The following day, when Tristan stepped onto the ice for the Venom’s morning skate, the chorus of Van Halen’s “Hot For Teacher” suddenly started blaring at full volume over the arena’s speakers.
Tristan stopped so abruptly he lost his balance, and would’ve sprawled onto the ice face-first had a hand not shot out to steady him. He turned to see Ryu gripping his biceps and staring at him in concern. All around them, their teammates were snickering, and Tristan could actually feel the blood draining from his head. Everything went fuzzy around the edges—the ads on the boards, the rows of maroon-upholstered seats, the bright lights overhead—and Tristan feared for a second his knees might give out.
This was it: the reason he’d feared coming out from the very beginning.
Then Morley appeared, grinning his broad, unrepentant grin, his blue eyes shining with mirth. “Sorry, Holtzy. I couldn’t help myself.” He laughed, jovial as always, and clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Besides, this song has a kick-ass guitar solo. You should see me rock it out on Guitar Hero.”
Tristan dug up a chuckle from somewhere, though it emerged sounding strained. His mounting anxiety began to recede, and as he looked around, noting the complete lack of malice on his teammates’ faces, he was able to push it down even further.
These were his friends. They hadn’t acted out of spite. Morley was behaving in typical Morley fashion, and Tristan knew with total clarity he would’ve done the same thing and acted the same way had Tristan’s hot professor turned out to be a woman instead of a man. It wasn’t about his sexuality at all.
Relief surged in the wake of that realization.
If Tristan’s teammates hadn’t felt comfortable enough to joke with him anymore, then he’d have cause for concern. This was nothing more than the usual teasing harassment that went on among friends—especially with a man-child like Morley around. It made Tristan hopeful any lingering awkwardness might ease back to normalcy in time.
Clancy appeared at the mouth of the tunnel leading to the dressing room. “Turn that shit off!” he yelled. “It’s an affront to my fucking eardrums!” The music stopped abruptly. “That’s better.” He waved his arm. “Come on, boys. Let’s run through some of the plays we discussed. I want to see how the changes look on the third and fourth lines.”
One of the assistant coaches started chucking pucks onto the ice as the team split into smaller groups.
Tristan moved to his usual position at the point opposite Morley. Within seconds, he fell into his familiar routine, his brain switching over to hockey mode. And when Bellzie skated by to bump his shoulder, shooting Tristan a blinding smile as he passed, Tristan was able to return it without having to pretend.
After practice and showers, he and Ryu bowed out of the larger team lunch to meet at their favorite Thai restaurant.
Ryu scrutinized him over plates of fragrant appetizers and cups of hot tea. “Are you all right? I thought you were going to pass out when that song started playing. I would’ve tried to stop him if I’d known what he planned.”
Tristan stirred the peanut dipping sauce with a piece of his spring roll. “It’s okay. I’m fine. I realized pretty quickly it wasn’t meant to be malicious. Morley is Morley, you know?”
“Oh, yes, I do know,” Ryu said, dry as dust.
“I think he’s trying to be supportive in his own way. I’d rather have him joking with me than ignoring me like some of the other guys.” Tristan sighed. “But, I mean, it’s all brand-new. No one’s been really awful or anything. It could be a lot worse.”
“True.” Ryu tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “When I was in college, several of the guys on the team knew about me. A few of them gave me grief, but my college was fairly liberal, so for the most part, it wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be. We go out there, we play our games like everybody else.”
“Yeah. I wish it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe someday it won’t be. I’m still the same guy.”
“I’ve thought about doing it too. Coming out.” Ryu smiled wryly. “For moral support, if nothing else.”
Tristan shook his head. “You don’t have to do that for me. It’s like you told me before: do it only if and when you’re ready.”
“It wouldn’t be for you. Not entirely, anyway. But maybe I’ll wait until I find my own Professor Cruz.”
Tristan grinned. “I’m sure we can locate another scowly gay Puerto Rican if we look hard enough.”
“Ha.” Ryu’s lips twisted. “From what you’ve told me, he and I are way too alike. We’d strangle each other in a week. What I need is someone more like you.”
Tristan’s face warmed, and he ducked his head. How Ryu had him pegged, he couldn’t guess. Maybe it was his weird goalie senses. Sometimes Ryu seemed all-knowing.
“Yeah.” Ryu’s voice sounded almost wistful. “Like you. But maybe brattier. I do enjoy a good challenge.”
Tristan didn’t even know what to say to that, so he stuffed another spring roll into his mouth, making Ryu chuckle.
“That’s a pretty blush. I’ve wanted to tell you before.”
Tristan looked up, startled, to find Ryu smirking at him, his dark eyes gleaming.
“I love how bashful you are sometimes,” Ryu said. “Those sweet reactions are like catnip to a certain type of man, and from what I’ve heard about your Professor Cruz, I think we have similar tastes.”
Ryu nodded sagely, his feathery bangs falling over his forehead. His hair was long enough now he often wore it in a little bun during practice. Tristan thought it made him appear even more rock star-ish. He wondered if Ryu knew he had a following on Twitter for his “water bottle porn” moments—the times he removed his mask during stoppages of play to cool himself off by squirting water over his head and then shaking out his thick, wet hair. The NHL had twice included shots of it in their “Slo-Mo Monday” compilations. Tristan had never admitted it aloud, but with Ryu’s perfect cheekbones and strong, angular jaw, he agreed it looked seductive as fuck.
Still. Tristan flicked a chunk of cabbage across the table at him, which Ryu, of course, dodged. “Asshole.”
“Guilty as charged.” Ryu’s expression turned serious. “I’m proud of you, though. Truly. You’ve had a lot going on with the classes and everything. Now you’ve come out to your family and the team. You’re one of the good guys, Tristan. You deserve good things.”
Tristan blushed again, but this time, he held Ryu’s gaze. “Thanks. You do too.”
“Okay, enough with the sappiness. It’s as uncomfortable for me as it is for you. I feel like I have to go be rude to someone to make up for it.”
Tristan laughed, a loud burst that drew the attention of the people at the surrounding tables. “Don’t worry,” he wheezed when he got himself under control. “I won’t tell anyone you were nice. Wouldn’t want to spoil your rep.”
Ryu smiled back at him—a real, rare smile—and Tristan knew right then, deep in his heart, as long as he had the support of his friends, things were going to be fine.
Now all he needed to do was get his man back.