Page 59 of Cold Comeback
"Because if you keep doing that, I'm going to come apart."
"Maybe that's not the worst thing," I said. "Maybe coming apart is another way of letting someone hold you together."
"Thatcher," he breathed against my mouth.
"Yeah?"
"I can't promise I won't get scared again."
"I can't promise I won't need you to choose me over and over."
"Then that's what we'll do." He pulled back enough to look at me. "Choose each other every day until it gets easier."
"No more hiding?"
"No more hiding. No more performing for approval we'll never get."
We stayed tangled together until he eventually shifted back to his bed, though he left the space between us smaller than before. We talked as darkness settled—tomorrow's game, line combinations, whether Coach would start Bricks or a veteran.
Standard team stuff, but underneath, something fundamental had changed.
"Thatcher?"
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow, when we play—I want to trust you completely. No hesitation."
"Good. I want to be trusted."
I let my eyes drift shut, following the rhythm of Gideon's breathing until it steadied mine. We'd both been hiding, both been chasing ghosts. But now it was simple: one choice, over and over. Him. Us.
Chapter fourteen
Gideon
The locker room felt different for our out-of-town game. The suffocating tension that had choked us before our last match gave way to something lighter—anticipation instead of dread. I sat in my stall, methodically wrapping tape around my stick blade, and my hands weren't shaking.
"Looking steady, Cap." Knox settled into the stall beside me, already half-dressed. "Sleep better last night?"
"Yeah. Much better." I saw Thatcher across the room, pulling his jersey over his head. The blue and white striped tape on his stick blade flashed under the fluorescent light. My tape. Still.
"Good," Knox said, following my gaze. "The team needs their captain present."
Present. That's what Wren had said after my last disaster—being a captain wasn't about being perfect, it was about being present. Last night, in that cramped hotel room, Thatcher and I finally stopped hiding from each other. Stopped performing fear and started choosing connection.
I finished my tape job and tested the weight of my stick. Familiar. Right.
"Alright, boys." Coach's voice cut through the pre-game chatter. "Last game, we played scared. Played like we didn't trust each other. Tonight, we play our game. Believe in your instincts. Support your linemates. Know that the guy beside you will be where he's supposed to be."
He glanced at me—a slight nod. Message received.
"On three—what do we do?"
"REAP THE WIN!"
As we filed toward the tunnel, the air crackled around us. It wasn't artificial bravado I'd been nurturing for weeks. It was genuine excitement and readiness. Guys bumping shoulders and sticks tapping the walls.
Thatcher fell into step beside me as we approached the ice. "You good?"
