Walking back into East River Arena, it felt like I’d been away for years. I imagined it would all be changed, but the only thing that was different was that the security guard stepped out of his office and shook my hand. Normally we just exchanged nods and smiles, but he seemed determined for me to know that he was pleased I was there.

“Good to see you back,” he announced, and pumped my hand furiously. “The boys needed you last game.”

The Railers had already played two of their pre-season games, with their last one tomorrow, and had been soundly beaten by the Bruins, who shouldn’t have been able to show us up quite so much. A seven–three loss wasn’t something we needed to worry about – this was the pre-season, a way of getting the skating back in our bones. Still. Seven–three was more of a loss than had been expected.

“I’m not sure they did,” I answered. I wasn’t a key player like Ten, around whom the team was getting stronger, I was the hard worker who did his bit. The security guard – Emmet, according to his badge – was clearly placing too much value on my position as a third line winger.

“Our wing is lacking,” he said without hesitation. “You’re a worker, a playmaker – hurry up back on the team.”

We shook hands again, and for a moment I had to fight this insane need to grab the man close and hug him hard. Instead I smiled back at him and pivoted to take the corridors down to the locker rooms. I had PT after this first skate back on the ice, and I knew that Colin Pike would be there; the offensive coach was the one tasked with working on my fitness. I’d probably set one blade on the ice and fall on my ass like a fucking moron.

I stripped my clothes and began to put on my uniform from the under-layers up, taking careful time to make sure my knee brace was secure. Light skating – that was what I’d been told to do today. The doc, Colin, my PT, they all said I was ready to get back on the ice, but there was no date for playing.

Thank god. I was shaky on this damn knee, but at least there was no pain.

A couple of the guys were in the locker room, but I didn’t think anything of it. Stan was there, muttering under his breath in Russian, likely some kind of goalie incantation to the gods of the net, but he did look up and nod as I came in. Then there was Arvy, semi-naked as usual, earbuds in, humming some tune that sounded way off-key. He at least took his earbuds out and shook my hand.

“Good to have you back, Deets,” he said, and pulled me in for a sideways bro-hug.

Ten ambled in, fully attired, waddling a little on his skates, a broad grin on his face, his lips suspiciously puffy, like he’d been kissed a lot recently. Which was borne out when Jared followed him in looking all kinds of disheveled.

“Deets!” Ten shouted, and grabbed me in a full-body hug. I hugged him back. I didn’t know why any of these guys were there at this ungodly hour of the morning, but I couldn’t deny how happy I was to see them.

With my practice jersey in place, I made my way to the ice. Colin, offensive coach extraordinaire, was already there, sitting on a bench, hunched over his phone. He looked up at me and nodded.

This was the man who would be working with me to keep me a Railer. This was the guy who held my career in his hands. If he turned around and said I was done, then that was it, I was done. He inclined his head toward the ice, and I knew what he was saying.

The ice is yours; see how it goes.

For the longest time I stood on the rubber, cricking my neck, testing the feel of the stick in my hands, inhaling the icy air and grinning like an idiot.

The first glide, the press of blade on ice, and it felt like I’d never been away. The gentle motion as I skated forward, not too much weight on my bum knee, was soothing and quiet. The cold of the air touched my skin, and it was familiar and right. I skated in lazy circles, the crossovers in the corners a little cautious at first. Each time I pushed harder, and I was up to a good speed and there was no ache yet.

Best of all, having kept up with the cardio meant I wasn’t breathing hard, at least not yet.

I sensed the others on the ice, and for a moment I was disappointed that I had to share the space, and then I realized what they were doing and why they were there. Each of them was skating alongside me, even Stan, and they were slow to be at my pace.

My eyes stung, but I wasn’t going to give in and cry like a fucking idiot on the ice.

They talked as we skated, hockey gossip, trade rumors, teams they liked for the cup, teams they wished they could beat, teams they guessed would beat them.

The conversation only grew tight when Ten mentioned something about his parents visiting and Stan went really quiet and nearly fell over, sliding into the boards in one goalie-kit mess. The first thing you do when a teammate falls on the ice is to chirp them, but something about his expression screamed for us all to back off.

So we did.

“His mama refuse to come from Russia,” Toly confided as we held back.

The session was about me. Pike took me through some gentle exercises. I wasn’t right, not fixed, and I was far from able to play in a game, but the cat-calling from the guys, and their tacit support, made me think I could be back there doing this and not make an idiot of myself.

When I came off the ice I was high on life, not on meds, and I couldn’t wait to share it with someone.

In the locker room, I checked my phone. My parents had texted. My mom was all about the pride she had in me. Dad was all about pain levels and included all kinds of medical questions. I sent back a group text to them with enough of both subjects to keep them both happy.

