17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

“Your phone isn’t magically going to show you whatever it is you’re looking for,” Jane said, amused, as she stirred her coffee, spoon clanking against the side of the cheap ceramic mug.

They were enjoying their standing Tuesday brunch at Jimmy’s, but Mal knew he was distracted and that his heart wasn’t in it.

Because it was breaking over this whole situation with Elliott.

“I know,” Mal said with a sigh, setting his coffee down on the tabletop reluctantly. “I just wish I’d heard from Dr. Bricker by now. Coach keeps making noise that he can’t keep Elliott on the team much longer, even with some of the questionable details of the test.”

“I need something from the department,” Coach had said apologetically just last night. “Or else he’s off the team by the end of the week. Before this weekend’s games.”

Elliott had been quiet all evening, even though they were studying as they usually did, Mal dragging him to Sammy’s to try to cheer him up, but a peanut butter banana smoothie didn’t do it, and neither did the blowjob that Mal had given him later, back in Elliott’s room.

Mal couldn’t blame him. The whole situation was unjust, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. They’d talked about maybe opening an official case with the provost, but Elliott had seemed reluctant to take on Dr. Prosser without any actual hard evidence.

Mal wasn’t sure he blamed him.

“That’s awful,” Jane said sympathetically. “So unfair.”

“It is. I want to break something when I think about it.” Elliott was such a good guy—and smart , too, and a fucking brilliant hockey player. This shouldn’t be happening to him.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’d change your mind, but seeing you become his number one defender is more than a little surprising. And satisfying, too. Like you’re growing into the man I always thought you could be if you could get out of your own ass for a second.”

“Thanks,” Mal retorted.

“And hearing about him going to toe to toe with your dad? Chef’s kiss,” Jane said. “Have you thought about contacting Dr. Bricker yourself, again?”

Had he? Only about a million times. But he worried that it would look exactly like what it was: that Malcolm was madly, stupidly in love with the guy.

And while he wasn’t really worried that Dr. Bricker would happen to inform the Toronto scouts of this, Mal did worry that it made him look even less impartial and it certainly didn’t magically improve their case.

“Yeah,” Mal said. He pushed his hash around his plate. He’d been hungry when he’d walked into Jimmy’s, but now his corned beef was curdling in his stomach.

“I get it. But you’ve got to fight for him. Fight for a future if you want it.”

“Of course I want it,” Mal objected.

Jane’s gaze softened and she reached across the table, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “Of course you do.”

“You going to take any of your own advice?” Mal wondered. Maybe it was unfair to turn the tables on Jane like this, but frankly he wanted the distraction—and the change of subject.

“Honestly, is it still a bad idea to get involved with Ben? Absolutely. And I’m doing it anyway. Like I said—sometimes you’ve got to take a risk. Sometimes you’ve got to fight. Even fight dirty.” She paused, shooting Mal a lopsided smile. “Yes. Even you can fight dirty.”

“I just choose not to,” Mal protested.

“And that means you can choose differently,” Jane pointed out. “Play dirty. Fight dirty. If you really want something, you’ll find a way to get it.”

“It’s not—”

“No, it’s not your dad’s way. But he’s not always right, Mal. For him, or for you.” She squeezed his hand again and then let go.

“That’s kinda what Elliott was trying to say, I think. The other day. He wasn’t happy to hear about how my dad’s pressured me to do this internship. He thinks I should skate as long as I want to.”

Jane made a terrible faux shocked face. “And now you’re just seeing this?”

“I thought I wanted it, too,” Mal said. “But things are different this year . . .it’s different playing this year. With Elliott, and Ivan too, of course.”

“But you’re not in love with Ivan and hoping that he’ll be drafted to your future NHL team,” Jane said dryly.

“No,” Mal agreed.

“I think it’s not that your situation is all that different. It’s that you’re different.”

