“Get a room!” someone hollered from across the lot, and we broke the kiss laughing. I knew I’d just joined a massive family, and they wouldn’t let me get away with anything.

  “I’m proud of you,” I told Ethan. “Today was—it was amazing. You showed amazing guts. I love you.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he said softly, squeezing my hand before climbing into his car.

  As I watched him drive away, I exhaled. I was now part of a team bound not only by their pursuit of victories on the ice but also by their support for each other—in and out of games. And that, I realized, was a story worth savoring.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ETHAN

  “Morning,” I mumbled, my eyes fluttering open to find Ryan’s face mere inches from mine. He was already awake and propped on his elbow, looking at me.

  I lay flat on my back, and he reached out to trace a fingertip down the center of my chest. After I came out to the team, we’d gone home separately, but Ryan texted, saying he felt a little lonely.

  I was more than happy to try to ease the loneliness. One thing led to another, and there we were, naked in bed, saying good morning to each other.

  His green eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as I leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss.

  “Are you sure we have to get up?” I asked.

  Ryan gave one of my nipples a gentle squeeze. “I think so. What would the world do without us? The Mitts would surely go downhill, and who would tell the world the real story of what’s going on in minor league hockey?”

  I chuckled softly. “I guess you’re right.”

  As I watched, Ryan sat up and stretched his lean body like a cat. “Shower time?” he asked.

  “If I have to get up, I guess that’s a good way to start the day,” I said. He swung his legs out of bed and stood, revealing his toned, naked ass. It was a stunning thing of beauty. My heartbeat raced at the sight. I was one lucky bastard to get to sleep with a man like Ryan.

  The bathroom was a cozy space filled with earthy scents and soothing colors. A large mirror adorned one wall. It reflected the sunlight that streamed in through a frosted window. The glass-enclosed shower beckoned us, its stainless steel fixtures gleaming under the warm glow of an overhead light.

  “Join me?” Ryan asked, already stepping into the shower with the first drops of water glistening on his skin.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I answered, quickly joining him under the spray.

  As the hot water washed over us, we exchanged heated kisses, our hands exploring each other’s bodies. My fingers traced down his spine, slowly moving toward his ass, and I couldn’t resist squeezing it. Ryan braced himself against the shower wall and moaned, urging me on.

  “Last night—before you fucked me—“I breathed between planting kisses on the back of his neck, “I didn’t know you were vers.”

  “Is that okay?” Ryan asked. I heard a slight hint of concern in his voice.

  “Better than that,” I assured him. My stiffening cock against his ass cheek punctuated the statement. “Seriously, it turned me on.”

  “Good,” Ryan grinned, pressing himself back against me. While I lapped at his wet shoulder with my tongue, I grabbed the small bottle of lube hiding between shampoo and body wash. With lubed-up fingers, I let my hand slip between us, teasing Ryan with a gentle touch before slipping a finger inside. He gasped, pressing his hands against the shower wall, as I reached around and stroked his thick, heavy cock.

  “Fuck, Ethan,” he whispered, his breath catching in his throat.

  “Like that?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the sound of cascading water. I continued to gently finger him while my other hand wrapped around his erection, jerking him in time with the slow thrusts of my fingertip.

  “Love it—don’t stop,” Ryan panted, his body trembling with pleasure.

  As I brought him close to climax, I marveled at the intimacy we shared. In Ryan’s apartment, we were free to explore each other without fear or judgment in the small, steamy space. At that moment, I knew that I’d never felt so close to anyone in my life.

  As Ryan’s breathing became labored, I felt his asshole tighten around my finger. He was close. He was going to come.

  I stroked faster and licked up the side of his neck. “Come for me—now!”

  I didn’t need to repeat the request. He rolled his head back and moaned—a deep rattling sound from inside his chest, and then he shot. The warm ropes of cum mingled with the hot shower water on the wall. I turned him around and kissed him hard.

