Page 37 of The Boyfriend Zone

"It's not just him," I said, adjusting the ice pack. "It's the team, too. Coach. The guys counting on me. We're having our best season in years."

"The team would survive without you for a few weeks," Zach pointed out. "And they'd rather have you at 100% for the tournaments than at 50% all season."

He was right, of course. But there was more to it, complications I wasn't sure how to articulate.

"Lucas knows," I said abruptly. "About the shoulder. He's been noticing things. Asking questions."

Zach raised an eyebrow. "The reporter knows you're playing injured and hasn't written about it? That's interesting."

"He says he won't," I confirmed. "That he cares more about my well-being than any story."

"And you believe him?"

I thought about Lucas's earnest expression in the locker room, the genuine concern in his eyes. "Yeah," I said softly. "I do."

"Huh." Zach studied me intently. "For someone trying to keep a secret, you sure spend a lot of time exchanging intense looks with the guy who writes the news."

I felt heat creep up my neck. "It's not like that."

"No?" Zach's grin was knowing. "Then explain why you two were practically undressing each other with your eyes at Hat Trick's. Or why freshman Jensen is telling everyone he walked in on you 'interviewing' with your faces two inches apart."

My stomach dropped. "He's telling everyone? Who's everyone?"

"Relax," Zach soothed. "He mentioned it to Tristan, who shut it down. Said Jensen was exaggerating and to mind his own business. But seriously, Sean. What's going on with you and Press Boy?"

I sighed, too tired to maintain the pretense. "I don't know. It's complicated."

"No shit." Zach laughed. "The straight hockey star and the cute reporter. Tale as old as time."

"I'm not straight," I corrected automatically, then froze, realizing what I'd just admitted out loud.

Zach's expression softened. "I know, man."

"You know?" I stared at him. "How?"

"Because I'm not blind?" He shrugged. "And because I've seen the way you look at him. Same way I look at..." He trailed off, suddenly interested in the pattern of our worn couch cushions.

"At Nate?" I supplied, grateful for the shift in focus.

"Shut up," Zach muttered, but there was no heat in it. "We're talking about your disaster, not mine."

"Is it a disaster?" I asked, genuinely uncertain. "Me and Lucas, I mean."

Zach considered this seriously. "Depends. Is he making you happy? When you're not pushing him away because you're a stubborn ass, I mean."

The question caught me off guard. When was the last time anyone had asked if something made me happy, rather than if I was working hard enough, performing well enough, being tough enough?

"Yeah," I admitted quietly. "He does."

"Then I'd say disaster is too strong a word," Zach concluded. "Complicated mess, sure. But potentially a worthwhile one."

"But there's the team to consider," I said, voicing one of my biggest concerns. "If people find out I'm bi, if it becomes a whole thing..."

"Fuck 'em," Zach said bluntly. "Anyone who has a problem can answer to me. Besides, it's not the dark ages. Half the guys probably wouldn't care, and the other half would get over it if they saw it wasn't affecting your game."

"My game," I echoed hollowly. "Which currently is affected, because I can barely raise my arm without wanting to scream."

"And that," Zach pointed his finger at me, "is the actual problem here. Not your sexuality, not Lucas, but the fact that you're risking permanent damage to avoid disappointing people who love you and would want you to take care of yourself."

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