Home Ice Kate Sherwood When they were young men playing on the same hockey team, the heat between Jason and Mike had been almost enough to melt the ice they were skating on. But Mike went off to be a star in the NHL and Jason stayed behind to start his life as the dedicated, deeply closeted coach of the town’s junior hockey team. Now Mike is back in town and Jason finds that their passion burns as hot as ever. But they’re both still in the closet, and when Jason is threatened with exposure, he freezes. The flames of desire can’t melt Jason’s fears but maybe, just maybe, the warmth of love will thaw the ice.
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Home Ice ISBN 9781419937156 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Home Ice Copyright © 2011 Kate Sherwood Edited by Briana St. James Cover design by Dar Albert Photography: FXQuadro/Shutterstock.com Electronic book publication November 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.
HOME ICE Kate Sherwood
Home Ice
Chapter One “Did you see him in that last game against Pittsburgh? I mean—how can he say he needs to retire when he’s still got speed like that?” Robby’s face was alight with excitement, and Jason, listening from across the room, tried not to smile. Teenage boys tried so hard to be cool, but they couldn’t always manage it. “Maybe he wanted to go out on top.” Connor was usually quiet, but when he spoke, the other players listened. It was part of what made him such an effective leader, on and off the ice. “There’s no way the Leafs are getting near the Cup anytime soon, so it’s not like he was going to hang around for another shot at that.” “They could do it. The Leafs. If they just…” Robby trailed off, the enormity of the required changes apparently too much to vocalize. “If they traded all the players but three, and all of the coaches and the management,” Devon suggested. Scott looked up from the goalie pads he was fiddling with. Jason reminded himself to get the kid some new laces. “And maybe moved cities, to somewhere that wouldn’t keep giving them sell-out crowds no matter what.” Alex scowled. He was a Russian import and didn’t always follow the team’s conversations, but he seemed clear on the current topic. “Leafs suck,” he said, and the simple truth apparently settled the issue and returned the conversation to its original focus. “And they’ll be even worse without Whitby,” Robby said. He was a winger, like Whitby, and Jason knew the kid was dreaming of following the same path to the NHL. “Who’ve they got now with any real experience on offense?” Jason let himself tune out the conversation. The kids could, and did, go on for hours like this. They were all spouting the same opinions they’d contributed the day before, all probably repeating whatever their dads had told them over the summer break or what they’d picked up from the countless sports shows they followed on radio, TV and the internet. The ideas were rarely original, but that didn’t lessen the passion with which they were held. Usually, Jason liked listening to them. And he liked joining in, sometimes, usually to play devil’s advocate, trying to get the little turkeys to actually think instead of just parrot. But he had bigger things to think about today. Well, the same thing they were thinking about, but from a different perspective. Mike Whitby. He’d been back in town for almost six months, as far as Jason knew, but he hadn’t been by the rink yet. Which was strange, Jason was pretty sure. And he had an idea about the reason for the absence, but he was trying to ignore it. It was
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stupid to think that a famous National Hockey League player would stay away from the local shrine to his sport just because of a slightly awkward past with a lowly Ontario Hockey League coach. Self-centered paranoia was what it was. And what did Jason know about transitioning from the Big League to retired life? Maybe players liked to do a cold turkey phase, getting the yearning out of their system. “He’s the best player the Wolverines ever had, right, Coach?” Robby was still excited and Jason let himself smile now. “Probably, yeah. He’s got the best NHL record, at least.” “And you used to play with him, right?” Jason didn’t want to give in to the prompts. He knew the kids loved to hear the stories, but that didn’t mean he wanted to tell them. He’d had his own struggle when he’d been forced to leave his playing days behind, and he still felt a pang when he thought about it all. But that wasn’t the kids’ fault and they weren’t asking him for much. “Yeah. He was left wing, I was right. Played together right up to Midget.” “And he was the best player you ever played with?” Robby was the one asking the questions, but the whole room was listening to the exchange. Jason wished he could answer differently, but he nodded his head. “Yeah, probably. There were some good guys at college too, but nobody as good as Mike.” “My dad says if you’d played in the OHL, you could have made the NHL before you got hurt.” Jason was all too aware of Robby’s dad’s opinion on the matter. He’d heard many times from many people just how stupid it had been to choose college over pro hockey, even if it was just junior. The OHL was the best way to the NHL, and only an idiot would even consider any other goals. “But if I’d gotten injured in the OHL, that would have been it. No NHL and no education. At least this way I got a degree out of it all.” Jason was fighting an uphill battle even suggesting that school was important, even hinting that not every kid in the room was on his way to becoming an NHL star, but he figured it was his duty to keep trying. Keep playing devil’s advocate, even if he was currently coaching in the very league he was arguing against. “And a lot of good players come out of the college system,” a new voice said from the locker room door, and Jason didn’t even have to turn his head to know who had spoken. It had been almost fifteen years since the last time he’d heard Mike Whitby’s voice, at least in person, but there was no mistaking it. Thankfully, the kids’ attention was diverted immediately and Jason had a chance to collect himself before turning around. Damn. Mike looked good. A little older, sure, but Jason had seen the guy on TV enough to expect that. And he wore his age well. Still fit, of course, and the light crinkle of lines around his eyes just made him look like he spent a lot of time smiling. No trace of gray in his light brown hair, no hint of jowls on his square jawline. The wire-rimmed glasses were new, and Jason wondered if they were really needed or if Mike was just trying to set himself apart from his playing days. 6
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He remembered how he and Mike had always been compared to each other, and told how alike they looked, and wondered whether he’d held up to the years as well as his old friend. But there was no time for further speculation, because Mike was walking forward, his hand outstretched, and Jason needed to get himself in gear. “Jason. Or Coach, I guess.” A quick, easy smile. “It’s good to see you.” They shook hands and Mike raised his free hand to grasp Jason’s shoulder. It was a standard manly greeting, but Jason really didn’t want the additional contact. He made himself smile and stepped backward as soon as he could justify it. “Good to see you too.” He turned to Walt Kowalchuk, the team’s general manager, who had accompanied Mike into the room. “Walt.” A nod in acknowledgment, and Jason continued. “You’ve still got time to meet after practice?” “I’ve got all the time you need, Coach. But that’s not what you’re going to ask me for, is it?” Walt was an old pro, having bounced around half the hockey world before settling in Pine River for the last few years of his career, and he was good at his job. But not good enough to always have money for Jason’s projects. He didn’t wait for an answer. “But let’s focus on the positive.” He clapped his hand on Mike’s shoulder and turned toward the anxiously hushed team. “Guys, let me introduce you to Mike Whitby. I think you may have heard of him.” The tension eased a bit as the boys laughed, and then Walt continued. “He’s got some time to talk to you all today, and if we’re lucky… I notice he brought his skates with him. You guys want to practice with an NHLer?” Just before the boys erupted into a puppy-like frenzy of enthusiasm, Kelly spoke up. He was an “over age” player, kept around not for his skill but for his sheer toughness. “Did he bring his pads and a helmet too?” Kelly’s voice was cool, showing that he refused to be impressed by the visitor, and there was just enough of a challenge in it to make Jason have to hide a grin. Kelly was good for the team. The Wolverines were the up-and-coming players, and they should be respectful to someone who’d already made it, but not subservient. If Mike was really going to practice with them, he should be ready to work and, yeah, ready to take a few hits. If he wasn’t, if he was just there to skate around a little, well, the team should see that for what it was. But apparently Walt didn’t share Jason’s attitude, and he was frowning at Kelly before Mike spoke up. “I didn’t. I retired for a reason, you know.” He grinned, making it clear that this wasn’t a tragedy. “I’m about done taking hits from guys as tough as Kelly Dunlop.” Damn, that was impressive. Mike knew the kid’s name, and Kelly was just a grinder, not a star. Jason remembered the shy, introverted kid he’d known and wondered when Mike had gotten so smooth. Wherever the skill had come from, it was certainly being used to good effect here. The team was grinning again and Kelly looked completely won over.
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Jason needed to get the team in gear before they turned into a bunch of little girls swooning over a matinee idol. “Okay, guys, enough chat, let’s get on the ice. You can talk to Mr. Whitby after the practice.” But even with visitors in the locker room, they still had their ritual, and the boys were clearly waiting for it. Jason grinned and nodded. Okay. “Where’s the game, boys?” he asked, his voice loud and ringing. The answer was even louder. The boys moved as one, tapping their temples twice, then thudding a fist over their chests. “HEAD, HEAD, HEART!” they yelled in unison, and then they sprang into action. They grabbed their gear, headed out the door and Mike stood and watched them go. When the last player trailed out of the locker room, Mike turned toward Jason. “‘Mr. Whitby’?” he said quietly, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “I like that. About time I got a little respect out of you.” But Jason couldn’t do it, couldn’t fall back into the old rapport that easily. They’d been teammates and they’d been friends. And then, briefly, they’d been more, before it had all fallen apart. Sure, it had been a long time, but that didn’t mean Jason was over it. No, wait. He was over it, he just wasn’t… whatever. He wasn’t ready to pretend it hadn’t happened. That sounded better. He sat down and pulled his own skates out of his gear bag. He just needed to focus on hockey. The game made sense and he understood it. The best thing about being on the ice had always been the way it let him leave the confusion on the other side of the glass. He felt the bench move a little as someone sat next to him, and without looking up from the skate he was lacing, Jason knew it was Mike. Jesus, his voice, and now his smell. The guy must have changed colognes at some point in the last fifteen years. Jason couldn’t remember young Mike having ever worn any, actually, and now there was a faint spiciness that probably cost more than Jason made in a month. But underneath it, somehow, was Mike. Mike, who Jason was completely over, he reminded himself. Fifteen years. He was not that pathetic. Mike was lacing up his own skates, but he was also clearly waiting for Jason to say something. “Welcome home,” he managed. It was stupid, of course. Mike had been back in town since the summer and it was well past Christmas now. He’d already been welcomed back by everyone who meant anything. Jason was just babbling. But Mike didn’t seem to think so. He bounced a little on the old wooden bench, looked down at their skate-clad feet and grinned. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “It’s good to be back.”
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Chapter Two “HUSTLE!” Jason yelled. And then, just because he was the coach and he could, he yelled, “Hurry Hard!” The kids on the bench laughed and Jason scowled at them before grinning. The team had been snow-stuck in a cheap motel on their last trip and had all become briefly obsessed with televised curling. It had been the Tournament of Hearts, after all. “Nice,” he called as Alex came up with the puck. “Keep your head up!” he added, seeing Kelly coming in for the kill. Kelly knew better than to hit a teammate with full force, but even his half-strength hits could be bone-jarring, especially for a lightweight like Alex. Or brain-jarring, as Jason found himself worrying about almost obsessively. Each new study he read about concussions made him that much more afraid of the effects on his players. The players were just boys, fifteen to twenty years old, and they didn’t have the sense to be afraid for themselves. And their parents, while older, were generally just as hockey-focused. Last season Jason had almost come to blows with Bill James, Connor’s dad, when Bill had objected to his son being benched with just a possible concussion. Apparently if the kid could still skate, he should be on the ice, according to his father. But not according to his coach, and thankfully, the team management had backed Jason up. He suspected they were more worried about lawsuits than the kid’s long-term well-being, but he’d take support any way he could get it. “Nice hit,” Walt said, loud enough for Jason to hear him. Walt was by the bench and Jason was on the ice, so the words were pretty loud. Loud enough for Kelly to catch, which was nice. Jason had met GMs who wouldn’t say a word of praise in a player’s hearing, but Walt definitely wasn’t one of those. Jason skated closer to the boards before Walt said softly, “Too bad he can’t shoot.” “Can’t handle the puck at all,” Jason admitted with a wry grin. “But he’s scrappy. He’s a grinder. He deserves this year, at least.” Walt didn’t argue. The two of them stood there beside each other, one on either side of the boards, and watched the kids skate. They were having an end-of-practice scrimmage and Jason’s assistant coaches were handling things. All Jason had to do was watch, taking note of what worked and what didn’t. Until Walt started talking again. “Listen, Jason. Is there an actual problem between you and Mike Whitby?” The question was unwelcome, but it wasn’t exactly out of the blue. Mike had been by the rink several times in the weeks since his first visit, and the team’s owners had clearly been thrilled. The team was owned by a consortium of small-time businessmen and they were all in it because they were hockey fans, not because they ever hoped to see a profit. Having Mike Whitby around made their little OHL team seem that much 9
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closer to the Big League, and they were almost giddy about it all. Other players had passed through the team on their way up, but none had returned after making it. Not for more than a brief visit. “An actual problem?” Jason tried to stall. “Uh—what do you mean, exactly?” “I mean, it seems like you avoid him. He comes by, you say hi, and then you’re gone. All of a sudden the skates need sharpening, or whatever.” “The skates do need sharpening, Walt. The machine is just about done—I don’t know if it needs repairs or replacement, but…” “No, kid, don’t change the subject.” Walt looked serious. “You know the owners are happy with your work—you’ve taken a small-market team and made it into a real force in the league. Before you came along, how long had it been since this town got anywhere near the Cup?” “How long’s it been since Whitby left?” But that wasn’t a path Jason wanted to follow. “But you need to take a lot of the credit for the team too, Walt. You’ve done a great job.” “We’ve worked well together, Coach. But…” Walt ran a rough hand through his gray hair. “That’s about to change.” He shook his head and turned so he was looking at Jason instead of facing the players. “This is my last season. Martha can’t handle another winter up here, not with her arthritis. And truth be told—I’m not sorry. I’m tired, kid. It’s time to find someone else to take care of things around here.” “I’m—damn, Walt, I’m really sorry to hear that.” Jason really wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he asked the question anyway. “But what’s this got to do with Mike Whitby?” Walt shrugged. “Maybe nothing. The owners haven’t talked to him yet. I made them promise not to, not until I got things cleared up with you. So he may not be interested in the job. But they want to offer it to him.” Jason took a moment to digest that. He tried to look at it from a logical perspective. “He can’t need the money. Why would he be interested? What’s he even doing back in Pine Bay?” “Sara and the kid.” Walt looked as if it was obvious. Jason realized that his avoidance of all conversations related to Mike Whitby had left him without some important background knowledge, and apparently, Walt realized it too. He snorted impatiently before prompting, “Sara Daniels? His wife?” “Yeah…” Jason knew that much. Sara had gone to school with them, back in the day, and she and Mike had met up again sometime after they both left town. They’d gotten married, had a kid… “What does that have to do with Pine Bay? Couldn’t she live with him wherever he goes?” “Jesus, Jason, pay attention. She doesn’t live with him now. They’re divorced. And she wanted to move up here with the kid. Little girl’s cute as a button, but she’s not quite right. Autism, or Aspergers, or something. I don’t know. But Sara wanted to raise her near family and in a small town. Figured it would be easier for her to fit in if 10
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everybody already knew her. So Sara’s staying in Pine Bay and Mike’s staying near the kid. Hannah.” That was a lot to digest and Jason needed a little time. He turned back toward the ice, watched for a moment, then yelled, “Harris, stop cherry-picking! Get in the damn play!” It was such a common instruction that Jason barely needed to think about it; he’d just needed to be sure that Harris was actually on the ice at the time. He waited long enough to see that the kid was finally moving and tried to form his ideas. Obviously he would never say anything that would get in the way of a father being near his daughter. Not that Whitby needed a job in order to stay in Pine Bay; the man had made millions in the NHL, after all. So Jason really had no influence over Whitby’s choice of residence. No, it was something else entirely that made Jason worry about further contact. But there was no way to explain his reticence without exposing too much about himself, so he was stuck regardless. “I don’t have a problem with him,” he said. Jason could tell that Walt was looking at him, trying to read the truth behind the words, but Jason kept his face turned resolutely toward the ice. Let Walt try to read the expression on the back of his head. Finally Walt sighed and clapped Jason on the shoulder. “All right then. The dinner tonight—they want to invite him. See how it goes.” Jason frowned and swiveled his head to take his turn at reading the truth. “We have that dinner once a month. They’re scheduled way in advance. You’re telling me they’re just inviting Whitby now? After you clear it with me?” Walt didn’t seem worried. “No. They invited him last week. And they were probably going to offer him the job regardless. But I thought it was an important courtesy to speak to you about it first.” “And if I’d said ‘no’?” “I knew you wouldn’t.” Walt eased back, took a long look at the players, then looked back at Jason. “You’re a good man, Coach. It makes you predictable.” Another clap on the shoulder, this time with a firm squeeze from Walt’s fingers. “You try to please the owners, and that’s great. But maybe one of these days you should push them a little and make them do a little something to please you.” He grinned and pulled his hand back. “Not that I would ever suggest that. No, that would be a betrayal of the faith they put in me.” And then Walt was gone, leaving Jason staring out at the ice. The players swerved and darted, gliding over the ice with power and speed. The pattern of their movements was indiscernible to the untrained eye, but to Jason, it was all part of an intricate dance. He and Mike had been masters of the rhythm, intimate partners so close they had played as one; they’d known where the other was because they knew each other, and the dance itself, so well. And first Jason had lost the magical partnership, and then he had lost the dance altogether, consigned now to watching from the boards. Oh he could still skate well enough, as long as he didn’t overdo it, but the ease was gone. Where once he’d
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swooped and soared, now he tiptoed, afraid that each stride might be the one that buckled his damaged knee. It wasn’t a tragedy, he reminded himself. He’d had a good run, more than most players ever got. He’d had fun, and something more than that, a fierce joy at using his body to its fullest, straining and pushing and struggling alongside and against other players who shared the same passion. He grinned a little. When he thought of it like that, it was no wonder he’d ended up preferring the company of men in his bed as well as on the ice. His grin faded. It wasn’t surprising, but it certainly wasn’t acceptable. Not in the hockey world. Canada might be pretty liberal about gay rights in general and Canada might love its hockey, but there was not a lot of support for blending the two interests. So telling Walt and the owners that he didn’t want to work with Mike Whitby because of a bad breakup—that really wasn’t going to fly. Especially since “breakup” probably wasn’t the right word to use, anyway. Hard to break something that had never really existed. He shook his head and looked back at the ice. The swooping ribbons turned back into players, the intricate dance returned to carefully orchestrated plays and, damn it, “Harris! Get in the goddamn play or go sit on the bench!” Jason’s assistant coaches tended to be tougher than he was and he was generally happy to let them take care of team discipline; he liked being the good cop. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t deal with a cherry-picking player if he needed to. A whistle blew, players banged the boards as they switched lines and Jason got back to his life. It might not be the full truth, but it wasn’t a full lie either.