  “Fuck, Ethan,” he murmured. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

  Steam still lingered in the apartment air from our shared shower, clinging to the frost-kissed window panes. A white fluffy towel wrapped around his waist clung to Ryan’s form as he padded in slippers toward the kitchen. I brushed my teeth and tugged a pair of boxers over my damp skin as I was drawn to the kitchen by the rich scent of brewing coffee.

  There, Ryan was already at the stove. He looked like a craftsman with a spatula as his favorite tool. I was a cooking failure, and it was a skill I highly appreciated in others.

  He reached out for me, and I stepped up close. He greeted me with a quick kiss and a disarming smirk.

  “I’m starving,” I confessed, “and that smells delicious.” Sex always made me hungry, and with Ryan, it left me ravenous.

  Gripping the counter as I watched him cook, I asked about something that bothered me several days earlier. “Ryan, there was a day not long ago when you seemed distant. It was that first time you were over at my place for dinner. Had I done something?”

  His spatula paused after flipping a pancake. After a silent moment, he shook his head and dismissed my worry. “No, Ethan. You weren’t the problem.”

  “Then what was it?” I was curious about what could have been bothering him that he wouldn’t or couldn’t share with me.

  After flipping one more pancake, he set the spatula down and sighed deeply. “It was about the threats against Nate. I’d discovered more details and wanted to spare you the stress of knowing. It was the stuff I told you about at the diner.”

  “Damn, Ryan—you didn’t need to hang onto all that yourself.”

  “I didn’t for long, and I hated it,” he admitted. “It was awful keeping secrets from you. I don’t think I can ever do it again.”

  He sounded raw and vulnerable as he confessed. It gripped my heart. I pulled him up close to me and kissed him, hoping to chase any residual pain away. “It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And thank you, too,” I whispered. “For fighting to protect Nate and for telling me now.”

  He nodded and gave me a feather-light kiss on my forehead before wriggling free from my grasp. “You better let me go for a few minutes so I can finish cooking breakfast.”

  I smiled and turned my attention to the breakfast table. I poured glasses of orange juice and ensured our mugs held fresh, hot coffee.

  Ryan brought a massive stack of pancakes to the table as I sat. He carried a bottle of pure maple syrup in the other hand, and I spotted the butter already within reach.

  “Did you make these from scratch?” I asked.

  “Yes—I mix my dry ingredients, and then I keep them ready in a canister. That way, it only takes me minutes to have a meal on the table.”

  My taste buds danced as the first bite of fluffy pancake melted in my mouth. I let out an appreciative moan.

  “That sounds like they’re as good as sex,” Ryan grinned.

  “Right now—when I’m starving—they’re the best thing in the world.”

  While we ate, a contented silence reigned between us. I’d never known such a stable, committed love relationship with another man. It opened up a whole new world of possibilities for my life. I knew it would present difficult challenges, too, but we would navigate those together and conquer anything thrown our way.

  By the time I savored the last bite of my breakfast, my thoughts circled back to Nate. I still couldn’t comprehend the hatred that would prompt our fans to threaten one of my teammates. “So,” I asked Ryan, “do you think my coming out impacted the fans?”

  “Ethan, it’s only been a day,” he reminded me. “It’s going to take some time.”

  “Right,” I said. I wasn’t known for my patience. “What more can we do? For Nate and everyone else?”

  Ryan put his fork down and leaned back in his chair while he looked across the table at me. He tapped on the side of his mug before he spoke.

  “I’m scheduled to be interviewed for a podcast next week. Maybe you can join me, and we can take the opportunity to address this issue head-on.”

  “Yeah?” The suggestion caught me off guard. “Do you think they’d be okay with that?”

  Ryan shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. I’ll ask them, but if they say yes, I want you to do it with me.”

  “Me?” Butterflies began to flutter in my gut.

  “Absolutely,” he said. He reached across the table to take my hand and reassure me. “Your story is important, Ethan. You’ve inspired so many—in hockey and beyond. Your voice matters even more than mine.”

