Page 202 of Pucking Around

He’s quiet for a minute before saying, “What does distance mean, Rachel?”

I flinch, hating his use of my real name. “Mars, this doesn’t have to be your fight,” I say. “You’ve got a career to think about. Not just your NHL contract, but the Olympics, remember? If this blows up any bigger, if you get pulled into it…” I shake my head, tears in my eyes.

“I’m not afraid of celebrity magazines,” he mutters.

“It’s not the tabloids thatshould worry you, Mars. It’s the NHL press. There’s a whole world of hockey fans out there that won’t understand us. They’ll get vicious and cruel and seek to tear us down. Ask Harrison if you don’t believe me,” I say, pointing out the glass doors to where we can see him pacing on his phone. “It’s already started with Jake and Cay—all these rumors about them being gay. And it’s not just blogs and media hacks, Mars. It’s other players. You heard the gossip this morning. You had to shut it down.”

“The rookies need to learn to keep their mouths shut,” he mutters darkly.

“This is bigger than a few chirping rookies and you know it. If the gossip gets bad enough, the FIHA will pass on you, Mars. They’ll pick a safer option, someone not tied to an unstoppable human storm of bad press.”

“So…are you telling me to leave?”

His tone is tearing me apart. “I’m not telling you to do anything. And I don’t want you to leave I—god—” I turn away from him, shoving my hands back into the soapy water, scrubbing furiously at the next plate.

I can feel his eyes on me, daring me to look at him.

I’m saved by the front door. The alarm chirps as the door opens and closes.

“Hey, babe, they didn’t have the sorbet you like, but we found this almond milk stuff!” Jake calls from the entryway. “It’s got cookie dough bites and I thought—whoa—what the hell is going on?” He steps into the kitchen, Caleb following just behind, with Poseidon hot on their heels. Their worried gazes dart between me and Ilmari.

Caleb drops the bag of ice creams on the island. “What happened?”

“Rachel would like for me to leave,” Ilmari mutters.

“What the fuck?” Jake gasp. “Rach—”

“Kulta,no,” I say, grabbing his arm. “I’m trying toprotectyou—”

“You’re trying to manage me,” he growls, pulling away. “You’re trying to make decisions for me. I make myowndecisions, Rachel.”

“But I can’t bear it,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I cannotbearthe idea of ruining your life. Of stripping something from you that you’ve spent a lifetime protecting. You want privacy, Ilmari. You want hockey to be the story of your life, not who you’re dating. You want to play in the Olympics—”

“I wantyou,” he counters, grabbing me by the shoulders. The heat of his anger crackles like a fire. We’re both panting, my head tipped back as I gaze into his stormy blue eyes.

“Mars,” I whisper, trying to put everything I feel into the word.

“Don’t call me that again,” he growls. “Youdon’t call me that ever again. They can, but not you.”

I gasp, confused. “Mars, what—”

“That isnotmy name,” he shouts. “My partner will call me bymyname. Say it.”

I jolt in his arms, heart pounding. “Ilmari,” I say on a breath.

“Say it again.”

“Ilmari.”

“Who am I to you, Rakas?” he asks, his voice lowering, deepening with such great feeling. “When people ask you who I am, what will you say?”

I lift my arms, pressing my hands against his chest, my right hand splaying over his heart. It pounds furiously beneath my hand. “You want control? You want a say in what happens next? Then tell me whatyouwant. Who do you want to be to me—”

“I want you to stop being so damn afraid all the time,” he shouts, both hands cupping my face, holding me captive. “You can’t hide away all your life, Rakas. You can’t stop the bad things from happening—to yourself, to your brother, to any of us. I know because I’ve lived the same as you, trying to keep my life small. Really all I did was build myself a cage. And then I trapped myself inside that cage and told myself the bars weren’t real.”

His words split me open, digging down to the hidden truths I keep buried so deep. Because he’s right. I’ve let my fears become a cage. Fear of failure. Fear of losing control—of myself, of the narrative around me, of my success. Fear of the unknown. Fear of disappointing my family. Fear of always being known as the worthless, talentless Price.

“I am afraid,” I admit, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I think I’ve been afraid all my life.”

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