Fucking shit.
I’d been worried about this exact scenario since Tyler had blown me that kiss during warmups. Someone was bound to notice the very public acknowledgments, the post-game meeting, and our public display of . . . whatever we were becoming. Someone was bound to ask questions.
“What about what happened tonight?” I asked, afraid for the confirmation to come.
He looked around the parking lot like he waschecking for eavesdroppers. “Maybe you were right. We should go upstairs. This feels like an apartment conversation, not a parking lot conversation.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, reaching over to grab my duffel. “Of course.”
I followed him up to his apartment, watching the tension in his shoulders and the way he kept checking his phone. I’d never seen him do that, not when we were together. The guys teased about him checking for my texts every five minutes, but I was right behind him then. Whatever conversation he’d had with the front office, it had left him wound tight.
Once we were inside, he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and turned to face me. I set my bag by the door and waited, recognizing a wary version of Skyler who needed a minute to find his words. He processed big things by talking through them, but he needed time for thoughts to grow into a conversation before he could let me in.
“They noticed,” he said after what felt like five years.
“Who noticed what?”
“The PR team . . . and management. They noticed that Tyler and Erik acknowledged your section during warmups. They also noticed that I sent someone to find you after the game. Coach picked up on me disappearing for twenty minutes before mypress conference. And then Kevin, well, he saw me kiss you.” He started pacing. “And they’re concerned that iftheynoticed, other people did, too.”
I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. “Other people?”
“The media. They’re hounds, and when they catch a whiff, they hunt. Maybe fans with cameras who like to post things on social media even if they have no proof of what they’re posting.” He stopped pacing and looked at me. “They think tonight might have put us on people’s radar. Others might not know for sure what’s going on, but someone’s bound to start asking questions . . . questions we might not be ready to answer.”
Well, fuck a duck.
I’d known this was a possibility.
Hell, I’d warned him about this exact scenario only a few days earlier.
But knowing something intellectually and having it actually happen were two very different things.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked, becausehisreaction mattered more than what anyone else might think, even if the opinion of others was the driving force behind all this.
The question seemed to catch him off guard.
He looked at me like he’d been expecting me to panic or demand answers or start spiraling aboutworst-case scenarios.
“I’m terrified, Jacks,” he said. “But not for the reasons you might think.”
My brows rose without my permission. “Oh?”
He flopped onto the couch. “I’m not embarrassed about this, Jacks. Not about us.Neverabout us.” His gaze was so firm when he said those words I felt the truth of them in my bones. “I need you to know that. None of this is about shame or denial or wishing things were different.”
Relief flooded through me.
That had been among my biggest fears, that pressure from the outside world would make him second-guess what we had, make him want to go back to pretending this was friendship and that he was still the straight hockey captain everyone expected him to be.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean it, Jacks. I grew up with gay friends. My roommate sophomore year at Michigan was gay. Half the guys I played with in juniors had at least one teammate who was out. None of this is about discovering something new or panicking or feeling whatever. I’m good in my skin. In fact, I’m better than I’ve ever been, knowing who I am and what I want. That took forever, but I’m happy being me. Gay or bi or whatever term someone wants to use,I’m good with all of it.”
I watched him, reading the sincerity in his expression. This wasn’t someone who was about to run. This was someone working through logistics.
“So . . . if this isn’t about all that, what is this about?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s about timing and figuring out the easiest path forward without destroying everything I’ve worked for.”
“Your career?”
