As game time approached, the volume in the dressing room rapidly increased. Tristan tried to stay focused on the words in his microeconomics textbook, but amid laughter and shouts from his teammates, he couldn’t keep his concentration.
Sighing, he slammed the cover shut. Clearly, studying was a lost cause. He’d have to save it for later.
Tristan pushed the book from his lap onto the bench and ground the heels of his fists into his gritty eyes. God, he was exhausted. Calculus formulas and banking statistics spun in his brain. Really, all he wanted to do was burrow under a pile of blankets and stay there for a week. Preferably with Sebastian beside him.
“Hey, Holtzy,” a voice asked, “want to come kick the ball around with us?”
Tristan dropped his hands to see Carts, one of the Venom’s left-wingers, staring at the microeconomics textbook while he tossed a soccer ball back and forth between his palms.
Carts tipped his chin toward the book. “What’s up with that? You going nerd on me, Holtzy?”
Tristan picked up the textbook and shoved it into his stall. “Just putting in some last-minute studying, man. I have an exam on Thursday.”
Carts raised his brows. “An exam? You have gone nerd on me. No wonder you’re always carrying those books around.”
“Yeah, I’m taking a couple of courses at GSU. The new semester started a few weeks ago.” And Tristan already felt like he needed a vacation. Between classes, practice, games, homework, travel, workouts, and squeezing in time with Sebastian, he felt as brittle as thin ice and ready to crack. The winter break hadn’t been nearly long enough.
Carts looked faintly bemused, as most of his teammates did when Tristan talked about his classes. “Okay, well, are you in?”
Bellzie walked up and patted Carts on his gleaming bald head. “Why don’t you go ahead, Carts? I need to talk to Holtzy for a sec.”
“Sure thing, Bellzie.”
Carts left the room to join a few of the others in the corridor, where they were already kicking around a ball and laughing.
Bellzie settled on the bench next to Tristan, so close their shoulders touched. Like Tristan, he was dressed in trainers, loose shorts, and a moisture-wicking shirt that clung to his well-muscled chest in ways Tristan probably shouldn’t be noticing. But hell, being in a relationship didn’t mean Tristan couldn’t look and appreciate. He’d been attracted to Bellzie from the very start. It was hard to ignore him with his curly halo of hair and those bright-blue eyes and the smile that rarely wavered when Bellzie wasn’t on the ice.
“I just wanted to tell you not to let them get to you,” Bellzie said after a moment. “I’ve heard some of the comments about the way you’re always studying. I think we both know nobody means any harm by it, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t taking them seriously. I think it’s admirable you’re going back for your degree—and a few of the other guys do too, even if they haven’t said. It takes a huge amount of dedication to split your time between hockey and school. I know it can’t be easy lugging those textbooks around on airplanes and busses and losing sleep and taking shit from your teammates. I’m proud of you.”
Tristan swallowed around the sudden thickness in his throat. “Thanks,” he croaked.
Bellzie flung an arm around him, squeezing briefly. “If there’s anything I can do to lighten your load, let me know. You’re going to crush that exam, no problem. For now, focus on the game. One thing at a time, okay?”
Tristan nodded. Bellzie clapped him on the back before going over to Stewie, one of the alternate captains, and starting up a quiet conversation.
“One thing at a time.”
Tristan nodded again, this time to himself, and went out into the corridor to join his teammates for a bit of hallway soccer before warm-ups started.
The game ended in a four-three win over the Chicago Windhawks. Tristan notched an early assist and the winning goal in the last few minutes of the third period. Once the final buzzer sounded, he head-bumped Ryu, who’d started in net, with an exuberant laugh and a pat to the side of Ryu’s mask.
He was running high on endorphins, which kept the exhaustion at bay for a while, but as he showered and the energy faded, he was grateful it’d been a matinee game and he could nap for a bit before meeting Sebastian for dinner. Otherwise, he might fall asleep at the concert Sebastian was taking him to afterward.
Ryu caught Tristan on his way out of the locker room. “Are you coming with us later? A bunch of the guys want to meet for dinner and drinks tonight. Morley’s picking me up at seven.”
Tristan shook his head and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them. “Not tonight. I have a date, actually.” He lowered his voice, and added, “With the professor I told you about before.”
Ryu’s eyes widened slightly. “So you made your move, huh?”
“Only after my final presentation, but yeah. We’ve been seeing each other since the end of August, and it’s . . . it’s great.”
“Nice.” Ryu gave him a small smile. “You kept that pretty quiet, huh? Well, have fun playing naughty schoolboy with your professor. I’ll tell the other guys you’re busy if they ask.”
Tristan laughed. “Good lookin’ out. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It was new, you know?”
Ryu snorted. “No worries.”
With a fist bump, they parted ways. Tristan drove home, texted Sebastian, and indulged in a brief nap before forcing himself to study for another hour. When he couldn’t take another second of mind-numbing monetary policy, he showered and started preparing for his date.
Sebastian had surprised him with tickets to see Zephyr, a band that described themselves as being “Led Zeppelin inspired.” Tristan had been looking forward to the concert all week. More than that, he was anticipating the three days off until the Venom had another game. There’d be practices, of course, but aside from an exam on Thursday, Tristan didn’t have much to do for his classes. He’d have time with Sebastian and time for sleep—two things he desperately needed.
Sebastian pulled up to Tristan’s apartment building at half past six. Without stopping to think, Tristan leaned over to give him a slow, thorough kiss.
When Sebastian tried to draw back, Tristan chased his mouth, making Sebastian laugh and lightly pat his cheek. “Later, Mr. Holt.”
