Lane nodded. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, and he was shaking a little. His mind felt numb, like he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. Maybe he should have told them individually. Maybe he shouldn’t have made it a big deal. Maybe—
No. It was the right thing to do. If they can’t deal, it’s not your fault.
“All right, Courtnall, get back in here.”
Lane put his chin up and walked back into the room. Zoe was right. It wasn’t his problem if his teammates didn’t like it—or him—because he was gay. They were there to play hockey. He didn’t have to be captain, and he had friends on the team who already knew. So it would be fine if they wanted someone else. Totally fine.
Standing up there and telling his teammates he was gay had been the scariest thing Lane had ever done. Scarier than that moment before he kissed Derek. Scarier than throwing his gloves down and squaring off with Jared Shore. Scarier than anything.
But whether he lost the vote or not, it was also the proudest moment of Lane’s life.
“Congrats, Courtnall. The vote was unanimous, meaning you went from team pariah to team captain in less than a season. Impressive, kid. Real goddamn impressive.” The coach’s hand was warm on his shoulder. He squeezed and let go. “Now go home and get some fucking rest, kiddos. The playoffs are coming, and I want to drink second-rate champagne out of a goddamn trophy before I retire. This is the best chance I’ve had, so don’t fuck it up.”
“Let’s take Captain Courtnall here to Cruisers and get him drunk,” Sparky said cheerfully, clapping Lane on the back. “I don’t want to sleep with you, though,” he told Lane. “No offense. I’m just saving myself for a Victoria’s Secret model.”
Not everyone went with them to Cruiser’s for a drink, but enough that Lane knew it was going to be all right.
JARED HAD
played playoff hockey before, but none of his teams had ever gone beyond the second round. The Renegades were looking at a first-place seed in the conference and home ice advantage throughout the playoffs.
The Kelly Cup wasn’t the Stanley Cup, but Jared wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in his life. With maybe the exception of a cocky brat with amazing abs, a blowjob mouth, and a terrifying inability to think through how things sounded before he said them out loud.
Jared was playing the best hockey of his entire life and was giving his agent a reason to start calling the Renegades’ top brass to negotiate a deal for next season.
Coming home from a grueling road trip that included Ontario, Utah, and Toledo, Jared was too tired to process the information left in a voice mail by his agent, Jimmy Hanes. He put it off until after a good night’s sleep and a very inspirational Skype session with Lane.
Captain
Lane. Jared was so proud of him. He had told Wynn and Leblanc that Lane was the captain of the Sea Storm, leading his team to serenade Jared with a song called “Captain of my Heart,” which sounded like a mix of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” and “My Heart Will Go On.” It was definitely made up.
His agent was not one to leave specific instructions to call him back, because Jared wasn’t a client who required a lot of his time or attention. Jared could probably handle his contract stuff on his own, but it was nice to have someone file papers and all that other shit. As long as he kept his current address on file, he didn’t have to worry about it.
But there was a message to call him, so Jared did so. Jimmy went through the usual greeting, proving he’d picked up Jared’s file to memorize some things and sound like he was on top of it all.
“Hello, Jared Shore. How is your hockey season with the Savannah Renegades, to whom you are signed for a season at a reasonable rate for a thirty-one-year-old player, progressing?”
“Listen, Jared. I wanted you to know that I’ve talked to the guys for the Renegades, and let them know your interest in a three-year contract. I think it’s a good possibility. Real good. So if you want to look at that condo, I’d say go for it.”
Jared thanked him, told him to keep going with the negotiations, and hung up. He knew that Jimmy would indeed work on his contract, but not until the summer, like he always did. It was nice to hear that he might get the contract he wanted and be able to retire from a team he really liked in a city he’d come to love.
Lane was called up again, to Syracuse, right before the playoffs. He didn’t have a great game—in fact he was on the ice for a goal
against
the Crunch. But he did keep up better with the other players, and the coaches remarked on his improved speed. Jared was happy for him, and he knew Lane wasn’t going to stay in the league another season. He was going to move up sooner rather than later.