And then there was Trent’s text.

A simple heart emoji.

We’d talked the night before, about agents managing my social media accounts; I’d been put right in the middle of rumors about me and Trent, even though the program wasn’t even out yet. A few grainy stills that I needed someone to manage. His agent said she’d take me on if I was interested. I needed to give her an answer.

“You want to come up for a chat?” Layton asked from the doorway.

My immediate answer? No, I really didn’t, but there was a lot more to this complete shitfest that was my life than just the knee and being outed; there was Marianna and her blackmail.

I nodded, and after a shower I headed to his office. He had a much larger space now, and a window, and one thing I noticed was that he wasn’t so nervous-looking when I closed the door behind me. I always felt too big around him, like I was one of the hockey giants who intimidated him.

“Have a seat,” he said, and slid a coffee across the table. “So, I want to take this to the authorities.”

“What?” I was horrified at the idea of this being taken outside the small circle of trust I had going on. “No, we have to deal with this ourselves.”

Layton held up a hand to stop me, and I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Even if my instincts were shouting at me to stop.

“I’d like to file an official complaint.”

I sat back in my chair. This was going to be official. “What if I just pay her?” I said again.

Layton steepled his fingers and frowned at me. “You know that’s the wrong thing to do.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s making you hesitate?”

“I haven’t told Trent,” I said after a while.

“Ah,” Layton murmured. “You think he’ll take it badly?”

“No,” I said instantly, and I knew I was right. “He won’t care what I did before, but I don’t want to be the one who fucks up this show he’s making with things from my past.”

“Okay, then I have another option.”

That filled me with hope; any chance of some other way of dealing with this was a good thing. Right.

Layton opened a fat envelope; photos, papers and a CD slipped onto his desk.

“What is that?”

He pushed it all toward me, and I turned around the first of the photos. The contents were grainy, but it was clearly Marianna with two guys. I couldn’t make out who the men were.

“She’s done it before; you weren’t some random guy she dated and tried to frame.”

Weird how that news didn’t shock me. Marianna and I had dated for maybe four weeks total, and the sex had been on from day one. She’d always pushed for a third, and hell, I’d been up for it.

“I was a mark.”

Layton shuffled the papers and another photo, and handed them to me. “Her real name is Susan Kenton, US passport, and she’s known to the police. This is the first time she’s targeted hockey, but she’s worked the West Coast and down in Dallas with the Cowboys.”

So Marianna wasn’t who she said she was. She wasn’t French at all, and she was someone who used sex as a way to make money. I’d been conned, and somehow that shifted what I’d done. Of course I’d been in a threesome – a pretty hot one, to be fair – but at least the filming hadn’t been done to expose that to the world; it had been done to get me to pay.

“Did the Cowboys pay?”

Layton pulled all the papers together. “This is where it gets interesting. She’s pushed it too far now, and they’ve called in the cops. If you did the same, it wouldn’t be something where it was your word against hers. It would be real.”

And I’d have to tell Trent. Now instead of later.

“And the Railers can handle that?” I asked, rather than focusing on Trent.

Layton sat back in his seat, “If that’s what you want to do, the team will find a way to manage any fallout.”

When I left the arena, I drove back to my apartment, but didn’t stop. Instead I headed east to Philly. If this was going to be public, I needed to tell Trent, and my parents, in that order.

He was on the ice, dressed head to toe in black, skating with a shorter version of himself. I couldn’t see him properly from where I was standing, and I didn’t make it obvious I was there, skulking at the back of the rink and waiting for the lesson to be over.

I should have known that he would spot me – he had this ability to see me even when I was hiding. He gestured for me to come down, and I did, every step feeling like an ax was about to fall.

When I reached him, the kisses helped with my nerves, but I clearly wasn’t as into it as I thought I was – either that or Trent was crazy intuitive.

“What?” he asked, and stepped back. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?”

He went from bright, happy Trent to unsure in a second. Taking me by the hand, he led me away from the ice and down a corridor. He switched on lights and shut a door, and I realized we had somehow made it to his manager’s office.

“You should sit down,” I said, and encouraged him to his chair. But he pushed me away and stubbornly refused to sit.

“If we’re done, then we’re done,” he said flatly, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just tell me and leave.”

“What? No.”

I pulled him to me, and for a moment I felt back on track because he was in my arms. Then it hit me again what I needed to tell him. What if what I’d done, what Marianna had done, meant that the reality show was hit?

“It’s me,” I said. “I did something stupid, and there are photos of this threesome.”

Trent eased himself away from me and resumed that position with his arms crossed over his chest, defensive, a little hunched. He looked like I’d kicked him, and I hurried with my explanation.

