Page 95 of One More Time

“Because I leave after this, and who knows what we will be after…”

When I was met with silence, I pulled my gaze from Tyler to meet Jarman’s sad eyes. “Sometimes, we just can’t have what we love,” he said matter-of-factly. I followed his attention to Mouse.

I returned the squeeze of a shoulder. “What are you going to do about that?”

Jarman didn’t even flinch, not needing me to indicate what I meant by “that.” He simply stared at his best friend with a sense of longing that made my heart ache even more. “He’s going to work for his father, and his girlfriend is moving in with him. I don’t know what I’ll do yet—either a farm team or coaching. Either way, I’ll be saying goodbye to Mouse. If I’m on a farm team, I’ll keep my sexuality on the down low. If I wind up coaching, maybe I’ll try to see if I can meet someone.”

Sadness filled me on behalf of my friend, “Regardless, I hope that you get to experience being with someone you’re attracted to, Jarman.”

“Who said I haven’t?” he snorted. “I just don’t parade it around like you do.”

I huffed a laugh, “And does Mouse know?”

Jarman didn’t even look at me. “No, there’s no point.”

I nodded, a twinge of regret settling in that my friend had weathered this storm alone. “I’ve got your back, Jar. Wherever life takes you, just a call away, man.”

Jarman responded with a playful pat on my ass, saying, “Same here. Glad we’re wrapping it up this way.“

Yet again, I found myself merely observing. My feet mechanically carried me towards the rink, but my mind seemed to linger behind, watching the scene unfold. It played out like a film—the love of my life caught up in conversation with Amon, my team hitting the ice together. The mental reel continued to capture those moments as we geared up, preparing for what could very well be the last game we’d ever play together.

That wasn’t our last game.

It was evident from the first period. Every damn player had a surge of energy, making us quicker and sharper on the ice. An invisible thread seemed to connect us, flawlessly guiding us through our plays. Backward passes clicked and sliced through Minnesota’s traffic. Minnesota was playing a hard game. Tyler was their primary target—but he was unfazed. He dodged their attempts, hitting back with hard hits—regulated, of course. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think our Aussie hotshot had practiced as a lineman with the way he took down opponents.

Sure, we had our faults. I took a penalty for high sticking—a total accident I might add… he ran into the stick. Tyler got a penalty for tripping when a defenseman’s legs got caught up in his stick. I watched as Tyler, true to form, unleashed a torrent of curses during his two minutes in the penalty box.

In those moments when we were off the ice, their star forward managed to score and put them on the board with a two-to-one lead. But they didn’t know what they’d asked for by putting Tyler Riley in the penalty box—he emerged with a vengeance. His determination for perfection led him to seize a breakaway opportunity, showcasing his speed. He shot the puck right past the goalie, securing a two-goal lead before the buzzer sounded. Things looked good, but in hockey time, minutes felt like hours.

I was on Tyler’s right-wing, observing as he charged toward the net with a Minnesota defenseman hot on his heels. I checked him, letting Tyler slide the puck to Colton. Cheers erupted as Colton scored, but no one got a chance to celebrate before a defenseman pinned Tyler against the boards. He barely flinched as his head hit the plexiglass. Instead, he spun and threw a punch.

Tyler was swearing bloody murder as I came in behind and cross-checked the defenseman’s back. Like any hockey game, the sound of the final buzzer sent both teams erupting into a brawl. Hands grabbed at my shirt, bodies collided against my helmet, but my focus remained on Tyler, who was still stuck against the glass. That oversized defenseman rained down punches on him until his helmet flew off. Eventually, the refs intervened, and I reached Tyler, his eyes ablaze with fury, pointing towards number 25. The only injury to be seen was a small cut just above his eyebrow—that matched my own scar.

The feeling of my glove-free hand against his cheek brought him back down to earth.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Aus. We did it!” Unlike the exuberant celebration around us, Tyler’s face remained emotionless as he let the team revel in victory.

Chapter fifty-one

Tyler

My head was still vibrating from that hit. As I stood under the locker room shower and watched bright red blood swirl around the drain, I convinced myself it was the result of the fury behind that punch. The team’s concerned glances flickered over me a couple of times. I couldn’t muster any joy at our victory. Not when it meant we were one game closer to witnessing Hunter leave.

I turned off the tap and wrapped a cheap white towel around my waist. Something about a locker room shower just never made me feel clean enough, and I was itching to get back to the hotel for a proper clean.

As I walked through the dressing area, I heard my name amongst the persistent ringing in my ears. I turned to see Coach glaring at me furiously.

“Get over here, Riley!” he barked. “You’re bleeding all over the place. You need Baxter to check that out.”

I tried to nod, but it only made my head swim, so I silently made my way to the team’s physician. My split eyebrow had become a familiar spot for such hits. Could I truly be a hockey player without a scar in place of a piercing there?

“How are you feeling?” Baxter inquired. There was no way I was going to bring up the way my head was swimming—he’d instantly bench me.

“Fine. Just bandage me so I can rest up for tomorrow.” I attempted a smile, hoping it hid the pain behind my eyes.

Baxter looked at me hard, and I gave him the eye contact he was after. I sighed with relief when he gave me a clear.

I got myself dressed, telling the team I would only celebrate once we were victorious against Merrimack the next day.

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