Logan lowers his hands, a massive smirk spreading across his face. “Which head are we talking about leaving out?”
I lunge to snatch my phone back, but Logan suddenly steps into serious mode. “Ok, ok, stand here. The lighting is better from this angle, plus you get the beach as a background. Fucking perfect.” He snaps a few shots, then asks casually, “So, who are we sending these to?”
“Weare not sending them to anyone!” I clarify. “I am sending one to my soldier. I’m going to finally figure out if he’s into me.”
Logan gives me a completely blank expression. “You could, you know, just ask him?”
Hmm. He has a point, but absolutely not. What if Splash explicitly says he’s not interested, he’s just having some fun flirting? What if he sees this picture and stops replying altogether? Panic flares up big time. “What if he’s not, though? Our letters are flirty as fuck, but…”
I dropped my head into my hands, the cool glass of the phone screen pressing against my forehead. For years, I’d played the role of the shallow, happy-go-lucky athlete because it was safe. If people only saw the surface, they couldn’t reject the depths. But with Splash, I’d let the mask slip. I’d told him I was lonely, told him I was gay, and for the first time, I felt like someone was actually interested in me, for the real Jackson Hayes. It was terrifying because it was the only thing I had that wasn’t for sale or for show. If I reached out and he pulled away, I wouldn’t just lose a pen pal, I’d lose the only mirror that showed me a version of myself I actually liked.
I looked at Logan, my voice cracking. “He’s in a war zone, Logan. He deals with life and death every day. My biggestproblem is a bad power play. Why would he want to deal with me too?”
Recognizing my genuine anxiety, Logan steps forward and claps my shoulder. “Hayes, you’re a great guy. Give yourself a little credit and send the damn picture. Unless… you think he wants to see me, too?” Logan jokes, trying to lift the mood, dramatically lifting his shirt to flash his own six-pack at the empty room. Grabbing me in a headlock, “Come on, let’s take one together!”
18
Letter
Splash,
A big, muscly man? Well, I have to work out every single day, and I’m on a pretty strict game plan, so I’d say I’m in the best shape of my life at the moment. I’ll leave you to look at the enclosure and let me know what you think. I know you said you didn’t want to see me yet, so I thought I’d send you a sneak peek. Honestly, I almost didn’t send it. I probably took about fifty shots before I found one that didn’t make me look like a total tool, and even now, I’m sitting here wondering if it’s too much. It’s weird, I can skate in front of twenty thousand people without blinking, but the idea of you looking at this makes me more nervous than a rookie on opening night. I hope I’m at least close to what you were picturing, or at the very least, worth the “trouble” you mentioned.
I’m not just a hockey player; I’m an openly gay hockeyplayer, which is what the cameras love to focus on. That’s the version of me that comes up on the ice, always smiling, always perfect, playing the role they want me to play.
My team, the Tidal Teals, has my back no matter what, and they don’t care about me being gay; to them, I am just Jackson the defenseman, which is a breath of fresh air compared to how the media focuses on it.
Wow, look at us getting down to the heavy shit! When I’m on the ice, I feel completely free. I feel like that’s my true purpose. Knowing that the man on my right always has my back is the main reason I love the game so much. As for my anger, I try to leave it all at the gym; I keep personal shit off the ice as much as possible, though sometimes it bleeds through. Everyone has secrets, Splash, and that’s ok—as long as they don’t overtake your life. Why are you asking about that, anyway? I hope everything wherever you are is as ok as it can be… shit, talk about being vague!
A child? Did I say that? Oh! I must have mentioned Willow. She’s my teammate, Logan’s little girl, and she is so damn cute. I would literally do anything for that kid. Don’t worry, I don’t have any children of my own… none that I know of, anyway! I’m home right now in this big, empty house, and honestly, there’s no one of any interest to even consider asking to come home with me. No one but a certain soldier who is thousands of miles away and doesn’t even know my voice yet.
Jackson
PS — I did not bake the enclosed batch! I promise!
19
Ryan
FUCK.
I mean… FUCK.
Brody is staring at me, his eyes full of intense concern. I know I need to say something, but it feels like my brain has completely short-circuited. I’ve been under a massive amount of operational pressure recently, yep, absolutely, let’s go with that. That is the reason why I can’t string a coherent sentence together, let alone speak a single word. It has absolutely nothing to do with what I shoved under my pillow the exact second it fell out of Jackson’s envelope. Nope. Nothing to do with that fucking picture.
“I’m good. Just tired. Going to…” I point lamely toward my bunk and dive for it.
Fuck, I’m acting like a total teenager. I’m twenty-nine years old, and it feels like I’ve just been sent my first official dick pic.
“What did you get this time?” Brody asks, walking over to stand by my bunk. I swear to god, it feels like my pillow is actively on fire.
“Erm, just a few cookies,” I stammer. “I’m not sure where they’re from this time. I haven’t even read the letter yet.”
Brody reaches down and picks up the empty bakery bag. “Crumb & Crust? I love this place! Wow, so your man is in Tidehaven now?”
I blink, thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Crumb & Crust. They only have one location, and it’s right in Tidehaven. They do the most amazing cakes.”