  I knew there was some truth in what he said. The idea of talking about something other than hockey for an audience was terrifying, but the potential to inspire change had to outweigh my fears. I had to stand up for Nate, me, and anyone else who needed to know they weren’t alone.

  “Okay,” I sighed, “I’m in.” I knew it would be irresponsible to do something like the podcast without informing the team administration. “Ryan, I think we should tell Coach Pritchard about the podcast.”

  “Agreed,” he nodded. “You’ve got a better read on him. How do you think he’ll react?”

  I shrugged. I honestly didn’t have any idea. “It’s hard to say. He supports all the players, but this is new territory.”

  “We’ll tackle it together,” Ryan said, and he squeezed my hand. “I’ll handle the podcast details. You speak to your coach.”

  I sealed the pact. “Let’s do it.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  RYAN

  My phone rang, and it distracted me from my writing. “Ryan, you won’t believe it,” Ethan’s voice trembled through the speaker.

  “Whoa, take a breath. What’s up?”

  “Things are spiraling out of control here. I got to the rink early to run the podcast by Coach Pritchard, but his office is empty, and the locker room vibe is—off-kilter.”

  “Off-kilter? Like how?” Ethan’s disquiet rattled me, twisting my gut into knots.

  “Coach Pritchard’s packed his bags, Ryan.” The words lingered over the line between us. “The physio says he’s gone home, packing his stuff there to move to Saskatchewan.”

  “For real?” My heart stuttered, matching the tremor in Ethan’s voice.

  “Real as it gets. It’s a mess, and I thought you needed to know.”

  “Appreciate the heads-up, Ethan. Keep me posted if anything else crops up, okay?”

  “Roger that. Catch you later.”

  “Hold on, Ethan,” I blurted before he could disconnect. “Do you think—could us coming out have triggered this?”

  He paused, and I sensed the gears turning in his head. “Can’t say—I’ve wondered that, too, but there’s no solid proof either way.”

  “Got it. What’s the next move?”

  “Practice should kick off soon, but without Coach Pritchard—“Ethan sighed. “Guess, as captain, it’s on me to call it off and calm the guys.”

  “Smart move. Keep me in the loop, alright?”

  “Always.”

  “Take care, Ethan.” As the call ended, my thoughts spun into overdrive.

  Sitting at home while history played out at the arena was not an option. My journalistic instincts hummed—a story was brewing, and I needed to be at ground zero. Swinging into action, I grabbed my tablet and recorder, threw on my coat, and bolted out the door.

  As I approached the arena, a creeping unease began tugging at the edge of my mind. Had our decision to come out urged Coach Pritchard to head for the exit? Or was it a pure coincidence? The answers weren’t yet apparent, but this much was clear: The Madison Mitts were heading for another twist in their tale, and I planned to be there, capturing every second.

  My heart pounded as I crossed the arena threshold, acutely aware of the hefty responsibility on my shoulders. Likely the first reporter on the scene, I was in a prime position to chronicle the team’s transition to a new coach.

  Uncertainty clouded our coming-out plan. Would Ethan want to stick to the script? And the podcast—I put in a hasty call from the parking lot, warning the host of a potential cancellation but hinting at an even bigger scoop on the horizon.

  “Hey, Ryan!” A friendly shout caught my attention, and I swiveled to see Nate approaching. “Here to dig up dirt on the Coach Pritchard situation?”

  “Something along those lines,” I returned, mustering a grin. “What’s your take?”

  Nate shrugged, his perpetual grin wavering. “Honestly? I’m as stunned as the next guy. But hey, maybe our new coach will shake things up in a good way, huh?”

  “Possibly,” I concurred, anxiety gnawing at my insides about the hurdles looming ahead—for the team, Ethan, and me.

  “Catch you later, Ryan. Nail the story.” Nate clapped my shoulder.

  “Wait—Nate—“

  “Yeah—what is it?”

  “Any more threats?” I asked.

  “Nada—not yet. It’s strange. You two haven’t even gone public, but your announcement to the team seems to have defused things. Abuela says you’re a gem.”

