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Russ pushed off the rail and clapped him on the shoulder on his way back to the warm. “For the record, my wife’s got money on the two of you. Says it’s been a year and a blind man could see it.” He grinned. “She’s usually right. Drives me up a wall.”

Then he was gone, and Cole stood there in the cold with his beer, the noise from inside, and the first of the month coming fast.

They ate at a table Carter had put together out of the two he owned and a sheet of plywood, elbow to elbow, more of them than the chairs could hold, so the rookies got the piano bench. Carter said a couple of words before anybody picked up a fork, nothing churchy, just that he was glad the guys who couldn’t get home had a loud place to land.

Ford sat across from him and a seat down. Cole meant to keep his eyes on his plate, and mostly managed it, right up until he felt Ford watching him. He looked up and got caught. It wasn’t the easy way Ford looked at everybody else at the table. It was slower than that, and warmer, and it went straight through Cole and settled low in his gut. For a second, neither of them looked away. Then Novo said something stupid and the whole table roared, and Ford’s grin swung back around to the room. Cole told himself he’d made more of it than there was. He’d been telling himself that for three nights now. He was getting worse at believing it.

After the meal broke up, Cole carried a stack of plates into a kitchen too small for the crowd and found Ford already in there with his sleeves shoved up, rinsing the serving dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. Cole slid in beside him, taking over the loading. He was reaching past Ford to fit a platter into the rack when he caught Leo watching the two of them from the doorway.

“What?” Cole waited until Ford disappeared into the living room.

“Nothing.” Leo came in for a beer he didn’t need. “You two just move around each other like you’ve been at it a while, is all.” He said it lightly, no edge, and let it drop before Cole could respond. But he’d seen something, and he’d said just enough to let Cole know.

Carter caught Ford by the shoulder as they were leaving. Cole was close enough to hear but pretended not to be.

“You good? Looked like you were limping a bit earlier.”

“Sat too long. That’s all.”

“Bullshit.” Carter said it easy, but he didn’t take his hand off Ford’s shoulder. “I’ve been watching you favor that leg for a month. You keep playing hero, you’re gonna blow it out somewhere around January and be done for the year.” He waited until Ford looked at him. “Go let the trainers see it. I’m not saying it to get on your case. I’m saying it because I need my goalie in April, and I’d rather have you cranky in the treatment room than watching from the press box. If you don’t go in on your own, I’ll take it to Deluca myself.”

Ford’s jaw tightened, and for a second, Cole thought he’d argue it the way he argued it with everybody. Then he blew out a breath and some of the fight went out of him. “Yeah. All right. I’ll go in.”

“That’s all I want.” Carter clapped him on the arm and let go, easy again, like he hadn’t just backed him into a corner. “Now get home before these roads ice over.”

They headed out into the cold not long after, Ford loose and quiet beside him, wrung out in the good way, worn down by a full day with people he actually liked. Cole got the truck going and pulled out onto the county road, the heater ticking, the dark coming down thick past the headlights.

“Good day,” Ford said.

“Yeah.”

“Carter does that every year. Takes in the guys who’ve got nowhere else to be.” A pause, and then, quieter: “You looked like you belonged at that table, you know. In case nobody’s told you that in a while.”

Cole’s throat went tight. He kept his eyes on the road. Ford said it like it was nothing, like it was just a true thing worth saying aloud.

“You did too,” Cole said, which wasn’t the half of what he meant.

Ford huffed a soft laugh and let his head drop back against the seat, and they rode the rest of the way like that, quiet, the bench between them feeling shorter with every mile even though neither of them moved to close it. Cole was aware of all of it. Ford’s knee close to his. The heat of him. The dark house they were driving toward, no kid to get down for the night, nobody in it but the two of them until Sunday.

He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Neither of them reached for the door. The porch light he’d left burning that morning threw enough glow to see by. Ford turned his head against the seat, looked at him, and didn’t say anything. Didn’t move to go inside.

Three nights of pretending, and Cole could feel the whole thing coming apart in his hands.

“We going in?” Ford asked. He didn’t move.

“Yeah,” Cole said, and didn’t either.

EIGHT

Ford knew he should get out of the truck. It was cold enough that his breath fogged, cold enough that his hip had already started in about the walk to the door, and there wasn’t one good reason left to keep sitting in the tick of a dead engine. He sat there anyway, and so did Cole.

He’d spent the whole drive home telling himself he was making it up. Cole went quiet when something was chewing on him. He’d been quiet since the back porch at Carter’s, so Ford had left it alone. If he waited Cole out, eventually, he’d figure out how to say whatever was on his mind.

Plus, Carter backing him into a corner about his hip had rattled him. Ford knew what the specialist would say, and despite both Carter and Cole telling him a bit of PT would get him right as rain, he knew better. As soon as he acknowledged the state of his body, he’d be on the bench. He didn’t want to think about that anymore.

The trouble was, the second he shoved the hip out of his head, the only thing waiting there was Cole, and that was spiraling just as far out of his control. He’d been attracted to the younger player since the first day he’d walked into the locker room at the Icehouse. Then again, he couldn’t imagine any guy who was attracted to men wouldn’t chub up a bit when Cole stripped out of his gear, leaving a wide expanse of muscular, freckled skin on display. He’d done his best to bury those feelings because sporting wood in the locker room was a sure way to get your ass kicked.

He had the feeling kicking was the last thing Cole would do to his ass if given the chance. And the longer they’d lived together, the harder it got to ignore his attraction, at least when they were in the privacy of the house. And that fucking near-kiss Monday night had him aching to see what would happen if he tried again.