Page 14 of Love of the Game
“Tomorrow, get onto the ice, and remember what you love. That’s it. Start there.”
That—was a good idea, I guess. I let out a breath and lowered my hands, as an absurd question floated through my mind. “Uh… does this count asa date?”
Jon’s grin was like the sunrise, then he laughed and that was the best sound in the world.
I gotto the practice rink early the next morning, before any other player arrived. Even before Coach Macintosh. Hank and the other equipment managers were there, though, but they didn’t seem too shocked to see a player far before we needed to be at the rink. I grabbed a coffee from the lounge, then started stretching and loosening up.
I’d hated going back to the hotel after the dinner and conversation I’d had with Jon. He hadn’t clarified the date comment, but we’d played another game of pool. Jon really wasn’t good, so I’d won, but goddamn, that smile—and the knowledge that helikedme—well, that had kept me up longer than I’d wanted, once I’d crawled into bed. Alone.
“Teammates can date teammates here?” I’d asked him. I knew the Lions weren’t queerphobic, since Brodie Boone’s partner, Oliver, was a trans man, but I’d never broached the whole dating your teammate thing there. I knew on some teams, like Seattle, not acting heterosexual has consequences. Seattle had pretty awful and phobic GM. Hopefully, the league would do something about that jerk someday.
Jon’s answer had come easily. “Yeah, as long as it doesn’t negatively affect the team.” He’d paused after that. “We had that happen once. Guy came through here and slept his way around the team. Wasn’t good at all. Bad scene all around. Caused a lot of internal strife, you know?”
“Did you date him?”
Color rose to his cheeks again. “No. I fucked him. A fewtimes. He was too—” Jon waved his hand. “He had bad vibes, I suppose, and I didn’t want any more of that. I don’t know how to describe it. Flighty and negatively dramatic, maybe? He was always pitting everyone against everyone. Anyway, after I found out all the shit he pulled with the other guys…” Jon shook his head. “That’s why the dates. To get to know someone a little before jumping into bed with them. That whole thing was so soul-sucking.”
“Dates, huh?” I’d given him a small smile and he’d dipped his head, color still on his cheeks.
“Yeah, dates,” he said, his voice soft and enticing.
Then he’d met my gaze, and the way he looked at me… Jesus. I took that with me all the way back to the hotel and into a shower to rub one out. No idea if Jon was a top or bottom or vers like me. Didn’t matter. I wanted that man’s lips on me, and him in my bed. Jerking off hadn’t done much to settle me down, because my mind was still whirling from everything elsebesidethe lust.
I had no idea if what we’d done was a date, but I felt like we were getting to know each other. He cared. He thought I had talent.
Maybe I did. I mean, my goal had always been to make the big show. I’d been told a good portion of my life that I could go that far. I’d made it. Played good for two years, better than everyone, including me, thought I might.
Then I hadn’t, and proved at least one person right, I guess.
Maybe Jon was wrong. But he was so sure of my talent, and he was the son of a hall-of-famer.
Then again, he also thought something had happened to me between my first two seasons and now, but nothing had, really. Only that one tense week in the off season when that jackass had messaged me, everything had been normal.And that week? I shook my head. Done and dealt with. Didn’t want to think about it, and that had nothing to do with hockey. It barely had anything to do withme, other than some random genetics I’d gained from someone who never wanted me at all.
I didn’t know why my game was crap right now, why I couldn’t score on a completely open net or pucks jumped off my stick seemingly every time I touched one—I did know that it was eating away at me. I tightened up every time I stepped out onto the ice. I’d been trying and trying so hard.
What he’d said, and that memory of being in gear for the first time… I’d wanted to cry. Not out of sorrow or anything, but the absolute memory of the moment. How complete and amazing it had been.
Even lying in bed after jacking off to thoughts of Jon kissing and touching me, of me fucking him, those early memories and emotions churned inside. Kept me thinking well after my lust was gone.
Made for a sleepless night, but here I was, stepping out on the ice in gear earlier than most people would. No idea how many times I’d done this between being that little five-year-old and the person I was now. There were no shrieks of children here. My mom wasn’t nervously sitting in the stands. It was just me, the sound of my skates cutting the ice, and the slap of my stick against a puck. I took a breath, and there was the cold scent of the ice, the smell of detergent from the practice jersey, and the vague stink of my own gear that no spray ever quite got rid of.
I circled. Stopped and started. Stick-handled. And just—listened. Felt. Let my mind quiet and trusted all those years of practice. I grabbed another puck and launched it at the net. Perfect shot. Went in easily. Nothing I did was veryhard or intense, but my eyes were watery and my breath caught in my lungs.
I loved this. I missedthis. A feeling of completeness, like I belonged out here on the ice. I was lucky this was my job, and… and…
Maybe Iwasgood at it, just like Jon had said. When I was out here alone, I could almost taste that truth, like the cold air around me, as if the trace of understanding drifted like the faint smell of ice, concrete, and sweat.
All I had to do was play. Not worry about goals or assists or anything. If I played the game that I lovedwiththe love I had for hockey—the goals would come. The playmaking would return. I headed for the bench, grabbed some water from my bottle, then hopped up to sit on the rail and just—stared out at the ice.
Yeah, I could do this. Come back. Swallow my misplaced pride, worry, anxiety and fear and return to the basics. Listen to the coaches. Work hard in every drill. Play with passion. Didn’t matter if I was in the PHL, it was stillhockey.
This game was what I loved. I had to start loving it back and let it go from there.
CHAPTER 4
JON
Drake was already on the ice by the time I got suited up for practice. Mac gave me a pat on the back but otherwise didn’t say anything about this turn of events. Like normal, I was geared up and dressed before the rest of my teammates, so I stepped out onto the ice before them.