Mal could feel it too. He was having more fun on the ice than he ever had before. He’d approached it so doggedly and diligently before. But now, he was leaning into his instincts more, and as Elliott liked to claim, he was, “skating now with his heart, not his head.”

Mal pushed his hash around his plate more, forced himself to eat another bite. “Yeah,” he agreed, because Jane was not wrong.

Jane was rarely wrong.

Which probably meant Jane was right about this fighting for what he wanted thing, too.

If he wanted to help Elliott, he needed to work for it.

“You’re welcome,” Jane said, grinning.

“I’d ask how you got so smart, but you’ve always been so smart.”

Her mouth tilted up. “Yes and no. You were good for me, too, Mal. And you know what? I’m glad Elliott has you. And you have Elliott.”

“Me too. I . . .” Mal’s voice cracked embarrassingly, but there was only Jane here. No need to feel humiliated. “I just want to fix this, for him. Let him fix it himself. Something .”

“Well, you know what to do,” Jane said. She waved her hand to the door. “I got this. Go play white knight—or maybe in this case, we can call you the morally gray knight.”

Mal nodded and stood, pulling on his coat and tossing a few bucks down on the table to cover the tip.

He kind of hated the thought of being ‘morally gray’ and he couldn’t even think of what his father would think about it.

But then he considered how it would feel next year or the year after if he was playing for Toronto and Elliott was doing . . .well, what would Elliott even do without hockey? He was a born hockey player.

And, it wasn’t like Dr. Prosser’s behavior was all aboveboard either. Mal knew there was something going on, a hidden agenda he couldn’t quite discern, but was unbelievably sure existed.

Nothing else made sense.

Mal headed in the direction of Dr. Bricker’s office. It wasn’t normally his time to be in there, receiving students, but maybe he could persuade him to make another exception for him.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was. Elliott had just gotten out of his morning class and was no doubt asking if he’d heard anything. He’d told him he’d call, while he walked to his next one.

“Ell, I’m working on it, I swear,” Mal answered without glancing at the screen.

“Not Ell,” a deep voice said with amusement. “It’s Dr. Bricker.”

“Oh. Oh . I’m sorry. I just thought it was going to be—”

“Your boyfriend?” Dr. Bricker was definitely smiling now. Mal could hear it.

“Yeah,” Mal admitted.

“I’ve got good news for both of you. I brought your concerns and a copy of the test to the chair, Dr. Howard. She’s agreed that there’s something going on. Can you and Elliott come by this afternoon for an hour or two?”

Mal mentally sifted through both of their schedules. “Yes, I think so. An hour or two?”

“Dr. Howard’s going to administer another test. One she grades.”

Oh shit .

It was not what Mal had expected to hear, but it would absolutely be a way for Elliott to prove, once and for all, that he’d been graded unfairly the first time around.

Would Elliott freak out? Absolutely. But Mal was sure that he knew the material. He’d been confident—but not cocky—going into the first test.

“I’ll let him know,” Mal said, switching directions. If he was quick, he might be able to cross the quad and catch Elliott before he ducked into his next class. Tell him the good news in person. Reassure him if he panicked.

“Three PM sharp,” Dr. Bricker said.

“We’ll be there and he’ll be ready to take whatever test you need to give him.”

“Good.” Dr. Bricker hesitated. “I’m glad you brought this to our attention, Mal. Dr. Howard’s very concerned.”

“So are we. Elliott, especially,” Mal added. “This could kill his whole future.”

“If he genuinely got mis-graded, we’ll fix it, I promise,” Dr. Bricker said.

Mal hung up the phone and accelerated into a slow jog, getting a few weird looks as he cut across the quad.

But it paid off, because Mal spied Elliott about to walk into Hood, the farthest classroom building.

He caught up to him on the stairs up to the front door and grabbed his arm.

Elliott’s whole face bloomed into a pleased but astonished smile.

“Mal, what are you doing here? You have class in—”

“I know,” Mal said. He’d be late, for sure. But he’d stored up plenty of goodwill over the years and if he used a little of it now, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “I talked to Dr. Bricker just now. Dr. Howard, the chair of the department, is going to administer a second test and grade it herself. This afternoon.”

