1. KNOX

ONE

KNOX

The whole time I'm following Connor Kikishkin across the lawn and up the stairs to our front door, I'm aching, sweaty, sore, aching—that deserves a double mention—and calculating if it's possible to slip sleeping pills to the monster that is my best friend so I don't have to spend the last of my summer getting my ass kicked by him.

I love the guy. I really do. But wanting to spend his time off playing more hockey is likely to earn him a stray elbow to the head one of these days. No one can ever say he's not committed.

Connor sends a smug look back my way while he fishes the keys from his pocket. "I thought you were staying fit?"

"I am!" Unfortunately, the way I'm wheezing like a donkey who's had a squeaky toy shoved down its throat makes it hard to prove my point. I stop hugging the banister and straighten. "But you're a psychopath out there."

We enter the living room, and Connor dumps his gear bag to shrug awkwardly. "You know you're the only one I can play with properly."

I want to argue he has an entire team of guys he could do that with, but unlike Connor, they like to use their summers to have a break from hockey. You know, like sane people. Which leaves me to endure his torture.

Since he's the oldest of three brothers, with parents who worked their asses off to put three children through hockey training, Connor's always seen it as his job to look after Easton and Lachie, so he takes it easy on them. When I came along, he adopted me as his pseudo brother, and as I was a cocky shit growing up with a well-off mommy, Connor has no sibling guilt about knocking me on my ass.

Repeatedly.

I try not to wince and make it obvious that my best friend has bruised my hip.

"Dibs first shower," he calls before disappearing into the bathroom.

As soon as he's gone, I collapse onto the living room floor. The couch would have been more comfortable, but it can barely contain my limbs on a good day. I'm spread out, ass up, wanting everything to stop hurting.

Despite my current state of dying, I have been keeping fit. As a ref for the PWHL—professional women's hockey league—I need to be out on that ice every game, but it also means I'm paid sweet fuck all, have a second job, and have to rent a room off my best friend when I'm home in Colorado in the off-season until I hopefully, one day, make it onto the NHL official's roster.

And when I say renting, it's for free because one, he refuses to take my money, and two, I don't exactly have money to give him anyway. Mom might have money and help me out whenever I'm in real financial trouble, but she raised me to be independent, and taking money from her when I could've chosen a profession that paid better doesn't sit right with me.

"Are you dead?"

I throw my middle finger up in the direction of his voice. There was a time I could keep up with him, back in college when our team almost won the Frozen Four. I'd been in the best shape of my life, Coach was talking about us both being drafted, but where Connor went on to become an NHL star with his brother—soon to be brothers —I'd decided I didn't have what it takes so turned my focus to reffing. It's a job I love, and if the PWHL paid me better, I'd hands down stay with them rather than try to make the switch.

Too bad a guy's gotta eat, and he can't mooch off his best friend forever.

I roll over onto my back, sweat cooling, but finally able to breathe again and find Connor sitting shirtless on our couch, scrolling through his phone.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Sending a picture to Easton and Lachie of big bro Knox's final moments."

I scowl and kick out at him. "I'm not their brother," I grumble. Because that's the thing I should be focused on here. Not the embarrassing photo or the way I can't even spend an hour on the ice without dry heaving. No, the most pressing thing is making sure the guy I consider a brother doesn't also think of me as a brother to his brothers.

Hello, problem? It me.

A smidge of guilt plays at me because I know that if he'd only mentioned Lachie in that sentence, I wouldn't have cared. But Easton?

Yeah. There's no way I can exist in the same context as brother when it comes to him.

"You gonna shower?" Connor asks.

"Soon. Still figuring out where my legs are."

"No wonder you're a ref, dude. So dramatic."

"You wait. The day I make it to the NHL, I'm going to sin bin you on principle."

"Good luck with that." Connor grins. "I'm the cleanest player you'll ever see."

"Uh-huh. Tell me again what you did when Cody Bilson went for Easton? "

Connor's cheeks tinge with pink. "It's my brother. Someone touches him, they're dead."

And that's my cue to shower. I jump up and look down at my legs. "Hey, look, there they are! You better not have jerked off in there," I shout back on my way into the bathroom.

We got this place during Connor's first season, when he needed to be smart with money. He can afford something way cooler now—at least with an en suite—but we're close to his family here, and I know he wants to make sure I have somewhere to stay when I'm back from Minnesota. Plus, it keeps him close to Easton, who moved into the place next door when he signed with Colorado.

Connor is an amazing best friend, and then here's me, monster crush on his little brother, and in his own words, Connor will kill anyone who touches him.

I'm not stupid enough to think that might exclude me.

It's why I've never mentioned how cute I find Easton, and the few times it's been him and me one-on-one, the thoughts that filled my head made me so guilty I didn't mention us hanging out to Connor. It felt like I'd be handing him a reason to suspect my feelings.

Not that Connor knows for sure that I'm bi. It's more the type of situation where I'm sure he heard that I hooked up with men in college, but he didn't bring it up, so I never mentioned it, and we both get on with life not at all concerned about each other's sexuality.

Does that make me a dishonest dick? Kinda, yeah. And it's not even the omission; it's the guilt that comes with it because I know that deep down, the reason I haven't brought it up, the reason I haven't told him I'm sort of friends with Easton outside of him, is because I'm worried he's not a dumb jock after all and will put the pieces together. He'll figure out I've had a crush on Easton since the first summer he came home from college. He'd had a growth spurt and somehow went from awkward teen to man in the blink of an eye .

I keep my shower short and fast, not giving myself time to think about Easton too much, and then head back out in only a towel.

"You packed yet?" Connor asks, not looking up from his phone.

