I shake my head hastily.
“It looked like you had a problem.”
“I-I don’t,” I stammer, but maybe from the way I’m gasping and shuddering itdoeslook like I have a problem.
The beautiful evening turns horrible. Eyes are on me again. Suddenly, everyone is following the conversation. The room stills, and distaste has replaced everyone’s elation.
I made a misstep, and I don’t know how to get everything back to normal again.
Vinnie’s eyes narrow. “You’re from a small town in New Hampshire.”
I draw back.
Maybe if I were from Boston or Manhattan I would be used to seeing men kissing.
“I was surprised,” I say.
Evan continues to look disappointed, and I hate it. I hate that Vinnie and Evan are unhappy because of me, and I hate that I don’t fit with the team even when I thought I did, even when I thought that everything was at least OK-ish.
Then Finn stands. “What the hell, Vinnie?”
Vinnie blinks.
“He didn’t know.” Finn’s hands are on his waist. “No one told him. Because you guys told us not to tell anyone. But it’s a big deal. I mean, it makes sense he would be caught off guard.”
“He was staring.”
“He couldn’t believe his eyes!”
“What do you mean it’s a big deal?” Evan asks, his gaze angry.
“It took you forever to get together for a reason,” Finn declares. “You can’t deny it. Who else is gay in the NHL?”
Coach clears his throat. “Finn, Noah, make sure you see me in my office when we get back. I’m disappointed in both of you.”
With that, Coach storms out.
Evan and Vinnie suit up, then join Coach to meet the press.
“We’re going out tonight,” Finn says, clenching his fists.
CHAPTER TEN
Finn
Anger still pulses through me after we exit the arena. It skates through my entire body, landing in my fingers, and it’s all I can do not to punch someone.
I board the bus beside Noah, making sure I’m sitting next to him this time.
“Vinnie and Evan are idiots,” I mutter.
Noah tenses. Maybe he doesn’t talk about it. Okay, I get that.
Sometimes I don’t like talking about things too. And maybe the place to talk isn’t in front of the whole team.
Because God knows, I’m super annoyed. And that’s not an emotion that comes to me normally.
I huddle in the seat beside Noah. Strictly speaking, we don’t need to sit next to each other. There’s plenty of room on the bus, and Noah and I are hardly tiny. His shoulders touch mine, and when the bus moves jerkily, which it does often as traffic swarms from the arena and moves through Vegas, filling up the casinos and glitzy hotels with hockey fans, our legs touch. My nerve endings spark, but I guess that’s what happens when you get to know a new friend.