Elliott’s jaw dropped. “Today? This afternoon?” His voice was edging higher, into nervous hysteria.

“Yeah, it’s quick, but think about it—you know this material. We made sure of it. And tonight, you’re never going to have to worry about missing a single practice, at least not because of that bitch Dr. Prosser.”

“Mal!” Elliott exclaimed.

“What? She is ,” Mal said. “She fucked you over, and if she gets fucked over because of that, I’m not going to be sorry.” Maybe there was something to this morally gray hero business. It felt good saying those things. Sure he was really righting an injustice, but it felt like more than that, too.

Sometimes, like Elliott liked to say, you had to color outside the lines to end up with a beautiful picture.

“You really believe I can do this?” Elliott asked.

Mal knew what he was asking—what he was really asking, because there was a vulnerability in his eyes now that Elliott didn’t show to many people. Or to anybody, really. A vulnerability that Malcolm hadn’t been convinced even existed until he’d gotten to know him better.

“I’ve never believed anything else,” Mal said.

The corner of Elliott’s mouth tilted up. “You sure about that?”

“Even when I thought you were a careless, thoughtless party boy, I still thought you were good at what you did. It made me a little crazy, but it’s true.”

“A lot crazy, I’d imagine,” Elliott teased, swaying towards him. Mal wanted to touch him, to pull him close, to kiss him. But they were right on the quad, standing at the steps of Hood. Everyone would see, and imagine they understood what was going on.

Well, they’d be right.

“I want to kiss you,” Mal said.

Elliott made a face. “I want you to kiss me. We should—”

Mal had a feeling he knew what he was about to say, “No,” he said, pressing his fingers lightly to Elliott’s mouth and then pulling them away. “Not yet. Let’s get through this, first.”

“I was just gonna say I’m not going to live my life hiding,” Elliott said softly. “Whatever that means. And I think you’re right there with me.”

His father would probably disagree with that assessment. But then he’d wanted Malcolm to be his clone forever.

Malcolm wasn’t, though.

And he wanted things—believed in different things, too—that weren’t his father.

Would it maybe damage Elliott’s chances of being drafted by Toronto?

Possibly.

But if that happened, and they were still hiding, how would it feel, in the end?

Mal had a feeling it wouldn’t feel much like a win.

“We . . .let’s get through this,” Mal said. “Then we’ll talk about it. Maybe even . . .we should really loop Coach Blackburn in. Get his take on it.”

“Agreed,” Elliott said and took a deep breath. “Okay. Well. I guess I’m ready. I was ready two weeks ago, so I can’t say I’m any less ready now.”

“You want to grab a coffee and do a quick review before we head over there?” Mal asked. And if Elliott said no, he was going to convince him to agree, anyway.

Yes, he knew the material. But there was no harm in making sure.

“I thought you had class then?” Elliott asked, frowning.

And it occurred then to Malcolm that yes , Elliott knew he loved him. But he didn’t know that if Elliott needed him, Mal would drop everything for him.

That he’d put him first, no matter the consequences.

Sometimes, you’ve just got to say fuck it.

Mal leaned in and saw the shock and pleasure on Elliott’s face as he brushed his lips across his mouth. “I do,” he said. “But this is more important. You’re important to me.”

If Elliott had been confident for the first go-around of this test, he couldn’t say he was the same for this iteration.

He’d been burned too badly, not by confidence, and not even by over-confidence, but by faith in the system.

Would the same thing happen again?

Was he ultimately the problem, not Dr. Prosser at all?

Well, he was about to find out, once and for all.

Elliott hesitated in front of the row of cottages that had been remodeled to house faculty offices—Dr. Bricker’s was in the green one, with the quaint swooping roof.

“You good?” Mal turned to him, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder, squeezing it briefly.

“I’m terrified,” Elliott admitted.

