Page 52 of Overtime

Ishir opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it. “I’m an Alpha,” he said, not having anything more coherent to point out.

Zee stiffened behind him, but his hand didn’t stop moving, stroking his skin lightly. “Yeah. I know.”

Silence. “You ever done anything with an Alpha?”

“I mean…no. But, like. It’syou.”

Ishir closed his eyes, letting the pain of that rock through him. “I’m still an Alpha, Zee. It doesn’tnotcount because it’s me.”

There was another long stretch of nothingness. Then, Zee’s small, wobbly voice. “I know.”

That was it. Small, but enough. Ishir didn’t have to push Zee to define his sexuality right away. To define what was happening between them. He’d just wanted to hear that it was real. That it was happening to both of them and not just Ishir.

He let his body relax, and Zee echoed it, body moulding to his.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Finally, the team began winning again.

Zee’s first game back from injury he scored a goal off Ishir’s assist, a tip-in by the lip of the net that had the opposing goalie glaring skyward in frustration.

Zee was thrumming in the locker room after the end-of-game buzzer. Ishir fed off the energy, ecstatic for Zee—it had to feel fucking good to contribute to breaking the ten-game losing streak, a triumphant return.

“Take care of that fucking knee,” Ollie ordered, slapping Zee’s ass.

“Yeah, yeah. You guys are lost without me.”

“We were crying every day,” Ollie said sombrely, face splitting into a teasing grin a second later.

They won the next one too, but dropped the following one in Halifax. It was on the shootout, though, so at least they got a point.

Spirits were high as they returned home. Things should have been perfect, really. They were in a playoff spot. Things were looking good.

And yet Ishir felt as though he was slipping, unable to grab a foothold, uncertainty dogging him relentlessly.

The night Ishir and Zee had spent together plagued him. He’d woken up before Zee the morning after and slipped out of bed silently, feeling guilty for being sneaky.

He’d gone straight to the shower, trying to wash the feel of Zee’s hands off him, to brush the taste of him from his mouth.

It was impossible, but Ishir still tried. It was the only way to stay sane.

They had to talk about it. It was as simple as that. Ishir had to sit Zee down and say, ‘This is fucking with me.’ Had to admit that he understood that this was just a gay awakening experienced in the comfort of a trusted friendship for Zee, but that it was so much more than that for Ishir.

Talking about what was happening meant admitting his feelings, though, and the very thought of doing that paralyzed him with fear. This was his oldest, most treasured friendship. Zee had moulded Ishir into the man he was. The chemistry of his head, his heart, was structured according to the thousand small moments he’d spent with Zee. By both having and wanting him.

This wasn’t a silly misunderstanding between them. He knew Zee wasn’t ready to talk about it, because he knewZee.

Hockey allowed them to keep it compartmentalised. They were best friends. They were defence partners. They were Brooklyn Cats. Everything else could wait.

But only for so long—it was only a matter of time until Ishir scored again, and, of course, it happened in a city where it’d be easy to pick up.

It was a violent slapper that shot it in, Ishir on one knee to get as much force behind it as possible. The clack of the puck on his stick echoed across the ice, the sound swallowed a second later by the cheer of his teammates and groan of the crowd.

“That’s my boy,” Zee crowed as he crashed into Ishir.

Everybody was beaming, Orion patting him roughly on the head, making Ishir laugh and skate off to bump fists with the guys on the bench.

It was fucked up that, underneath the joy, a kernel of trepidation made his stomach heavy. He knew what would happen that night.

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