Page 65 of Tempting the Teammate
We raised our drinks in response, a chorus of agreement and affection filling the space. Phoenix sat down to applause and back-slapping, Jaxon immediately pulling him close again.
“Your turn,” Andrei murmured near my ear.
“My turn for what?”
“To say something profound and touching.”
I laughed, pressing my lips to his temple. “I’m not the captain. I don’t have to be profound.”
“You’re you,” he said simply. “That’s profound enough.”
The evening continued in waves of conversation and laughter. Toby challenged Mason to arm wrestling, which devolved into chaos when Damon declared himself referee and started making up rules. Someone ordered another round of drinks. Music from the jukebox provided a soundtrack to goodbyes that felt far too heartbreaking to live through the night.
I watched Phoenix lean back in his chair, content in a way I’d rarely seen him. The weight he’d carried for two years, the responsibility of being both captain and representation, had finally eased. He’d done his job. Now, he got to move forward into whatever came next.
“Think we’ll be okay without him?” I asked Andrei.
“We’ll be fine,” Andrei said. “Phoenix built something that doesn’t disappear just because he’s leaving.”
He was right. The team Phoenix inherited had already been special, built on foundations laid by players who’d come before us. We were just continuing that legacy, adding our own strange chapter to the story.
My phone buzzed with a notification. Another Instagram mention, probably. The attention hadn’t disappeared after that night at the rink. If anything, it had intensified for a while, reaching levels that had required actual security at our games. But eight months later, the fever had cooled to something moremanageable. We were still recognized, still stopped for photos occasionally, but the frenzy had passed.
Blades of Northwoodhad wrapped its second season last month. They’d offered us contracts for a third, which the team had collectively declined. We’d given them enough. It was time to reclaim some privacy, some normalcy, even if normal would always be slightly out of reach now.
“Remember when I thought this would ruin everything?” Andrei asked, following my gaze around the bar.
“To be honest, I was terrified, too,” I admitted. “Thought I’d lose you, lose the team, lose myself in all of it.”
“But you didn’t. You saved the day.” Andrei’s bright eyes turned to me, and love welled in them, unfiltered, out in the open.
“I found the one thing that matters.” I turned to look at him properly. The dim lighting softened his features. “You matter. Everything else is just noise.”
He smiled that complete smile that transformed his entire face. “You’ve gotten philosophical in your old age.”
“I’m twenty-one. Hardly old.”
“Ancient,” he teased. “Practically retirement age for a hockey player.”
I pinched his side, making him squirm. Across the table, Mason made exaggerated gagging noises. “Get a room,” he said.
“We have a room,” I replied. “We share it, actually. Have for years now.”
“Yeah, and those of us in neighboring rooms are very aware of that fact,” Damon added dryly, which earned him a round of laughter and my middle finger.
Of all our teammates, Damon had been the only one to see through our attempts at keeping it secret. He’d practically come out as bi in one interview to take the heat off of us. We’d spokenat length about it later and discovered that we had more than a teammate in this big guy. We had a friend. A brother.
The conversation shifted to next season’s prospects, to late-summer training plans, to who would take over as captain now that Phoenix was leaving. Names were thrown around. Arguments were made. Someone suggested rock-paper-scissors, which Mason took seriously until Toby pointed out he was still just a sophomore.
I half listened, content to observe. This was my team, my chosen family, the group of people who’d seen me at my worst, took my measure, and decided I was worth keeping anyway. They’d stood around me on the ice that night, protecting something fragile and new. They’d given us space to be honest when honesty felt impossible.
Andrei’s head rested against my shoulder now, his body warm and solid beside me. We’d stopped hiding months ago, stopped worrying about who was watching or what they thought. It had taken that grand gesture, that terrifying leap, but we’d landed somewhere better than I’d imagined possible.
Right after that, we went home for a winter break, and our families welcomed us with open arms. It wasn’t what they’d imagined the future would look like when we were peewees and inseparable, but they had never tried to push us into the places our shapes didn’t fit.
We were loved. We were alive. What more was there to ask for?
“You happy?” I asked him quietly.