“The woman I was with videoed it and is looking for money to keep it private. Layton says she’s done it to others, it wasn’t just me, but I’m sorry it happened. Not sorry about the sex, but about being filmed, and it being out there potentially causing an issue for you.”

“You cheated on me,” Trent said, so very softly, his eyes bright and his posture beaten. “You lied to me, just like my stepdad.”

I didn’t understand what he meant. I hadn’t cheated on him; I would never do anything to him that would cause the kind of pain he had on his face.

“No, shit, this was before I even met you.”

He looked at me suspiciously, like he was weighing up the truth of what I was saying.

“I love you. I would never cheat on you, Trent. But I understand if this is too much, if I’ve fucked up.” God, I sounded manic, like I was totally out of control in this, and Trent said nothing back.

The first thing I noticed was that Trent relaxed, his arms now loose at his sides, and he also held himself taller, almost to my chin still in his skates.

“You in a threesome,” he began carefully. “We should so discuss that on camera. Viewers would love that.”

“Huh?” I knew I was standing there like an idiot.

“Or maybe not. I’m guessing this is a police matter?”

“If I make it official, everyone will know.”

Trent shrugged. “Everyone isn’t important. I’m important.” He said the last part with a smirk, and somehow I knew I had my Trent back.

“You can have my money,” I blurted, “for the rink, if anything happens because I fucked up. Hell, you can have it all anyway.”

He blinked at me, then he did that smile thing again, and I was lost. I wasn’t sure who started the kiss first, but the mutually satisfying hand jobs with him still in skates was something I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

“I don’t need your money,” he said.

“But you’ll take it if the rink is hit hard by any of this?”

He could have said no to that. He could have laughed it off, or taken every cent I owned, but he didn’t.

“I’d do it for the kids,” he said.

My first game back, against the physical Flyers, should have made me nervous, but it didn’t. I was pumped from days before. As soon as they said I could start on the twenty-third, I was there, mentally and physically. I’d yet to hear anything official about the Marianna shit, but I’d given a statement, and Trent had been with me the entire time.

We had dinner in the early evening on the day before the game – a kind of meet-the-family thing, which was going okay. I refuse to say it was a perfect meet-up; Trent brought his Lola, and my parents had to deal with my flamboyant boyfriend and his equally colorful grandma dressed from head to toe in orange.

“So you a Railers fan?” Lola said, with as much contempt in her voice as she could muster.

“I’m a fan of whatever team my son plays for,” Mom said, like she was daring Lola to say something back.

“So am I,” Trent piped up, and squeezed my hand under the table.

But it didn’t stop there, because Lola rounded on my dad, who I think was in shock. He’d long ago become used to his son having both boyfriends and girlfriends, but he’d never really met one like Trent before. He’d been polite, but had taken to looking at Trent when he thought Trent wasn’t looking. I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

“What about you?” Lola asked my dad, whose eyes widened at the direct question. I knew my dad’s heart lay with Vancouver, and failing that any other Canadian team, but he was masterful at handling the people in my career.

“Flyers all the way,” he lied.

Lola looked at him, then broke into a wide grin. “You good liar, Mr. Lehmann.”

I brought my hand up to the surface of the table, with Trent’s still grasped in mine, and joined in the laughter, feeling like nothing in my life could go wrong.

One day soon I would have to explain to Mom and Dad about Marianna, but by the time I did maybe it would be nothing more than a shitty memory. I had priorities in my life that weren’t about scheming exes who wanted my money.

Dinner finished at eight and we separated, me back to my place without Trent, but not before I’d kissed him goodbye.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, then waved at me from the cab. I wanted to ask him to come home with me, but I needed sleep, and when I was with Trent? I didn’t sleep.

When I got back to my place, as soon as the door shut on me and I was alone, what was happening the next day flooded me, overwhelmed me, and I had to sit down.

Tomorrow I would be dragging myself onto the ice, and I desperately wanted it to go well. I couldn’t consider the possibility that some hard-ass would check me into the boards, hurt me, take me out. I had to stay focused. I was fast, I was fit, I was on the third line. I could do this.

“You can do this,” Ten said to me when he came back over the boards. He’d already said it to me twice before, but this time he was bright with the excitement of his first shift done and a shot on goal. It hadn’t gone in, but that wasn’t important. I could feel it in my bones that it was just a matter of time.

I looked up at where I knew Trent was sitting, right next to my parents. I’d got the tickets for them myself when they’d demanded to sit in with everyone else and not miles away in a box. I could see Lola, a bright orange dot in a sea of dusky blue.

I felt the tap on my shoulder, heard line change call.

And in a smooth movement, I was over the boards and into my first game in months.