Page 67 of Breakneck Hockey

Me

A great magician never reveals his secrets.

Top Dog

I’m a magician too. I can turn peachy cream to red with nothing but my hand. Just wait until I get my hands on your ass, kitten.

Took long enough for him to get that bill.

“Watcha laughing at, Case?” Jack asks.

I’m at a pub in New York with my other brother, Jack Leslie. No, we’re not brothers by blood, but the moment we caught sight of each other on the first day of high school, the pair of us in matching Metallica Ride the Lightning concert t-shirts, we were bonded for life. I followed him home from school, and we ate Jack’s dads out of house and home. Or well, we tried to, but they were prepared for us with a seemingly endless food supply. We started a street hockey league, and if I wasn’t sleeping at his house he was sleeping at mine.

Jack played cards with Mom and I every Sunday right up until the end. We ate cookies, drank tea, and played Gin Rummy. The ritual was soothing, and those days are some of my favorite memories.

For some reason, Jack elected to bring Logan and Rhett to my emergency meetup. I’m in a crisis, and there’s no one better in a crisis than Jack Leslie. Nothing much fazes that guy.

“Sutter and I are forbidden from touching each other,” I announce to the table, answering his question without directly answering his question. Jack and I have that level of non-verbal translation between us.

“So, naturally, you two can’t keep your hands off each other,” Jack surmises.

“Technically, I’m not supposed to fraternize with either of you. New York is in fourth place on the list of teams to stay clear of.” But I think Daddy Milton is less concerned about my friendship with Jack than he is about me shacking up with Sutter. Fucking a team rival is bound to stir up controversy in the land of internet gossip.

“Pretty sure that’s not legal, but whatever. Why the hell are you still fucking with Sutter?” Jack asks. “You said you were swearing off him for the hockey season.”

“You know why. Because I have no self-control and make impulsive decisions. Somebody make me stop.”

Rhett sips his Johnnie Walker. “It won’t be me. I’m enjoying your suffering, Alderchuck.”

“Why is he here, Jack?”

“That’s on me,” Logan says. “I haven’t seen Jack much either, and where I go, Rhett goes.”

He hasn’t seen Jack or his boyfriend much is what he means. Jack and Rhett have been on the road as much as I have. Rhett and Logan are attached at the hip when they’re in close proximity, blending as one human. Does Rhett realize what a simp he’s become for Lo? Since I’m Team Logan, I’m glad for his sake, but I’m definitely gonna needle Rhett with this knowledge.

“Anyway, yeah, yeah, we gotta sneak around, but he was acting kinda weird. Know anything about that, Elkington?”

Rhett looks away briefly.

“You do!”

“I do. It’s his business to share with you or not.”

I huff and down my beer. Sutter’s never telling me. Sutter would rather rip out his own teeth than use his words around me. He fucks me and leaves me, and I take it because his dick’s just that good.

Or something.

“Where’s Stace? He doesn’t want to hang with us anymore?” Jack says.

I shouldn’t say. It’ll start the wrong kind of rumors, or maybe the right ones. I internally sigh. The last time I brought this up, it started trouble in the house.

But that was a fucking long time ago.

“It was the only time Dash and Dirk could video chat,” I say, putting that little morsel of information out there. It’s not exactly an unusual event, but my tone belays the subtext.

Jack leans back in his chair and sips on his beer. Logan looks between us, trying to sort the pieces of an invisible puzzle. They take too long, and I can’t stand it. I want them to get there faster.

“My brother stole Dash’s hat,” I blurt out.

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