Page 53 of From Coast to Coast

“Nah, I don’t want to bother him. I’ll shoot him a text. And you know to reach out to me if you need anything, right? Troy won’t, so I’m counting on you.”

Sam chuckles softly. “Noted. I’ll give you back to him. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Bye, Sam.” I pause, waiting for Troy to come back and cursing the distance between us. As often happens when we catch up on the phone, the potency with which I miss him increases exponentially. I want to reach across the distance and pull him into the hug I know he needs.

“Gray?”

“I’m still here.”

“Tell me about Remy Stone,” he prompts.

I laugh at how joyful he sounds, not even surprised that he picked up on my tone when I mentioned Remy.

“We’re good friends,” I tell him noncommittally. It’s as close to the truth as I can get without spilling a secret that isn’t mine to share. Besides, what would I even say? That he’s been my fuck buddy for a few weeks, and now, because I’ve never been good at compartmentalizing my feelings, I’m ready to commit? Fucking ridiculous.

“He’s nice?” Troy asks. “I’ve never talked to him before.”

“Yeah, he’s nice. He’s a surfer, which is cool. He’s been haranguing me all season to take more shots; we’ve been trying to beat my PR from rookie year.”

“We noticed that. Colorado probably noticed, too. Theyusually play an aggressive defense. I bet they’ll be happy to have you firing shots from the blue line.”

“You have any idea who I’ll be firing shots at next time we play each other?”

I feel a little hesitant to bring the conversation back to Lawson, but I’m curious. South Carolina’s backup goalie is pretty much untested. Lawson was one of the rare netminders who could play fourteen-game stretches without it affecting his game. His backup largely kept the bench warm. Troy chuckles, once more shaking off the blanket of melancholy that’s been present for the entire call.

“They called up a rookie from the AHL. Management was split about who to sign, but Corwin voted in favor of Carter, so they went with him. He’s been with us for a couple weeks and will probably start tomorrow night for his NHL debut. Coach is going to switch off each game until one of them earns the top spot.”

“Ah, a battle of the goaltenders. Carter? I don’t think I’m familiar.” Squinting my eyes at my mug, I think back through the current AHL roster. The only player with a last name of Carter isn’t a goaltender.

“Carter Morgan. He’s one of Nico’s kids, actually. Or, he was.”

“Nico’s kids?” I repeat, confused.

“Carter played for him at the university. The year Lawson met Nico at the summer camp—that was Carter’s first year at school. He had a great start in the minors and Nico only has good things to say about him. He’s a bit of a character.”

“How do you mean? Like, goalie-weird?”

“No. Like, grouchy and not very friendly. Sort of rude. He’s quiet enough to give Corwin a run for his money.”

This kid sounds like a piece of work, which doesn’t trackwith Troy’s tone. Grouchy and not very friendly aren’t usually personality traits that jive with Troy’s upbeat, Energizer Bunny attitude. Yet he sounds almost excited about the prospect of their new, cranky, baby goalie.

“So…you like him?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s been working hard with us. You can tell he takes it seriously, and he wants to succeed and improve. Besides, Cor likes him and says he’ll go far. He’s never wrong.”

I smile to myself. Nothing could convince Troy of someone’s worthiness faster than Corwin giving them the seal of approval. As far as Troy is concerned, his word is law.

Soft footfalls have my attention snapping to the hallway leading to my bedroom, and I’m rewarded with the sight of Remy stepping into view. He hasn’t showered yet, and he’s wearing a pair of my sweatpants—too baggy and too long for his slender frame. He’s rubbing his eyes when he walks into the kitchen, hair defying gravity, and my eyes immediately track to what is unmistakably dried cum on his stomach. When he drops his hand and sees me standing at the counter, he smiles.

My heart beats a short, painful rhythm at the sight of him. I’m in so much damn trouble.

“Morning,” Remy murmurs, suddenly shy in the morning light as though we didn’t spend the night fucking our brains out.

“Good morning,” I reply, voice warm.

“Who’s that?” Troy asks, making me jolt in surprise. Sending an apologetic look Remy’s way, I clear my throat.

“Company.”

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