  Laughter echoed between us, and I fell in step with Nate to check out the rest of the team.

  The players, their faces etched with confusion and uncertainty, seemed lost. Whatever lay ahead, they were strapping in for a wild ride. Daunting as it appeared, I was geared up to plunge into the chaos, committed to uncovering the truth and broadcasting it to the world.

  “You guys get wind of Coach Pritchard?” a player asked as he entered the locker room. The faces of those who trailed him echoed his expression of shock.

  “Who hasn’t? It’s all over the place,” another player answered, dumping his bag onto the bench with a thud.

  “Man, this is nuts,” a third joined in, threading his fingers through his tousled hair.

  From my spot near the doorway, I absorbed the disarray. Players trickled in, shock lighting their faces as they processed the coach’s departure. The air crackled with nervous energy, on the brink of a spark.

  “Alright, alright, quiet down!” Nate’s voice cut through the buzz. “I know we’re all shaken by Coach Pritchard’s exit, but I’ve got a joke to lift the mood.”

  The locker room fell silent. Nate grinned, diving into his joke: “What do you call a hockey player who’s lost his skates?”

  A lone cough punctuated the silence. Nate pressed on, delivering the punchline with a sheepish smile, “A sockey player!”

  A few players groaned, and others rolled their eyes. Nate’s humor, usually infectious, failed to thaw the icy mood.

  “Nice try, Reyes,” Biedler murmured, patting Nate’s back.

  “Figured it was worth a shot,” Nate shrugged, his smile strained.

  Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing an unexpected figure. A head of unruly white hair framed his weathered face. Clutching a cardboard box brimming with trophies, pennants, and even a hockey stick blade, the man strode into the locker room.

  “Isn’t that—?” a player whispered.

  “Jack’ The Jet’ Jenson,” I whispered back, recognition hitting me. My fingers flew across my tablet, confirming what I already knew. A middling NHL player, Jenson had earned an adoring fanbase for his coaching stints in college and minor league hockey.

  “Alright, gentlemen, circle up,” Jenson commanded, setting the box on a bench. The room fell silent as players gathered, their faces a canvas of awe and apprehension.

  “So, we’ve got a new coach,” I mused. I watched the scene unfold, wondering how this unexpected twist would affect Ethan, the team, and our narrative. But one thing was clear: I’d be there, documenting every moment, no matter where it led.

  “Listen,” Jenson growled, his voice sounding like a truck tire crunching gravel. “I know this is a shock, but I’m here to lead you to victory—or at least the playoffs this season.”

  A hush blanketed the locker room, all eyes riveted on the new coach.

  “Today’s practice is scrapped, but don’t get cozy. We’ll have a grueling schedule, and I want nothing less than your best,” he warned, his eyes scanning the room, putting each player in the spotlight.

  “Is he serious?” a player murmured, earning a stern look from Jenson.

  “Questions?” he asked, challenging the room. Silence responded, cementing his command.

  “Good. Dismissed,” he said. “And Marek—nice to see you again.” With that, he turned and exited the locker room, leaving a trail of astonishment in his wake.

  Nate’s chuckle punctuated the silence. “Well, that was a cold introduction.”

  “Jack’ The Jet’ Jenson,” I murmured. “This is huge.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Ethan chimed in. His usual lightness held an undercurrent of concern. “Jenson’s a tough nut, old school and unyielding. This could be—tricky.”

  “Tricky, but maybe exactly what we need,” Biedler suggested, breaking the silence. “Pritchard was great, but Jenson—he’s a legend.”

  I watched as Ethan contemplated his next statement. “Could be a double-edged sword, though. Jenson’s known for his discipline and brutal practice sessions. He’s also had a history of occasionally clashing with his teams.”

  His words hung heavy in the air. The Madison Mitts’ narrative was at a crossroads: their coach had left, their captain and his partner were set to come out, and a legendary yet sometimes controversial figure had just been thrust into the limelight to lead the team.

 

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