Page 92 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said. “But Elliot was up in my grill about me stealing a hat trick from him, which is bullshit. He couldn’t have gotten a hat trick.”

“What’s a hat trick?” Mason asked.

“You don’t know what a hat trick is?” Kane said.

“Sounds like something a magician might do.”

I smiled and suppressed an urge to kiss him. “If someone scores three points in a game, that’s a hat trick. Everyone in the audience tosses their hats onto the ice, people go nuts, it’s a lot of fun.”

“And Elliot thought you prevented him from getting one?”

I nodded. “He got the first two shots, and he says I gave him a bad pass and cost him the third. But if I didn’t move, he would have given up the puck to the other team, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“Prick,” Kane muttered.

“Tell me about it. He’s pissed at me. What else is new?”

“Jesse’s like a fucking bloodhound on the ice,” Mason was saying, shaking his head. “Forget thePlow, he’s like a tsunami.”

“Did you show him a clip, J?”

Mason shifted on his seat. “Um, well, no. I went to check out one of the games, actually.”

My heart.

Mason was trying, for me.

Actually trying to make it seem like we were at least friendly with one another. And that was the sweetest thing I could imagine, right now.

Kane set down the pint glass he was holding and draped his rag over his shoulder. “Youwent to a hockey game?”

I could tell Mason was squirming.

He’d let something slip, and now he was completely convinced Kane was going to find out the truth. If I was like a bloodhound on the ice, Kane was like a bloodhound for bullshit—he could spot it from a mile away.

“I do all sorts of things,” Mason protested.

Just tell him.

Can we just tell him, pretty please?

I felt like there was a little war inside of me, brewing fast.

“You don’t usually do things that involve you sitting still in a seat for a couple of hours,” Kane said. “I’m impressed, Mason.”

“I didn’t exactly sit still. I stood up and cheered for Jesse, even when I didn’t know what he was doing. I think I cheered once accidentally when the only thing that happened was a ref blowing a whistle.”

As they chatted, my leg was bouncing like a pogo stick on the ledge under the bar.

I felt like I was two seconds away from blurting out the truth:I want him, and I don’t give a fuck if you’re going to judge us for it.

But I was like a muzzled tiger. It had been my own idea to slowly get my brother used to the idea of us hanging out, but even when Mason mentioned attending a hockey game, it felt like watching a ticking time bomb.

“What did you get up to today?” Kane asked him.

“Not much. Drove back from Atlanta. Rode Maisie around the long path a few times. Showered and headed here.”

I didn’t know what felt worse: the idea of Kane finding out or the idea of himnotfinding out.

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