Page 136 of The Fake Out Flex

I don't have to watch what I say, how I act, or what I eat around Fraser, and it's so freeing. He accepts me for who I am.

I shoot him a smile right as my stomach grumbles. "I know a good place."

18

Fraser

Scores are tied at two-all in the third round of the divisional playoffs, a best-out-of-seven series, with the winning team advancing to the conference championships.

We've lost two games and won once.

If we lose tonight, we're staring down the barrel of the next game being our last one this season, but honestly, my heart's not in it the way it usually is.

Don't get me wrong. I want to win.

The team and I have had a bumpy rollercoaster of a season. We've worked hard just to make it here, and as it stands, we barely scraped into the playoffs.

Culver has fully recovered from his injury and is playing some of the best hockey of his career, proving that age ain't nothing but a number, and Evie and Hannah are watching the home game from the family lounge.

It's been two weeks since I took Evie to visit Dawn and Oakey. We had a Zoom family meeting a few days beforehand to discuss things. Dawn took the lead and repeated what she had said to me. That she was done being hidden away. That while she wouldn't be deliberately seeking out attention, she also wouldn't be hiding anymore, either. We all agreed that if that's what she wanted, then that's what we'd do.

That gave me the all-clear to take Evie to see her, which I was relieved about. I didn't like keeping this part of my life from her.

I've been more honest, more open, with her than I have with anyone else in my life. And it feels right.

Like a missing piece of me has slotted back into place.

Like I'm finally becoming the man I want to be.

She now knows everything about me.

Well…except for my last remaining secret.

My virginity.

As well as a surprise I'm working on.

But I'll tell her about both things. In due course.

I intercept a pass near the blue line, then explode down the ice, leaving the defender in my wake. The roar of the crowd grows deafening as I propel myself through the neutral zone.

Suddenly, a shadow materializes from the periphery. I should have been on it, catching out the opposing player before he got the chance to cut across my path.

But my head, much like my heart, is otherwise occupied.

I miss Pietrowski's lunge with his stick, and I'm too slow in my response. There's a clash of steel on rubber, then the puck spins free from my control and into the air.

With the reflexes of a predator, Pietrowski pounces on the loose puck. The cheers of the home crowd die, replaced by a stunned silence, as he takes off toward our goal.

Our goalie, Milo, does his best to block the incoming puck, but it's no use. The net ripples, the scorelight flashes, and with my head hung low, I skate toward the face-off circle, bearing the full weight of the missed opportunity on my shoulders.

"Hey, cheer up, man. It ain't over. We still got a shot."

"Yeah, I know," I say to Culver who's sitting across the booth from me.

Technically, he's right. There is still a path for us to progress past the divisional playoffs.

But it's a very narrow one.

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