****** Dinner was awkward, at least for Jason. Too many suggestive looks, the middleaged owners almost flirtatious with Whitby—Jason was glad the wives hadn’t been invited. As it was, Whitby was surrounded and fawned over almost constantly and he seemed perfectly comfortable with the attention. Jason wondered if he could use the situation to his advantage, somehow—would Whitby be inclined to accept a job offer from an organization that couldn’t even afford a functioning skate sharpening machine? Probably not. So if Jason mentioned the problem now, maybe it would be addressed… But Jason kept quiet and the dinner finally ended. Apparently Whitby was thinking about the job offer, and the owners were thinking about Whitby, and there wasn’t a lot of room left for anyone to give a good goddamn about Jason, which was just about the way he liked it. Everything seemed fine until he headed to the men’s room after the meal and came back to find Walt and the owners gone, with just Whitby left at the table. It would be easiest to just wave and head out, but the table was between the bathroom and the door and Whitby stood up as Jason approached. “You got time for a drink, Coach?” Whitby asked, and nodded at the door. “I told the guys I needed to talk to you first before I even thought about taking the job.”
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“You really don’t. The GM job has distinct responsibilities, but you’d be my boss, not the other way around. You don’t need my approval to take it.” Jason felt like an idiot for saying something so obvious. Whitby had been around hockey long enough to know who reported to whom. “Jason.” Whitby frowned. “Come on, man. Can we just—can we have a drink? Just talk a bit?” There was really no way to turn that down. “Yeah, okay.” So he couldn’t turn the offer down, but he could manage to accept it churlishly. That was pretty weak and Jason resolved to do better. “You want to stay at the table or go over to the bar part?” “Bar, definitely.” Whitby grinned and Jason had to fight to keep the smile off his own face. When had shy little Mike turned into such a charmer? Or was it just the remnants of old feelings that were making Jason such a sucker? He followed Whitby’s broad shoulders into the wood-lined bar and they found two armchairs near the gas fireplace. It was almost cozy, and on a Tuesday night, fairly quiet. Private, almost. Which maybe wasn’t a good thing. “I was sorry to hear about your daughter,” Jason started. “I didn’t know.” Whitby just shrugged. “It’ll be a challenge, I guess, but she’s a pretty happy kid. It’s not a tragedy.” Whitby leaned back into his chair and the server came over and took their orders. It was clear that she recognized Whitby and she called Jason “Coach”, although he couldn’t remember ever having seen her before. Hockey fans were everywhere, especially in a town as small as Pine Bay. They didn’t say much until the server returned with their drinks and reluctantly faded away. Then Whitby took a swallow of his beer, looked over at Jason and said, “I’m seriously considering the job. I’m bored up here, Jase. And I miss the game.” He smiled almost sadly. “I thought I was sick of it, but I think it was just the travel, and the reporters, and all the extra crap. The game itself—it’s in my blood, man.” He seemed self-conscious as he added, “But I guess I don’t have to tell you that. You found a way to stick with it.” “It’s not the same.” Jason hadn’t known he was going to say that and regretted it almost as soon as he spoke. He wasn’t there for a heart-to-heart. But he had started, so he tried to finish. “If that’s what you’re expecting, you’re going to be disappointed.” He took a swallow of his beer and hoped that Whitby would chime in. But he didn’t, so Jason continued. “The game—it’s for the players. We’ve got all these old guys hanging onto it and trying to make it about them. About money, or trades, or ice time, or whatever it is that we can control. But that’s all the stuff that you don’t miss, right?” Another swallow of his beer, and still Whitby didn’t speak, but he did nod thoughtfully. Jason said, “You put two Canadian kids in a basement with two brooms and a roll of duct tape and they’re gonna play hockey. You give ’em a little more, an actual stick and a puck, and they’ll play road hockey. Add skates and they’ll find a frozen pond for shinny. That’s the game. Our game. The pads and the arenas and the 13
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dressing rooms,” he paused, looked at Whitby and said, “and the coaches and the GMs and the TV broadcasts and every other damn thing—that’s not the game. That’s just the coating that we put around the game so there’s somewhere for all of us who can’t play to hang out.” Another swallow and his beer was almost gone. He wasn’t used to making speeches, not to adults, at least, and he forced himself to stay silent now. Whitby was quiet for quite a while, then said, “So you don’t think I should take the job?” “I don’t know.” Jason tried to pull himself back to his role of dispassionate observer. “I don’t know you, I don’t know your family situation, I don’t know a lot of stuff. I’m just saying how it was for me.” Another silence, and then Whitby said, “I’m sorry about your knee, man. I mean— I’m sorry it happened and I’m sorry I didn’t…” he trailed off, then started again. “I don’t know. Sorry I didn’t get in touch at the time.” “To do what, offer medical advice?” Jason shrugged it off. He wasn’t going to get dragged into this. “Like you said, not a tragedy. It was almost ten years ago and it had been five years since we’d—” Jesus, since they’d what? “Been friends,” he finished lamely. Whitby didn’t respond right away. Then he said quietly, “If I took the job—we could work together? That’d be okay with you? You got here first, man, I’m not looking to push in where I’m not wanted.” Jason let himself think about it. Of course it wasn’t his place to say no, but he had the feeling that if he did, Whitby would respect his decision. Whitby. Mike. Whatever. They’d been good friends before everything had changed, and maybe it wouldn’t be bad to resurrect that memory. Not the friendship itself, of course. But it would be nice to be able to look back on the good old days without having to see them through the fog of everything that had gone after. He finished his beer and nodded. “Yeah. We could work together.” Mike smiled and Jason finally let himself smile back. It felt good. Natural, and that was a problem. Jason wondered whether agreeing to work with Mike was going to be a huge mistake.
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Chapter Three “Could you tell the other guys not to pass to him?” Mike was standing on the ice, resting his chin on his stick, watching Harris as he stood around in the other team’s zone. “Or—you know, is he a good enough shot to justify it?” Jason shook his head. “He’s a good shot, but I don’t give a damn. I want him working for the damn puck, just like the rest of the team.” He raised his whistle and blew it sharply. “Connor! In for Harris! Harris, get over here.” Connor looked a little startled, but he jumped obediently off the bench and went to take Harris’ spot. Connor usually played center and Harris was a winger, but Jason knew there wouldn’t be a problem. Connor was versatile and he was hard-working and eager to please. If it wasn’t for his dry sense of humor, he would have been like a Stepford Player. No, Connor was not Jason’s current problem. “Harris. You want to play tomorrow?” Jason raised a gloved hand. “No, wait. You want to earn the right to ride on the bus with us tomorrow?” He glowered. He hated being the heavy, and it was this kid’s fault that he was driven to it. “You want to earn that right, you need to start playing as part of a team. And on this team, we all grind it out. You make it to the show, maybe you’ll get a coach who will put up with this crap. But here and now? You don’t work, you don’t play.” Harris looked miserable and he glanced over to the stands. Pine River was too far north to get many scout visits; they preferred to catch the team when it went south to the bigger cities for games. But there were still always people in the stands, watching and judging, and today Jason followed the kid’s gaze and found two men sitting together, staring at the drama on the ice. “Your dad and your agent,” he said, his voice less harsh than it had been. Harris nodded reluctantly. “They say I need to use my shot. They don’t want me getting hurt and they say that grinding’s where that could happen.” He looked at Jason as if begging for understanding. “They say I need to play it smart and stay out of things.” Jason was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “What do you think about that, Harris? Is that how you want to play? Jesus, kid, is that how you want to live your life?” He shook his head and glanced over to Mike. He was about to start on another speech, and in the few weeks since Mike had agreed to take the GM job, he’d heard quite a few of them already. But Jason felt like he needed to give at least one more. “This time you’ve got right now, this game—it’s a gift. It’s something that a lot of people never find. You’ve got the chance to play intensely, to put your whole body and brain and soul into this game and this team. You can work harder than you ever have and look
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over and see the guy next to you working just as hard, and you can challenge each other to give even more.” He leaned back and looked up at the stands. “Or you can try to play it smart. You can remove yourself from the intensity and you can watch from the goddamn opposite end of the ice while your teammates fight four on five trying to get the puck without any help from you.” Jason shook his head. “Well, no. You can’t do that anymore. Not on this team. ‘Cause I’ve tried the soft-sell and it isn’t working. So from now on, you cherry-pick, you sit on the bench. It’s that simple. And I’ll talk to your dad and your agent and I’ll explain that if they’re so worried about your damn safety, then they should be thanking me for keeping you off the ice. I mean,” Jason raised a hand to his throat in a dramatic gesture, “you could get hurt out there.” Harris’s eyes were wide and he looked from Jason to the stands, and then back again. “You’ll talk to them? Seriously, Coach, I want to play. I want to do it like you said, with intensity and everything. I just…” he trailed off and Jason felt for him. These players—they had the bodies of young men, but they were still just boys. And they’d been listening to their fathers’ instructions for their whole lives. “I’ll talk to them. But, Harris—right now, I’m talking to you. If you don’t work on the ice, you’ll be sitting on the bench. You understand?” Jason waited for Harris’ nod, then slapped him on the pads with his hockey stick. “Okay. Forty and forty, then sit on the bench, but go out with your line on the next change. You need to show me something, Harris.” Harris nodded and skated off to find a spot for his forty push-ups and forty sit-ups, and Jason and Mike both hopped up onto the boards as the puck came toward them. The players followed, crashing and swearing and working, and Jason envied them. A million laps a week at the town’s only indoor pool might keep him fit, but it just wasn’t the same as playing hockey. The play moved down the rink and Jason and Mike eased themselves back onto the ice. Jason knew Mike was looking at him and finally turned to meet his eyes. “What?” “Nothing. I just—I was thinking about watching a movie later. I was torn between Any Given Sunday and Dead Poet’s Society. You know, because I was craving an inspirational speech. But I just don’t really feel the need anymore, you know?” Mike’s eyes were dancing. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got something you can seize and you can suck the marrow out of it too.” Jason was shocked by his own words. It wasn’t the crude reinterpretation of the Dead Poet’s mantras that alarmed him, it was the sexual reference. He hadn’t grabbed himself, at least, and the words were certainly nothing he would be at all embarrassed about saying to any of his other hockey buddies. But he and Mike had been really careful with each other in that area. No innuendos, no discussions of past or present relationships, nothing in any way related to anything sexual. And now Jason had blown that rule out of the water. It was especially mortifying when he remembered the enthusiasm with which he had been seized, all those years
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ago. And for an uncomfortable moment, Jason wondered whether that was what Mike was remembering too. Then Mike snickered. “Damn, you’re a classy guy, Coach. Really an upstanding example for today’s young people.” And that was it. They went back to watching the game. When Jason finally blew the whistle to end the practice, Mike was still right there. He hadn’t officially taken over the GM’s job yet; Walt was going to finish the season and Mike was just hanging around, getting the feel of things. The amount of time he spent on the ice made it clear that he either really, really missed playing, or maybe that he was actually shooting for a coaching job, rather than management. Jason tried to ignore that possibility as he sent the players to the dressing room. “The bus leaves at six tomorrow morning,” he reminded them, “so get to bed early tonight. Bring your homework. Especially you, Cuddy—you fail English, you’re benched. If you need help, let me know. Otherwise, do the damn work.” He watched the kids skate off the ice, watched the assistant coaches trail off after them and looked up to the stands. The parents were up there, clustered together like they were after every practice. Most of the boys were from out of town, billeted with a core group of Pine Bay hockey supporters during the season, but that didn’t mean their parents couldn’t come for frequent visits. Jason was pretty sure that Harris’ dad was unemployed and he might very well be sleeping in his van. The family needed the money that would come if Harris made it to the Big League, but Jason needed to find a way to make it clear that the NHL coaches valued a strong work ethic just as much as OHL coaches did. He needed to speak to the agent too, probably, and tell him that if he wanted to try to get his client traded, that was fine, but until it happened, he needed to let the kid play the Wolverine way. He had to do all of that, just as soon as he got off the ice. He looked over to Mike. “Want to skate for a bit?” Mike nodded slowly, then grinned and sprang into top gear. Maybe not quite as much jump as he’d had at nineteen, but still explosive, sprinting down the ice toward a cluster of loose pucks that somebody had neglected to collect. He selected one, and by the time he had looped around and started back for the far net, Jason was on the move, skating backward, his stick out and ready. He’d never been a defenseman and he’d never made the NHL, but that didn’t mean he was going to let this clown put the puck in the net without a fight. Mike saw him and grinned, and it was on. Mike charged, Jason countered, and he surprised himself by managing to get his stick on the puck. Not enough to take it over, but he ruined Mike’s shot and that was enough for now. They followed the puck, crashing into the boards with a force that both of them would surely feel the next day, and they fought for possession. They were careful, to an extent. Neither of them was wearing full pads, and Jason, at least, had to make sure his knee didn’t get strained, but their upper bodies were fair game, surely. The puck squirted free and Jason was the first one after it. He got control
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and headed for the net and he knew Mike was behind him, coming up quick, but he also knew he’d always been faster than Mike. He was willing to risk his knee to prove that it was still true. He made it to a good spot to shoot, wound up… and eased the puck back onto his stick, bringing it with him as he swooped around the net. He could have shot, should have shot, but he didn’t know what would happen when he scored a goal. Maybe the game would be over then, and he really wasn’t ready for that to happen. So he started down the ice to the other end, and it was like stepping back in time. He didn’t need to even glance over his shoulder to know where Mike was and he abandoned their adversarial relationship with a beautiful no-look pass. Mike had the puck now, and he charged for the net, wound up and didn’t shoot. Instead, he shaved the ice in a quick stop and turned to look at Jason, who was waiting five strides away. Mike’s grin was wide now and Jason felt the same kinship they’d shared so many years ago, both of them staying late after practice for more ice time, more hockey. Mike passed the puck back and forth in front of himself, teasing, faking, and Jason knew they weren’t on the same imaginary team anymore. They were back to being opponents, and that was just fine. The whole point of the game was to be challenged, after all. As he so often told his team, opponents weren’t enemies, they were fellow players. Mike started, deked quickly to one side, deked back, and Jason knew his knee couldn’t keep up. He turned easily as Mike charged by, and it was so beautiful to watch that he barely felt bad about not being able to participate. But Mike didn’t even head for the net, just circled around until he was beside Jason again. He slapped the back of Jason’s calves, quick and sharp, and the conditioned response had Jason sprinting down the ice before he knew what he was doing. This was their drill, Mike right beside him, quick passes back and forth, tight and precise as they curved around the rink, Mike swerving to keep pace with Jason, then Jason easing off and letting Mike take the lead. They didn’t stop until they were both breathing heavily. Jason could feel the sweat starting to soak his shirt and it felt perfect. The whole thing felt perfect. Too perfect, and Jason remembered how so many of those earlier late practices had ended, him and Mike in the locker room, their bodies sweaty and breathless for a whole different reason, or maybe it was somehow the same reason, but played out in a totally different way. But Jason couldn’t afford to get philosophical about it, not now, with the parents and agents still there, with the kids in the locker room and with fifteen damn years separating them from the boys they had been. Jason pulled himself off the boards he’d been leaning on. “That was fun,” he said. “Now back to work for me.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just started across the ice and then down the corridor toward the change rooms and his thankfully private office. It wasn’t until he was at the door that he realized Mike was still right behind him. “I need to get back to work,” he repeated, and he pulled the door open, but Mike wasn’t going anywhere. “Your knee?” Mike asked. “Did you hurt it?” 18
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Probably, Jason thought, but he really wasn’t feeling it yet. “No, it’s fine,” he said, and he tried to shut the door but Mike was right there, and if Jason didn’t retreat he would be so close, too close to Mike’s hard, sweating body. He stepped back and Mike stepped in. Then he closed the door. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Mike said. “I’m fine,” Jason said, but he couldn’t turn around, couldn’t let Mike see his face, and apparently if he didn’t turn around, Mike wasn’t going to believe him. “Jase,” Mike said softly, and his hand on Jason’s shoulder was just too much. Jason whirled. He’d probably done something stupider than this at some point in his life, but he couldn’t think of just what it would have been and he really couldn’t make himself care. His hand slid to the back of Mike’s neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was moving fast, but it didn’t feel frenzied, didn’t feel out of control. It felt like just another step in their hockey dance, another ribbon woven through the pattern they’d been following for so long. Jason pulled and Mike didn’t resist. Their lips met, firm and strong and hungry. Jason pushed forward, his free hand snaking around Mike’s back, pulling their chests together. Jason needed more and he ran his hand down to just above Mike’s ass, holding him still as Jason pressed forward. Their abs lined up, long ripples of muscle ridged deeply enough to be felt through two layers of clothing. It was too much. The passion they’d shared fifteen years earlier was back, and it had apparently only gotten stronger in the years apart. Jason surged forward, driving Mike back into the door, and he refused to think about whether there was anyone on the other side to hear the thud of their bodies against the solid wood. His lips left Mike’s and traveled down over his neck, tasting the salty sweat from their exertions on the ice. Mike moaned and tilted his head back, giving Jason more room, and Jason absolutely took advantage of the offer. But he couldn’t stay there for long, couldn’t explore and enjoy, not with the driving need that was coursing through his body. Jason leaned forward, pressing in even harder against Mike, but he couldn’t get the contact he needed. They were both wearing protective cups and Jason remembered the mad shedding of their pads when they were younger, grabbing and struggling and fighting with straps, almost mindless in their need to get rid of the barriers between them. He felt almost the same frenzy now and he fumbled with the elastic waistband of Mike’s warm-up pants, shoved his hand inside while pushing the elastic down, and then, Jesus Christ, underwear, a protective cup, too much crap between them! Jason needed skin. He jerked Mike’s pants down and out of the way, was only a little more gentle with easing the cup out and down, and then, finally, his fingers wrapped around Mike’s hard, hot cock. Mike moaned again and his hand gripped the back of Jason’s head, pulling their mouths together for a hard, almost desperate kiss. It was easier for Jason to deal with his own clothes and he didn’t worry about finesse; he got the fabric the hell out of the way and worked his cock into the groove of
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Mike’s hip. Then he caught it in the same hand that held Mike’s shaft and started working them together, the soft skin of their cocks, the rougher, calloused palm of his hand, friction and pressure and heat. Mike was breathing hard, almost gasping, and Jason could hear his own breath as they strained together. Their bodies moved in time with Jason’s hand, and it wasn’t long before they’d stopped even trying to kiss. Jason bent his neck and found a tender spot on Mike’s shoulder. He latched on with his mouth, sucking and biting almost unconsciously, like an animal. Mike came first, his whole body arching into Jason’s, straining and clawing. Jason was close behind, the wet gasps of Mike’s recovery giving him the soundtrack for his own climax. He felt his hips grind forward, his hand forgotten as his body gave in to its urge to rut. He turned his face into Mike’s neck and almost sobbed through his release. He stayed there, probably for longer than he should have, and he let himself enjoy the smells of Mike’s exertions, arousal and completion. He managed to pull himself up a little and tilted his head to find Mike’s mouth. When he realized just how far he was having to stretch his neck, he pulled himself a little straighter. He realized just how stiff Mike’s body was and stepped backward so quickly he almost lost his balance. What the hell had he just done? They both stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide, bodies tense. Mike was the first to move. He shook his head almost dazedly, and said, “Jesus Christ, Jase. This isn’t… this isn’t part of the plan.” He tried to look Jason in the eye, but Jason was having none of that, preferring to stare somewhere over Mike’s left shoulder. “This isn’t who I am,” Mike said. “Not anymore.” Jason had no idea what to say to that. He stuffed his softening cock back inside his pants, trying to ignore the disgusting combination of drying sweat and still-warm come, and tried to organize his thoughts as he straightened his clothing. But apparently no clear thoughts were needed, because Mike had re-dressed even more quickly than Jason had and was shifting awkwardly. “This was… it wasn’t supposed to happen.” He turned quickly, opened the door and shut it behind him, and just like that, he was gone. Jason stood where he was for a long time. He wondered how bad he’d just screwed everything up.
