Page 40 of Interference

“That makes total sense. I had to change duty stations every three years, and it was rough. Makes it hard to feel settled, you know?”

Anthony actually brightened a little. “Yes! Exactly! I’m even afraid to make friends in a new place, because for all I know, I’ll be on a plane next week to play for some other team.”

I grimaced. “It happens that fast?”

“Oh, yeah. When I came to Seattle, it was at the trade deadline. I played a home game in Boston on Tuesday, was on a plane to Seattle on Wednesday, and played my first game here on Saturday.” He sipped his water. “Would’ve been even sooner if they’d had a game Thursday or Friday.”

“Holy shit! Don’t you even get a chance to practice with your new team? Get settled in? Anything?”

“You get at least one practice in. That, or a morning skate. But they expect you to hit the ground running. I just happened to come in when they had a couple of days between games.”

I whistled. “Hockey is intense.”

Anthony laughed and raised his glass. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” His shoulders fell again. “Well, aside from the part where I’m stuck in limbo with my boyfriend.” Before I could say anything about that, though, he rolled his shoulders and seemed to come back to life. “There’s an afternoon game on. If you want to watch it, I can tell you more about the sport.”

I recognized a subject change when I heard it, and I really did want to learn more about hockey, so I smiled. “Sure. Sounds great.”

The way his face lit up made my spine tingle. I kind of wanted to throttle his boyfriend next time I saw the guy. Who landed a man like this and made him that miserable?

You’ve got a keeper on your hands, Simon.

How can you be so fucking stupid?

Chapter 11

Anthony

“Aussie. Cars.” Coach gestured sharply at Simon and me. “A moment?”

We exchanged uneasy glances. Then we clomped after Coach, Simon still fastening his chest protector as he walked. Coach took us into the hallway that led to some offices and conference rooms. No reporters or staff lingering out here, which only made my uneasiness intensify. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have around any potential eavesdroppers. And the fact that he wanted to talk to the two of us in private wasn’t a good sign either.

Alone in the relatively quiet hallway, Coach faced us, arms folded across his gray suit jacket. “I need you boys to level with me.” He glanced back and forth between us. “Is there something going on here that I need to know about?”

“No,” Simon replied.

“Everything’s fine,” I said.

Coach’s lips tightened. “Is that right? Because it doesn’t seem fine.” He zeroed in on me, and even though I towered over him in my skates, I had the distinct feeling of someone peering down at me. “You haven’t been yourself since training camp. So is the problem”—he gestured at Simon, then me—“or should I be dropping you down to the third D pair until you show me you’re worth the minutes you’ve been playing? Maybe park your ass on the bench for a while?” He lifted his chin a little and narrowed his eyes. “Armstrong has been getting antsy up there in the owner’s box, so I’m sure he’d be happy to step in while you sit for a few games.”

I gulped. “No, Coach. I don’t have any excuses. I’ve got it, though. I do.”

The skepticism in his lined face made my stomach churn with both shame and anger. I hated that I was letting my team down enough that Coach had to start threatening to drop me to the third pair or healthy scratch me. I hated that Simon and I couldn’t just be honest and say, “Coach, we’re in a bad spot, and we need some space to work it out,” because one of us—most likely me—would be on a plane to somewhere else so fast my head would spin.

My gut clenched. I couldn’t say that, but what did Simon have to lose? He was firmly on the second offensive line. He might get chewed out and have to keep his future relationships off the team’s radar for a while, but otherwise, he’d be fine. Wouldn’t he?

Coach turned his frustrated glare on Simon. “What about you? Is it just a coincidence that you’re both off your game at the same time?”

“Just a coincidence,” Simon confirmed. He shifted his weight on his skates, a wince flickering across his expression. “I might need to do a little more rehab on my knee, too.”

He probably wasn’t lying about that; he’d lost half a season to a torn ACL, and it still gave him grief sometimes. Like a lot of hockey players, he’d play right through the pain even when he knew he shouldn’t. Sometimes it would fuck up his game before it fucked up his skating, simply because it would be sore enough to interfere with his concentration. He’d mostly been playing well this season, but there’d definitely been some games where he’d been mentally someplace else. How much of that was his knee and how much was our bullshit, I honestly couldn’t say.

Coach exhaled. “Fine. Talk to Nick and see about getting it checked out again. You think you’re still good to play tonight?”

Simon nodded, then admitted, “Maybe not my usual minutes.”

“All right.” Coach sighed. “We’ll see how it goes. But I want confirmation from Nick that you’re good to go for tonight, or else I’m scratching you. You understand me?”

“Yeah, Coach.”

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