4. Carter

FOUR

He knew that I knew.

My ears had been ringing all day after his naughty little Grindr alert. That rolling little sound of a new message was all too familiar to my ears. Hearing it from the locker room as I left Nate behind felt like getting slammed with a fire extinguisher in the back of my head. I had nearly lost my step and fallen down face-first when Nate's message arrived.

By the time I had climbed upstairs to where the cardio equipment was lined up for use, my phone had been in my hand, and the nearest profile in my normally desired age range was an empty one with just enough info to guarantee that my suspicion was correct.

Nate Partridge was on Grindr.

And he had blocked me an hour ago.

Maybe he deleted his account, I thought fleetingly but decided it was probably the former. Not that I would have hit him up on a hookup site. Screw that. I hated the culture on the app, but having it in a new city was as good a way to dip my toe in as any.

For the better part of the day, the idea that Nate was hooking up with random men off an app was too big and thorny to fit inside my head. Not to mention the blazing jealousy that threatened to turn me into a pile of ash.

Nate Partridge, the world's sexiest man in 2021, as well as three more times in the past, was gay. And he was sleeping around with guys in our area. And none of those guys was me.

I kicked the comforter off my body and punched the pillow to adjust it under my head. Anger boiled in me before I could let some cold reason calm me down.

Luckily, Ron was downstairs with a few of the other guys, and I could throw my tantrum in peace.

If I somehow turned off the rage at the obvious injustice of him not even bothering to check me out when I was all but naked two feet in front of him — and don't get me started on the way he ran away when I asked him to feel my pecs! It wasn't even a sexual proposition — I could see how it all made sense. The most desirable bachelor who had never been in a relationship media reported on turning out to be secretly gay was no big reveal. Sure, he'd had dates for big events, but he'd rarely been seen with the same woman more than once or twice. For a short time, reports swirled around that he was a playboy, but Nate stopped taking girls to heavily publicized events. Especially after he had once been spotted with his former sister-in-law and nephew. Stories of a secret relationship with his brother's ex hit the headlines, and Nate went out of his way to squash that gossip.

So, no, it was not shocking to learn that Nate was on a different team. The shock was that I hadn't even suspected it.

My entire life, Nate Partridge was the image of perfect masculinity, and growing up in my dad's house meant that perfect masculinity couldn't possibly be gay.

I wanted to growl simply by thinking of that. Not that he was a bigot, but Dad drew a line between "men" and "gay men" in ways that harmed everyone involved.

Even when my crush on Nate threatened to rip a hole in my chest, it didn't cross my mind that such a man could be gay. Dad's thoughts were running way too deep. The prejudice was instilled in me, even when I tried to do everything to shake it off. Even when it was the prejudice against my own self.

I sat up and shoved the pillow against the headboard of my bed, pulled my knees up, folded my arms around them, and nestled my head in them. A shudder passed through me as I squeezed my eyes shut so hard that they caused a minor headache.

Too many emotions swirled through me. Contempt for my dad, an ever-present feeling, was emphasized tonight. His way of thinking had never failed to mess with me, but tonight, I felt it harder than most times. The revelation that Nate Partridge was gay triggered this stupid glimmer of hope somewhere deep in me. As if Nate being gay directly resulted in him wanting a scrawny, clumsy kid like me. I knew for a fact that nothing about me sparked any interest in him.

Mostly, though, it was jealousy. I hated being that guy, but I had very vivid ideas of some ripped and shredded men lining up in front of Nate's apartment, and I wanted to scratch their eyes out.

He wasn't dating anyone secretly if he was on Grindr. That much I was sure of. And it couldn't be some long-standing arrangement, either. Nate hadn't lived here until a month ago. He was cruising the app. He was looking at the kinds of guys that were nearby.

Hookups, then. That was what he was out for. And that was where my anger focused. None of the men off the goddamn app deserved him. None of them knew him. None of them had had the years of crushing on him to guide their hands.

Annoyed out of my mind, I dragged myself out of my bed, put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and headed downstairs to the basement. Down there, our goalie, Sawyer, who lived off campus, was telling Ron how he and his physics tutor had coached one another in their respective areas of expertise — Sawyer's was the art of picking people up — and how they had gotten together a few years ago. Caden was listening to Jordan Mitchell and Asher Sullivan as they told their story in a heated hurry to finish one another's sentences. Phoenix played one of the arcade games on the vintage machine in the corner, and Beckett sat on the edge of the soccer table nobody ever used.

Entering, I made the sign of the cross at the finger-painted nude portrait of a guy who used to live in this house, whose back and ass were vividly depicted against a green-and-orange background of a scenic sunset on some grassy hill. I didn't know what I was doing, except that all the guys made the same gesture to the painting whenever they entered the basement.