They found time to see each other, and for Lane’s birthday, Jared was happy to meet some of Lane’s teammates, who went out with them. After all, it was Lane’s twenty-first birthday, and they had to get the guy hammered. Right? He met Riley Hunter, the Storm’s goalie. And they did not have a threesome with him, though Lane suggested it, slurring his words and trying to kiss Jared in the bathroom at the bar.
Zoe was there with Ryan, who had skated by Jared a few weeks before and said, “Keep your hands off my captain’s ass, you fucking cocksucker.” Then he laughed maniacally and stole the puck from him. Jared responded by knocking into Lane on the ice—hard. Then Jared scored a goal on Riley after telling him, “My boyfriend thinks you should blow me.”
None of it was anything Jared took personally, but he gave Ryan and Lane shit for it. But not when Zoe was around, which made Ryan nod drunkenly and fist bump him, telling Jared, “You get the guy code. Cool.”
Riley, who was one of the calmest goalies Jared had ever met, just shrugged. He didn’t appear drunk, but it was hard to tell with him. A couple of the other Storm players dropped by and didn’t stay, but it was nice to see that Lane had friends there who accepted him for who he was.
But he’s not going to be here, not that long.
Jared couldn’t help thinking that, if Lane were to stick around for a couple of years, everything would be perfect. Except it wouldn’t be, because there was a reason they called the league “Easy Come, Hard to Leave.” And Lane, having found acceptance and friendship, camaraderie and a team
captaincy
…. What if that was enough to keep him from what he really wanted?
Jared gave up his chance for a big-league career when he walked off his college team and signed with the Cyclones. And now that he was playing so well, he couldn’t help wonder what might have happened if he’d stayed. If he’d been drafted out of college, where would he have ended up? If someone had believed in him, instead of lying to him and telling him they did, just to fuck him….
It doesn’t matter.
He wasn’t Lane, and he couldn’t make Lane’s decisions for him. But when Lane was crawling all over him, drunk and handsy, and his eyes a bright blue blur of happiness and alcohol, it was tempting to think about having him for longer than a few more months.
Because Jared realized that it wasn’t just Lane who was happier. He had also found friends and acceptance, a team… things he hadn’t known he wanted. But without them, he’d been slowly sinking into a mild depression. Jared wasn’t really afraid of what to do after hockey anymore, and he knew it was because of Lane.
Now he was just afraid of
that
. Because Lane was young and had his whole career in front of him. He wouldn’t want a retired player following him around. Would he? There would be plenty of other guys, younger guys, who would be all over Lane. Maybe he was supposed to be there to help Lane get over his issues and be comfortable with being gay? And that was all fine and great, really. But what did that mean for Jared?
He’d gone from being freaked out about what to do after hockey to being freaked out about what to do after
Lane
.
Maybe these weren’t different things. He didn’t know anymore. Maybe if this ended—
when
this ended—it wouldn’t devastate him like it had the last time.
Lane learns to be gay, I learn to love again?
Jared considered punching
himself
in the face for that one because it sounded so absurd.
But it did make him think about Andrew Whittaker and why he’d left college. And Lane, in his earnest voice, telling him, “I can wait to hear your story until you’re ready.”
Jared was ready, but there was one small problem.
The playoffs.
THE RACE
for division winner came down to the last game of the season.
The games were grueling, but the atmosphere was electric, and everyone was caught up in it. Jared got some good-natured teasing—and some not good-natured teasing, because it was that time of year—from his teammates about “sleeping with the enemy,” though he and Lane had barely seen each other in weeks.
The last regular-season game between the Storm and the Renegades turned into a brawl, with even the team’s two goalies—calm, even-tempered Riley and the Renegades’ temperamental Vladimir Zubarev—throwing down their gloves. Hunter was thoroughly pummeled by the much bigger Zubarev, who had been known to throw his goalie stick at his own
teammates
during practice.
Jared, who’d been fighting Ethan Kennedy, as everyone expected, was surprised when Kennedy stopped messing with him and made a beeline for the two goalies. He yanked Zubarev off Hunter and gave the Russian netminder a black eye while yelling, “Get the fuck away from my goalie.” He also got a two-game suspension, which everyone—even Zubarev—agreed was ridiculous. Jared, who didn’t have a fight partner after Kennedy took off, found himself standing next to Lane.