For dinner, they went to a pub not too far from Terminal West. The place had a loud, rowdy atmosphere, cold beer, and fantastic Reuben sandwiches piled high with corned beef and melted Swiss cheese. Tristan was enjoying himself, laughing at a story about one of Sebastian’s students, when Sebastian’s attention suddenly shifted to something over his shoulder.
Curious, Tristan turned his head—and his stomach dropped so fast and hard he worried what he’d eaten of his sandwich might come spewing right back up.
“So, this is your professor?” Ryu asked.
He was standing in the aisle next to their table . . . which meant Tristan’s teammates probably weren’t far behind.
Oh fuck oh fuck.
Tristan tried to summon a response, and then sat there gaping like a largemouth bass when the words failed him.
Sebastian held out a hand to Ryu. “Sebastian Cruz.”
Ryu accepted the handshake and introduced himself. If he was surprised to discover Tristan’s mystery professor was a guy, he didn’t show it.
“I’ve watched you play.” Sebastian’s mouth quirked in a small smile. “I like you better than the other goalie.”
Ryu gave a startled laugh, and Tristan finally snapped out of his daze.
“Sorry.” He gestured across the table belatedly. “Yeah, this is Seb.” Tristan cleared his throat and met Ryu’s eyes with a beseeching look. Please don’t be pissed. Please don’t say anything. I’ll explain later.
Ryu clasped Tristan’s shoulder in an uncommon display of physical support. “Well, I’ll let you guys finish. We’re on the other side of the bar. I saw you as I was heading back from the restroom. Thought I’d say hello.” He didn’t have to continue for Tristan to hear the rest of his unspoken message: and warn you we were here.
“Crazy that we’d all end up at the same place.” Tristan chuckled awkwardly.
“Yeah.” Ryu nodded at Sebastian, releasing Tristan’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
When he left, Tristan turned back to Sebastian with his lower lip trapped between his teeth.
“Do you want to leave?” Sebastian asked.
Tristan hesitated before shaking his head jerkily. “No. No, it’s fine. If they see us, we’re just two friends having dinner, right?”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He glanced away from Tristan, toward the side of the pub where Ryu and the others sat.
“Let’s go,” he said after a long, tense moment. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable. The venue should be open by now. We’ll have a drink there.”
Deep, almost dizzying relief washed through Tristan, followed immediately by guilt. He knew he’d hurt Sebastian with the friend comment. He’d been aiming for lighthearted to try to cut the tension, but clearly, he’d missed the mark by a mile.
Sebastian paid the bill and they managed to leave the pub without any of Tristan’s teammates noticing. Or at least none of them called out to him if they did.
Tristan’s heart was racing to the point where he felt shaky, and his palms were coated in sweat as he settled into the passenger seat of the GTO. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, scrambling for something to say as Sebastian fired up the car.
Tristan failed to think of anything—again. Excruciating silence descended between them as Sebastian drove to Terminal West.
After Sebastian cut the engine, Tristan reached over to touch his arm. “Seb. Seb, I’m sorry. I—”
Sebastian didn’t even look at him. “Later, Tristan. Please . . . not right now.”
He opened the door and got out of the car before Tristan could answer. Tristan’s stomach churned as he rushed to follow Sebastian inside the venue.
Sebastian went straight to the bar and ordered a Scotch for himself and a beer for Tristan. He handed Tristan the bottle without meeting his eyes, his jaw still tense.
“Thanks,” Tristan said.
Sebastian only tipped his chin and led the way to a free table. A sparse crowd milled around on the main floor, waiting for the opening act to begin.
Only minutes later, the band ambled on stage. The short wait turned out to be a blessing. Sebastian was noticeably gritting his teeth, his hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop. He’d barely spoken before the music started, and outright avoided looking at Tristan directly, even when Tristan asked him a question.
As a result, Tristan couldn’t seem to relax, no matter how much he tried. He couldn’t shake the vague feeling of paranoia, either. It was extremely rare for him to be recognized outside of Philips Arena—so rare, it only ever happened at the rink where the Venom practiced—but what if there was a diehard fan in the crowd? What if Tristan forgot himself and touched Sebastian in an intimate way, an overly familiar way that couldn’t be misconstrued? What if his teammates showed up here? Had Ryu mentioned a concert? Tristan didn’t think so. Then again, they hadn’t really discussed their plans in-depth.
Tristan knew the chances were slim. Low enough it was probably ridiculous to even worry about it. Regardless, he couldn’t shake the fear.
By the time Zephyr came on, Tristan’s shirt was clinging damply to his back, and his neck hurt from keeping his shoulders clenched up tight. The music was great, and Tristan liked the band, but he wasn’t in the proper mind-set to truly appreciate them. Which was a shame. Under different circumstances, he would’ve been standing and applauding with the rest of the crowd. He would’ve loved Zephyr as much as Sebastian had suggested he would.
Sadness swept over Tristan at the thought, especially when combined with Sebastian’s obvious anger and the effort he was making to ignore Tristan’s existence.
“Let’s go,” Sebastian said, leaning close enough to be heard but not quite touching.
The crowd was still clapping and calling for an encore, but Tristan didn’t care about sticking around for another song or three. He’d been ready to leave since they first arrived.
It took them a while to get to the exit. Outside, Tristan inhaled what felt like his first deep breath in hours.
Neither of them spoke as they got into the car.
Tristan considered trying to apologize again, but Sebastian’s frosty demeanor didn’t exactly encourage conversation.
We’ll talk when we get home. Once they were alone in his apartment, they’d work it all out.
It’s going to be fine. Totally fine.
Or so Tristan tried to convince himself.