Mal’s expression softened even further.

“You know this like the back of your hand,” Mal said. “I know you do. You know you do.” They’d just spent the last hour at Koffee Klatch going over the last semester’s worth of material, and Mal was right.

But that didn’t change the terror making his stomach so unsettled.

“Yeah,” Elliott said. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Mal nodded. “Me too. Come on, let’s do this. You’ll be so happy when it’s over, and you’re proved right.”

Elliott squared his shoulders and led the way into the green cottage because Mal was right. He would be happy to put this nightmare to bed, once and for all.

Of course, if they fixed this problem, they still had their other issue lingering.

How would their relationship affect his chances of being drafted to Toronto?

Coach would have to give them his opinion and even if he told them it could hurt them, Elliott still didn’t know whether he wanted it to stay a secret.

Even keeping it between them for a month had been hard. He didn’t want to live like this.

“You got this,” Mal murmured under his breath as Elliott knocked on the door to Dr. Bricker’s office. “I love you, no matter what happens.”

And from the way Mal was gazing at him, Elliott knew he meant it.

Dr. Bricker opened the door and ushered them in.

On the other side of the office from Dr. Bricker’s desk was a re-purposed dining room table. Elliott vaguely remembered it being piled with papers and books, before. But now it was cleared and there was a woman with dark brown skin and a regal crown of braids wrapped around her head, sitting there, her hands clasped in front of her.

“You must be Elliott,” she said, nodding at him and rising. “I’m Dr. Howard.”

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” Elliott said. His hands were trembling a little, but he shoved them in his pockets.

“I’m sorry we’ve got the need to do this at all, but I need to make sure everything in my department is aboveboard. If you pass this test, as Dr. Bricker thinks you will, there will be a more formal investigation launched into Dr. Prosser.”

Elliott wanted to say he wasn’t looking to get her fired, but then, if it came down to him or her, he would pick his own card over and over again. He had to.

“I just want to keep playing hockey,” Elliott said simply.

“Right. Of course.” She gestured to one of the empty chairs around the table. In front of it was a pile of papers. “I think this will take you about an hour, give or take.”

Elliott glanced over at Mal, who nodded encouragingly.

“Malcolm and I will go have a nice catchup chat,” Dr. Bricker said. “You’re in good hands here, with Dr. Howard.”

Elliott nodded. “Thanks again, Dr. Bricker.”

“You did the work, you should get the grade,” Dr. Bricker said solemnly. “We’ll be in the kitchen grabbing some coffee when you’re done.” He directed this comment towards Dr. Howard, and then they were gone, the door closing behind them.

“You’re ready for this?” Dr. Howard asked as he took a seat.

“Never been readier,” Elliott said, and he was surprised to discover that it was true. And when he picked up the pencil, his fingers weren’t shaking anymore.

It was the third period, and the Evergreens needed a goal to win the game.

And Elliott was going to goddamn make sure they got one.

“I still can’t believe you scored ninety-seven percent. Ninety-seven percent. ”

Elliott wasn’t offended at the incredulity in Malcolm’s tone. He was a mixture of shock and relief and joy, too.

“I guess I really did know the material,” he said with a triumphant laugh. “I can thank you for that.”

They were on their way to the rink, to Coach, to tell him the good news and also to tell him the truth.

Elliott kept switching wildly between exhilaration and well, a little bit of terror, still.

“I’m not sure you ever needed tutoring. You just needed another professor, apparently.” Mal’s grin faded a little. “I wonder why she did it.”

“Tanked me? I don’t know if we’ll ever know. Dr. Howard said she’d be talking to her, hoping to resolve it without opening an official investigation that might go on her permanent record.”

“Is that okay with you?” Mal sounded concerned, like he wanted to charge back into Dr. Bricker’s office and demand that satisfaction be given.