"Hey, stranger," Beckett said over his shoulder when I walked in. "Coming out of your den and joining the civilized world, huh?"

I nodded once. The minifridge had cans of cold beer, and I picked one for myself and one for Beckett when he asked for it. Joining him at the soccer table, I handed him the can and opened mine.

"Ron was just saying how college is different from what he'd expected," Beckett said. Like most of the guys down here, he was a senior. Unlike any of them, he was related to a hockey legend, just like me. "How are you finding it?" he asked.

"Erm…good," I said tightly. If only your uncle would notice me when I stood nearly naked in front of him, then everything would be pretty damn neat. "I dunno. It's different from school, that's for sure."

Beckett was silent for a little while, then leaned in and bumped into my shoulder with his. "It helps to have a famous dad, am I right?" I snorted, thinking he was joking until his brow wrinkled a little. "Nobody's giving you shit about that, right?"

"No," I said right away. "It's not that."

"Good," he said. "Some of the guys used to think I was here because Nate's my uncle. I wouldn't want to see that happen to anyone else."

The story had it that the division in the team drove Beckett and Caden to cooperate, leading them to cooperate a little more than anyone had expected. They were now a power couple that held the team together.

"Do you ever feel…?" I stopped myself, my question dangling unfinished in the air. Beckett tilted his head curiously, and I closed my eyes for a few moments. Inhaling a deep breath of air, I went ahead and asked it. "Do you feel any pressure because your uncle is so famous?" When he was quiet for a time, I elaborated. "It's like there's no winning. If I'm not as good as Dana Prince, everyone will say I'm just riding on my father's fame. If I'm better, I guess it'll just create resentment. And who are we kidding? I'm not gonna be better than my dad. Doesn't that worry you?"

Beckett bit his lip playfully. "Well, fuck. It didn't worry me until now."

"Sorry," I sighed.

The captain threw his arm over my shoulders and laughed out loud. "I'm messing with you, Prince. But to answer your question: no, it doesn't bother me at all. It used to, but then I decided I couldn't let that stop me. There are hundreds of famous players I'll never be able to beat. Thousands. So why does it matter if one of them is my uncle? The best I can do is to do my best."

I snorted so loudly that even he chuckled.

"I think I'll print that on a T-shirt," Beckett mused. "Anyway, my point is that you're not your father, and no one expects you to be. Measuring yourself against him will only make you miserable."

"That's fucking encouraging," I joked.

Beckett gave a deep shrug, pulling his arm away from my shoulders. "It's the best I've got."

"Thanks," I said. I meant it. It helped in a way, although I couldn't exactly come out and tell him that hockey had never been the thing I wanted to do with my life. Not when I played on his goddamn team. And definitely not when his uncle, the coach, was my biggest crush in the galaxy and possibly beyond. For Nate, I'd stick around on the off chance that I would run into him in the locker room again. I'd stick around as if I had a choice.

It occurred to me the day after the next that I was doing this wrong. I went to the gym in my usual hour, but Nate was nowhere to be seen. I imagined he had moved his slow to an even earlier hour so we wouldn't run into each other in the locker room now that we both knew his secret. Yet I struggled to understand why he would. It wasn't like I'd said or done something to make things weird.

As much as I preferred my gym time to be quiet, I would have rather bumped into the six-plus feet of pure sex in the locker room again. I hadn't seen Nate Partridge topless in years. Back then, I didn't know how to appreciate it. I was sure I knew better now. The other morning, standing in front of him, looking up whenever I wanted to meet his gaze, or scanning his torso with all the attention of the steel muscles that guy had even after the injury that had kept him in the bed for weeks, had been the best thrill of this semester.

But I just couldn't catch him again.

During practice, he was surrounded by assistant coaches and other players. In the mornings, he was always gone before I arrived at the gym. So, by the end of the week, I made a new decision. I would start working out an hour earlier.

The first morning of my brand-new routine was like being splashed with a bucket of icy water while sleeping in a soft, warm bed. I grumbled and dragged my sorry ass out of bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and trudged to the gym while only the barest hints of pale golden light were visible in the east. When I got there, more ice water awaited. Nate didn't show up.

"Cut down," he'd told me. He probably wasn't coming every day, but I would have to if I wanted to run into him privately again. And when we met each other again, I would have to act like it was a pure accident and not a carefully concocted plan.

I sighed and did my workout to the psychedelic hits of the last century. They were all bangers that lifted my mood and, at times, made my fingers move as if I were playing the epic guitar solos.

After that first morning, my new schedule didn't get any easier. Juggling gym, drills, studies, and some guitar practice hours was a challenge when all I ever wanted to do was nap, snack, and fuck. The last one was a miserable miss, to be sure, but it did nothing to curb my drive.

