29. KNOX

TWENTY-NINE

KNOX

The next few days, I hang out with Connor, work, crash at Easton's once I'm finally home at night, and he kisses me goodbye in the morning before practice. It hurts to not get quality time with him, but if I'm honest, I don't push for it to happen either.

Because the less time we spend together before I have some actual information about this job, the less he can push me to give him answers I don't have.

This must be the universe's idea of fun. Giving me everything I've ever wanted and then going, "Now, pick." It's a cruel, sick joke because no matter how much I want Easton, I know I can't pick him. Like he wouldn't pick me. Which means our days are numbered, and every time that reality passes through my head, it gets so much harder to breathe.

All I can do is hope that I'm given a local linesman position. My whole being is set on it. Does it solve our problem long term? No. In the NHL, linesmen still travel, and the AHL positions pay a livable wage, but only barely. I'd probably still need a second job, though nowhere near as demanding as what I'm currently doing.

It's our only hope. And as I restlessly pace my living room, waiting on the call from Ron, my gut is in knots. I try to convince myself that everything is going to work out. That I'm not qualified enough for the referee position and all this stress is for nothing. That Easton and I will have years together before I'm considered for anything else.

That's the kicker. That if we'd already been together for years, that if we had that stable relationship foundation, we might have a shot at lasting in an impossible relationship dynamic.

But I know myself, and I need that physical side with him too, which will be impossible if we're not even in the same damn state.

I've missed him throughout the year before we had a chance at anything. Every time he and Connor played in Minnesota, we'd catch up, and I was so much worse after those moments. I'd watch his and Con's games, this vague disconnect between the brothers and me, knowing that in another life, I could have been on that ice with them.

I was too scared then.

I have a feeling that I might be too scared now.

Easton called me out on that shit so easily because even now, with this call coming, I'm tempted to write up a thank-you, but no response. For the PWHL, I fought for that position. All the steps I took to get to where I am were carefully planned out and gradual. This opportunity has fallen in my lap and might upheave my entire life, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of change.

Will I be able to go back to training five days a week? To a strict diet? Most people don't realize that officials are all carefully scrutinized for their fitness as well. We might not be hurtling up and down the ice and barreling into other men, but we're out there for the full game, and our reflexes have to be damn fast to get out of the way of play all the while never taking our eyes off that puck. I've been keeping on top of things so far, but I haven't been pushing myself .

This will push me.

In so many fucking ways.

My laptop rings with a video call, and I physically jump because I still haven't made up my mind about—well, about anything.

I'm feeling physically sick as I force myself to sit and answer the call.

Ron's face smiles back at me. "Hey, Knox, sorry to keep you waiting. The last call ran long."

"No, that's okay."

"Have you had a chance to look over the email I sent you?"

Email? Ah …

He laughs. "Judging by your face, you haven't seen it yet. That's no problem—I only sent it through an hour ago, and I was curious if you had any questions. Basically, your contract outlines the position we're offering, the renumeration package, expectations, and?—"

"Ah, sorry," I cut in. "Which position was it?"

"With your credentials and obvious skills, we've decided to offer you the refereeing position. Now, obviously, this comes with a lot of travel, and you'll be expected to be shared across the AHL and NHL schedules."

He keeps talking, but my ears are ringing. There's too much to process. NHL? It's happening. I'm going to ref in the NHL. I knew there was some crossover and that the NHL relies on AHL refs to fill in where needed, but I thought it would be based on merit and experience, not an immediate opportunity. My excitement skyrockets for one full second before it crashes again.

This isn't the outcome I'd been hoping for.

"Okay," I say weakly.

Ron's expression turns kind. "I know it's a lot to process, and with preseason already underway, you'll need to jump right in. Once I have your signed contract back, we'll be able to finalize the schedule and get it over to you. Unofficially, I'll let you know that the first game we have you down for is next Tuesday in San Jose. We have a social media group set up for our zebras, and I'm sure a lot of the seasoned guys will be happy to share tips with you on how to manage it all. Go bags are pretty common, that kind of thing."

I'm nodding because I really don't know what to say. At the word "zebra," I'm reminded of how Easton called me a prison donkey and everything hurts all over again.

"Thank you so much," I say, and thank fuck it sounds genuine. Because I'm so, so grateful for this opportunity. I've been dreaming about this since college, and it almost doesn't feel real. I'm pissed at myself that I can't be ecstatic it's actually happening. That my first call after this won't be to Connor to go and celebrate.

"Have a read over everything," Ron says. "And no pressure, but it would be a big help if you could get the contract back to me by tomorrow. I'd like to say we're normally not so disorganized, but that's organized sport for you. Between injuries and emergencies, you need to be able to pivot at a moment's notice."

"Yeah, I've seen a lot of it over the years."

"Welcome to the team, Knox."

The team. We might not be the one the fans are cheering for—in fact, we're collectively hated by everyone—but referees are all one big team.

A thought hits me before he can go. "With … Connor." Probably safer to say him since I have no clue how things with Easton will go. "I mentioned I live with him. Will I be refereeing any games with Colorado?"

"If it's needed, then yes. We have a few officials on our roster who played for one team or another, so trying to keep friendship conflicts separate would be a whole-ass job. Once you put on the stripes, everyone else out there is a stranger to you. You're expected to be impartial, and that kind of thing is monitored. "

"Of course. I'd never let something personal impact my job."

"Good. We'll chat soon."

"Thank you. Again."

We hang up, and the abrupt end has my ears ringing in the silent living room. That conversation hasn't done anything to ease my nausea, and I press my hands to my eye sockets, trying to breathe through the stress. Crying doesn't help, and Easton won't be home from training for another hour. The wait is going to be a torture.

This time in a week, I'll be in another state. Where is Colorado next week? I'm sure the guys are home for the first half before leaving for … Florida? Boston? Wherever it was, it was far, and that only goes to prove our point. I'll be gone while he's home, and he'll be gone before I'm back.

It doesn't matter how I feel about him; no relationship can survive that.

It's not that I think that cheating or sex will be an issue because it's not like I want anyone else, and contrary to what Connor might believe, I don't stick my dick in everything that moves. Yes, I've hooked up, but who hasn't? That won't be the problem. The problem will be on those lonely hotel nights in the middle of a city where I know no one, trying to get a hold of East while he's out celebrating a win or commiserating a loss with his team, and I'll hate it. I'll hate seeing him have fun when I can't be there with him. I'll hate that I'll be bitter over it, and then when he does leave them early to video call me, I'll hate that I'm pulling him away from something he should enjoy all because I'm lonely and needy.

I open my emails and read through the contract to try and distract myself. It all looks good, and that pay? Fuck me. This will be the first year I earn enough to support myself without any help from Connor. As much as I want to be reckless and choose East, I know he'd never forgive me if I did.

I don't think I'd forgive myself either .

I want this so badly.

But I want him too.

Before I can do something stupid, I sign on the dotted line, draft my resignation to the PWHL officials, and try like hell not to cry.

I'm supposed to be happy, damn it.

So why the hell does everything feel so shit?