“Actually, I suggested it,” Elliott said. After Dr. Howard had graded his test, looking at him with astonishment, she’d asked him if he had any clue why Dr. Prosser had done what she’d done, and Elliott, other than offering his one theory that she didn’t particularly like student athletes, hadn’t been able to say why. But he had gone out of his way to inform Dr. Howard that he didn’t want her career destroyed over this.

“But she almost destroyed yours,” Dr. Howard had pointed out seriously. “I will talk with her. It’s possible there’s something else going on. If that’s true, and we can resolve it, without official disciplinary action . . .it might get her another job, later. Because I will tell you, she’s no longer going to be welcome in my department, no matter what.”

“You’re too nice,” Mal said.

“And you can be too rigid, sometimes,” Elliott said lightly. “We balance each other out. That’s what matters.”

Mal still appeared to be concerned. “Do you really mean that?”

Elliott stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. Put his hands on his hips and shot Mal the fiercest look he could dredge up. “Are you serious right now?”

“Well, yeah ,” Mal said. “This is . . .do you really want to do this?”

“Tell Coach and the rest of the team the truth, assuming that the news will travel?” Elliott nodded. “Do you really want to live your whole life like this? Hoping that nobody sees me touch you, or sees you look at me a certain way? It made sense at first, but now? No.”

“It could cost you—”

Elliott knew that. “And a million other things could happen, too. The actual chance of me getting drafted by Toronto is small—you know that. I’m not going to hide this away because we’re afraid. And I know you agree with me.” Okay, he hoped Mal agreed with him.

Mal’s gaze was sober and intense. “Two months ago I’d have told you no. No way. There wouldn’t be any circumstances I would tell you picking this over even the chance you could play in Toronto was a good idea.” He sighed. “But you’re right. It would be awful.”

He reached down and took Elliott’s hand, squeezed it. “I told Dr. Bricker you were my boyfriend. You are. And I don’t want to hide that.”

“This could really suck, you know,” Elliott said wryly.

“Yeah, it could, but we’ll deal. It could be worse, you know?”

Mal tugged on his hand and they were walking, hand in hand, towards the rink. And Elliott thought, because he couldn’t help himself, it could be like this all the time. But even if it’s not, it’s still worth it.

“How exactly?”

Mal shot him a shit-eating grin. A grin he’d never even imagined, two months ago, that Malcolm McCoy possessed and now here he was, giving it to him .

It turned out dreams did come true.

“You could still think I’m an unfunny and way-too intense asshole? And I could think you’re a party boy who doesn’t take anything seriously?”

“Did I ever say that you’re funny, McCoy?” Elliott chuckled.

Mal shot him an incredulous look. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Then he hesitated for a second. “You’re totally winding me up on purpose, aren’t you? God, I hate it when you do that.”

“No, you don’t,” Elliott said, grinning. “Because just think of what you can do to me later, in retribution.”

Mal nodded and then suddenly, Elliott was being yanked into a pair of firm arms and he was being kissed.

Here was the thing: Malcolm wasn’t ever going to be a comedian. He was always going to take some things a little too much to heart. He could, occasionally, still be a stubborn asshole. But he was also the fiercest, most loyal friend and partner that Elliott had ever dreamt of having.

Actually—scratch that. He’d never dreamt that Malcolm could be that, or that he even wanted that. He’d only thought Mal was the hottest guy he’d ever seen in his whole life.

And he was still that, too.

Mal pulled back, patting him on the cheek. “Yeah,” he agreed, his gaze full of happiness. “Just think of what I can do.”

“Oh my God, what is this?”

Elliott looked up and Zach was standing there, a shocked look on his face.

“I thought he knew,” Mal said under his breath. “Why else say that thing the other day before practice?”

Elliott nodded.

“Honestly, what the fuck, you’re just making out now?” Zach shoved a hand through his hair and there was no denying the complete astonishment on his features.

“You had to know this was an inevitability,” Elliott said. “And if you’re mad about Coach, we’re literally on our way to tell him.”

“Yeah, right now.” Mal nodded, too.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Zach nearly shouted.

