Page 23 of Hard Check

He suddenly thrashed and then tensed before his eyes flew open. For a moment, he stared at me without recognition, pupils dilated in the darkness.

"It's okay." I kept my voice low and steady. "You were having a nightmare."

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking almost embarrassed. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"It's fine. Sounded rough. You okay?"

He ran a hand over his face. "Yeah. A dream."

"Some dream."

He sat up more fully, drawing his knees toward his chest like he needed to make himself smaller. "It's stupid."

"Try me."

"I keep dreaming about the injury. Except in the dream, I can't skate afterward. I can't even walk. Everyone's watching while I try, and... nothing works right."

I heard the bald fear in his admission.

"That's not stupid," I said. "That's normal."

"Is it? You ever have dreams like that?"

For a moment, I considered lying, but the truth came out instead. "All the time. I had one where I showed up to a game and couldn't remember how to put on my equipment. Just stood there while everyone watched."

"What did you do?"

"In the dream? Panicked. In real life? I reminded myself it's only brain garbage. Our minds are assholes sometimes."

A small, surprised laugh escaped him. "That's... oddly comforting."

"Happy to provide philosophical wisdom at three in the morning."

We were silent in the darkness for several moments.

"Try to get some sleep," I finally said, "early bus tomorrow."

He nodded, settling back against his pillow. "You, too."

I only slept in fits and starts for the rest of the night. Six seasons in professional hockey had taught me to compartmentalize, to keep my personal life walled off from the team's dynamics. Relationships—romantic or otherwise—introduced complications and created vulnerabilities. I'd seen careers derailed by less.

Most didn't have fairytale endings like Dane and Leo in the season before.

Pike was a complication of unprecedented magnitude. Not only was he a teammate, but he was younger, with an NHL future glittering on his horizon. He was my assigned mentee, for Christ's sake. The professional impropriety alone should have been enough to slam the door on whatever feelings welled up inside me.

Yet there I was, lying awake at four in the morning.

I'd never defined myself by who I was attracted to. In my limited relationship experience—most of it hurried and forgettable—gender had mattered less than connection. However, I'd gravitated primarily toward women simply because it was easier in the hockey world. The idea of seeing Pike THAT way didn't trigger an identity crisis.

What terrified me wasn't that Pike was a man. It was that he was Pike—sunshine personified, talent unbridled, future unlimited. And I was... what? A veteran on his last legs and a grinder with more penalty minutes than goals.

The gap between us yawned like an unbridgeable chasm.

Sleep finally claimed me as the first hints of dawn lightened the edges of the curtains. Mylastconscious thoughtwasofPike,grinningafterscoring a goal,radiantandreckless,turninghis head likehe'dalwaysmeanttoshareitwithme.

Chapter six

Pike

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