Page 9 of Gravity
“Ah-ha, so that’s why you’re tan when we all are not.” Bryce smirks. He’s the kind of pale that rivals the underbelly of a fish. I laugh.
Behind us, the bar carts are starting to pack it in and the waiters are clearing away the buffet tables. The final hour I thought would never end has melted away, and now it feels like the game clock is running out on me. There are a hundred things I want to talk to Bryce about, but we're out of time. I try to hide my disappointment as the waiters gather up the dirty silverware and start stripping table linens.
Bryce rocks on his heels. His hands are in his pockets. “Are you heading to the arena after this?”
“Yeah, I'm carpooling with the rest of guys.” We’ll be packing into the same cramped van we all arrived in.
He tips his shoulders toward the entrance and arches his brows. “Would you like to ride with me?”
Hell. Yes.
ChapterFour
Bryce
At the All-Star Weekend, the four divisions first go head to head in a series of mini games, and, tomorrow, the winners of those meet for the big Eastern-versus-Western Conference showdown.Hunter and I are both playing for the Atlantic Division team in the Eastern Conference.
We take the ice together tonight for the first game, him on defense and me at center forward. There's one other forward with us—these games are played in a three-on-three format—but,calisse, he might as well be making snow angels for all Hunter and I notice him.
Thirty seconds after the puck drops, I know: This is not going to be a normal game.
Hunter steals the puck away from another player, and after a spin, a moment of centering, he glances up and I’m there. And every time I search for him, he’s there. We’re ready for each other as if we’re telepathically connected.
After ten minutes, I don’t even have to look. I know where Hunter is by feel. He passes and pushes, joining me on the breakaways, and we turn a rush into a two-on-one against a defender who’s hopelessly outmatched, then against a goalie on the verge of an aneurysm.
Together, we rack up five goals in six minutes.
This is the best hockey I’ve ever played. This is how I skate when I’m alone, because no one else can keep up with me.Except now, Hunter can.
This is magic by every measure, and everyone can see it. The ice is quaking from the roars filling the arena. Our rivals are shaking their heads as Hunter and I weave lightning and perfection like a web between us.
We’re a storm. The wind. The puck is a feather in a hurricane. All I can see is him. His eyes connecting with mine right before a blistering pass. His smile breaking over his face as we score another goal, as he steals another puck, as we start another breakaway and score again. We meet in the corner, arms over our heads, sticks held high while the crowd bellows. He is beaming as he pulls me into a hug.
We spin, our arms around each other, beneath the thundering applause raining on us. Our divisional teammates put their skates up on top of the boards like they’re going to sit the rest of this one out. Everyone has become spectators to the two of us tonight.
My heart is banging, beating wild and out of control. I tip my face up to Hunter. His smile blinds me, my vision eclipsed by the brightness of him, of everything that he is.
Hunter looks down and meets my gaze. The world falls away, swallowed by those black holes that have been opening around me.
The only thing left is him.
Oh,calisse.
* * *
Our whole gametonight is only twenty minutes, the length of a single period of play in a regular match. Hunter and I are on the ice for almost fifteen minutes of that, which is an unheard of amount of time. Our teammates heckle us about being greedy, but we put up nine goals together and beat the other team by seven, so victory blunts the jealousy.
Already, the buzz is building. Hunter and I are the undisputed victors of the night, and we will be leading the Eastern Conference team tomorrow.Will lightning strike again? Can we hold on to this fire between us? Fuel it, hone it, make it ours?
We leave the ice to earth-shaking applause. We’re separated, Hunter tugged one way by the coaches while I’m pulled another, and we don’t meet up again until we’re both in the dressing room.
Eyes slide our way as we undress. This isn’t the dressing room of the Étoiles, and everyone is a little more reserved than usual. This is a team thrown together for forty-eight hours, not eighty-two games, and the camaraderie and trust hasn’t been built.
Except, it’s flowing between me and Hunter. I look up and catch his gaze. He’s shaking out his socks, wiping down his skates, sweeping his chin-length and sweat-drenched dark hair out of his eyes. I’m smiling, and he’s smiling back, and we still, just goofily grinning at each other like time has stopped.
Someone waves a stick in between us. “Shit, you two. Save that for the hotel room, huh?”
I flush. Hunter snorts, and three guys throw their knee pads at the heckler. The moment is broken. Terror trades places with the adrenaline soaking my muscles.Tabernak, I’m giving it all away. Exposing myself before I’ve even had a chance to figure out how I feel.
