Page 84 of Cold Comeback
"But that's all it was. Chemistry. Not connection. Not understanding. And sure as hell not love."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I never felt safe enough to fall asleep on his shoulder in front of twenty guys. I never told him about my back surgery or let him see my scars. I never hummed stupid songs with him in the shower or carved our names in my heart." He slapped his chest with an open palm.
His voice grew more intense.
"Jordan was my teammate. You're my—" He stopped, searching for words. "You're my person. There's a difference."
I wanted to believe him. Part of me did believe him. Another part—the part that remembered being the backup plan in every meaningful relationship and getting left behind by my team—whispered doubts I couldn't quite silence.
"I need some air," I said.
Outside, the parking lot was empty except for our cars and the distant sound of traffic. I leaned against my car.
Gideon appeared beside me, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Talk to me," he said.
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit. You look like someone kicked your dog."
I laughed despite myself. "Maybe someone did."
"Thatcher." His voice was gentle but firm. "What's really going on here?"
I stared at the sky, searching for words that wouldn't make me sound like an insecure teenager.
"I keep thinking about that shrine and how he carved your initials with so much care. Then I think about how the two of you moved together on the ice, and I wonder—"
"What?"
"If I'm just the guy who happened to be there when you finally decided to stop being afraid."
The silence that followed stretched until I thought it wouldn't end. When Gideon finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.
"You want to know what I was afraid of? It wasn't being gay. It wasn't hockey politics, career consequences, or any of that shit."
He turned to face me fully.
"I was afraid of being seen. Really seen. All the way down to the parts of myself I'd learned to hide. Jordan never asked to see those parts. You demanded them."
"I never demanded anything."
"You did from the first day. You looked at me like you expected me to be real, not perfect. Like my broken parts were worth knowing." He stepped closer. "That's terrifying."
"Gideon—"
"I'm not done." His voice turned sharp. "Jordan loved the idea of me. A fantasy of what we could be if the world were different. You love me—broken back, shitty leadership skills, trust issues, and all. Even when I'm an emotional disaster."
His words hit hard, but doubt still gnawed at the edges.
"How do I know I'm not your consolation prize?"
Gideon was quiet for so long, I thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"You want to know the difference between you and Jordan?"