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Chapter Four Jason was a stress-cleaner. He’d used to be a stress-runner, powering his way through the streets, working until his body was exhausted, until his brain was so busy ordering his legs to stretch for one more step, his lungs to gasp in one more breath, that there was no energy left for his worries. Since his injury, he cleaned. It wasn’t the same, but it was better than nothing. And now his house was spotless. It was only a two-bedroom, and it had been in pretty good shape to start with, so it hadn’t taken long. Not long enough, really. He was still stressed, and he wondered what his neighbors would think if he popped over for a visit and just happened to be carrying a bucket and a mop. Given that he’d only exchanged a few words with them in the five years he’d owned the house, probably they’d think it was a little strange. His parents had moved out to Vancouver to be near his sister when she’d had her first kid eight years earlier. He had friends, but they were all part of the hockey world, and he wouldn’t be able to give them the answer they would demand if he showed up at any of their houses with a need to de-stress. He was just wondering whether he should re-shovel the snow on his driveway when the doorbell rang. He checked his watch. Eight o’clock at night. Not late, but an odd time for someone to just drop by. He pulled the door open. “Oh,” he said. He probably should have been able to come up with something better, but it had been three days since his disastrous decision in his office, and he hadn’t seen Mike since. It was a bit startling to suddenly find the man on his doorstep. “Hi,” Mike said, and his smile looked more like a grimace. “Can I come in?” There was really only one answer to that and Jason stepped aside. As Mike moved past him, Jason noticed the smell. “Chinese?” he asked, looking at the plastic bag dangling from Mike’s fingers. Mike looked sheepish. “I know. It’s pretty pushy. I was just at the place, and I ordered too much, and I thought, you know—I’d check if you wanted any.” Jason had no idea what to say. “You want a beer to go with it?” Mike nodded gratefully. “That’d be great, man.” The whole situation was a little surreal. At least Jason didn’t have to worry about his house being presentable. He pulled two bottles of Keith’s out of the fridge and twisted the tops loose, then returned to the front room. Mike had pulled his shoes off and was standing uncertainly. It was kind of nice for Jason to feel in control of at least part of the scenario. “Table or couch?” he asked. “Uh, table, I guess? There’s quite a few dishes.”
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So Jason led the way into his dining room, found plates and forks and sat down. Mike took the chair across the table and they didn’t talk much, just opened the various dishes, scooped food onto their plates and ate. Jason had already had dinner, but he’d been swimming extra laps lately and was always ready for food. And it was definitely easier to fill his mouth than to use it to talk about whatever the hell had brought Mike to Jason’s dining room. But eventually, the silence became more awkward than the conversation, and Mike took a swallow of beer and said, “I, uh—I need to apologize.” Jason wasn’t too clear on that. “What for? I mean, probably I should be the one apologizing but, you know—you weren’t around and I didn’t want to hunt you down.” “Yeah, and that’s thing one that I should be apologizing for. Taking off like that. I mean—I was a bit off-balance. But that was no way to treat a friend. I’m sorry.” This was a bit much. “No, it’s fine. You freaked out. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, obviously I wasn’t thinking, in the strictest sense.” Jason needed to stop talking. He lifted his bottle to his lips, but it was empty. Excellent! An excuse to escape. He stood up and managed to not knock his chair over, then lifted his bottle in explanation. “You want another?” He honestly didn’t know how he wanted Mike to answer the question. “Sure, yeah.” Mike was still sitting there, his eyebrows knitted together as if this conversation wasn’t going in quite the direction he had anticipated. Which was fair, really, because Jason hadn’t anticipated the conversation at all. So they were both a bit surprised. Whatever came next, they’d be facing it on more or less equal footing, at least in terms of expectations. Jason twisted the caps off the beers and left them on the counter. They’d be something to clean up, later. Then he took a deep breath and returned to the dining room. He handed the beer to Mike, ignoring how their fingertips brushed. He wasn’t a little schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn’t going to get all worked up about that. But, damn it, Mike’s fingers had been so warm compared to the cold of the beer bottle. “That’s not all I’m sorry for,” Mike said in a low voice, and Jason had to call himself back to the conversation. “What?” Apparently he wasn’t calling himself back too effectively. “I’m sorry I avoided you. That was a shitty thing to do. But…” Mike ran his hand over his jaw, and Jason noticed a couple days’ worth of stubble there. He did not wonder what it would feel like beneath his fingers, against his cheek or rubbed along any other part of his body. He was not thinking that way. No. “Fuck!” Mike said explosively, and finally Jason’s attention was caught. Especially when Mike stood up and started moving around the room like a caged tiger. He stopped a few times to take big swigs of beer, and Jason wasn’t sure if Mike was looking for liquid courage or just a way to slow himself down.
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“What’s going on, Mike?” Jason tried to sound calm and friendly. Easygoing, maybe. That was worth shooting for. Mike turned to stare at him, then shook his head. “You’re not the only one,” he said quietly. “The only one who…?” “The only guy I’ve… fooled around with. Whatever.” “Okay.” Jason wasn’t at all sure where this was going. “You’re not the only guy I’ve fooled around with either.” Mike snorted. “Yeah, I get that. I mean—are you just… are you full-on gay then?” It was funny how much the word still made Jason’s skin crawl. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was. He refused to be. But he’d kept it secret for so long, and if he was the only one who knew about it, there was no need to use a word. He knew what he was, without a label. But apparently Mike didn’t. “Yeah. Full-on.” Jason forced himself to look Mike in the eyes as he said it, and Mike didn’t look away. Instead, he nodded. “So maybe it’s easier for you.” Then he shook his head and started pacing again. “Sorry, that’s bullshit. Maybe you just had the guts to admit to it earlier than I did. I just—how do you do it? I mean…” He shook his head impatiently and took another swallow of his beer. “Around the guys. Your teammates, and everybody…” “Jesus, Mike, I’m not out.” Jason almost shivered as the chill crept down his spine and over his body. What if that hadn’t been clear? What if Mike had left Jason’s house and casually said something to somebody, thinking everyone knew? Now it was Jason’s turn to take a deep swallow of his drink. He wondered if it was time to switch to something stronger. “Nobody knows. Not even my parents, because my dad has a big mouth and still has lots of friends in Pine Bay. My sister knows. And, you know… some guys… out of town, always…” “And people don’t ask questions? They don’t wonder why you’re still single?” Mike seemed genuinely concerned. That was a little tricky. “I think some of them do. Walt, maybe. Some of the locals, who’ve known me forever. But we’ve got a kind of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell thing going on. You know—as long as the team keeps winning, they want to keep me as the coach. So they aren’t going to go snooping around, looking for reasons to get rid of me.” “You think they’d actually do that? I mean, they couldn’t fire you for being gay. There are laws.” “Yeah. They couldn’t do it technically. But if we were losing, and they had to decide whether to give me another chance or not—I don’t think being gay would help my case.” Jason didn’t understand where this conversation was going. None of this was all that important, at least not to Mike. But then, what was important? Maybe nothing. “So, yeah, don’t worry about it. I mean, that’s what I’m doing—keeping things quiet—but obviously I don’t need to be dragging you into it. At the rink, even. That was…well, like I said, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”
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“Could you stop apologizing, Jase? Seriously. In case you didn’t notice, I was there. I was part of it, you know?” “You didn’t start it, and you did stop it…” “And in between, I was part of it. I…” He shook his head. “I was pretty fucking into it, Jase.” “But it’s not a good idea.” Jason tried to anticipate where this was going, but apparently he wasn’t doing too well, because Mike’s eyebrows knotted together even more tightly than before. “Are you telling me that or asking me? I mean… do you want me to leave? Is this over?” “What? Is what over?” Now it was Jason’s turn to frown. “What are we talking about?” “Fuck,” Mike said again, but this time he was half-laughing. He paced a few more steps, then turned back, and Jason saw the empty bottle in his hand. Jason sprang to his feet and reached for the bottle. “You want another?” he asked, but when he tried to take the bottle away, Mike didn’t surrender it. Instead, he raised it slowly, bringing Jason’s hand along with him. “No. I don’t want another.” Mike’s voice was low, almost husky, and Jason felt the chill run down his spine again, but for a totally different reason this time. Jason could end this, whatever it was. He could let go of the damn bottle, step back and away from the whole damn thing. He could keep things safe, keep things sane. He knew what the smart thing was, but somehow his fingers wouldn’t agree. He couldn’t make himself let go of the cool brown glass. He also couldn’t make himself raise his eyes to look directly at Mike. “Jase?” Mike almost whispered. “I bought too much Chinese on purpose. I bought too much last night too. And the night before. My fridge is full of little tinfoil pie plates. I—Jase, I don’t know what I want, but it’s not more beer, and it sure as hell isn’t more Chinese. I just—I’m sorry I avoided you for the last few days, but mostly, I’m really fucking sorry I left your office in the first place. You know?” Mike had shuffled a little closer as he spoke, and now the bottle was pressed between them, the knuckles of Jason’s hand pressed into Mike’s stomach. Jason was still looking down at the bottle. “Do you want me to go?” Mike asked softly. And that, Jason realized, was out of the fucking question. He made his fingers let go of the bottle by promising them that they’d soon have something much better to wrap around, and then gave them a short-term reward by letting them grip the soft fabric of Mike’s shirt. Mike noticed the shift. “Yeah?” he asked, and Jason finally made eye contact. “Fuck yeah.” And then they were kissing. One gentle, almost curious touch of their lips, and then deep and wet, hands roaming, bodies pressing together at all possible angles and the beer bottle dropping forgotten to the carpeted floor.
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It became essential that Jason see Mike’s body. All of it, not just the parts he’d managed to expose in the office. He’d known the boy, but he wanted to know the man. Needed to. And Mike’s arms were up over his head as soon as Jason’s hands found their way under his shirt, so obviously he wasn’t feeling too shy about anything. One smooth lift and the fabric was gone, dropping onto the floor somewhere near the beer bottle. They were going to have some tripping hazards soon if they weren’t careful, but a fast way to get horizontal really just seemed like a bonus at this point. There was no way Jason was going slow. Not unless Mike absolutely insisted, and he didn’t seem so inclined. They fumbled with their clothes, both too hurried, too frenzied for any kind of precision, and as they undressed, Jason steered them toward the bedroom. The trail of clothes would be totally incriminating were anyone to see it, but Jason’s blinds were closed and the door was locked. He was safe and he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted. By the time they were naked, they were in the bedroom. “Stay,” Jason instructed, one hand flat on Mike’s chest for just a moment before Jason turned and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand. “I want to fuck you. Okay?” They’d never done that before. Hurried groping, rushed hand jobs and the occasional sloppy blowjob with more enthusiasm than technique, that was what had gotten them off as kids. And it would still absolutely be enough, but Jason wanted more. As much more as he could get, and he hadn’t known how much he wanted it until the relief he felt at Mike’s nod. “Yeah.” Mike turned as Jason returned, bracing his hands on the wall. “Like this?” He sounded like it was a mix of a suggestion and a genuine question. “Fuck yeah,” Jason agreed, but he slid around between Mike and the wall for another deep kiss and his fingers found their home wrapped tight around Mike’s hard, leaking cock. “Soon,” he decided, and pulled Mike into him, letting himself be pressed up against the wall by the full stretch of Mike’s strong, lean body. He wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, let Mike grind in and set a rhythm, and it would be so easy, so perfect, to just finish it like that. Just like in the office, but without the frenzy. Slow and easy and friendly. That would be good. But Jason had no idea whether this was the start of something or just a one-time thing, and if it was the latter, he wanted to be sure he’d taken full advantage of the situation. It almost hurt to pull his skin away from Mike’s, but he forced himself to do it, sliding around under Mike’s muscular arm with as little loss of contact as possible. He opened the condom package with one hand and his teeth, and had to wrap his fingers tight around himself for a moment when he felt Mike arch his back and cant his ass out in readiness. “Fuck, Mikey,” he groaned. Mike turned his head and Jason leaned in for a kiss. The angle was terrible, and the kiss was still perfect; Jason was pretty sure he was in way over his head, but he didn’t seem to care. A little lube, a gentle finger and then Jason eased his way into the tight warmth. He forced himself to go as slowly as he could, but he could feel Mike tightening around him, then relaxing, then tightening again as Mike’s body fought the intrusion and his
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mind fought his body. When he was all the way in, Jason leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Mike’s chest, and whispered in his ear, “You okay?” “Better than okay,” Mike replied, and he curled his hips a little, easing Jason part way out before jerking back, slamming Jason’s cock home. “Let’s go, Jase,” he ordered. Jason was happy to comply. They fell into a fast, hard rhythm that was still somehow graceful and beautiful. Their bodies worked together, strained together, and it felt like they were two parts of the same powerful animal. Jason could feel his climax building, but he refused to let it overcome him. He wanted to keep moving like this forever, his strength and speed met and matched by Mike’s, their bodies fused together to create something perfect. It wasn’t until Mike gasped out his own surrender that Jason finally let go, and the crest of ecstasy turned his loss of control into a true victory. He rode it as far as he could go and he could feel Mike right beside him the whole time.
