If I’d thought that keeping hockey a secret from Mark was difficult before, keeping it a secret during playoff season was about a million times worse. I was tired constantly from extra practices and school functions and press interviews. Not to mention, finals were slowly starting to creep up.

For the most part, Mark was perfectly kind and understanding and swallowed up all of my lame excuses without question, but I could tell that he was missing me. And I was missing him too. Hence why I was currently getting ready for a concert even though the whole team was traveling to Phoenix for an important gala bright and early tomorrow morning.

Mark’s favorite band, Dog Chocolate, was in town for one night only and he had tickets, but no one else would go with him. I only got so many chances to be a decent boyfriend, and this was one I needed to take.

The concert was in an old abandoned warehouse, which made everything feel sketchy and illegal even though they literally had valet parking out front. By the time we made it to our back-row seats, the opening act was already halfway into their set. I had no idea who they were, but they sounded like something ripped out of the fifties. The music was upbeat and poppy, but in that timeless way that modern boy bands could never seem to recreate. It wasn’t exactly my style, but I had to give them props for that.

Mark kept his arm around my waist the entire time, and for once, it didn’t make me feel nervous or scared. Yes, we were surrounded by people, but it was also dark and everyone had their eyes glued to the stage or to their phones which were pointed up at the stage. I didn’t know if all concerts were like this, this was my first one, but I liked the unified atmosphere of the place. Nobody was here to judge anyone. We were all just here to listen to music and have a good time.

When the headliners finally took the stage, the crowd erupted into one massive scream of excitement and I couldn’t help but join in.

“What up, LHC!” the lead singer said in his vaguely British accent. “This one goes out to Selena Valles. Thanks for setting us up in this awesome location, girl. You’re the best. I hope you all enjoy the freaking show!”

Then the band started playing and the cheers died down a little. They started off with a slower song that picked up momentum toward the end. I could feel the bass thumping in my chest and when I glanced over at Mark he was humming the words with reverence in his eyes. I snuggled in closer to him, glad that I came.

The rest of the concert went by in a blur. The songs seemed to increase in popularity as the show went on, and by the final number, everyone was jumping up out of their seats and singing along. The lights went off perfectly in sync with the final guitar strum, and though everyone was shouting for an encore, the band seemed to be done for the night.

Mark and I filed out with everyone else and stood by the curb waiting for someone to bring around his car. We were the first ones in a quickly forming line. Sitting way up in the back did have its advantages.

“Was it everything you hoped and dreamed for?” I asked him.

Mark nodded.

“Did you have fun?”

I leaned in close and rested my head on top of his, letting my guard down for just a second.

“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”

Soon enough the valet pulled up with Mark’s car and we rode back to Coronado in comfortable silence. He walked me back to Encanto Hall and gave me a quick kiss goodnight, bodies obscured by the back of the building. I went up to my room alone and laid down fully clothed on top of my sheets. The soft ringing in my ears and the phantom sounds of Dog Chocolate lulled me into a deep and dreamless sleep almost immediately...

“Carter!”

“Mmm.” I rolled over in bed in an attempt to block out the noise.

Then there were hands on my shoulders, shaking me awake.

“Goddamnit, Carter. WAKE UP!”

I yanked Steve’s hands off of me and sat up in bed.

“What do you want?” I grumbled.

I looked up and saw that Steve was still wearing his pajamas. He had his blanket draped around his shoulders and his hair was a mess. He pointed to my phone on the nightstand where it was blinking furiously.

“Your phone has been going off nonstop for the last half hour.” Steve yawned. “I don’t know how the fuck you slept through it.”

Frowning, I reached for it and balked at the time. Eight fifteen. The team was supposed to leave for the gala at seven-thirty. I glanced through my texts. There were about thirty different variations of the words, “Where are you?” and “Coach is mad.”

The sinking feeling in my chest only furthered as I went to listen to my new voicemails.

“Haynes, I swear to God,” said Coach Hawthorne. “You better be on your way or bleeding in a ditch somewhere.”

Beep.

“You have twenty minutes to get here or we’re leaving without you.”

Beep.

“Okay, kid. I’m telling the people at this event that you’re home sick with the stomach flu. When we get back this evening you better be waiting for us at the arena with an even better excuse. I expect more out of you, Carter.”

Beep.

I set the phone down and buried my face in my hands. I had really done it this time.

“Is everything okay, dude?” Steve asked cautiously.

I shook my head.

“Go back to sleep, Steve.”

He grumbled a bit, but he didn’t have to be told twice.