After a week of knowing with total certainty that Nate was out there, sleeping with men, my anger simmered perpetually in the daytime, but my dick stirred while I slept. More than before, those annoying mid-sleep hard-ons woke me up. Being a belly sleeper was extra inconvenient. It started feeling as though I was trapped in an enchanted circle; frustration fueled my late-night arousals, which then frustrated me beyond belief. It was only a question of when I would explode.

Some two weeks after the gym encounter, I still hadn't run into Nate in the mornings, and I suspected that he had changed gyms. That evening, the drills were particularly hard. Coach Partridge, who was a much sterner person than the sweet, sexy Nate I dreamed of, was riding my ass in all the ways that weren't fun. He had me playing center, and the offensive was not my cup of tea; he paired me with different players every time, even though I had a good thing with Ron in drills; he even singled me out for putting on my gear incorrectly one time. The last one was an embarrassing error I couldn't deny. I also couldn't tell anyone the true reason. While putting on the gear, I had been daydreaming about my coach, and some of the straps didn't fit the right way.

In short, the time that followed the greatest discovery of my life was pretty much total misery. I should have been happy that Nate was gay. At least in theory, that should have made me hopeful. But in practice, it made me distracted and jealous. And the worst thing was that Nate's knowing had pushed him even further away from me.

Part of my heart wished he was actually straight. Longing after him and knowing I would never have a chance hurt ever so slightly less than the thought that I had pushed him away.

It crossed my mind once, briefly, that it was possible Nate didn't know I'd found him on Grindr. Perhaps he had just found my profile and blocked me for the simple fact that he found me unattractive. In his eyes, I was probably just his best friend's kid and nothing else. He likely couldn't imagine what a giant he was in my life. He had no idea how deeply he had touched me so many times as I was growing up, and not just by being my awakening but with his kindness, too. When Dad had grumbled about my poor performance on the ice one time, Nate had scolded him for hurting my self-esteem.

Who else could I have fallen in love with after that?

After practice, I showered and waited for others to leave. I put on clean underwear in the shower, which I always did, and finished dressing up in the locker room. Then, slowly, I carried my duffel down the hallway until I neared Nate's office. His door was partially open, and no sounds came from the other side of the door.

I dared myself to enter his office. It made my heart skip a beat. I stepped inside and found Nate Partridge all alone. He looked away from his computer screen and into my eyes. He was so stiff in his chair that I could tell he was uncomfortable. "Hey, Coach," I said.

"Prince," he replied. "What can I do for you?"

I shut the door behind my back without asking. "I just wanted to say sorry," I said. You were right to call me out on tardiness."

Nate frowned a little. As he leaned back, he seemed just as uncomfortable. It was crazy how out of place he looked in here. "I never thought of you as amateurish, Prince."

I bit my lower lip and winced. After a moment of hesitation, I said, "I wish you wouldn't call me Prince when nobody's around."

He forced a chuckle. "Now you sound like Partridge." He meant Beckett, of course, and it made perfect sense. "I am your coach, for better or worse."

I crossed my arms on my chest because he didn't invite me to sit down, and I didn't want to presume that much. "I have a sense you're not too happy with that," I said.

Nate snapped his mouth shut and lifted his eyebrows briefly. I wondered if that was a smile he was fighting to hold back. "What gave me away?"

This was a dangerous conversation to get into. My heart thumped faster as I licked my lips. Did he know what this sounded like? Did he do it on purpose? "You're doing a great job, Nate," I said softly.

Nate put his hands on the desk and pushed himself up to his feet. Slowly, he came around the desk and sat on its edge, crossing his arms like me but making it appear a lot more casual. He was so tall that even when he was sitting at the edge of the desk, our gazes were level. "Why are you here, Prince?"

I pressed my lips together for a moment. "I guess I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you're doing for this team."

He nodded slowly, never taking his gaze off my face. His arms were so muscular that he couldn't hide the biceps under the hoodie. The sight made me work for air against the pressure that mounted on my chest. But Nate just shrugged. "And what are you doing here, at Northwood?"

"What do you mean?" Was that defensive? A little bit. But the question stung. It stung because I knew precisely what he meant.

"You're immensely talented, Carter, yet you're making newbie mistakes almost every day." He wasn't saying anything. Instead, he let me say it.

I hesitated only a moment, then remembered that Nate was the guy who'd had my back so many times before. Sure, he'd always done it as an adult to a child, but he had to know I wasn't a child anymore. He had to see me as more than that. If anything, he would understand that my troubles were beyond a child's. "Maybe you're not the only one doing something he doesn't want to," I suggested.

Nate swallowed and looked at the floor. "Does Dana know you feel this way?"

I snorted with pure contempt. "He does, he doesn't; it makes no difference."

"You're underestimating your old man, kid," Nate said.