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Chapter Five “Connor, step it up!” Jason yelled. He had no idea what was going on. Connor usually had more enthusiasm than a busload of drunken fans, more focus than a crowd of armchair athletes making their picks for the hockey pool. But the kid had been dragging his ass for over a week. Jason resolved to talk to him about it after the practice. They were in the playoffs now, and there was no room for a star player to have a bad shift, let alone a bad game. Certainly not a bad week, although Jason really didn’t think the kid had let whatever was bothering him affect his game play too much. Yet. He tried to keep his focus on the ice. It wasn’t easy, not when he knew damn well that Mike was up in the bleachers. It might not be professional, but he hoped Mike was having as much trouble keeping his mind on his job as Jason was. In the few weeks since that first night, things had fallen into place more smoothly than Jason had ever thought possible. From something that might have been a onenight stand, they’d somehow built a real relationship, without even seeming to try. It was nerve-racking, trying to make sure they didn’t give themselves away, but they both had a lot of practice at keeping things on the down-low. Jason had assumed that he’d get used to seeing Mike, maybe even get bored at some point, but the opposite seemed to be happening. The more Mike he got, the more he wanted, and the feeling seemed to be reciprocated. They were both getting by on minimal sleep. Their days were busy, Jason at the rink, Mike splitting his time between hockey and his daughter; their nights were totally taken up with each other. They’d meet at Jason’s for dinner because his house had more privacy. Mike was always careful to park down the street, and he’d found a path through the woods at the back of Jason’s house that brought him right to Jason’s heavily treed yard without anyone being able to see. It was stealthy, but necessary. They’d usually have at least one round of sex before dinner, falling on each other greedily, re-learning the body that each had memorized the night before. Then a meal and conversation, catching up on the years apart, reminiscing about the times before. And it wasn’t all living in the past. They didn’t get into the future much, but they had the present pretty well covered, talking about the team and their families and even world events. Then more sex, slower this time, more relaxed. More like making love, Jason figured, but he was trying to avoid all thoughts of that word, even in euphemism form. He was trying, but he was finding it increasingly difficult. He was pretty sure what was happening, pretty clear about just what he was falling in, and refusing to call it by its name was only a stalling tactic. At some point, given how unbelievably far gone he was, he was going to have to break down and start using
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the real words. But he didn’t feel like there was any real hurry. He and Mike had all the time in the world. He blew the whistle to end the practice and sent the kids off the ice. “Connor,” he said softly as his captain skated by, head hanging low. “My office after you’re dressed, okay?” Jason wouldn’t have thought the kid could look any more miserable, but apparently there was a way. Damn. There was definitely something going on. He resisted the urge to look up to find Mike in the stands and followed the team off the ice and down the long corridor. One of his assistant coaches came in to discuss some line changes for the next game, and there were tapes to watch and analyze, but Jason let it all go when Connor came in. The assistant took the cue and gave Connor a friendly slap on the shoulder as they traded places, Connor taking the chair across from Jason, the assistant heading out into the hall and shutting the door behind him. “Hi, Connor,” Jason started. He was always a little lost with this stuff. Things on the ice made sense, but everything was trickier in the real world. “Look, Connor…you know why you’re here. You’re not yourself lately. You’re dragging. And I don’t like what that’s doing to the team.” Connor nodded quickly, accepting full responsibility as usual, but Jason wasn’t done yet. “But what I really don’t like is worrying about what’s causing it. Worrying about you.” He leaned back in his chair. The kid still wasn’t really looking at him. “Hey, Connor?” Jason waited, but there was no eye contact. “Connor,” he said more firmly, and finally the kid looked up. Jason held his eyes, waited a moment, then said, “Screw hockey, Connor.” Jason almost smiled at the shock in the kid’s eyes. He supposed his words were something like a priest telling a parishioner to turn his back on God. “I mean it. It’s just a game. It’s a great game and I love it, but it’s not all there is. There’s more to life than just hockey, Connor.” Connor looked almost afraid, and Jason wasn’t sure how to continue. He decided to go for full honesty. “I say that because I don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with your game, but there’s obviously still something wrong. So maybe it’s not something I can help you with, but maybe I can find someone who can help you, if you need help. Or maybe you just need to talk something out. I don’t know. This isn’t my strong suit, Connor, but I want you to know I care and that I’d really like to help.” Connor shook his head. “Not with this. You don’t want to help with this.” “I’m pretty sure I do, kid.” “No. You’ll hate me.” He wasn’t defiant, just defeated, and it almost broke Jason’s heart. “Jesus, Connor. I can honestly say that there’s not a thing I can think of that would make me hate you. I mean, even if, I don’t know… even if you killed somebody. I’d have a serious problem with it and I’d be pretty damn concerned and disappointed, but I wouldn’t hate you, kid. So… have you killed somebody?” 28
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Connor waited too long, but finally shook his head. “No.” Jason let the pause go for quite a while before saying, “So here’s what I know. About a week ago, you were normal. And then something happened, I guess, and now you’re sad. Seriously, kid—are you talking to anybody about whatever this is? Parents? Teachers or counselors or whatever? Girlfriend?” And there it was, that tiny jerk of Connor’s head on the last word and Jason’s gut tightened. “Boyfriend?” he asked, his voice quiet. Connor’s head shot up, his eyes wide, and Jason raised his hands quickly, holding them up as if to show that he was unarmed. “It’s okay, kid. Jesus. It’s okay.” “No, it’s not,” Connor hissed. Jason was, again or still, totally lost. But he couldn’t walk away now. “Why not? What’s wrong?” Connor looked up with a near-snarl on his face. “What are you talking about? You said ‘boyfriend’. You know what I am.” “Gay?” It was apparently easier to use the word in reference to somebody else. “If you are, that’s fine. And if you aren’t, or you maybe are, or you’re trying something out just to see… that’s all fine too. Seriously, kid.” Jason tried a smile. “Remember when I said that there’s more to life than hockey? Well, here’s the real secret, Connor. There’s more to life than sex too. There’s more to life than every damn thing, because life is huge. And pretty damn great.” He caught himself before he let his own happiness become obnoxious. “And pretty damn terrible sometimes too.” Connor was at least looking at him, at least listening, and Jason wished he had something better to say. “But this didn’t just all occur to you overnight. What happened last week? What set this off?” Connor looked away from Jason and down toward his own hands. There were tears in his eyes when he looked back up and whispered, “My dad caught us.” “Fuck.” Jason didn’t usually drop the F-bomb in front of the players, but this one seemed justified. Connor’s dad was one of the most hockey-driven, crazily ambitious hockey parents on the team. He was completely supportive of anything that seemed likely to improve Connor’s chances of getting to the NHL and completely hostile toward anything that might become a distraction, or that broke the expected pattern of behavior. Jason tried to focus his reaction into something useful. “What’d he say?” Connor took a deep breath. “He kicked Andrew—the guy—my boyfriend or whatever—my dad kicked him out of the house. Like, almost threw him out. I don’t think he was going to give him a chance to get dressed, until he realized that the neighbors might see. Might start wondering why there was a naked teenage boy on our front lawn.” Jason wasn’t used to hearing this bitter tone from Connor and he really wanted to never hear it again. But he felt like he needed a few more details. “And what did he say to you?” Connor shrugged, and looked back down at his hands. “He swore at me. And he broke some of my stuff. My cell phone, my computer. But then the next day he said I 29
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couldn’t be, I was just fucking stupid. I was too useless to know when someone was taking advantage of me and too weak to stand up to someone who was—he said ‘molesting’—too weak to keep someone from molesting me.” The words came out in a rush, as if Connor wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish if he spoke more slowly. That was a troubling twist. “How old is Andrew?” Jason asked softly, but Connor shook his head impatiently. “He’s seventeen, same as me. It was—it wasn’t forced or anything. We were just fooling around. We both wanted to.” “Yeah. Okay.” Jason sighed. He had no idea where to go with this. “Look, Connor. Lots of people are gay. And lots of people your age are struggling with this crap. It sucks that your dad’s being that way about it, but… it’s not about you, okay? It’s about him.” “But what about the team? Andrew’s really pissed at my dad, and my dad won’t let me see him, so I can’t calm him down. What if he says something? What if it gets out?” Connor’s eyes were wide again, his body moving jerkily. “That’d suck.” Jason really hoped honesty was the best policy. “A lot. I mean, there are homophobic assholes out there and it’s not Andrew or anyone else’s right to expose you to their shit.” How many times had he made that argument to himself? “But in terms of the team? There had better not be a goddamn change about anything on the team, and if this gets out, which it probably won’t, but if it does, I will fully expect your teammates to stand by you.” Jason could officially expect it, at least, but his mind was racing, wondering which of the kids would be openly hostile and which would be polite but distant. He wondered if there was a single player who wouldn’t change his attitude at least a little. “And I will guaran-fucking-tee that your coach doesn’t give a shit.” That part at least he was sure of. There was another pause while Connor looked at his hands and Jason wildly searched his mind for something more to say. Something better. But when Connor finally looked up, the wild eyes were gone. His voice was still subdued, but his usual quick smile was back as he said, “Damn, Coach, you’re swearing a lot today. You feeling okay?” Jason snorted a quick, relieved laugh. “I’m a little tense, maybe. A really great kid just came to me with a problem, and I honestly don’t know if I did a damn thing to help him with it.” “You did,” Connor said, then shifted a little. “You really mean it? About not giving a shit?” Jason nodded firmly. “Absolutely, Connor. I’m your coach. I’m in charge of your hockey development. Who you’re attracted to, who you have sex with, who you fall in love with—that’s not hockey. It’s none of my business. And even if it were my business, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. At all.”
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“And the guys? You really think they wouldn’t mind? I mean—what if I told them? What if I came out?” His young face was alight with a new hope. Jason felt bad about it, but he needed to put that light out pretty damn quickly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Connor. I can keep them from openly being assholes, but I can’t control them completely. I can’t make them be relaxed around you or feel the same way toward you. I’m not saying it’s right, but I don’t want to lie to you.” And the next part was even harder to say, because boys would be boys, but the adults were likely to be just as bad, if not worse. “And I can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t affect your career. You might have noticed that there’s not a lot of out players in the NHL. Like—none. Maybe you’d be fine as the first, or maybe it’d make things harder. I don’t know. It’s a gamble though, and the thing is—you’re seventeen. Once you’re out, you can’t get back in, right? I wouldn’t rush into anything.” It seemed cowardly. But how could Jason sit back and let the kid take a chance that Jason himself was unwilling to take? And Connor seemed to get the message, his brief moment of optimism fading away as quickly as it had developed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.” It didn’t seem like there was too much more to say, but Jason wasn’t sure how they were leaving things. “So—are you okay? I mean—you and your dad? Is that okay?” “I should talk to him again, right?” Connor seemed to be asking Jason for something more than just what was apparent in the question, but Jason couldn’t figure out just what was needed. “I should—I mean, he saw us. And I’m seventeen. Most of the guys on the team, they’re away from their parents already. It’s just because I had the bad luck to get drafted by a local team…” “You think this would be easier if you were living in a billet somewhere? Maybe, maybe not.” Most of the billeting families Jason knew were at least as hockey-crazy as the players living with them, but that didn’t automatically mean they were intolerant. “Look, Connor. You’ve got another year or two, and then you’re gone. Hopefully the NHL, maybe Europe. You’re a great player, Connor; if you want to play hockey, there’s going to be a team somewhere that wants you. And once you’re out of the house, out of Pine Bay, you can… I mean, not go crazy, but you can live your life, you know?” “But still in secret,” Connor said. “The guys talk about girls, pretty much constantly. You’ve heard some of it…” “I heard it in my own day too, Connor. Things haven’t changed that much.” “I keep quiet, but if somebody pushes—I just lie. They’re my teammates. They’re supposed to be like brothers. And I lie to them.” He shook his head violently. “I don’t want to lie to them. To everybody.” Jason wished he had a drink. The coach before him had kept a bottle in his desk drawer, but the coach before him had been fired for being constantly tipsy. Jason sighed. “Connor. I can’t tell you what you need to do. I’ve warned you about what might happen if you come out, but I can’t tell you what will happen inside you if you 31
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don’t. You’ve got to figure that out on your own.” Connor was frowning, the intense look he wore when he was watching game tapes. “The only thing I can tell you, for absolute sure—I’ve got your back, kid. Any way I can, any way you decide to go. Okay? This isn’t you, alone. You’ve got people on your side.” Connor nodded slowly, and Jason let him take a moment to let the words sink in. When the kid stood up, Jason stood up too and walked around the desk. “You’re okay?” Jason asked once more, and Connor shook his head, but he smiled weakly as he did it. “Not entirely. But I will be, right?” Jason wrapped an arm around the kid’s back and gave him a rough squeeze that turned into a full hug as Connor turned, quick and almost furtive, and buried his head in Jason’s shoulder. “You’re going to be great, Connor. Just give it time.” And then Connor pulled away, opening the door of the office before he was even fully extricated from Jason’s arms. There was a crowd waiting outside, Connor’s dad and some of the assistant coaches, Mike and Walt, and they all turned as the door opened. Jason felt bad for sending the kid out into that, but Connor charged on, looking at his dad and saying, “I’m sorry. Coach needed to talk to me. I can go now.” It shouldn’t have been a big deal; Jason talked to players one-on-one all the time; it was kinder to criticize them in private than in public and it was pretty obvious that Connor had been due for a strict talking-to. But Jason felt too many eyes on him, and he had to force himself not to look at Mike for comfort. He’d deal with whatever he needed to, and then he’d get himself home and Mike would be there. Once he got to Mike, everything would be good again.
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Chapter Six “I felt like a total fraud,” Jason said, his voice a little muffled by Mike’s hard shoulder. It wasn’t the most efficient way to have a conversation, wrapped around each other in the tangled sheets of Jason’s king-size bed, but it was pretty damn pleasant. As were Mike’s fingers, soothingly running through Jason’s hair. “You didn’t lie to him.” They’d already covered the whole conversation the night before, but Jason was having trouble getting it out of his head and Mike was a patient sounding board. He was also a lot more, Jason remembered, as the hand wrapped around his cock squeezed a little tighter. Jason tried to keep his mind on the conversation. This was their morning routine, these days. Conversation mixed with sex so languorous it was barely sex at all. Right up to the point where one of them gave in and made it into something more. But Jason wasn’t at that point yet. “I didn’t tell him the whole truth either. I mean—when I was his age, dealing with all this crap… How much easier would it have been for me if there was somebody there who’d already been through it?” He had his hand on Mike’s cock, returning the favor, but now he gave in to temptation and started sliding down Mike’s body, kissing his way along the collarbone to the hair on his chest. It would mean that Mike’s hand wouldn’t reach Jason’s groin anymore, but Jason would take that sacrifice. “You’re his coach, not his counselor. Sure, it would have been nice for him to know he wasn’t alone, but that doesn’t mean it’s your job to give that to him.” Mike gasped and involuntarily arched his back as Jason nipped and then sucked on his nipple. He managed to regain his composure fairly quickly though. Jason was impressed. “It would have been a bonus, but it’s not an obligation you have. And given your—oh damn.” Jason had reached his target and he sucked the head of Mike’s dick just a little harder as a reward for the positive feedback. “Jesus, Jason,” Mike said, his voice barely audible. Then he collected himself, somehow, as Jason slid his lips, tight and wet, slowly down Mike’s shaft. “Given your position on the team and in the community—it would be a hell of a risk for you.” Jason knew all this. He’d told it to himself and he’d listened to Mike remind him of it the night before. He concentrated on his technique for a bit, then lifted his mouth free for long enough to say, “I still feel like shit though.” “Yeah,” Mike said softly, and he pulled gently on Jason’s hair until Jason took the cue and slid his way back up until their mouths met. “That’s because you’re a good guy,” Mike murmured, and they rolled over onto their sides, facing each other, and their mouths were too busy for talking for a while. 33
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Their hands were joined, wrapped around their matched cocks and setting a slow, easy rhythm, and when they weren’t kissing, Jason let himself stare. He could spend hours looking at Mike’s eyes, but they were closed now, the slight crease between them the only clue that Mike wasn’t asleep. But even without the eyes, the man was a visual treat. There was a tiny scar on his cheekbone, almost lost in the hairline, and Jason kissed it softly. There were seven faint freckles on the outer rim of his ear, and they got a kiss as well, but then Jason had to go back to Mike’s strong mouth, his lips soft, but firm, and always waiting for Jason’s. Their tongues joined, twisted and withdrew, then repeated the process, and Jason was close to losing his cool, but he was pretty sure that Mike was closer. And that was good, because Jason had been the one to break first for the last three days, and his pride demanded that he demonstrate at least a little self-control. But he wasn’t sure he was going to make it, not with Mike breathing like that, quick little gasps with an almost musical note to them, so it was time for desperate measures. He bent his head and nuzzled in until he found the sensitive skin just above Mike’s collarbone, the spot that practically brought Mike to his knees even when he wasn’t already on the brink of orgasm. He tightened his grip on Mike’s cock just as he nipped the skin and then flattened his lips into a deep, wet, sucking kiss, and he could feel Mike’s body shudder beside him. “Oh Jase, fuck,” Mike managed, and Jason showed no mercy. He ramped it up, instead, a full-body onslaught of wrapping legs and gripping fingers and writhing chests, and his mouth never left its chosen spot. He didn’t relent until Mike finally stilled, and even then, he kept his mouth busy. They hadn’t done this before, both of them too worried about discovery to leave any signs behind, but damn it, Mike belonged to Jason and Jason wanted to mark him. Mike could cover it with a shirt, easily. Mike apparently didn’t mind, lacing his fingers through the hair on the back of Jason’s head and gently encouraging him. When Jason finally pulled away, there was a purplish bruise where his mouth had been, and he gave it a quick lick and then a gentle kiss. Mike used his hand to bring their mouths together for a kiss, and then kept guiding Jason farther up. Damn. Yeah. This was perfect. Mike flat on his back, Jason hovering over him, hands braced on the headboard, cock slipping easily between Mike’s wet, kiss-swollen lips. It would be too easy to lose control, but Mike’s hand on Jason’s hip was gentle and encouraging, not restrictive. When Mike tilted his head enough to find a better angle, Jason slid deeper and Mike hummed in satisfaction. It was beautiful and Jason lowered one hand to let his fingers play along the side of Mike’s mouth, feeling the skin stretch and tighten, and then release as Jason slid out. Jason felt his body tensing, felt the warmth beginning to spread, but as usual with Mike, he fought to hold it off. He didn’t want this to end, not ever. But as it always did, Jason’s orgasm finally came, and as always happened, nothing really ended. He pulled out of Mike’s welcoming mouth as he spasmed and aimed as well as he could for the 34
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spot on Mike’s chest. When he regained some control, he slid down, lying on his side next to Mike. As they kissed, Jason combed his fingers up through Mike’s chest hair, up to the mark he’d left by Mike’s collarbone. His aim had been good and he rubbed his cum into the bruise he’d left, like soothing cream after a tattoo. “Mine,” he said softly. “Yeah, it’s yours, Jase. It’s also fucking gross.” But there was laughter in Mike’s voice and his kiss was warm. Jason was pretty sure he should let it go at that, but everything felt safe and sure, wrapped up in this bed with this man. “I meant you,” he said, his eyes still on the mark he had left. “I meant that you’re mine.” He pulled back from Mike’s face, far enough that he could look for any signs of alarm or confusion. He saw neither. Mike just nodded. “Yeah. Yours.” Then he grinned. “And if we’re getting all territorial…” He ran his fingers down Jason’s body as if selecting a spot. That was when the doorbell rang. “Fuck,” Mike said. “Don’t answer it.” “My car’s out front—it’s pretty obvious I’m at home.” Jason frowned and looked at his watch. “Maybe they’ll think I’m in the shower.” The doorbell rang again and Jason’s stomach tightened. Maybe this was something more than just an inconvenience. He thought of his family out in BC and wondered if the cops still did that, came by in person to spread bad news. The doorbell rang again and Jason pulled himself away from Mike. “You can stay in here. If it sounds like it’s going to go long, you could head out through the back.” He nodded to the patio doors that led from his bedroom to the deck and then the backyard. “Your clothes are all in here? Your keys?” “They’re in my coat pocket,” Mike said. He’d come in the back way the day before, so all of his outdoor clothes were piled by the patio doors. But his voice sounded lifeless, totally removed from the situation. There was heavy knocking on the door now. Whoever was there wasn’t going away. Jason wanted to stay and sort this out with Mike, but he had to get the door. He couldn’t just hide in his bed cocoon forever. “Hopefully it’s just a really, really devout Jehovah’s Witness,” he said, and he gave Mike a quick kiss, which was returned with a barely civil formality. Fuck. But he had to go. He pulled on the pajama pants that he’d never managed to get into the night before, found a T-shirt on the floor and pulled the bedroom door three-quarters shut before heading down the hall. He braced himself, pulled the door open and found Walt standing on his doorstep. His relief lasted until he saw the look on the man’s face. “Walt. What the hell?” “I need to come in, kid,” the older man said, and Jason stepped aside. Walt didn’t take his coat off, but he closed the door behind him. “There’s trouble with Connor James.”
