Page 25 of Blitz
“That’s exactly what we do.” I fingered my disheveled hair, trying to piece myself back together. My fingers shook in the strands, not from exertion but from the coil of emotions wound too tight in my chest. I felt brittle—like one wrong word, one wrong look would tear something open inside me that I wouldn’t know how to put back together. I clenched my jaw, blinked fast, and willed everything down. Keep it together. No cracks. Not here. “This was a mistake.”
He stood, then, and handed me my phone, movements deliberate as he zipped his jeans and assessed the damage to his torn shirt. “Come on, Trick?—”
“Don’t,” I snapped, scanning the floor for my jersey. “It’s just sex.”
“Then why not find some stranger at a bar? Why me?”
The question hit like a body check I hadn’t braced for, knocking the air from my lungs. I grabbed my jersey from where it had landed on the floor, yanking it over my head.
“Convenience,” I lied, the word bitter on my tongue. “You were here.”
His laugh was hollow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Think whatever you want.” I moved toward the door, needing to escape before I said something I couldn’t take back. His hand caught my wrist, his grip firm but not painful.
“You’re running again.”
“Let go of me.” I twisted my arm, but he held fast.
“We can keep it a secret.”
“Don’t be so naive.” My voice wavered, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from darting away. I clenched my jaw tight enough to ache, forcing the rest of the words back down. If he saw the flicker of guilt on my face, he didn’t call it out—but I felt it. A rush of heat to my cheeks. A hitch in my chest I couldn’t explain.
“Why are you so afraid of this?” His voice had softened, which somehow made it worse. I could handle his anger and frustration, but this gentle persistence threatened to unravel me completely.
“I’m not afraid,” I said, the lie so transparent it barely made it past my lips. But even as the words hung between us, my body betrayed me. My throat was tight, my palms clammy, and my chest ached as though I’d been hit in the ribs. I was afraid. Afraid of what I wanted. Afraid of what he made me feel. Afraid that if I let myself stay, I’d never be able to return to pretending I didn’t care. And more than anything, I was terrified he’d see all of it—that he’d already seen it—and still want me anyway.
“Then stay.”
I stared at the door, my escape just feet away. One quick movement and I could be gone, back to my carefully constructed world where hockey was everything, and feelings were a weakness I couldn’t have, where I was Trick on the ice and someone else entirely behind closed doors.
“I can’t,” I whispered, hating the tremor in my voice.
I left and called a cab as soon as I was far enough away.
TEN
Tom
There wasno point in reaching out to Trick to try to salvage this night.
I didn’t know what I would say to the man to get him to change his mind. And, as I lay awake in my bed wishing I had my dog to cuddle with, I realized that even if Trick had said yes and stayed, our lives would be just as fucked. Neither of us were out. And sure, we could hide and sneak and pretend we were only buddies, but was that healthy?
No, it was not. I spun around in my bed—back, front, side, side—and then, when three a.m. rolled around and I’d not slept, I went out on the patio in my boxers with a cup of coffee in my hand and watched the stars. I should get back to the dorms that I was supposed to be in with the other single guys, not sitting in my own place because I thought privacy would be better to talk to Trick.
Practice was going to be total shit today. Maybe I could skip it somehow. Not. Team practice was mandatory. Unless I had a medical excuse or someone in my family had died or something along those lines, I’d get a huge fine for an unexcused absence. Like up to fifty thousand bucks chonky.
So, I chugged more coffee, showered, and dragged my ass back to the stadium as I ruminated on my future. I was so deep into my thoughts that I bumped into Ty exiting the film room. He gave me one look and drew back as if he’d run into a walking corpse. Which was how I felt inside. Dead. Stupid. Stupid and dead.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You forget to use a comb, or a razor, or change your clothes?”
“Nah, I just…” I glanced up and down the corridor. The sounds of men arriving for a game filled the corridors. Soon, the team would be filing into the mess hall for the pregame meal. “Can we talk privately?”
“Sure, yeah.” Ty ducked back into the film room, and I followed him inside, closing the door softly. He sat in a chair, one of about thirty that faced a large screen for viewing game films, eyes heavy with concern, as I began pacing. “What’s wrong?”
I paused by the window to stare out at the perfectly manicured lawn. “I met this guy,” I opened with and got a tender little “Mm-hmm” from Ty sitting behind me. A little brown bird hopped along in the grass as a bumblebee visited a flowering bush in a sculpted flower bed. “I think I fucked everything up. I mean, I think I did. No, I sort of know I did.”
“Okay, so why don’t you sit down and tell me the story from the beginning so I can know if you did or did not fuck things up?”
