Page 17 of Between the Pipes

“I’ve never heard of a visor shattering like that.” Sam frowns.

“Neither had I. Probably a one-in-a-million chance of it happening.” Nigel scratches his cheek with the back of his sharpie, looking over the table to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. “He was in the hospital for months, though. Neck injury on top of everything else. There wasn’t much said about the extent of the damage, so naturally, everyone just spread a lot of conjecture.”

“What happened with the guy who hit him? Tremblay?” I ask, even though I have a feeling I know the answer.

“Ejected, obviously, for a game misconduct. Suspended for six games and fined,” Nigel rattles off, capping his sharpie and coming to sit next to Corwin. “Looks like everything is signed, Lawson. You’re about to make those kidsveryhappy.”

“That’s the hope,” I murmur, running my fingertips over Troy’s signature on a hoodie. I want to ask Nico about what happened, but it probably falls under “things we can’t talk about” in his rules, or some shit.

Later, after I’ve gone home to an empty house, I consider texting Nico and asking if he wants to come over. My insides are a whirl of bewildering contradictions, and I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep. We need to just fuck and get it over with; this extended foreplay thing isn’t doing it for me. Maybe, after one time, the urge will abate and things can go back to the way they were before.

Yeah, okay, you keep telling yourself that.

Walking upstairs, I flip on my bedroom light. “Fuck!” I shout into the empty house, eyeing my laundry hamper with hands on hips. Well, if it’s going to be another sleepless night, might as well get something out of it. Dumping as much as Ican fit into the machine, I start it and hope there is at least one complete outfit in there that I can wear tomorrow.

When I get back to my bedroom, I walk past my open closet door before backtracking. Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture of the lone, red plaid shirt hanging inside. Smiling, I send it to Nico before throwing my phone onto my bed and heading into the bathroom. I shower quickly,notbecause I’m eager to check my phone, but because I need to try and get some rest before SCU practice tomorrow.

Naked, I crawl into bed and grab my phone. There’s a reply from Nico, a single word:No.And if it makes me smile like a fool, there’s no one here to see it but me.

Nico

I already regret propositioning Anthony, and we haven’t even hooked up yet. In the safe, comfortable quiet of my home, it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea. Not when he was skimming exploratory hands over my skin, and kissing my jaw. But now, under the glaring light of the practice rink, it feels like a gross overstep on my part. I’m not interested in helping a baby-bi figure out their sexuality, and most certainly not one who plays for the NHL—a league well known for its homophobic tendencies. My resolve to tell him the deal is off lasts until practice ends and he steps off the ice.

The look he sends me is so filled with heat, there could be no mistaking it. A weaker man than me would have trouble withstandingthatlook. Annoyed with myself, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s easier to think when I can’t see that face and remember how soft his lips were.

“Before you go,” Anthony calls to the boys, “I brought you guys some stuff.”

Despite myself, I open my eyes and look for him. He’s sitting on the bench, legs spread wide and elbows resting on his thighs. There is a small smile on his face as he surveys the boys, who are absolutely tearing into a large cardboard box. I move closer to him, so he can hear me over the shouting.

“Do I want to know what’s in there?” I ask him, and he looks up at me. His smile widens when his gaze meets mine.

“Swag. I had a couple buddies sign some stuff. If it wasn’t the off-season, I would have tried to get the whole team in on it.” He bites his lip, turning to watch as several of the players jam autographed hats onto their heads. “Hopefully they’ll be happy enough with Cor, Troy, and Saint.”

Amused, I take a seat next to him, careful to leave a good foot of distance between us. Somehow, he still manages to press his knee to mine. “What about you?”

“Me what?” He turns back to me, dark eyes flicking down to my mouth before settling back on my eyes.

“You didn’t sign anything?” I point at the box, making sure to keep an ear cocked in that direction to make sure no fights break out. Arguments have been born from less than an autographed t-shirt.

“Oh. No, I didn’t think of it,” Anthony replies, surprised. I shake my head, charmed. Comfortable sitting here with him, I watch as the boys begin thanking Anthony and heading off to the locker room to change.

Eventually, the only one left is Carter Morgan who, per usual, lingered in the periphery until everyone else left. Now, he moves forward, peeking into the box and pulling out a lone ballcap. He stares at it, hard, a deep frown marring his young face. Awkwardly walking over on his skates, he thrusts the hat toward Anthony, who takes it with a confused expression.

“You didn’t sign it,” Morgan mumbles, eyes skittering around and making contact with anything but Anthony’s eyes.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just made aware of that.” He pushes his knee more firmly against mine. Silently, I hand him a sharpie. He signs it with a flourish and hands it back. “Here you go, buddy.”

Morgan scowls down at the freshly autographed hat as though he didn’t just request it. We wait. Eventually, he puts it on his head and I swear he almost smiles. “Thanks, Tony. See you tomorrow. Bye, Coach Mackenzie.”

I think there might be some pep in his step as he trudges off toward the lockers, but that may just be wishful thinking. I stand, turning around and eyeing Anthony. He’s doing nothing more than sitting, but the wide spread of his muscular thighsis ridiculously enticing. His hands are resting in his lap; hands that were inside my shirt last week, calloused palms rough and warm.

“Well, Tony, you’ve certainly made their night. Probably their whole summer. You nearly got Morgan tosmile.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy,pleasedo not pick up the Tony thing. I don’t know where he got that from, but it sure as shit wasn’t me.” Anthony stands and I have to take a step back so he doesn’t brush up against me.

“Don’t worry, none of the rest of them will call you that if Morgan’s the one who starts it.”

“Mm.” He looks me up and down, gaze trailing slowly from my feet to my pelvis, where it lingers, and up my chest. It’s an openly sexual look, and I can feel it in my bones.What was that about regret, earlier?

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