"Don't patronize me, please," I said in a tone that wasn't asking for conflict. It was a step detached from begging. "Not you." I looked at him with all the honesty clear on my face. He had to treat me like an adult. I couldn't always be the kid. And if he expected me to embarrass him or tell him I knew his secret, he had to see I wasn't going to.

"Alright," Nate said simply. "I'm sorry, Carter." He used my name, not my surname. That had to mean some barrier was down. "I know this is partly Dana's ambition, Carter, but I also know you love hockey."

Do I still love it?I wondered. A long time ago, I loved it like nothing else. But then, the pressure began piling up. "I'm not so sure anymore. I'm not sure when his ambition became stronger than my love for it."

Nate was quiet for a long while. I almost believed he wouldn't speak. But then, he sucked a shallow breath of air through his teeth. "I see that you're not kidding. It's as tough as it gets, Carter."

"Nate?" I asked, expecting him to give me a scolding look for using his first name in his office. He didn't. He was the same guy that used to entertain me in Dad's pool. He was the guy that got me roller skates for Christmas because he assumed Dad would want to buy the ice skates. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

I could swear I saw beads of sweat breaking over his brow. The pained expression he shot me was a clear plea not to ask. "If you must." His deep voice was guarded, emotionless.

"Why did you accept this job?" I said, cutting the torture short. I wasn't so cruel or so stupid. He didn't want to talk about Grindr. That much was clear from two weeks of us not crossing paths, even though we had been running into one another so often in the days before. "Sometimes, you look like you'd rather be doing anything else."

Nate narrowed his eyes suspiciously, sharing a moment of discreet honesty with me. He came so close to smirking that a laugh tore free from my lips. "What else was I supposed to do?" he asked, his somber tone winning over our little moment of lightness. I'm nearing forty with nowhere else to turn."

"I dunno. There's always pottery," I said.

He chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it. "Murray asked it as a favor to the team he spent his life coaching. When he retired, another coach was supposed to take over, but he was delayed for personal reasons, and Murray came to me. I was a mess, Carter. You have to understand. They'd just asked me to retire because the pressure was growing too high. I lost my purpose."

I winced.

"Yeah," Nate said, nodding toward me. "I hope you never know what it's like." After a brief silence, he continued. "Murray knew I would need something to keep me busy, and his word carries weight here."

"Being one of the most popular hockey players of our time probably helps, too," I said.

"Don't get cheeky with me," he teased. We shared a short laugh. "So now I coach you because pottery's not my kind of a gig."

I inhaled a deep breath of air and looked at the floor between us. Though it was only a couple of paces of distance, it felt like miles separated us. It felt like there was an insurmountable wall between us, and hope flickered out of me. How could I ever imagine him settling for some wimpy kid like me? Those words sounded like my dad to the point that I wanted to laugh. "I think," I said, lifting my gaze slowly along his muscled legs. He wore black sweatpants that didn't do such a great job of concealing the bulge, but I didn't dare let my gaze linger there despite every fiber of my being wanting to. "I think you're wrong."

Nate lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"You think there's nothing left to live for because you retired a year sooner than you planned. I get it. It sucks to see your name next to all the speculation about aging." I snorted at that. "But did you really let that get to you?"

Nate said nothing. He looked at me, his eyes deep like pools of infinite hurt with only glimmers of hope drowning at the bottom.

"You were named the sexiest man alive three years ago. And that was your fourth," I said, my voice growing louder to emphasize that point. "Do you really think your life ends with retirement? Purpose…that's just another way of saying your habits got disrupted." I challenged myself to take a step toward him with no rewards in mind. "Think about it. We all want to do something we enjoy, right? And if we get to do that often enough, we call it a purpose. But there's nobody in the world who only likes this one thing, who's good at one single thing. I meant it when I said you were a great coach, but if you're miserable…" I shrugged, realizing that we both now knew I was talking about myself as much as I was talking about him. "Maybe it's not worth it wasting your life on it." I looked away.

Nate was sitting on the edge of his desk in total silence. I wondered how he did it. Even his breathing was so quiet that I didn't really hear it. "When did you become so wise, Carter?" The amusement in his voice tickled me, but I focused on staying serious.

I lifted my gaze to meet his. Those glowing chestnuts he had for eyes… "I'm not a kid anymore."

"No, you're not," he agreed, never taking his gaze from my face. "I see that."

It was hard to describe or even understand the relief I felt when I walked out of his office. It wasn't the relief at parting ways. If anything, I wished we could spend all evening talking like this. The relief came from the very particular feeling of adulthood and recognition. Nate saw me as an equal. He had known already I was no longer a child, but I didn't think it had penetrated all the way into his skull until now that we were two adults. He might be my coach and my dad's friend, but he knew that I was more than a confused college freshman.

That night, for a change, I didn't stew in jealousy until I passed out. Instead, I struggled to keep the smile off my face.