Page 1 of One Touch

CHAPTER1

MILLER

Sweat beaded across my brow,dripping into my eyes as I pulled myself forward on the rowing machine. It might only be the start of preseason conditioning, but as the current winners of the Stanley Cup, the Chicago Ice Foxes wanted a repeat. There was no slacking allowed. Especially if I wanted a more active role on the ice and in the win.

Guilt swamped me at the thought. I had a contract in the NHL with a winning team. I should be happy to play the sport I loved, even if the playing time was minimal. I was here. On a winning team. And I had a shot at the first line. Eventually. After some of the starters retired. What was a few years?

I was young, healthy, and living the dream.

So why did it feel so empty? Why wasn’t it enough?

My team had won the Stanley Cup, and I was upset I hadn’t gotten to play for more than a few minutes of the series. My mom would tell me I sounded like a spoiled brat and to count my blessings.

And there was the guilt again.

Against all odds, I’d made it into the NHL. I had my own apartment and recently bought my first car. Considering where I’d grown up, my life in Chicago was a drastic change. However, even acknowledging my blessings and hating the guilt that clawed at my throat, I couldn’t shake off the melancholy. I wanted more.

I wanted to be an active participant instead of a passenger in my life.

I wanted to share it with someone.

I wanted to feel that all-consuming spark.

I’d only felt that spark once, but it had been world changing. A brief touch of his hand had shifted my world on its axis.

A hand slapped onto my shoulder, and I faltered the pulley with the break in my concentration. One of the trainers stood behind me, his lips moving, but I couldn’t understand him. Realization dawned on me that I still had my earpods in. Yanking one free, I turned my head toward him.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

He chuckled. “I said you were going to row the machine into the mirror if you kept pulling it that hard.”

My face flamed, but I hoped he thought it was from exertion and not embarrassment. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Too nice, Fahn.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Go cool down. You’ve met your quota for today.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he waved me off. “No arguing. I know you want to impress the coaches but overexerting yourself isn’t how to do it. Cool down and then shower. You stink.” He slapped me on the back and yelled at someone else.

My muscles protested as I climbed off, proving he was right. I was close to overexertion and hadn’t noticed. Wiping the sweat off my face, I downed my water and went over to the bikes to cool down. A few of the veteran players nodded as I approached. I wasn’t close to any of them, but they were friendly.

I zoned out as I peddled, slowing my heart rate as I cooled down. That was part of my problem with this team. I didn’t have a group of friends like I’d had in college. Playing at Carrington had been a dream come true, and the connections I’d made there had been strong. In fact, I still wasn’t convinced I hadn’t been signed to Chicago as a favor to my friend Reese.

Reese’s brother-in-law, Fletcher, owned the team, and I always wondered why Chicago was interested when no one else had been.

Not that I was a lousy player. I wasn’t. My stats in college were in the top five of left wingers, and our team had won the Frozen Four back-to-back. I was a good teammate, avoided scandals, and didn't spend a lot of time in the penalty box.

So why hadn’t I received offers like my teammates had?

The only thing I could pinpoint was my sexuality.

It had been a risk to disclose it, but I wasn’t someone who could deny or hide who they were. The instant I realized I was gay, I came out to my team and, subsequently, the hockey world.

Sometimes, I wondered if things would’ve been different if I had been able to keep it hidden. But I dismissed that line of thinking. I couldn’t turn back time any more than I could lie about who I was. It just wasn’t in my nature, so there was no use entertaining the ‘what-ifs.’

I slowed my bike as the timer counted down, and the conversation around me filtered through my inner ramblings and piqued my interest.

“Did you hear about Anthony? The dude’s gonna be out the entire season. It will be a miracle if he can play again,” Hector said.

“Dumbass,” Amir grunted as he pedaled. “He was always more concerned about impressing people than the game.”

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