Elliott had never seen their assistant coach look like this before. He was livid. Really, truly upset.

“I told you to get along with him!” Zach exclaimed, pointing at Elliott.

Mal shrugged. “Admittedly, I took it a step further than that.”

“You’re going to give him a fucking heart attack. God, can’t you just keep it in your pants for ten seconds?” But he didn’t seem to be talking to them, anymore, more like exclaiming, pointlessly, to the sky.

“We’re young, and we’ve got needs,” Elliott said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you do,” Zach said, sarcastically with a tinge of bitterness.

“Are you okay?” Mal asked.

“No! I’m not okay. I’m . . .this is going to fuck it up. Fuck him up. You know that right?”

“I don’t think Coach is going to be all that surprised,” Elliott ventured.

“Maybe surprised that we’re just showing up and telling him bluntly,” Mal said.

“He’s—” Zach stopped abruptly, like he’d almost revealed too much.

“He got over Brody and his hulking big boyfriend. He even got over Brody not wanting to play pro hockey,” Elliott offered.

But Zach didn’t look reassured. He was pacing now, back and forth on the concrete courtyard in front of the entrance. “It’s just one more thing,” he muttered, barely loud enough for them to hear.

“Is he okay?” Elliott asked under his breath.

Mal shrugged.

“I don’t think Coach is going to go round the bend over me and Mal falling in love?” Elliott tried next.

Zach just threw his hands up and his look said that he really thought Coach Blackburn might.

“He seems pretty even keeled,” Mal agreed.

“Seems. Seems . Did you know—” Zach stopped abruptly again. “No, you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t want you to.”

He and Mal exchanged glances. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, everything’s fucking peachy,” Zach muttered.

“Well. . .uh . . .we’re gonna go do that thing,” Elliott said, gesturing towards the building. “If you’re not going to stop us?”

Zach frowned but waved them on.

“What the fuck was that about?” Mal wanted to know as he held the door open for Elliott.

“Hell if I know,” Elliott said. “It was weird though. Do you think Coach . . .”

“No, he’s alright. I know he hasn’t always been.” Mal hesitated. “But he seems solid now. This isn’t going to send him spiraling or anything. He handled Brody’s shit just fine.”

“Why do you think Zach is so intense about him, then?” Elliott wondered.

Mal shot him a knowing look, and Elliott gasped.

“ No , you don’t think so? Do you? Oh my God.”

“I mean, I don’t know . But it’s a theory. Being so intense over someone usually doesn’t mean you’re indifferent to them.”

Elliott grinned. “Firsthand experience with that?”

“Just a bit,” Mal said with an amused chuckle.

The door to Coach B’s office was open, and he was sitting on his couch, watching some game film of their upcoming opponent on the big screen TV mounted on one of the walls.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Mal asked him.

“Sure. And I hear congratulations are in order,” Coach said, gesturing them in. They took the other couch as Coach paused the game.

“I . . .uh . . .” Mal hesitated, and Elliott realized he thought Coach was talking about their relationship—not his newly passing status in statistics.

“You must have heard pretty quickly from Dr. Howard,” Elliott said, shooting Mal a look.

“I think she emailed me right away, knowing how difficult of a situation this was for you,” Coach said. “I’m relieved. And you must be, too.”

“Definitely,” Elliott agreed. “But that’s not why we’re here.”

He could feel Mal shifting around next to him. Was he just trying to get comfortable or was he nervous? He hadn’t seemed nervous when he’d kissed him in front of anyone who might’ve been watching, less than ten minutes ago.

Elliott nudged Mal with his knee, and Mal nudged back.

“You’ve got something else?” Coach asked.

“Zach told me something a few weeks ago, and I wasn’t sure if it was true,” Mal said, finally speaking up.

“About?”

“How Toronto’s interested in Elliott.”