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Jason’s stomach tightened. He’d heard the suicide stats for gay kids. He’d thought things were okay, but what if they hadn’t been? Or if it was just an accident, but maybe something caused by recklessness… “What happened?” he managed. “I only have sketchy details. His dad called last night, left messages on my machine at the rink. I listened to them this morning, after the cops called.” “The cops?” Jesus. So it was something big. “Is Connor—is he okay? Was it an accident?” “An accident?” Walt looked confused. “No. What they’re saying—it’s a hell of a mess, but none of it sounds accidental.” “Jesus, Walt, is Connor okay or not?” Walt took a moment, then nodded. “He’s at home with his parents.” Jason hadn’t realized how far through his body the tension had spread until it finally began to relax. “Okay. Damn, you had me scared there. So—what’s going on? Why are the cops involved?” Walt looked searchingly into Jason’s face, and was apparently satisfied by what he saw, because he unzipped his coat and nodded toward the couch. “Sit down, Jason.” “What? Walt?” “Jason.” Walt’s age and authority exerted themselves and Jason walked meekly over to the couch and sat down. Walt apparently reserved the privilege of walking around the room for himself. “Jason. They’re saying you…saying you interfered with the kid somehow.” “Interference?” It made no sense at all. Walt snorted. “Not the penalty, Jason. Jesus. They’re saying—I don’t know. They’re saying you were involved with him somehow. Like—like you molested him or something.” “What?” Jason’s first response was confusion, but then the panic set in. “They’re saying what?” And Walt’s orders be damned, Jason needed to move. He stood up and strode over to where Walt was standing by the window. “What the fuck are they saying I did? Who’s saying it? Connor is?” Walt shook his head. “I don’t know yet, kid. I called the dad back this morning, but he wouldn’t talk to me. Said his lawyers have told him to have no contact with the team. So all I have to go on is the messages from last night. And they were pretty incoherent.” Another head shake. “I’ve called the league and the owners…” He saw Jason’s expression and grimaced. “I know, kid, but I had to. I have to play this by the book. You’ve got nothing to hide, right?” He stepped a little closer. “I think I actually need to hear you say that. I know I shouldn’t, but in this day and age, with things the way they are… I need to hear you say you’ve got nothing to hide.” Well, that was the kicker, ’cause Jason had plenty to hide, and he was pretty sure Walt knew or at least suspected quite a bit of it. He chose his words carefully. “I have never touched that kid, or any other kid, in a sexual way. I haven’t… Jesus, I don’t
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know what they’re accusing me of, but I haven’t done anything wrong. Connor’s having some trouble, I talked to him about it and I thought things were… well, not fine, but I thought things were better. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” “Yeah.” Walt sounded satisfied, but not exactly happy. “We need more facts. But we also need to get in front of this thing. Just the accusation is bad and the team needs to cover their ass. You understand that, right?” “I don’t—what does that mean, ‘cover their ass’? What are you saying? What’s going to happen?” Jason could hear the panic in his voice and he thought of Mike, fifteen feet away, listening at the door. He tried to draw strength from the thought, but he could only think of how crazy it was that Mike had to stay hidden. “I don’t know, kid. We need to hear what Connor’s saying. He’s seventeen, right? So it wouldn’t be statutory rape, I don’t think. Except that you’re in a position of authority, so that might change things. Look, Jason—you need a lawyer.” “A lawyer.” Jason had been to a lawyer once, when he bought his house. That was it. He was pretty sure the real estate guy wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to about this. He looked out the window and saw the police cruiser pull into his driveway. Two OPP officers got out and he recognized both of them. He’d gone to school with Steve and Sean played a lot of hockey at the rink. And now they were here. For this. Jason thought he might be sick. “The police,” he said loudly. He was pretty sure it was time for Mike to get the hell out of the house. “In my driveway.” Walt looked as if he wasn’t sure about Jason’s sanity, but he crossed to the window and looked out. “Yeah. Shit. Things are happening fast.” He looked at Jason. “A lawyer, kid. I’m serious. You can’t play around with this.” “Jesus, Walt, I am in no way playing around. Do you know a lawyer? Somebody who handles stuff like this?” “No. But somebody will. Look, Jason, like I said—the team can’t support you, not openly. They can’t take the bad PR from something like that. But you need to know that I believe in you. I’ll help, if I can.” “But you can’t, so I should fuck off.” Jason didn’t mean to take this out on Walt, but he had no one else to aim his negativity at and there were cops climbing the front steps of his house. “Are they going to arrest me?” He looked down at his thrown-on clothes. He wasn’t even wearing underwear, for Christ’s sake. The doorbell rang as Walt said, “I don’t know,” and Jason was getting pretty damn sick of hearing that. It was almost a relief to cross the floor and yank the door open, letting him look at the faces of two people who might have some better idea of what the hell was about to happen to Jason.
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Chapter Seven “Steve. Sean.” Jason tried to keep his tone businesslike, but he didn’t have quite the same degree of control over his words. “What the fuck is going on?” Steve took the lead. “Can we come in, Jason?” He didn’t sound friendly, exactly, but he was warmer than Jason would have been if he were speaking to a suspected child molester. Or whatever it was, when the kid in question was seventeen. “Yeah,” Jason said. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he needed to be getting a lawyer and pleading the fifth, even though he knew that was only from American cop shows and really didn’t apply in Canada. But he could be pleading something, surely. Instead, he was just pleading for information. He stepped aside, and as the men entered, he said, “Seriously. What the fuck is going on?” The police glanced around the room and Steve looked from Walt back to Jason. “We need to ask you some questions. Would you prefer to do it in private?” Jason’s first instinct was to say no. Walt was a friend and it was nice to have some support in the room. And surely it was best to have everything out in the open, with Walt knowing as much as Jason did. But then he remembered Walt’s earlier words and a bubble of righteous indignation rose up in his chest. “Yeah. I would.” He turned to the GM. “You represent the team, Walt, and you just told me that I was on my own and the team couldn’t support me. So you know what? You and the team can get the fuck out of my living room, Walt.” Walt looked sad and Jason had to smother a quick flare of guilt. Jason was being accused of something that could end his career and send him to jail; he didn’t have time to worry about Walt’s hurt feelings. “Stay in touch,” Walt said softly, and he gripped Jason’s elbow as he passed by him on the way to the door. It shouldn’t have made Jason feel like crying. When the heavy door closed behind Walt, Steve gestured to the couch. “Do you want to sit down?” he asked. “And is it okay if we do?” “Yeah.” Jason wondered if he should be offering coffee or something, but the rituals of civility were beyond him. “So—Walt told me a bit. But I still don’t understand. What’s going on?” Steve opened a notebook. “What we’d like to do is take a statement from you, Jason. It’s all pretty informal so far, but I should warn you that you’ll be asked to sign your statement as being a true representation of the facts of the case, and as such, the statement could be used against you in court if charges are ever brought. Are you okay with this?”
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“No.” Jason tried to fight back the panic. “Jesus. I need a lawyer, right? Steve? Sean? I mean—a lawyer. That’d be useful.” Steve nodded impartially. “You certainly have a right to legal representation, and if you can’t afford your own, there are Legal Aid lawyers available to help.” He frowned, and for the first time there was an acknowledgment that he and Jason weren’t total strangers. “But I think you probably make too much money to qualify.” “No, I can pay. I just—Jesus. I don’t want to drag this out. I mean, there must be some misunderstanding or something, right?” He decided to try the same line that had worked on Walt. “I have never touched a kid inappropriately or done anything at all sexual with any kid. Not since I was a kid myself. Seriously. So I just want this to go away. Getting a lawyer—that’s going to take time…” Sean spoke for the first time, and he was the first of the two to look directly at Jason. “Get a lawyer, man.” His voice was low and steady, and after exchanging a quick look with Steve, he said, “Bill James is making some pretty strong accusations. Shit that could put you in jail, if it comes out to be true.” “Yeah, okay, but it’s totally not true.” Jason felt like maybe he had a chance here. Steve and Sean knew him. They’d known him for years. “Does a lawyer just make me look guilty? Or—can I hear the questions you were going to ask and then maybe I can answer them, just to clear things up?” Another look exchanged between the two, and then Steve said, “We’re still at the preliminary stages until we get a statement from Connor. But the big question we have for you today is just—can you tell us what went on in your office yesterday between you and Connor?” “Wait.” There was too much there. “Connor hasn’t made a statement? This is all coming from his dad? Just from Bill?” But then Jason was stuck. What could he say? That Bill James was a homophobic asshole who was accusing everyone of everything he could think of to get around the fact that his precious hockey star son just happened to be gay? Jason couldn’t say that without giving away the very secret that he’d advised Connor to keep. Jason couldn’t even give a full account of the conversation in his office without giving away the secret. He was tempted to do it. He hadn’t even promised Connor that he’d keep it quiet. There was no real confidence to betray, was there? Hell, Connor seemed to be halfconsidering coming out all on his own, so why should Jason risk his career and his freedom just to protect a secret that the kid maybe didn’t even value? He took a deep breath, thought of Connor’s tense, miserable face and said, “Connor’s been playing poorly. Not really bad, but not as good as he usually is. I called him to my office to discuss the problem. We talked about… some stuff. He’d been fighting with his dad, shit like that. I guess he felt better, because on the way out he gave me a hug. Bill saw that, I think. But that’s all there was. There was nothing sexual, nothing inappropriate, nothing.” He took a deep breath. “What does Bill say happened?”
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But Steve was back to being professional. “Do you have anything you’d like to add or change about that statement? We can have it typed up and you’ll have a chance to review it and make any necessary changes before you sign it.” “Sign it?” Jason shook his head. “Okay, that’s what happened, but I’m not signing shit until I have a lawyer look it over.” Sean nodded, as if satisfied that Jason was taking a smart path. Steve, on the other hand, was frowning. “If it’s the truth, why don’t you want to sign it?” Sean’s voice was sharp. “Jesus, Steve, it’s Jason. Let it go.” And if there was a breach in their united front, maybe Jason could capitalize on it. He addressed himself to Sean. “What does Bill say happened?” Sean glanced at Steve, then back to Jason. “It doesn’t matter what Bill says. He wasn’t there, not for any of the shit he’s talking about. It matters what Connor says, and we haven’t talked to him yet. So don’t worry about Bill.” Jason wished it was that easy. “When are you talking to Connor?” Sean shrugged. “We were supposed to see him this morning, but his dad called and postponed until this afternoon.” That didn’t sound good. “Listen, Sean…” Jason wasn’t sure how much he could say. “Bill—from what Connor was saying, things haven’t been too good between them lately. Like, pretty explosive. When you see Connor, can you check and be sure that he’s okay?” Sean nodded, but then Steve cut in. “But you need to be sure that you have no contact with the minor. We can get a restrictive order from the court if we need to, but for now…” He shrugged and went back to “friendly Steve” mode. “Keep away from him, Jason. No phone calls, no e-mails or texts or anything else electronic and absolutely no in-person contact.” “I don’t—yeah. I don’t text my players. But how can I coach him if I can’t talk to him?” Steve looked surprised. “I assume the team is going to find someone else to coach until this is cleared up. I mean—you can’t be anywhere near that kid, Jason, and the team’s playing with fire if they let you near any underage player.” It was obvious now that he heard it, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to Jason before. “It’s the playoffs,” he said lamely. “That’s the least of your worries,” Steve said, and he didn’t sound cruel so much as matter-of-fact. “Stay at home. Talk to your lawyer. Stay away from teenage boys.” Jesus. That was Jason’s whole career, gone. He’d dreamed of going to the Big League, someday, sure. He hadn’t made it as a player, but maybe he could make it as a coach. But that wasn’t going to happen with a cloud of accusations hanging over him. And short of the NHL, what hockey didn’t involve teenagers? The younger kids, he supposed, but he wasn’t naive enough to think he had a chance of getting anywhere
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near them. This needed to go away. He felt sick again and wanted to sit down. But first he wanted the cops the hell out of his house. “What’s next?” he asked weakly. We’ll be in touch. We’ll want another statement, based on what we hear from Connor. But in the meantime—yeah. Stay away from the rink. Stay away from the players.” Steve sounded almost, but not quite, sympathetic. “Get a lawyer,” Sean repeated on his way to the door. “Lawyers are good at gathering information, guiding you through the whole mess. They’re useful. You need one.” “Guiding me through,” Jason repeated. It sounded like exactly what he needed. Now he just needed to figure out how to get the right lawyer. Jesus. Half an hour earlier he’d been curled up in bed, wondering if it was possible to OD on happiness. Now… He was shutting the door behind the cops when Sean stuck his head back in. He jerked his head toward his partner, proceeding down the steps. “He’s got an eight-yearold son,” Sean said, and Jason realized that Sean was explaining his partner’s attitude. But it made no sense. “But Connor’s seventeen. And I didn’t do anything…” It was his honest response, but as soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself. He should have asserted his innocence first. But Sean didn’t seem too fazed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But being a dad makes you crazy.” Jason shut the door behind them and resisted the urge to slide down it and collapse into a ball on the floor. He couldn’t give in to the shock. He needed to keep going. He needed to trust in Connor, he realized. The scared, miserable kid from his office. Jason had done his best for the kid, and now he needed to hope the kid would have the guts to return the favor. Connor had seemed like he was working himself back to strength the day before, but his father hadn’t been around in Jason’s office. He stumbled back into the bedroom. As soon as he pushed the door open, Mike stood up from where he’d been crouched on the edge of the big leather armchair. He looked anxious, and maybe a little freaked out. “Jesus, Jase,” he said, and he stepped forward. Jason stepped back. He hadn’t known he was going to do it. A few moments earlier, all he’d wanted was to crawl back into his warm bed with Mike, snuggle in and hide. But now he took another step backward and Mike stopped moving. “You okay?” Mike’s voice was low and soft, like he was speaking to a frightened animal. Jason shook his head violently. Of course he wasn’t okay. “You heard it all?” “Most of it. Look, Jase, they said they hadn’t even spoken to Connor yet. He’s a stand-up kid. He won’t lie. His dad’s just out of control, blaming everybody he can think of. This is going to blow over, Jase.”
