Page 128 of On Ice

The arena explodes, a wall of sound and movement as fans celebrate. On the ice, the team pours off the bench, mobbing Noah and forming a jubilant huddle at center ice. Evan emerges from the scrum, searching the owner’s box with his eyes. When he finds me, he raises his stick in a subtle salute meant only for me.

I allow myself a genuine smile in return, not caring who in the box notices. I’m so damn proud of Evan and the team, I’m bursting.

“Holy fuck,” Marco says, sounding befuddled. “They did it. They actually pulled it off. “

I hug him, feeling legitimately joyful. “I can’t believe it.”

“Congratulations,” Derek says, his smooth, professional demeanor barely containing his excitement. “All the money you poured into the team helped make this happen. This is a dream come true for the team, sir. I hope you know how much we appreciate you.”

I let out a harsh breath. “The team did the hard part.” I allow a proud smile as I watch Evan lead the team in a victory lap, high-fiving fans along the glass.

The others in the box begin discussing playoff matchups, revenue projections, marketing opportunities. Their voices fade to background noise as I watch Evan, flushed with victory, beaming as he embraces his teammates, looking up toward the owner’s box one more time before disappearing down the tunnel.

“You should go down,” Marco suggests. “I’m sure your boyfriend would appreciate seeing you.”

I’m already standing, straightening my tie. “I think I will go congratulate the team in person. Tell Derek I’ll catch up with him at the reception.”

What I’m thinking as I move toward the door: I want to be one of the first people Evan sees when he comes off the ice. I want to embrace him in front of his teammates, feel his heart still racing from the game. I’ll tell him how proud I am, not just of the goal or the win, but of the leader he’s become.

I push through the crowd gathering outside the locker room, security guards stepping aside with respectful nods. The corridor to the ice is thick with the commingled scents of sweat, rubber, and the metallic chill of the arena. The roar of the crowdstill echoes through the concrete passageway, a continuous wave of sound celebrating what just happened.

I arrive at the mouth of the tunnel just as the team begins filing off the ice. Players stream past me, Noah still in his goalie pads, Torres limping slightly but grinning through the pain, Mills with his arm slung around Rodriguez’s shoulders. They acknowledge me with exhausted nods or celebratory fist bumps, their faces flushed with exertion and joy. I return their greetings, but my eyes search for only one person.

Evan is last off the ice. When he sees me waiting, his face transforms, the focused intensity of the game giving way to something softer, something meant only for me despite the crowd of staff and media hovering nearby. His hair is matted with sweat, his jersey dark with moisture, face still flushed from exertion.

“You did it,” I say simply as he reaches me. “You’re moving forward.”

He drops his gloves and helmet with a clatter on the rubber flooring and wraps his arms around me, not caring about the sweat and grime of the game, not caring who sees. I feel the heat radiating from his body, his heart still hammering against his chest pads, his breath coming in warm, ragged pants against my neck. He smells of adrenaline and effort, of the wintergreen balm he rubs on his shoulders before every game, and of victory.

“Wedid it,” he corrects me, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes, his hands still gripping my shoulders. In his gaze, I see not just the euphoria of the win, but something deeper, an acknowledgment that helped make this moment possible. It’s a look that makes me feel simultaneously powerful and humbled.

Around us, camera shutters click and phones rise to capture the moment as teammates whoop and holler, but for a moment, it feels like we’re alone in the arena, suspended in this perfect instant of accomplishment and promise.

Tomorrow, there will be playoff preparations, strategic meetings, the next challenge to face. But tonight belongs to this feeling, this rare, perfect moment when everything we’ve worked for crystallizes into reality.

****

I insisted Evan go out with his team without me. He invited me to join them, but I know Evan needed to let loose with his team. If I was there, he’d feel obligated to keep me entertained. This way, he can do and say anything he feels without worrying about my feelings on the matter.

I do, however, stalk his Instagram. There are a ton of photos of him with the team. He looks so damn happy, it makes me happy. I realize winning tonight is no guarantee they’ll win the playoffs, but if you don’t get past this part you don’t even have a chance of claiming the trophy.

The Instagram photos entertain me, and I like knowing what Evan is up to. Everything is fine and dandy, until I come across a video of Evan with a tall, sandy haired guy. I instantly recognize him as the mystery man who met Evan at the arena parking lot a month or so ago. Marco never identified the guy because I’d forgotten all about him when Evan refused to throw the Chicago game.

There’s an obvious affection between them. It comes through in the video. My gut churns watching them smiling at each other. Evan has his arm around the guy’s waist, and they’releaning into each other. Jealousy and anger boil inside of me as I study the two of them together.

I don’t believe Evan would cheat on me. He’s too good of a person to do that, but is it possible he has feelings for this other dude? I don’t like the thought of that at all. Not one little bit. I want all of Evan’s attention and affection. Who is this guy anyway? An ex-lover? Why does he keep randomly popping up?

The video ends and I watch it ten more times, searching for anything between them that hints at more than just friendship. They don’t do anything like kiss, but there is an intimacy I don’t care for. I’m not sure if I should mention that I saw the video or not. I don’t want Evan knowing I’m jealous, but if I don’t say something it will eat at me. Maybe this is an opportunity for me to grow. I need to trust Evan and not let suspicion fester.

It’s 3:00 a.m. by the time Evan comes home. He enters the dark bedroom quietly, and there’s only the rustle of him undressing. Then he gets into bed and moves over to where I’m lying. That comforts me a bit, the fact he wants to be close to me physically. I pretend to be asleep, until he starts kissing my shoulder. He’s naked, which makes my dick instantly hard.

I lift my head, studying his dark silhouette. “Did you have fun?” I ask softly.

“Mmm, hmm.” He slowly runs his hand down my bare chest, stomach, finally slipping his hand inside my pajama bottoms to grip my dick. “I’d rather have a certain kind of fun with you though.”

“Yeah?” I say breathlessly.

“Fuck, yeah.” He sounds a little drunk.

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