Coach laughed. “Just about everyone’s interested in Elliott. But yes. I suppose it couldn’t stay under wraps forever. They’re very interested in reuniting the two of you. Obviously, Ivan’s part of your line’s success, but he’s already been drafted by Boston, and I can’t imagine what situation the Toronto GM would have to create to get the Bruins to let him go.”

“There’s . . .uh . . .something else that can’t stay under wraps, not much longer,” Mal said.

Coach raised an eyebrow.

“It’s partially your fault, you know. I’d imagine you thought asking Mal to tutor me might help us understand each other a little better,” Elliott said, suddenly and acutely aware that now that the moment of truth had finally arrived, he wasn’t as easy about this as he’d imagined. But it would be worth it. He looked over, met Mal’s gaze, and saw the same truth written there.

“I can’t deny that was a thought I had,” Coach said. He frowned. “What else?”

It was the moment of truth, right now. Elliott swallowed hard. “We understood each other even better than you might’ve hoped. We . . .uh . . .we fell in love.” He reached over and took Mal’s hand. His palm was sweaty, despite the chill in the air, but Elliott understood.

If anyone’d told him that at the beginning of the year that not only would Malcolm McCoy be capable of love and affection, but that he’d feel it for him, and rank that love and affection above anything else, Elliott wouldn’t have believed it.

But he was doing it. If that wasn’t true fucking love, what was it?

“You fell in love,” Coach repeated, a bewildered look on his face. “Wait. You mean this? You’re together? But you’re—”

“I know we haven’t always gotten along,” Mal said apologetically.

Coach laughed. “Son, that is an understatement. At the beginning of the year, you told me if I put Elliott on the same line as you that you’d transfer.”

“You said that?” Elliott wasn’t offended, but he was a little surprised. “But you’d never want to transfer. Think of all those partial credits you’d end up with!”

Mal rolled his eyes. Shot Elliott a look that promised some especially sexy retribution later. “I wasn’t really serious.”

“Serious enough to make the threat,” Elliott teased.

Coach cleared his throat. “Okay. Okay. I see it now. Well. Uh.”

“We didn’t want to hide it,” Elliott said.

“Not anymore,” Mal agreed.

“I can see that,” Coach said dryly. “I’m beginning to be surprised you were hiding it at all.”

“We know the risks. We know what could happen. We’re hoping for a different result, though,” Mal said.

“For Toronto to still want Elliott?” Coach appeared to be seriously considering this. “Well, it’s not the problem it used to be, for sure. And they see how well you’re skating together, especially recently. Like you each took something from the other . . .” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “I can see why, now.”

“Yep,” Elliott said happily. “I removed the stick from Mal’s ass.”

“Don’t talk to Coach about my ass ,” Mal hissed under his breath, and Coach flushed.

“I don’t see a huge, insurmountable problem,” Coach said. “Keep playing the way you’re playing and it won’t matter. Teams want results. They want more goals than the other team, and with the pair of you leading in so many statistics, making each other better every week, I can’t see that this would be enough to discount that.”

“Really?” Mal sounded shocked.

How badly had Mal believed this would torpedo his future? And he’d still agreed. Elliott felt a new wave of love for his guy.

He trusted him.

He trusted them .

Coach waved a hand. “Maybe they’ll even like it? I can’t say for sure. But I don’t see a huge problem. Could another team take Elliott first? Sure. Still, I appreciate the heads-up. And an effort to keep the PDA to a minimum, at the rink . . .”

“That won’t be a problem,” Mal said quickly.

“I don’t know about—” Elliott started to say.

Mal interrupted him, shooting him a quelling look. “It won’t be a problem,” he repeated, even firmer this time around.

Elliott grinned. He was going to get exactly what he wanted.

No.

He’d already gotten exactly what he wanted.

“Good,” Coach said. “See you both at practice.”

They got up and were almost to the door when Coach said, “And really, Elliott, don’t talk to me or anyone else about Malcolm’s ass.”

Elliott cackled, Mal groaned, and he knew then—it was going to be okay.

Better than okay, actually.