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“Yeah.” Jason kept his hand on the door. “But you should go. Until things calm down. This isn’t something you need to get mixed up in.” “What?” Mike frowned. “No, man, I can—I don’t know. But I can do something. I mean…” “What can you do? Seriously, Mike. What can you fucking do?” Jason didn’t want to start feeling sorry for himself, but the situation was totally unworkable. “There’s going to be a lot of eyes on me now. And a lot of the people who went with the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell… they’re going to start asking, Mike.” He leaned against the door jamb as the horrific consequences played out before him. “You need to walk away from this. For both of us. If you’re around, you’re the boyfriend. So that’s you, outed. And for me—if people know I’m gay—fuck. For some of these assholes, it’s a pretty small step between ‘gay’ and ‘pedophile’. Or whatever it would be if I was fucking around with a seventeen-year-old player. Just sexually out of control, maybe.” “So we’ll be more careful,” Mike started, but Jason couldn’t let himself think that way. He needed this to be as clean as possible. He needed to keep this disaster contained to his life and not let it spread to Mike’s. It was the least he could do. “No. This has… it’s been good, Mike. But it wasn’t like we were going to get married or something. It was never going to last forever, right?” Maybe in Jason’s dreams, but not in reality. “This is a messy way to do it, but it’ll get a hell of a lot messier if anybody finds out.” He straightened up and tried to look strong and determined. “You need to go. I appreciate the good wishes, but I need to do this on my own.” “Do what? Do you have a plan? A lawyer? I’ve got a guy in Toronto—not criminal, but it’s a big, high-power firm. They’ll have somebody. I’ll give them a call…” “No. Fuck, Mike, you need to stay the hell out of it.” Jason was starting to feel a bit crazy again. He wanted so much to give in, to let Mike take care of him and let the chips fall where they might. But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t let himself be that weak. He loved Mike. He’d suspected before, but the pain of letting him go made it crystal clear now. He loved Mike and he wouldn’t let himself destroy someone he loved. “It’s done. We’re over. Go.” “Jase, come on.” Mike looked like he was out of words, but he didn’t really need any. His broad shoulders, his strong hands, stretched out pleadingly… they were as compelling an argument as Jason could imagine. It would feel so good to walk into that embrace, to let all of this go away. “Please go,” he said. He tried to keep his voice steady. “I need you to leave.” Mike shook his head, but he reluctantly stepped toward the door, picking up his jacket on the way. “I’ll go for now, okay? But I’ll call you tonight.” “I won’t answer.” “Jason, what the fuck?”
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Jason couldn’t stand up to much more of this. It was time for drastic measures. “Jesus, Mike, how much clearer can I make it? You were a good time, okay? Seriously, I enjoyed it. But it’s no longer convenient. I’ve got some shit to deal with now, and by the time it’s wrapped up, I’ll be ready for somebody new. So let’s just keep things tidy. Off you go.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands, hoping that it would distract from the way his voice was tight and almost trembling. “Jase…” Mike said. His hand was under his jacket, his fingers gently rubbing just above his collarbone. He was pressing the bruise Jason had left on him. The claim Jason had made and was now rejecting. He shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Jason.” “I’ll see you around, Mike,” Jason said, and he raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly toward the door. Jesus, he was a bastard, but he couldn’t think of any other way to get Mike the hell out of this mess. Mike stepped toward the door. He turned and looked back at Jason before he opened it, but Jason kept his face impassive, and Mike turned back and stepped outside. He slid the door shut and stepped away from the house, and Jason forced himself to stand still. Every part of him wanted to run to the door, yank it open and scream for Mike to return, but he wouldn’t let himself give in. When he was sure that Mike must be gone, he walked over to the doorway and stood looking out at the footprints Mike had left in the knee-deep snow. There was more snow coming down and it was filling in the marks Mike had left. Soon, there would be no sign left to show that he had been there at all. Jason stood at the doorway for a long time, watching the snow fall.
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Chapter Eight Jason kept himself busy that afternoon. He found a lawyer by calling one of the biggest firms in Toronto and asking for their criminal law department. He had no idea if that was a good way, but the woman he spoke to seemed confident and competent. She promised to get in touch with the Pine River OPP and told him not to discuss anything with them until she was present. And Walt called. He confirmed that Jason was suspended from his job indefinitely, and added that the team didn’t want him in the arena at all, not even as a spectator, until everything was dealt with one way or another. Jason had no idea if they had the authority to enforce that rule, but he didn’t see himself challenging it. The team had a practice that afternoon and a game the next night. A home game, against a strong team, and before all this had happened, Jason had spoken to several NHL scouts who were planning to make the trip up to Pine Bay for the event. God, he wanted to be there. Wanted to see his kids doing well and wanted to help them play to the best of their abilities. Instead, he sent e-mails. He put together his notes and strategies, the lines he’d wanted to try, everything he could think of, and sent it all to Walt. Jason assumed that Walt would ask one of the assistant coaches to step up for the game, but Jason wasn’t sure which one and he really didn’t want to open those lines of communication. He didn’t want his coworkers asking questions that it would break his heart to answer. So he did what he could for the team, then drank half a bottle of rye and put himself to bed. He woke up hung over and depressed, but at least the worst of the panic was gone. A shower and a coffee helped the hangover, but didn’t do much for the depression. He called his lawyer, but she was apparently in court all day, so he spoke to some junior lawyer who’d been assigned to help out. He seemed calm and said that there was some sort of hold-up on the police end—Jason’s lawyers still hadn’t gotten a clear idea of exactly what the alleged behavior was and they certainly had no idea what charges, if any, would be laid. For the lawyer, four hundred kilometers away in a tall office building, the whole thing apparently seemed unimportant, a tiny blip barely worth his attention. Jason hung up the phone and wished that he could feel the same way. By noon, the house was spotless. He shoveled the driveway, his walkway, and then went to the backyard and started shoveling back there. There was no reason for it. He’d made a basic effort to keep a path cleared for Mike, but there was no need for that anymore. The footprints from the day before were almost gone, indistinct hollows in the smooth white expanse. Jason launched himself at them with the shovel. He didn’t want any 44
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reminders, no hints that for a brief moment he’d actually managed to have something more in his life. It had felt strong, but it hadn’t been. Jason and Mike on a desert island—they’d be happy. But in the world they lived in, they had been doomed from the start. Jason might not have anticipated such a dramatic reason for their demise, but he should never have let himself believe that the end was anything but guaranteed. He went inside when it started to get dark. His arms were so tired they were shaking and he had several blisters on his palms and fingers, even though he’d been wearing thick gloves. The backyard looked like someone was trying to build the world’s largest fort, all the snow piled up into a rough pyramid in the middle of the lawn. It was pointless, but it had kept him busy. He took a long, hot shower, pulled on jeans and a henley and resolutely refused to even look at the bottle of rye. That had been stupid and self-indulgent. He should have known better. The game was scheduled for seven o’clock, and at six thirty the local radio station would start broadcasting its pre-game show. Jason had no idea what they’d say about the coaching change and dreaded hearing any version of the accusations broadcast for everyone to hear. He looked at his watch. Quarter past six. He didn’t want to listen, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away. That was when the doorbell rang. He froze. He didn’t want to answer it. There was no way it could be good news and he wasn’t sure how much more bad he could handle. But he walked to the front room anyway, took a deep breath and pulled the door open. He couldn’t make sense of what he saw. His front yard was blue and green. Wolverine home-game jerseys, dozens of them, and all worn by his players. His players, on his lawn, staring at him, when they should have been at the arena getting ready for the game. “What? Guys? What are you doing here?” “What are you doing here?” Robby asked. He was the one who’d rung the doorbell, from the looks of things. “We have a game, Coach.” Surely somebody had given the kids some version of an excuse. Of course, Jason had no idea what that excuse might be. “I can’t make it, guys. Not tonight.” “Then we can’t make it.” Kelly Dunlop’s playoff beard was dark and thick, and it made him look like a thirty-year-old man. The deepness of his voice maintained the illusion. “We’re a team, Coach. We play as a team.” Well, this was getting out of hand. Jason had no idea what to say, and then he saw a familiar SUV pull up at the curb. Walt climbed out of the driver’s side and three owners piled out of the other doors. Perfect. “Guys, you’re the team. You don’t need me. You need to get down to the rink and play.” “Not without our coach.” It was dark out, and Jason couldn’t be sure who said it, but he recognized the next voice, speaking clearly from not too far away. “I told the cops the truth, Coach. The whole truth. They’re kind of pissed at my dad, but they’re not going to make any trouble for you.” Connor stepped forward, tall and 45
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proud under the light from Jason’s porch light. “I’m sorry you got dragged into it, Coach, but it’s okay now.” And that would be comforting to believe, but Jason didn’t think it could be quite that simple. He looked over at Walt for more details, and that was when he saw the line of cars coming up his street. It was more traffic than he usually saw in a whole day and all the vehicles were pulling to a stop right in front of his place. Jesus, there was a news van. The Barrie station often sent the cameras over for game highlights, so maybe they’d decided to follow this story as well. Whatever the hell this story was. And then Jason saw Bill James. He was one of the people who’d pulled up in the convoy of cars, and when Jason looked at the others, he recognized most of them. Parents, agents, a few more owners. Jason wondered how ugly this was going to get. But Bill James, at least, seemed to be focusing his anger on his son. “Connor! What the fuck are you doing here! You’ve got a game to get ready for.” He strode closer, and Jason could see Connor bracing himself. Bracing, but not backing down. “There are scouts there tonight, Connor! From six or seven NHL teams. You will not ruin this opportunity. I will not allow that.” “We’re a team,” Connor said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. “Including the coach. We play as a team.” He paused, then glanced over to where the owners were standing, huddled around Walt. “Or we don’t play at all.” There was an explosion of activity then, adults scurrying all over the lawn, finding the player they were attached to and scolding, persuading, remonstrating with them. But then Jason noticed that not all the groupings were like that. He saw several families that were just standing there. He saw Paul Cuddy’s father with his hand gripping Paul’s shoulder, the two of them standing quietly. Firmly. And Scott Brandt, the goalie, with his mother and three little sisters. They’d lost their father two years ago, Jason knew, but apparently they hadn’t lost any family solidarity. Jesus. Scott was nineteen. This was his last year in the OHL, the year that he needed to shine if he wanted to get drafted. And he was standing there, stoic and waiting. Waiting for his coach. The din subsided as the crowd saw the flashing lights of the police cruiser approaching and they cleared a bit of a path for Sean and Steve to make their way up to the porch. Walt broke away from his crowd and joined them and nobody objected. “What did we say about keeping away from the players?” Steve asked, and Jason was about to sputter a reply when he saw the way the man’s eyes were dancing. “Yeah, sorry.” Steve nodded. He was speaking quietly enough so that the crowd couldn’t hear. “Look, Jason. We got the kid’s statement. No signs of any problem. But the dad’s still pushing it. I think you’re going to be in the clear, eventually. But for tonight’s game— there’s still an ongoing investigation.” “So I still can’t be near the kids.” Steve shrugged. “We don’t have a court order. And we wouldn’t be in a huge hurry to enforce it if we did. But…” he looked over at Walt. 46
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“The team’s lawyers say no. They say that until the investigation is totally closed, we can’t take the chance.” Walt sounded regretful, but he didn’t sound flexible. Jason needed to get control of this situation. Whether it was his job or not, he was still responsible for these kids. He stepped forward to the edge of his stoop and the crowd immediately silenced. “Guys. Thank you. I mean that. Thank you for coming out. But this is a big game. For the team, but also for a lot of individual players who are going to be seen by NHL scouts tonight. You need to be smart about this.” “Is that how you want us to play? Smart, instead of intense?” It was Harris, his thin face dark and serious. He stepped forward, shrugging his shoulder out of his father’s grasp, and said, “Is that how you want us to live?” Jason was pretty sure he recognized the words, but he really didn’t think he’d meant for them to be applied to this situation. But Harris wasn’t done. “Or do you want us to play as part of a team?” “Yeah, okay, Harris, but…” “There’s more to life than hockey, Coach.” This time it was Connor, his eyes lit from within. “This isn’t you, alone. You’ve got people on your side.” And those words had a somewhat familiar sound as well. “Jesus, how do you guys remember all this?” Jason asked. It was a stupid question, but apparently Connor had an easy answer. He tapped his temple twice. “Head, head,” he said quietly, then smiled and brought his hand down to his chest. “Heart.” There were actual tears in Jason’s eyes, but he fought to control them. This was enough of a mess already. He was distracted from the emotion as Bill James strode forward. He addressed himself not to Jason, but to Steve and Sean. “Okay, fuck. Whatever. If that’s what it takes to get the kid on the ice… drop the charges. Okay? Let it go.” “Mr. James,” Steve started, but Jason cut him off. “That’s bullshit,” he said. This was not smart, he was pretty sure, but he really didn’t care. “He’s your son, not a hockey machine. If you really think I did something wrong… if you think I did something to hurt him, then fuck you for letting it go just to get him on the goddamn ice. He deserves better than that. He deserves to be seen as a person.” Jason stopped himself before he got into how Connor deserved to be accepted for who he was, even if he was gay. He still wasn’t clear on exactly who knew what about this whole thing. Bill looked like he had several angry retorts he’d like to make, but instead he looked at Steve and growled, “It was a misunderstanding. The coach never touched Connor.” It sounded like it hurt him to say it, but it sure felt good for Jason to hear it. Steve raised his eyebrows, then turned to Walt. “I don’t have the authority to close the investigation. Not formally.” He looked back to Jason for a minute, then nodded slowly. “But I’m willing to go on the record saying that I’m satisfied that, based on the
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evidence available, there is no sign of any illegal or even improper behavior here.” Then he frowned in Bill James’ direction. “At least not on the part of the coach.” Walt sighed deeply and turned to look at the cluster of owners. Then he muttered, “Fuck it.” He grinned quickly. “It’s my last year. What are they going to do, fire me?” He faced the crowd and raised his voice. “The charges are dropped. The problem is gone.” He smiled. “The coach is back!” There was an eruption of joy, but Jason looked at his watch. They were cutting it very close for time. “You guys need to get back to the rink!” he yelled. He turned to Walt. “Can you get them organized, get them carpooled back to the ice in time for a warm-up? I need to get changed.” “Under control, Coach,” Walt said, and he clapped Jason on the shoulder and then dove into the crowd, directing and organizing as only he could. The news camera didn’t seem to know which direction to go in and Jason ducked inside the house to make sure it didn’t choose him. He felt overwhelmed. The accusations were gone, the kids… God, the kids had actually been listening to him all this time and they’d shown more character than he’d ever thought possible. It hurt to realize that he’d been underestimating them. They had more heart than he’d known. More heart than he had, he realized with a sickening feeling in his stomach. When the going got tough, they’d fought through it. He’d quit. But he couldn’t think about that now. He owed those kids so much and he could only repay them by being the best coach he could be. He looked down at his ragged jeans. The first step was getting dressed. He’d just have to hope the following steps would be as clear.
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Chapter Nine It was late and Jason was tired. The team had won the game, but it had been close. Closer than it should have been, really. They’d given away two goals in the first period before loosening up their play and tightening up their game. Three unanswered goals in the next two periods had brought the capacity crowd to their feet, and Jason could still almost hear the echoes of their cheers bouncing off the now-empty seats. Almost empty. Jason liked to wind down after a game, sitting alone in the stands, replaying the highlights and lowlights in his mind. But tonight when he finally said goodbye to the players, finished dealing with the owners and the fans and the media… tonight, he came and found one seat in the bleachers already taken. Mike wasn’t sitting anywhere near their usual location. Jason wasn’t sure if Mike was trying to not intrude on Jason’s privacy or if he was just making a point that Jason had to take at least a few steps if he wanted whatever this was to go any further. Jason didn’t think he deserved the generosity of the first option and was overwhelmed by even the possibility offered by the second. Tired as he was, he wasn’t sure he was in any position to help his case, but there was no way he was going to walk away from the opportunity. He walked over and sank into the seat next to Mike. His body wanted to slump and relax, but his mind was too tense to allow it. He wanted to talk, but couldn’t think of what the hell to say. Finally, he went with the simple truth. “I’m sorry.” Mike didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said, “You were scared.” “I was fucking petrified.” But that didn’t make it right. “I was trying to protect you.” “Yeah. That was part of it.” Mike didn’t sound angry, but he sounded like he’d done some thinking and come to some firm conclusions. Jason sighed deeply. “Yeah.” They sat quietly for a while, then Jason added, “Thanks for being there tonight. Earlier, at the house. I saw you, over by the birches.” “I didn’t want to get too far inside the quarantine zone.” Jason deserved that. “I panicked and I was an asshole about it, but do you really think I was wrong? I mean—did you see the media there tonight? Half the town too, all staring at me, wondering what was going on. Did you want to be a part of that? I mean, as… as whatever we are?” “Were,” Mike said quietly. “Whatever we were. You dumped my ass, remember?” “Yeah. I remember.” He really wasn’t sure how far he should push this. “Any chance of a Mulligan on that?”
