Page 101 of Scoring Position

Nico was starting to wonder how female hockey players did this with their wives regularly. He and Ryan weren’t actually even officially dating and he was stressed. He wanted to win, but he wanted Ryan to do well too.

And he couldn’t afford to think about any of it, because he needed to keep his head in the game.

Chop wood. Carry water.

He’d barely had time to think before getting on the plane. Ryan had texted him once after game seven—just a simple sad face. Nico knew he was hardly going to push, but he felt weirdly okay about it and wouldn’t have minded if Ryan said more. Nico had done all he could.

And now the plane was landing and he could finally tell Ryan he was coming. He didn’t want to do that by text. That was a phone call conversation.

He should’ve texted Ryan back after that sad face, though. Hopefully Ryan wasn’t worried about him sulking or pickling his liver.

As soon as he cleared customs, he found an out-of-the-way spot and checked the local time. Ten in the morning—Ryan would be awake, though he might be at practice.

But Nico couldn’t wait any longer. He hit Call.

To his surprise, Ryan answered on the second ring, the sounds of locker room laughter in the background. “Hey, ba—uh, hey.” Nico could hear the smile in his voice, as well as some sheepishness. He couldn’t help a reaction of his own; the back of his neck went hot. Had Ryan almost called him babe in a room full of his teammates? “Good timing, we just got off the ice.”

“I just got off a plane,” Nico replied, making his way toward the train station. His parents would want him to come straight home, but he was expected to show up for training tomorrow. Going to the team hotel made more sense. He dug through his wallet for his German bank card and bought a month-long transit pass.

“Back in Indy?” Ryan asked. Then he paused. “Wait, no, it’s like three in the morning back there. So you’re—”

“Just landed in Berlin.” The train arrived and Nico stepped onto it.

Some of the locker room sounds tapered off, as though Ryan had found a more private place to talk. “Yeah? You gonna come and watch a game? Cheer me on?” His voice was teasing, but there was a hint of vulnerability underneath it. Nico wanted to. He wanted to watch Ryan on the world stage as he proved to himself he could belong there.

But he wanted to play for his own country more.

“I might,” Nico hedged, “depending on the schedule.”

There was a pause, and then Ryan said, “Schedule?”

Nico closed his eyes and dropped into one of the hard plastic seats, tucking his carryon between his knees. “It turns out Germany had room on the team for one more center. I’m on my way to the team hotel now.”

Ryan sucked in a breath, then groaned. “Germany’s in Brno.”

“Yeah,” Nico said, agreeing more with Ryan’s unspoken disappointment than the truth of the statement.

“Fuck.”

“Not yet,” Nico said, because he couldn’t help it.

A short, startled-sounding laugh filled the line. “Jesus, Kirschbaum, you’re killing me here. In the same goddamned country and still too far away.”

“Technically I’m still in Germany.”

“Pedant.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Silence filled the line. Nico could hear Ryan breathing. “I’ve missed you,” Ryan said softly.

A wave of warmth went through him. “Me too.”

Nico:Just met new team. Not many NHLers. I feel so slow—ice so big!

Ryan:Didn’t you grow up playing on this ice?

Nico:??I’ve been playing in North America since I was fourteen.

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