"Yup, you?"

The expression he pulls reminds me I really should know the answer to that. "We've got time."

"We leave in the morning."

"Exactly. Plenty of time."

"Not the way you pack." All of my clothes have been shoved into the overnight bag sitting at the end of my bed, so I pull out an old pair of sweats before joining him. "You stress over every single thing."

"I have nice clothes. I want them to stay nice. Sue me."

"Even if you fold them, they'll still end up in a crumpled mess by the time you arrive."

"How would you know? You've never folded your clothes in your life."

Eh, he's got me there.

Connor suddenly snorts at his phone.

"What is it?"

"Easton being … Easton."

My interest immediately spikes. "Oh yeah? What, uh, did he say?"

"Told me to take the photo again with your shorts off." Connor tosses his phone to the side, barely holding back from rolling his eyes.

Easton openly flirts with me, in front of Connor, but Connor plays it off like it's a big joke. I wish I could find the humor in torturing me slowly with flirting and no follow-through. Not that I would ever allow the follow-through to happen, no matter how much I'd want it.

"Oh, damn. Should have told me that a few minutes ago." I'm mostly joking to show how unfazed and totally unbothered I am by that, and maybe a tiny bit to see how he reacts to the idea of me sending his little brother dick pics.

He doesn't. React, that is. "I'm worried about him."

Oh, look, something new. It's my turn to not roll my eyes. "Why now?"

"Now that he's officially out, he has no reason to hold off on hooking up with people."

"Okay …" Knife, meet gut.

His lips tighten. "I don't want to sound like some puritanical father figure, but I don't want to see articles about my brother sleeping around. Is that so bad?"

It takes me a minute to answer. "Depends. Would you feel differently if it was with women?"

Connor hurries to shake his head. "You know I don't give a shit about that." He's looking at me closely while he says that, like he's making sure I know it's true. Which I do. Connor has a big heart. "Actually, maybe it does, but not because I'm being an asshole, but I know others will be. No one cares when the straight players show up on puck bunny sites or have photos splashed all over social media of them partying with random women. I've seen how the public treated guys like Ezra Palaszczuk and Oskar Voyjik during their single years before they settled down with their partners. I don't want that for East."

"Then it's not totally bad. You care about him. Easton's lucky to have that. Unfortunately, just because you care doesn't mean you get a say in how he lives his life. That's on him."

"I know." He picks at the hole in his jeans. "Fuck. Lachie joining the league is going to kill me."

"He'll get his first taste of it at this charity game," I say.

Connor nods, back in thought again.

Within the NHL, there's a group of queer players who've formed a sort of support group for each other, and with Easton being one of the most recent players to come out and join them, they now have enough queer and allied players to have a charity match this summer.

And they've asked me to ref it.

I don't know if I'm there in a queer or ally capacity or even as the only ref we know type deal, but I'm hoping it'll give me that bit of extra clout within the NHL.

Now to do a really good job of it. Which will be difficult because with games that don't count toward an official standing, like during All-Stars week, officials seem to be there as props instead of actual refs. You don't call a penalty on tripping when they're doing it for funsies. The goal is to keep play fast and make sure no one gets too fucked-up before the season starts.

"I know you said to stay out of it," Connor randomly blurts.

"Rewind. What?"

"Easton. I agree. I have no say in what he does."

"Okay."

"But—"

"Oh no …"

Connor glares my way. His eyes are the same gray shade as East's. "This charity game is going to attract a lot of press if Ezra has anything to say about it."

"Still not following."

"Look, I love East—you know that—but I also know that he has a problem following his dick sometimes and doesn't always think things through."

"We all have that problem at times."

"He shouldn't be hooking up with anyone in Vegas and drawing attention to himself with so much press around covering the event."

I card my fingers through my hair, uncomfortable at where this conversation is heading. "That's not up to you."

"It is if we cockblock him."

"Connor, no. "

"Please, Knox. You know I wouldn't be asking you to do this if it wasn't important. Easton only recently came out. He wants to have fun with it, I get that, but if he's dragged over the coals in the media, how do you think his first taste of freedom will go?"

This is sounding marginally, maybe better. "It's still up to him."

"I don't trust he won't get drunk and overdo it. I can picture the blowback if he hooked up with one of the Collective guys."

Connor's right. That would be a nightmare. "I won't interfere."

"What about a compromise? No hockey players. No Collective. Most—if not all—of them are taken. Easton can have his fun but not with any of them."

Do I think East is the kind of guy who'd go after a taken man? No. But do I think the freedom of being out, surrounded by other queer men, could lead to bad choices? Who knows. I trust that East wouldn't do that though, so what's the harm in agreeing?

"Just this one time," Connor continues. "While we're in Vegas, I need your help to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"And by do anything stupid, you're saying you want to make sure he doesn't have sex with any of the taken Collective players and create drama, right?" I clarify.

"Right."

Considering I hate the thought of Easton having sex with anyone, this is a no-brainer. "Shouldn't we trust them to honor their relationships?"

"Oskar Voyjik is literally chained to his PR manager boyfriend because he couldn't keep it in his pants. I'm sure he's a great guy, but come on. You really want to put your trust in a guy like that?" Connor asks incredulously. "And with how flirty Ezra is, you can't tell me that he and Anton Hayes aren't into threesomes."

Suddenly, that's all the excuses I need.

Should I be meddling in Easton's sex life? I'm not an idiot. Of course I shouldn't.

But this gives me a built-in excuse to pay closer attention to him while we're away without having to explain myself to Connor. It's a win-win if you ask me.

"Deal." I can't wipe the smile from my face.

I'm going to hell.