Chapter Thirty

“We have to lock this up,” Carry said, his voice commanding the attention of the locker room. “We’ll secure a place in the playoffs. Maybe not as easy as it could have been, but I have faith in all of you.”

Dan kept his eyes on the floor, grateful for the pep talk, but sick to his stomach with worry. He’d clawed his way out of his points slump, even with his off-ice issues, but he wasn’t playing as well as he could. He had taken to ignoring everyone who wasn’t a member of the team, though he spent a lot of time dodging Ian and Rafael when he could, in an effort to focus on his hockey. The last time he’d been proud of himself, of his hockey skills, was the Olympics, and as much as those memories were painful for him now, he wanted that feeling back. 

The media were still riding his sexuality like every day was a new scoop, blaming his points, his play, his attitude on the fact that he was attracted to guys instead of girls. It made no sense, but Dan made sure to keep his mouth shut, to get over comments made about his sexuality during play or in the postgame, outright ignoring reporters who seemed inclined to ask him whether the rumors were true.

Most of the time they weren’t, people claiming he’d slept with them or asked them on a date. Dan hadn’t been out for a drink, hadn’t left his apartment in days, so it was as much a surprise to him as his friends that he was seeing someone.

His phone was the most annoying thing in his life, always buzzing or lighting up, and as much as Dan tried to ignore it, he had to check the messages to make sure Chris or Gary didn’t need to get a hold of him.

“Right,” Carry said, dragging Dan’s attention back to the locker room. “Let’s get this period done, let’s get this game done.”

The third period could either be a grind or a breeze, depending on how well the Hunters were playing. Some games they would have a slump right through to the third, only managing to score and keep the puck down the right end in the dying minutes. Other games, they’d have a lead that they gave away like candy, and it would be gutting.

Ian’s line went on a shift, making a good attempt at a rush on the goal. Dan found himself against the boards, watching, feeling in synch with the stadium as everyone let out a groan when the puck hit the post and rebounded away from the goal.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Miliet was on the next line, and though he had been a good center once, he wasn’t the best at faceoffs, and he didn’t synch well with his line mates. Dan would feel sorry for them, but he didn’t synch with them either and was grateful the coaches hadn’t put him on a line with them. When they failed to sink a goal, Dan took the ice with his line mates.

Dan didn’t like faceoffs, as a rule, stats showing just how awful he was at times, but he felt a hidden drive within him, wanting to get the puck in that net – whether it was him doing it, Alaric or Rafael. Either way, he wanted to make those playoffs and if he had to win a faceoff to do it, he’d dig his skates in and get the job done.

Shoving the puck back to Alaric, Dan skated like the wind, taking a check and spinning, heading right back for the goal. Rafael was already there, his stick work so good Dan could cry, and then he was sliding the puck through the defenseman, hitting Dan’s tape. Dan wasn’t open, was a beat away from taking another check, so he aimed the puck for open space, aware of Alaric on the periphery. He thought he’d made a mistake, misjudged something, but then Alaric was hitting the puck and it was in the back of the net, familiar music lighting up the stadium and Dan punched the air, joined Alaric in a celebration hug.

The rest of the game seemed to pass in a blur; after Alaric’s goal, Ian managed to get an open net goal and put the Hunters further into the lead. They tumbled off the ice, celebrating the Hunters first playoff run in years that wasn’t predicated on being a wild card, content that even if they crashed out in the first round, they had made New York proud.

Dan had made himself proud.

It wasn’t the end of it, his life wasn’t going to stop just because they’d made the playoffs, but it was a start.

“There’s already an article up,” Ian said proudly, when Dan came out of the shower, pulling on his shirt. “Look.”

Dan took the phone Ian shoved in his face, pleased with the write-up on the game, especially when they managed to write the whole thing without mentioning his sexuality or his status as the only gay in the league. It was as he was getting ready to hand the phone back that he spotted something else in the links.

The picture was of Bobby, already enough to have Dan’s blood rushing in his ears, but it was the woman hanging off his arm, the besotted look on her face and the headline—Bobby Lake and New Love?—that made Dan’s stomach roll dangerously. He thrust the phone back, muttering something about having to go, and grabbed his bag.

Fuck, shit.

He checked his phone as soon as he was in the front seat of his car, dropping his forehead onto the steering column. There were a few messages, and Dan was unsurprised to see one from Bobby.

Bobby: I need to explain.

A few days ago, Dan would have hurried to answer a message from Bobby, but right now he wished he’d never met him.

Dan: We don’t have anything to say to each other, do we?

Bobby: I wasn’t fair. I know you’ve seen the picture and it’s not what you think.

Dan: I really don’t care about the picture, Bobby. I’m tired of being ignored when it’s not right for you. Please don’t talk to me again.

It was gutting, hurt worse than anything Dan could remember, but he was just going to have to get over Bobby.