Page 31 of Speed

I leaned into his touch, feeling a lump form in my throat at the sincerity in his voice. “I don't know how to do this,” I admitted. “I've never… with a guy…”

“You seem to manage okay,” Noah teased.

I twisted my finger through one of his curls. He was sunshine and happiness, and I was…

… fuck knows what I was.

“This can’t last,” I said.

“It’s okay,” Noah assured me, kissing my forehead. “One day, you might tell the world, and we'll be a thing that matters. Or you won’t; I'll want more, and it ends. Either way, it will be okay for a while.”

I nodded. I wished that world was now. I wished I was brave enough to destroy people’s perceptions of me. I wished everyone would leave me alone. I wished I had time. I wrapped my arms around him, and he nestled in my arms. Even though this floor was hard and cold, I never wanted to leave this space.

“We should move and clean up,” Noah murmured, jumping up before extending a hand to help me. We took turns in the bathroom before moving to the sofa, and then, the roles were reversed; it was me cuddling into him.

TEN

Noah

Blake and Nikwere discussing the latest news on football as we lifted.

The gym was alive with players building muscle and endurance, working their asses off to grab every microsecond of advantage they could get. Most of the vets were secure. Many had no-move or no-trade clauses, so while they also were putting in the work, it wasn’t as frenzied as the rookies or the couple of guys here on waivers who were also trying to make the cut.

“Add another ten,” I panted as I lay flat on my back staring at the ceiling and soaked in sweat.

“You sure? You’re already at fifty over half your weight,” Blake replied, football talk ending as both of my linemates stared down at me. The monitor hooked to my wrist was recording every lift, then sending it to a software program the coaching staff used to monitor our workouts. “If you push too hard they’re going to come down on you for exerting yourself past what the docs have recommended for you.”

“Strength on bench equals success on ice,” I stated and got eyerolls.

“Dude, seriously? Benching is not the be all and end all. Just do your one-fifty for twenty reps. Or do you want to blow out your labrum and rotators?”

“Legs feed the wolf,” Nik interjected.

It kind of pissed me off that they were hassling me but whatever. I sat up, grabbed my towel, and scrubbed my face. My arms were burning anyway. And yeah, they were right. If I overdid training, the coaches and docs would freak out.

“You are beast monster. No worries.” Nik nudged me off the bench, wiped it down with a disinfecting wipe, then splayed his big body over it, planting his feet soundly. “Spot me, if any of you pamby-mamby can lift bar.”

“What a shit-stirrer,” I joked, then took a second to check my numbers. Fuck. Yeah, I had pushed it harder than I should, and my numbers were showing it. I knew better. Overtraining made the muscle less sensitive to insulin, which made it difficult to utilize glucose properly. My levels were higher than I’d like. I tugged my shirt down with a sigh.

“I’m going to get some water and take some insulin. My sugar is kind of high,” I told the guys. Both got that terrified look. “It’s fine. I’m not going to DKA or anything. Just need to get the numbers down. Spot him. Go on, it’s cool. Happens all the time.”

To be honest, it didn’t happen all the time. But it did happen on occasion.

“Okay, we’ll check on you after morning skate. See if you want to go visit that new Mexican place a few blocks over.”

“Cool.” I smiled my brightest smile, then left the gym, tossing my sweaty towel into the bin as I nodded at Cap on the way out.

Hiding the fatigue that was setting in, I dipped into the locker room, got my kit, and measured out a dosage. I chose my upper arm for the injection. Then, it was a waiting game. I emptied a bottle of water and opened a music app as I chilled. The rapid-acting insulin usually worked fast, so within ten or fifteen minutes, I should be good to go. After cleaning the syringe and shit, I had time to think. Probably not a good thing. Brody always popped up when I had spare time to meditate. Also, the latest release from Jemima was playing on my phone. It was still pretty wild to think that my new guy had dated one of the most popular singers in the world. They’d made a beautiful couple.

I wondered what his fans would think when they found out we were dating. I mean I was no Jemima Wren. She had me beat in just about every category of coolness and hotness imaginable. I could maybe skate better than she could, but other than that Jemima wiped the floor with me. I leaned back to rest on my locker, my head full of odd bits of worry that never seemed to go away. Was the world ready for someone like Brody to be with a guy? Progress had been made, but for every step forward, it seemed true equality took two steps back. How would the Railers react if I openly dated a man? Sure, it was one thing to be all supportive of a bisexual guy when he was wheeling chicks, but would the team be cool if I showed up at a fundraiser with Brody Vance on my arm?

Anxiety crept in, and so I left the locker room to find Coach. He was in his office, scouring over some video, the door open as it always was. Coach Morin wanted the players to know they could come to him at any time. I rapped on the doorframe. His dark brown eyes lifted from his laptop.

“Noah, did you need me?” he asked, and I nodded. Worry crinkled his brow. “Are you having some sort of medical issues?”

“No, I’m good. I was a little fatigued after a big workout, but I have things under control.”

“Good, good. So, what can I do for you?”

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