I got up, got undressed from my concert attire, and redressed in some workout clothes and went for a run to clear my thoughts. I made two laps around the whole campus, but it still wasn’t enough. I ended up going to the gym where I spent another two hours lifting weights until my arms were quaking and I just could not take it anymore. It was probably stupid to work myself so hard when we had our first playoff game next week, but I felt like I deserved this. Every spark of pain and gasping breath was a reminder of where I was and what I was trying to accomplish out here. I had to stop letting myself get so distracted by my emotions.

I made my way over to the stadium. Nobody had made me give back my keys from winter break so I let myself in and sat down in the stands to wait. I’d let my phone die in my pocket so I had no idea what time everyone would be back. There was nothing to do but sit there and stare at the ice, reflecting on my massive fuck up.

The whole point of us going to that gala in the first place was to network and pick up sponsors for the playoff tournament. We were supposed to dress up in suits and mingle with rich people and tell them how dedicated we were to our game and to winning a championship title. It definitely wouldn’t reflect well on us that our star player couldn’t have even been bothered to make it down there and meet with them in person.

Finally, after an indeterminate amount of waiting, the doors creaked open, signaling that I was no longer alone. A few seconds later, Coach Hawthorne came into view. He had his blazer open and was loosening his red tie as he walked. He looked tired and a lot older than he usually did. I stood up and waved to get his attention. He stopped moving and locked eyes with me. I sat back down and waited for him to come join me in the stands. Neither of us spoke for a while. We just collectively stared down at the ice.

“Are you okay?” Hawthorne asked finally.

I nodded.

“Do you have a good reason for flaking out on us?”

I shook my head.

“No, sir. I just stayed out late and overslept.”

Hawthorne sighed and leaned back in his seat.

“Look, kid. I don’t want to lecture you. You’re one of the hardest working players I’ve ever met. You remind me of me when I was young. I know you’re going through something right now. Everyone can tell. You’re constantly flip flopping between deliriously happy and distantly miserable. You probably don’t wanna talk about it, especially not with me. I get that, but you’ve got such a bright future ahead of you. You know that? It’s okay to take some time for yourself and enjoy life while you’re still young enough to do so. If you wanna ditch practices and team breakfasts and a couple of fundraisers every now and then, that’s fine. But make sure you prioritize the things that really matter, okay? You think the MLH lets its players skip out on mandatory events like this?”

I shook my head.

“I want you to text Sal the name of your residence hall and what room you’re in just in case we ever need to find you again. It’s ridiculous that nobody on the team knows that information.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“And I want you to start checking in with Casey once a week. I don’t want you getting injured before or during the tournament.”

I slid down further in my seat.

“Yes, Coach.”

“One more question. Are you prepared for your finals?”

I blinked a few times. “Uh, I think so, yes. I’ve never had trouble with any of my classes before and I understand all of the material.”

Hawthorne nodded.

“Good. Glad to hear it. We’ve got tutors lined up if any of you needs them.”

There was another loaded silence.

“How did the event go?” I asked finally.

There was another sigh.

“Don’t worry about that now. Just go get some rest. I expect you at practice ten minutes early for suicides.”

I hung my head. That was definitely not going to feel good on my sore legs, but again, that’s what I deserved.

“Yes, Coach.”

I stood up and slowly walked out of the building. In the parking lot, the red and yellow bus that had taken the team to the gala was still parked, but my teammates were long gone, all except for Sal who was leaning against it with his arms crossed.

“Hey, man,” he said when he saw me. “What happened today? We were all worried about you. Are you all right?”

I looked at the genuine worry in his eyes and just shook my head. He frowned and then reached over to give me a quick hug.

“I know I’m probably sounding like a broken record by now, but we’re here for you if you need us.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and nodded.

“Let me take you back to campus,” Sal said. The drive was short, but the silence between us felt miles wide. If I were a braver person I would have just spilled everything to Sal right then and there, but I didn’t. Because I wasn’t brave. I was a coward. And a fuckup. And a lousy boyfriend.

Once I was back in my room and my phone had charged a little bit, I texted Sal my room number and residence hall like Coach had asked and ignored everything else, including a good night text from Mark.

I was calling bullshit on every romantic comedy that involved someone leading double lives. There was nothing cute or funny about this. I felt like I was cheating on Mark with hockey; and vice versa in a weird contextual way.

I decided that after playoffs were over, win or lose, I was going to tell him. Consequences be damned. The fallout couldn’t possibly be worse than what I was already going through.