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The pause lasted a lot longer than Jason was comfortable with. Long enough that he wasn’t totally surprised when Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not… not unless we clear some stuff up.” Okay. There was a ray of hope there. “What stuff?” Mike sighed and leaned back, bracing his elbows on the top of the bleacher seat. Jason tried to ignore the way the stretch shifted and pulled at Mike’s shirt, tried not to imagine the way the skin and muscle was moving beneath the fabric. “There’s gay players in the NHL, you know. Like, guys with long-term boyfriends, real relationships.” Jason wasn’t sure where this was going. “Well, yeah. I mean, I couldn’t give you any names, but statistically—it seems pretty likely.” “But I could give you names. Probably not all of them. But there’s quite a few guys who are pretty open about it. They just don’t advertise, you know? And if the players don’t make a big deal, the press is really pretty good. I don’t know if they’re afraid of lawsuits or if they’re actually being decent human beings, but if you’re not a superstar and you’re not fucking up completely, the press leaves your private life pretty well alone.” “So… what are you saying?” “Look, I know I was the one who was shying away at the start of all this. But that was stupid. Bad. Whatever. I’m not…” He looked over at Jason for the first time, and it was almost as if he was the one pleading for understanding. “I’m not going to sneak around. It’s nobody else’s business, but it’s not anyone’s business how often I go see my daughter either, and I don’t hide my car and climb in through the backyard over there.” He leaned forward now and twisted around so he was partly facing Jason. “I’m not going to do that. It’s nobody’s business, and if anyone but a friend asks me about it, that’s what I’ll tell them. But I’m not going to hide it. I’ve done that for too long.” “Mike…” Jason started, but he had no idea how to finish. After a few breaths, Mike turned away and looked back out at the ice. “Yeah. I know. It’s the right time for me, but maybe not for you. I’m retired. I made enough money to live off for the rest of my life, as long as I don’t go totally crazy. You’re still working. There’s still stuff you want to do and this could get in the way of that. I get it.” He shrugged, and Jason hoped the nonchalance was artificial. “Like you said, we had an excellent time. It was good while it lasted.” “No.” Jesus, Jason had thought the panicked tightness in his gut was gone, but it was back full force now. “Wait. Just—I need to think about it, okay? I need to… I don’t know. I just need a bit of time.” Mike didn’t take his eyes off the ice, but he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.” His smile only seemed a little forced. “I’m not going anywhere. No time soon, at least.” He stood up, and after a moment, looked down at Jason. “Good game tonight, Coach. You really pulled them together.” “After I almost tore them apart.” 50
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But Mike shook his head. “You should stop doing that. Stop taking responsibility for other people’s shit. Stop worrying about it, even.” “Easier said than done,” Jason sighed. “Yeah. But I think it’s worth the effort, Jase.” He looked out at the ice, then back to Jason. “I think the whole thing would be worth the effort.” Then he turned and headed for the exit. He moved slowly, and Jason could have caught up to him easily, but that wouldn’t have been fair. Not to either one of them. Jason needed to think this over, and then he needed to do things right. He wasn’t sure what those things were, not yet, but he hoped he’d be able to figure it out. But he didn’t have all that long to think about it, because when he looked down toward the ice again, he saw Connor James climbing the stairs toward him. Jesus. Connor. Alone with Jason, again. This had gone so poorly the last time—did the kid have no damn sense? Was he so unaware of the situation that he didn’t realize how close this had been to disaster for Jason? Even if his career wasn’t over, his relationship had definitely taken a hit. For the first time, Jason felt a surge of irritation toward the boy. Why did he have to drag Jason into his issues? Then Connor got a little closer and Jason’s annoyance was gone as suddenly as it had arrived. The kid looked tentative, and his face was drawn and tense. He stopped three rows away and said quietly, “Is this okay? I just wanted to talk to you a bit…” Do things smart or do them right? Jason was relieved to find that he didn’t have to wrestle too hard with the decision. “Yeah, kid. It’s fine. You okay?” Connor nodded slowly. “I’m really sorry, Coach. About my dad.” And apparently borrowing words was the theme of the night. Apparently it was easier to give good advice than to take it. “You shouldn’t worry about other people’s shit, Connor. You and me—we’re fine.” Connor’s face relaxed, at least a little, but he didn’t go anywhere. “I told the guys,” he blurted out. “After the game. Not all of them, just—you know. My friends.” “And how’d that go?” Jason tried to sound calm, as if it wasn’t a huge deal. “I don’t know. I think… maybe it went okay.” He grinned. “They didn’t beat me up or anything. I just… they were trying to figure out why my dad went off the rails. And I just couldn’t lie to them anymore. You know?” Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know.” He stood up and stretched out his right hand. “Congratulations, Connor.” The kid took his hand, but seemed unsure. “I’m serious. That took guts. I don’t know how other people are going to react to it, but for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.” “Yeah?” Connor’s innocent, hopeful look was oppressive. Jason pulled his hand back. He had no damn idea if the kid had done the right thing. He was just trying to be supportive. But he’d started down the path, so he might as well keep going. “Yeah. Absolutely. And if you get any trouble about it, I want to hear, okay? We can play it
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your way; like, if you don’t want me to make a big deal, I’ll try not to. But I at least want to know.” Connor nodded slowly. “I asked the guys not to say anything. But I guess they might.” “Yeah. They might. And if they do, we’ll deal with it.” Jason looked at the kid’s face and felt a flush of shame. Seventeen years old and being more of a man about it than Jason ever had been. Damn. “Hey, Connor?” Jason knew he could stop himself if he wanted to. Connor wouldn’t push. Hell, he might not even wonder. But that wasn’t good enough, not for Jason. Not anymore. So when the kid looked at him quizzically, Jason said, “You’re not the only one who’s gone through this. At all.” He took a deep breath, but in the end it was surprisingly easy to say, “I’m gay too.” And then Connor froze and Jason felt the terror sweep through his body, hot and cold and dizzying. What the hell had he just done? And why had he thought it was appropriate to talk about his sexuality with a teenage boy, one whom he had just been accused of molesting? Jesus, did Connor think Jason was coming on to him? Why had Jason made things so, so much worse? But Connor finally nodded, and it seemed like maybe he’d just needed a bit of time to think it through. “That’s what Kelly said. Well, he just hinted at it. Back in the fall.” He frowned. “And the guys said no way. They said you couldn’t be.” He’d been looking at the bleacher seats, but now he looked up toward Jason. “Pete Doer said… he said something…and Kelly told him he was an idiot. They almost fought.” Jason would have been more touched except that Kelly had almost had fights with pretty much every teammate at some point. Still, at least there was some level of support. But Jason wondered what it had felt like for Connor to hear that conversation, and he could tell that Connor was thinking about it too. “I’m sorry. I mean—I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Connor nodded slowly. He was clearly still thinking. “You don’t tell people. You’re old—you’ve been hiding it for a long time.” “Yeah.” Jason wanted to trot out all the standard arguments. Straight people didn’t feel the need to advertise their preferences; his private life was private; the world was homophobic and the laws couldn’t protect him, not really. He still didn’t disagree with any of it, but it didn’t seem like enough anymore. “Are you okay?” Jason really hoped he got the answer he was looking for, and the kid nodded, still frowning thoughtfully. “Yeah. I’m fine. I mean—thanks for telling me. And, you know… if it’s going to make it hard for you to keep it quiet, then don’t worry about it. All that stuff you said about standing by me, I mean. If you doing that is going to make people ask questions about you, then it’s okay. I’m okay on my own.” “Yeah, you are.” Jason believed that. He believed that this kid was strong enough to make it, with or without help. “But you aren’t on your own. You’re part of a team.” He thought of the boys standing on his lawn earlier, remembered the sea of blue and green
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jerseys covering the snowy ground. And he believed in his players. “And we’ll be there for you. All of us. Including me.” Connor didn’t say anything, and after a moment Jason realized that it was because he was choked up. Then another face appeared from the entrance lower in the bleachers. Harris. “Hey, Connor! You coming? We’re going to hit the strip before curfew.” Connor looked almost shocked at the invitation, and Jason knew that Harris was one of the boys who was in on the secret. Connor turned and said, “You’re sure? Is everybody okay with it?” Harris rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Connor! Less competition—that’s a good thing, right? Let’s go!” But Connor still hesitated, and Harris climbed a few steps before saying more quietly, “It’s cool. Seriously. We were a bit surprised, but we’re okay. It’s not a big deal.” And then he turned his head, and his voice was heavy with meaning as he said, “Right, Coach? It’s not a big deal. The boys are fine with it.” Connor’s eyes widened almost comically as he swiveled his head to stare at Jason. Jason tried not to stare back. Had one of his players just invited him to come out of the closet? Or was he reading too much into it? And it shouldn’t matter, he reminded himself. This decision was about what he wanted; he didn’t need anyone else’s permission or approval. Still, it felt good, and he smiled back at Connor. “You better go, kid. Curfew’s in just over an hour and you guys have a big practice tomorrow.” He widened his gaze to include Harris in the conversation. “That first period was sloppy— we have some work to do.” Connor and Harris both nodded, and Connor took a tentative step down the stairs, then sped up. By the time he reached Harris, he was practically running. Jason watched them go, then stood up. He had somewhere to be himself.
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Chapter Ten Jason parked in Mike’s driveway. Just that was almost enough to make him want to run, but he didn’t. His car was there for anyone to see, and if he had any luck, it’d be there all night for them to see in the morning too. That was what he was hoping for, he reminded himself. He rang the doorbell and waited anxiously. When Mike came to the door, Jason could see his eyes look over Jason’s shoulder to the driveway, then back to Jason. Jason raised the bag in his hand. “I bought too much Chinese,” he said. There was only a short pause before Mike nodded and stepped aside, giving room for Jason to enter the house. “Do you want a beer with it?” “No.” Jason set the bag down on the table in the entry foyer. To be honest, he was starving, but that was the least of his needs at the moment. “I want you with it.” But he needed to say a bit more. “On any terms.” So why the fuck was Mike shaking his head? “No, Jase, I thought about it, and it’s not fair. It’s your life, your career, and I shouldn’t be pushing you into something you’re not ready for. We can make it work. The old way. You know, until you’re ready.” “Well, this is a bit awkward, Mikey.” Jason stepped forward. His boots were covered with slush and Mike’s hardwood floors were brand new and pristine, but Jason didn’t give a damn. He unzipped his coat on the way, and reached his cold hands up to rest on the warmth of Mike’s neck. “’Cause I already told a player about it and he seemed okay.” Jason leaned in for a sweet, short kiss and Mike didn’t resist. Jason felt like cheering, but he didn’t totally relax. “I think I’ve kind of got the taste for it now.” Another kiss, a little deeper this time. Mike’s hands moved up to Jason’s belt, fingers curling in behind it to press on Jason’s belly, and it felt too perfect to be able to imagine it ever being taken away from him. “My car’s in your driveway. My players seem to already know. I don’t plan on making any big announcements, but you’re right; I don’t want to sneak around any more.” But then Jason pulled away. “Unless you’ve changed your mind. Is that it? I get it… I know it’s scary. But…” Jason stopped talking when Mike kissed him, hard. Mike’s arms reached up to brace on either side of Jason’s head as Mike pushed them against the wall. Jason was pretty sure he had the answer to his question, but it was nice to hear the words all the same. “It’s scary,” Mike murmured, his mouth working down Jason’s throat. “But there’s no way I’m backing out.” Mike’s hands were working at the buttons of Jason’s shirt, and then that was peeled off. Jason wasn’t even a little bit surprised when Mike’s 54
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mouth moved over to just above Jason’s collarbone. As Mike kissed and sucked on the skin, Jason tilted his head back to give more room. His fingers eased up to find the mark he’d left on Mike and he smiled as Mike nipped at the skin. Mike pulled away just long enough to say, “Mine,” and then his mouth was back on Jason’s skin. “Yours,” Jason agreed. It was so obvious, so perfect; he knew it, and he didn’t care if the whole world knew it too. “I want you naked,” Mike said, his voice muffled by Jason’s neck, but still authoritative. “Now.” “Yessir.” But Jason wasn’t going to move, not while Mike’s mouth was still sending shivers all over his body. He let himself give in to the sensations. The warm, soothing kisses lulled him into relaxation, the sharp nips woke him back up and the moist, insistent suction meant that he was being marked. Claimed. Owned. Finally, Mike seemed satisfied and he pulled away far enough for his voice to be clearer. “You’re still dressed. I think I made my instructions pretty clear. Do you want forty and forty?” He grinned, silly and happy and relaxed, and Jason wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand it. Wasn’t sure that the wave of affection he felt wasn’t going to wash him right off his feet and sweep him out to sea. “I don’t want forty and forty,” he said. “I want you.” “Well, you’re in luck with that one.” Mike reached both hands out for Jason’s shoulders and dragged his fingers forward across Jason’s chest, down his stomach. Then he crouched down, slow and steady, letting his face brush gently along the front of Jason’s body as he went. He untied Jason’s boots and lifted each foot to pull the boot and then the sock off. Then he looked up at Jason, his jaw leaning softly against the bulge in Jason’s pants, and smiled. “You’ve had a bad couple days. I’m going to take care of you now. Okay?” It was more than okay, but Jason was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d break down, so he just nodded instead. Mike seemed to understand, and he straightened up slowly and looked Jason in the eyes. “That’s my job now. I take care of you. And you let me; that’s your job.” “I like my job.” “I like mine too.” Mike looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. “I think you need a bath. I was going to say a shower, but I think you should relax a little.” “I was thinking maybe we’d have a bit of sex,” Jason said with a grin. “You know… to help me relax.” “Oh we’re going to have more than a bit of sex,” Mike reassured him. “And you’re going to be totally relaxed.” Jason felt like he should probably be taking a more active role, but Mike was right; it had been a bad couple days and he’d apparently used up all his energy just trying to
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keep himself together. He was ready for someone else to take over, and Mike was perfect for the job. More than perfect. Mike gave him a deep, wet kiss, and he was absolutely ready to let his knees buckle, ready to get horizontal right there and then, but Mike was still in charge and he obviously had other plans. “Come here,” he said gently as he pulled away, and he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Jason’s pants and tugged. Jason shuffled toward him, and Mike kept moving, slow and steady. He stopped for kisses, he ran his hands all over Jason’s bare torso, but he kept them moving. Down the hall they went, and some tiny part of Jason’s mind noticed that the house was almost exactly as he’d pictured it; lots of wood, lots of leather and then… “Jesus Christ,” Jason exclaimed. “This bathroom’s bigger than my whole house.” Mike looked around him as if seeing the room for the first time. “Not quite. But yeah, it’s a good size. Steam shower and whirlpool tub… it’s good shit.” “The skylight’s a nice touch.” Jason swiveled his head around. “The TV’s bigger than mine. And there’s a fireplace? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Mike grinned, then hit a switch on the wall and watched as the fireplace fired up. “It’s just gas. Convenient, but not as romantic.” He leaned in for a kiss and Jason felt his body slipping back into its trance of arousal. In only a few seconds, he didn’t care whether he was in Mike’s luxury bathroom or a wooden outhouse in the woods. He was with Mike, and that was all that mattered. But Mike pulled away again, crossing the room to the huge tub, set up as the centerpiece of the room. His pants pulled tight across his ass as he leaned over to turn the water on, but he straightened too quickly, catching Jason in the act of reaching for a squeeze. “Behave yourself,” he scolded with a smile. But he leaned again to test the water and didn’t seem exactly shocked when Jason gave in to temptation, running his hand over Mike’s strong glutes, then down between them and forward… only to feel his exploring fingers caught by Mike’s hand. “There’s a plan, Jase. That is not part of it. Not yet.” “Since when do we have a plan? You didn’t even know I was coming over.” Jason didn’t want to be a whiner, but apparently that was out of his control. “How could there be a plan?” Mike just smiled. “I’ve wanted you in this tub for a long time. There’s room for two, right?” Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah. Absolutely.” Mike leaned his ass away from Jason, then bent over and checked the water again. Apparently he was satisfied. “You strip down and get in. I’ll be right back.” And then he was gone, out the door and back down the hall toward the front of the house. Jason liked the idea of the tub, but it was harder than it should be to see Mike walk away. Which probably didn’t say much for his mental health, he decided. He was ready to take a big step with Mike, sure. But they weren’t going to become joined at the hip. They could spend more time together; they could go out in public together, at least 56
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once they were a bit more comfortable with it all. But they would still have to be separated, sometimes. “Why aren’t you naked?” Mike asked, and Jason came back to himself with a start. “Oh.” He searched his mind for an excuse. “You’re really going for the ‘being taken care of’ thing, huh?” Mike’s smile was warm enough to convince Jason that he’d had that in mind all along. Mike set the bag he was carrying down on a nearby counter, then stepped in front of Jason, close enough to kiss but with enough room between them to start working on Jason’s fly. “I like it,” he said, and he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Jason’s underwear and pulled both layers off Jason’s hips together. “I like it a lot.” Well, excellent. Jason let himself be guided into the almost-filled tub, and when he sat down, Mike leaned over and used his hand to splash a little water up onto Jason’s chest, then trailed his fingers almost absentmindedly down Jason’s stomach to his cock. A few gentle strokes, and then Mike asked, “What’s the longest you’ve ever been hard for?” “Fuck no,” Jason said. It was too loud, but he wanted to be crystal clear. “You said sex. You said relaxation. You did not say you were going to fucking torture me…” Mike was grinning as he leaned away. “All right, take it easy. We can save that for another time.” “Or never,” Jason said, but he didn’t argue too hard, distracted as he was by the way Mike was shedding his clothes. It was businesslike, efficient and shouldn’t have been as exciting as it was. There was just something about it, about thinking that this was his now. He could see this every night, hell, every morning and afternoon too, for…for as long as he dared to imagine. Mike wasn’t undressing like this was a special occasion, because it wasn’t a special occasion. This was just Jason’s life now, and the thought was almost too much to absorb. Mike stepped out of his pile of clothes and grabbed the bag he’d gone to retrieve. Jason realized what it was and his stomach growled loudly enough that Mike heard it and grinned. “Did you think I was going to let you starve?” he asked. He turned off the water and pressed a button that activated the whirlpool jets, then climbed into the tub, facing Jason, their legs twined together, their feet resting near each other’s asses. “Comfy?” Mike asked, and Jason nodded. He was perfect; he was pretty sure Mike wasn’t, pretty sure he was leaning forward to stay close, and maybe Jason should have done something about that, shifted his own body somehow, but he didn’t think he’d bother. Not tonight. After all, Mike wanted to be in charge, so he could change things if he wanted to. But Mike didn’t seem too worried about it. He burrowed through the bag, pulled out the tinfoil dishes and set them out on the broad side of the tub. He grinned. “I think this ledge is supposed to be for plants or candles or something. But I think food is a way better use of the space.”