“Wanna go?” he asked, grinning. “I gave you lessons. Come on. Show me what you learned, pipsqueak.”
Lane threw his gloves off and tried to tackle him. Jared was cracking up laughing, until Lane socked him in the jaw—a lot harder than last time too. Jared stopped laughing after that, and he thought he and Lane had a respectable fight. It was uploaded to YouTube later that night, and he and Lane watched it repeatedly after they had really rough and
fantastic
sex on Jared’s floor.
The brawl ended with the Sea Storm winning the game 6-2, the coaches pissed off, and highlights on ESPN that both teams saw when they went for beers after the game.
“Sorry I had to leave,” Ethan Kennedy said at the bar, sliding next to him on a stool. “I was going to beat you up, but you know. Had to protect my goalie.”
Zubarev and Hunter were both having a beer and talking very animatedly. They looked like old friends by the time the teams went their separate ways, and Jared overheard Kennedy apologizing for the black eye he’d given Zubarev.
“I don’t have anything against Russians,” Kennedy said. “I think we should have open borders. Just don’t try and hit Hunter again. Okay?”
That’s what happened when your sport was invented by Canadians—even though Kennedy was from New York.
Hockey players. They weren’t like other people, but Jared loved that two teams in a death match one minute could go for beers and cheer at their fight recaps the next.
Jared wanted to tell Lane about Andrew that night, but they were both too turned on after the game. Besides, it was going to be a while until they saw each other again. They had to make the most of their time, and that definitely didn’t include using their mouths—to talk.
The Renegades ended the season two points behind the Sea Storm, putting them in fourth place. Everyone was disappointed, but nearly the entire team agreed that the brawl had been fun—so let the Storm have the home-ice advantage, along with all the pressure. They were ready. They were going to do it, and it didn’t matter on whose ice. They were going to
win
.
And they did win. The playoff schedule was three rounds of best-of-seven games, and the Renegades took care of the Toledo Jackhammers—named such, according to the Jackhammers’ captain, because Ohio was always under construction—in a fairly easy three-to-one series.
The Sea Storm, as the number one ranked team, eliminated their first opponents in a four-game sweep. Lane led the playoffs in goals scored, and Jared was proud of him when he was sure no one would notice.
Jared scored a few goals but he also notched quite a few assists, so much so that he led the playoffs in that statistic. He went through the last two games of their series with the Jackhammers without a single fight, which was both amazing and a little disappointing for the fans—if not for Jared. They were still thrilled at their veteran’s amazing season. They just wanted him to throw a punch or two at the same time.
Luckily for them the next round delivered that and then some. The Evansville Eagles were an upset win over a higher-ranked team, and they were riding high on adrenaline and ready to play. They weren’t quite like any other team the Renegades had played before, and they gave them fits. Their skaters were fast and, like the Storm, they were prone to fancy moves and complex plays. Unlike the Storm, the Renegades hadn’t played them enough to figure them out.
After the fourth game, with the series tied at 2-2, Lane sent him a text message.
u can beat them come on want 2 have a conference final with your team
and then,
go high glove side on their goalie once and you can score there all night
.
Jared sent back
so the goalie is your mom??
, because he was in playoff mode. Followed by
thnx that’s good advice good luck with the Ice Dogs
. Which wasn’t necessary, because the Sea Storm proved why they were the leading team in the conference—and the league—and defeated the Ice Dogs four games to two.
The Renegades won the next two games with the Eagles, though the final game went to overtime. Not a very long one, though, as Leblanc scored in the first twenty seconds and sent the Renegades to the conference championships for the first time in franchise history.
They weren’t that old a franchise, but still. The party after the win was epic, and Jared had to endure Lane’s howls of laughter when he played the voice mail message Jared left, which was nonsensical screaming interspersed with him yelling, “Me and my lucky dragon will own you, Courtnall!” and ended with Jared saying, “I love you, okay?” three times in a row.