, the NDAs, the way I deleted dating apps the second the preseason started.
I typed:Busy. Rain check.
Another buzz. Coach Reeves.
Coach Reeves:Callahan says you're meeting again tomorrow at 5 AM. Remember what I said.
I deleted the message.
I should cancel. I should text Theo right now and tell him the sessions were off.
Instead, I set my alarm for 4:15 AM.
That night, I lay in the dark and tried to catalog every reason this was a disaster.
Theo was a teammate. A rookie. He was openly, unapologetically out in a league that was still figuring out how to handle queer players. I had read the interviews. Theo talked about representation and visibility with the easy confidence that came from never having to hide.
I'd been hiding for ten years.
I'd built my reputation on being untouchable. The Storm’s front office loved me because I was reliable. My teammates respected me because I was a machine. If anyone knew the truth, the machine would break.
My captaincy. My contract. My life.
And Theo Callahan—with his golden eyes and his terrible crossovers and his stupid faith in me—was a wrecking ball aimed directly at the glass house I had built.
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.
Tomorrow, I would be harder on the kid. I would be colder. I would make sure there were no more moments where we stood too close, where the silence stretched too thin.
3
Theo
My legs felt like they were filled with lead, and my stomach was making sounds that threatened to frighten the kitchen staff.