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“Absolutely,” Jason agreed, and his stomach growled again. “Did you bring plates?” And Mike looked almost shy suddenly. He shook his head. “I thought…” He reached into the bag and pulled out the cheap wooden chopsticks. He broke them apart efficiently, rubbed a few slivers off, then used them to pick up a piece of beef from one of the dishes. He held it out tentatively toward Jason. “Can I?” Jason really wouldn’t have thought he’d be into this. It seemed… He wasn’t sure. Clichéd, maybe, and sort of disturbing in terms of the balance of power. But he leaned forward and opened his mouth, and Mike fed him almost reverently, and Jason liked it. Not for every day. But sometimes… hell yeah. There were lots of “sometimes” in the future and Jason was happy to experiment a little bit. Mike took his own bite of beef while Jason chewed and was ready with some noodles after that. They shared the food and only dropped a few bits in the tub, and Jason felt his whole body relaxing. He was warm and fed and he felt safe. His cock was softening, but that was okay. There was time for sex. Lots of time. He watched through half-closed eyes as Mike pushed the leftover food farther back on the ledge. He wasn’t stuffed, could easily have eaten more, but this was Mike’s game, and if he said it was sleepytime, then… Mike’s body was in motion, almost enough to send a wave of water over the edge of the tub, rolling himself forward, stretching out, and Jason was suddenly anything but sleepy. Their bodies stretched together, Mike’s legs twining through Jason’s, Mike’s mouth hungry and demanding all over Jason’s chest, his neck, his lips. “Fuck,” he gasped, and he felt Mike nod. “That’s the idea.” Mike’s hand was almost rough as it wrapped around Jason’s cock, almost too tight as he ran his fingers up over the head, back down along the rapidly hardening shaft. Jason arched his back, pushed forward into the sensation and let his hands roam all over Mike’s body. Mike kept kissing Jason, his tongue and lips strong and demanding, while he fumbled with something behind Jason’s head with one hand. He pulled his hand back and put a familiar bottle and foil wrapper on the ledge beside the food. Jason snorted a little, distracted from the kiss. “You just have that stuff lying around in here? You’re quite a player, huh?” “You know I’m not,” Mike said. He kissed Jason’s neck, then said, “I told you—I’ve had this in mind for a long time.” And Jason was more than ready to accept that. “Yeah? So what comes next?” “Well, I think you come next and then me. But in order to make that happen…” Mike’s smile was wicked as he used his free hand to open the bottle of lube and managed to squirt some out onto the fingers of the same hand. “Waterproof,” he said happily and slid his hand under the water, down Jason’s leg and around the curve of his ass.
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“Oh,” Jason exhaled as Mike’s fingers found their target. Mike teased a little, tracing the puckered opening, slipping barely inside, then pulling away and brushing lightly over the sensitive skin. “Come on,” Jason urged, but Mike just smiled at him. “This is my play, remember?” Another kiss, and Mike eased himself into a more comfortable position, as if he was getting ready to spend some time. Jason squirmed, and when that didn’t work, he tried kissing and arching his back, and then he was right back to squirming as Mike’s fingers teased and played. “You said no torture,” Jason whined. But Mike was clearly enjoying himself. Jason opened eyes he couldn’t remember having closed and saw Mike watching him, and the expression on his face was one Jason wanted to remember forever. He tried to focus on it, but then Mike added a finger, slipping two inside, curling them just right… “Fuck,” Jason gasped. “Come on, Mikey, please.” And maybe it was the “please” that did it. Something seemed to finally persuade the man and Mike reached for the lube before shifting around, slipping his arms underneath Jason’s raised knees and bracing his hands on the tub beside Jason’s head. He hovered there, staring at Jason’s strained face, and then eased forward. “Guide me in,” he instructed and Jason hurried to comply. The stretch was perfect, and now it was Jason who wanted to go slow and savor every sensation. That seemed to be Mike’s plan as well, and his lips found the bruise on Jason’s shoulder as their bodies eased together. Jason stopped trying to control anything, stopped trying to even catalogue the sensations, and just let himself go. The jets of water played over his skin, making it hard to be sure just where Mike was touching him. Well, one place was very clear, as Mike’s cock, hard and thick and glorious, stretched him open and laid him bare. Even with Mike moving slow and easy, it didn’t last long. They only sped up a little as their climax approached, their bodies moving like waves through the water that surrounded them. As Mike had predicted, Jason came first, gasping into Mike’s mouth, his legs wrapped tight around Mike’s body. Jason fought back to himself faster than he usually would have, denying himself the pleasure of savoring his orgasm in order to give himself the sweeter treat of watching Mike as he lost control. “Come on, Mikey,” he urged; he knew Mike didn’t need the encouragement, but he wanted to be part of this, wanted to be able to take credit for the way Mike’s body tensed and then relaxed, then tensed, tensed, tensed. “You’re beautiful,” Jason whispered softly, his fingers combing through Mike’s thick hair. He was embarrassed to have said it, but he wasn’t sure Mike had heard. “You’re beautiful,” he repeated for some reason he couldn’t begin to understand, and this time Mike smiled and kissed him. “You too,” Mike said. Then he pulled back, rearranged himself and frowned down at the water in the tub. “Shower before bed, yeah?”
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“Whatever you say,” Jason agreed. He didn’t expand on it, not out loud, but he was pretty sure that “whatever you say” was going to be his new motto, at least when he was talking to Mike. The guy obviously had pretty good ideas. And Jason was ready to follow him wherever he wanted to go.
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Epilogue “Are you going to be wearing makeup?” Mike asked. They were propped up against the headboard together, Mike’s legs wrapped around Jason’s hips. The TV was on and they were both faced toward it, but it was muted. “No. Well, yeah. I guess. They said they needed powder for the shine…” “Powder’s makeup, Jase.” Mike nuzzled in to Jason’s neck. “Sexy.” “You’re a freak,” Jason said, and he squirmed away from the tickle of Mike’s stubble. Then he leaned back in for more. He let his hand drift down to Mike’s thigh, but didn’t take it any further. The season had been over for two weeks and they’d spent most of that time in bed. There was really no urgency to their lovemaking, not after that marathon. Besides, they were staring at the TV for a reason. A reason Jason almost missed, he realized, as Mike’s hand flashed out to find the remote and turn on the volume. He’d let himself get distracted by the whorls of hair on Mike’s leg, the roughness over top of the silky skin… and he’d almost missed his national television appearance. “And as promised, we’re speaking today with Jason Tate, the coach of the OHL’s Pine Bay Wolverines.” Corrine Baker looked at the cameras and smiled. She was one of the CBC’s up-and-coming stars and had already gotten offers from the American networks. For the time being, though, she was working for the CBC’s news magazine program. “And usually, if we had the coach of the team that just won the Memorial Cup in our studios, we’d be talking hockey. But we have something else to focus on today, don’t we, Mr. Tate?” She smiled, and for the first time the camera zoomed in on Jason’s face. He’d given interviews before, but none like this, and he looked a little nervous. Jason-in-bed was tempted to bury his face in Mike’s shoulder and avoid looking at Jason-on-TV, but Mike just gave him a gentle kiss on the temple and kept their heads turned toward the screen. “Well, that’s one of the things I worry about with all this,” TV Jason said. “Because, yeah, there’s something else going on, but it should in no way distract from the achievement of this team. These players. We had a great season and we’re expecting to have several players drafted by the NHL next week. That’s the really important stuff. What’s going on with me—I mean, in a perfect world, it wouldn’t be noteworthy at all.” “And I should say,” Corrine said to the camera, “that we only convinced you to give us this interview after we also agreed to do a fairly in-depth story on the Memorial Cup tournament, with several of your NHL-hopefuls highlighted in a way that can only help their careers. So, Mr. Tate—you’ve decided to come out as the first openly gay coach in the OHL. We should also note that there are no openly gay coaches in any of 61
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the other pro hockey leagues, including the NHL. Were you motivated by a desire to get more attention for your players or is there something more to it than that?” Jason hadn’t loved that question, but he’d tried to be polite. “My players don’t need my help in getting attention. They just won the Memorial Cup. They’ve played great hockey in front of scouts all year long. They’ve earned their spots in the NHL.” “So what did motivate your decision?” It was strange, because that had been the one question Jason had been sure they’d ask, the one he’d rehearsed with Mike over and over. But he’d still almost frozen when it had come time to explain it to the nation. “I felt like I was strong enough to do it. And since I could, I felt like I should. There’s lots of gay guys out there, including in the hockey world. Coaching, playing, managing—everywhere. It shouldn’t be remarkable. And I know it seems sort of contradictory, but that’s why I decided to make a bit of a big deal out of this. I think that the more people who come out, the less remarkable it will be, until finally, we won’t have to do it at all. At least not in a big way.” Jason felt Mike’s arms wrap around him a little tighter. Deciding to give the interview had been hard. Jason’s parents were still mostly in shock about it all and it hadn’t really seemed fair to inflict a public announcement on them so soon after the private notification. But Jason had felt like he’d been on a roll. And it wasn’t like there was ever going to be a good time, really. At least now, so early in the off-season, he could hope that the fuss would die down by the time the team got back to work in August. “And what has the reaction been from your players?” Corrine looked as if she was bracing herself to be sympathetic. “The team’s been focused on hockey. I really don’t think they care what their coach gets up to off the ice. They’ve been fine.” It hadn’t even been a lie. The kids hadn’t worried about it at all. He was pretty sure that they’d cut back on using homophobic insults, but that might have been as much for Connor as for him. “And the fans?” Jason had shaken his head. “They haven’t really heard yet. Not officially. And I’m honestly not too worried about them.” That hadn’t been strictly true, but Jason felt like he’d sold it. “Like I said, this really shouldn’t be a big deal for anybody. It’s not going to affect anything about how I do my job.” Jason had known that the show was looking for more drama, but he’d warned them ahead of time that there wasn’t much. “And what about your personal life? Are you seeing anybody?” Corrine leaned in like she was inviting a girlfriend to gossip. “Yeah, I am. It’s pretty serious. But again—it’s my personal life. I decided to come out because I thought it was important to let other gay people know that they’re not alone. But that’s it. I see myself giving this interview and then never talking about it again. I’m gay. I’ve stood up to be counted and now I’m planning to sit back down and go on with my life.” Watching from afar, Jason thought he seemed a bit aggressive, but 62
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at the time, he’d felt like he was under attack. It was hard to get the balance right, and he didn’t want to learn. Like he’d said, he wanted to get this done and never do it again. Corrine was smiling as if she hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “And what about professional goals? In the three years since you’ve been head coach of the Wolverines, you’ve taken them from a small-market team that usually had to work to make the playoffs to Memorial Cup champions. Has there been interest from the NHL for you?” Jason shook his head and tried to sound casual. “No.” “And how much of that do you think is related to your sexuality?” Jason squirmed around again. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable, exactly, but every time he moved he was reminded of Mike sitting behind him, strong and warm and welcoming. That was what was important. TV-Jason looked like he was choosing his words carefully. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’d like to say it has nothing to do with it. But honestly, it doesn’t matter that much. I never made the NHL as a player— got injured before I got there. And for a long time, I thought it was important that I go as a coach instead. But recently, I’ve started to change my mind on that.” He’d felt like he was making too much of a speech, but this seemed like one of the more important points that might come out of the interview and he’d wanted to do it justice. “I coach hockey. But there’s more to life than hockey. And at this level, I can still realize that. I can have a life and I can help my players to develop as human beings, not just hockey robots. I’d like the challenge of the NHL, I guess, but it’s hard for me to imagine the job being much more rewarding than the one I’m doing now.” The interview went on, but Jason found his attention drifting away. Those whorls of hair on Mike’s thigh really were fascinating and he liked the way Mike’s quadriceps felt under his fingers. His other hand reached up to tangle in Mike’s hair and bring his lips forward for a kiss, but Mike resisted anything but the quickest peck. “I’m watching,” he said firmly. “It’s boring,” Jason replied. “Nobody should care.” “I should care,” Mike said firmly, and he put his hand gently over Jason’s mouth. That gave Jason something to do, at least, and he pulled Mike’s middle finger between his lips and laved it gently, then sucked on it firmly. Rolling tongue, gentle kiss, slightest brush of his teeth; it was like an audition for the role Jason’s mouth really wanted. The light cast by the TV brightened a little and Jason glanced over to see the footage the news crew had taken in the arena, and then he saw Walt’s face, kind and smiling at Corrine as she asked him questions. Jason was a little interested, but he was recording the show. He could watch it later, some time when Mike’s body wasn’t available. His sexual satiety had apparently been just as short-lived as it always seemed to be. Mike was still resisting, at least mentally, but Jason’s trick with the finger had done the job for Mike’s cock. It was pressing against Jason’s lower back, and that was close to the goal, but not quite enough for a point.
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Jason shifted around and reached over to the nightstand and he felt Mike’s chest rumble with laughter. “It’s not even that long of a segment,” he said. “Behave yourself.” But he didn’t protest as Jason shifted the sheets lower and squirmed up to straddle his legs. He just leaned over enough so he could still see the TV. And that was just fine. That was kind of hot, even. Jason jacked Mike’s cock a couple times, just to get it totally hard, and then couldn’t resist the urge to bend over and give it a quick kiss. “Jase,” Mike warned, but his voice turned to a moan as Jason sank his lips lower down the shaft. Jason felt Mike’s hand on his ass, finger slipping wet and cool into his crease. When had Mike managed to get his hands on the lube? And who the hell cared, Jason remembered, as Mike’s finger teased around his hole. That was all Jason had the patience for. He pulled himself up to his knees, his ass poised over Mike’s cock, then sank down, slow and careful, letting the stretch spread and burn and then ease. “I’m still watching TV,” Mike said, but his voice was strained. “Okay.” Jason started moving, tiny, slow shifts, his lips never leaving Mike’s neck, where he kissed and nipped and tasted. He let his mouth travel up to just beneath Mike’s ear and could feel the goose bumps he raised when he kissed there. Mike stayed still, his hands supportive on Jason’s ass, but his eyes still on the television. Jason rocked his hips a little further, still slow and easy, but moving forward enough to brush his hard cock against Mike’s stomach before rolling back, then easing forward again. He could feel Mike fighting to keep his breathing steady. Jason let his hands roam everywhere, slowly tickling all over Mike’s body, everywhere within reach. But Mike didn’t respond. Finally, Jason heard the show’s closing music and figured that he was about to get a bit of attention. But apparently Mike had other ideas, and Jason heard the sounds from the TV change as Mike flipped through the channels. That was unacceptable, but also brilliant. Mike was challenging Jason, just like he always had, pushing him to work a little harder and try a little more. Fortunately, Jason had a secret weapon in his arsenal. He’d been thinking about it for a while and he was pretty sure this was the time to use it. He kept rolling his hips, kept teasing with his hands, but he also kissed his way back to Mike’s ear and gave a quick, sharp nip on the lobe. “Mike?” he whispered. “Yeah?” Mike was fighting to sound nonchalant, and Jason might have believed him if it wasn’t for the hot, hard cock stretching his ass. Jason took a moment to be sure. He wanted to say it, sure, but he wanted it to be for real, not because he was trying to win some stupid game. He thought how good it had felt to tell the truth on the TV show and he couldn’t think of a good reason to keep trying to hide this other secret. “Mike,” he said again, and this time he kissed the earlobe he had just nipped. “I love you, Mike.” Mike’s body went from still to absolutely frozen, and after a moment of that, everything happened really fast. The hand behind Jason’s head was gentle, but firm, the 64
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hand on his lower back kept their bodies tight together as Mike shifted, then rolled, ending with Jason on his back, legs wrapped around Mike’s ass. They were face-to-face, the TV forgotten. Mike moved his hips as if he’d never used them before and he drove into Jason, not fast, but hard and deep. He pulled out, slammed home, then out, then in, a punishing, demanding rhythm that Jason strained to match, to exceed. Their voices were just grunts, their breathing ragged and fast, and Jason had no idea whose sweat was whose. It felt like they were melting together, each stroke driving them further and further toward some ultimate union. Jason knew his fingers were clawing at Mike’s back, but he didn’t even try to stop. He’d wanted this frenzy and he’d gotten it, and he was going to surrender his own body to the same power that had taken control of Mike’s. It didn’t make sense that things could continue to build as they did. They should have crested, should have climaxed, but instead they kept climbing, kept intensifying. When Jason finally felt himself begin to let go, he forced his eyes open and looked up to see Mike staring at him, eyes wide and amazed. Then they both cried out, both arched their bodies together and it felt like the blinding light behind Jason’s eyes spread to envelop and consume both of them. Eventually, Jason felt Mike shift off him and they rolled over onto their sides, facing each other. Mike’s kiss now was gentle and sweet. “I love you too,” he said, and Jason just smiled and nuzzled in to Mike’s neck. “I know,” Jason said.
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About the Author I started writing at about the same time that I got back on a horse after a twentyyear break. I’d like to think that I’m far too young for it to be a mid-life crisis, but apparently I was ready for a few changes! My writing focuses on characters and relationships, people trying to find out how much of themselves they need to keep, and how much they can afford to give away. I try to find that careful balance between drama and humor—I want readers to have an intense experience and feel drawn into the book, but I also want them to enjoy the time they spend reading. I started writing in the M/M area of Romance, but I’m now also publishing M/F Romance. I definitely plan to continue writing in both sub-genres, and of course, I still have a YA projects to play with. And I’m thinking about trying some women’s fiction, too! This writing thing is fun! Kate welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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