Page 2 of Gap Control

Like I wasn't already wondering what it would feel like to do it again.

By the time I made it home, my legs were aching and I'd forgotten to take my skates out of my bag. The whole thing would reek by morning. I dropped it, kicked off my sneakers, and collapsed onto the couch without bothering to change or shower.

There was leftover Chinese in the fridge—Kung Pao chicken, likely—but I didn't even nuke it. I pulled the container out, grabbed a plastic fork, and ate it cold while reruns of something I wasn't really watching played in the background.

As I settled in, my phone buzzed.

Instagram notification: lewistonforge just posted a photo.

I clicked without thinking, expecting the usual action shots—someone mid-check or Mercier in full goalie butterfly pose. Maybe it would be Lambert's too-serious face during the anthem lineup.

Instead: me.

Well, Mason and me.

The photo was from the hug—that exact second where I'd laughed at something. Mason had this soft smile that crept in at the corners like it wasn't sure it was allowed to be there. He'd tilted his head, and his eyes were on me.

I looked like I'd just realized what I was holding. And that it mattered.

Caption: Big win. Bigger feels. #ForgeFamily #RykerRising

I almost choked on a water chestnut.

There it was. Posted. Permanent. Public. Already liked by two of my teammates and one suspiciously eager fan account.

I scrolled.

And regretted it immediately.

"TJ's face. Someone please check on that man."

"Not to be dramatic, but this is the most romantic thing I've ever seen."

"RYKER'S SMILE OMG"

"That's not a bromance. That's a soft launch."

Soft launch?

What even was a soft launch? I'd heard people say it about relationships, like when someone posted a shadowy picture of a second drink at brunch and everyone pretended not to notice it meant they were in love. This wasn't that.

It was a hug.

A really, really good hug, to be honest, but a hug.

I set my phone down. Picked it up again. Locked the screen. Unlocked it.

Refreshed.

More likes. More comments. Someone had added it to their story with a sticker that said"REPRESENT,"complete with a rainbow and tagged me, the team, and Mason. I stared at the notification for a solid thirty seconds, trying to figure out how I'd ended up in a meme.

I mean, sure—we had a bit of a rep. The LGBTQ+ friendliest team in the league. That was thanks to Dane and Leo, then Pike and Carver. I was cool with that. Proud, even, but I didn't expect to be the next headline. Especially not when I mostly dated women, or tried to. Or at least didn't not date them. You get the idea.

All I'd done was hug a teammate.

We did that all the time. Monroe hugged people like it was his job. Mercier once picked me up off the ice after an overtime win and carried me back to the bench like a bride over the threshold.

That wasn't Mason and me.

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