7. Anthony

I came back down to the kitchen as quickly as I could so I wouldn’t leave Simon and Wyatt alone for longer than necessary. Wyatt had taken Lily outside, but they wouldn’t be out there forever, especially since I doubted the temperature was very comfortable.

Simon was typing on his phone when I walked in, but he quickly pocketed the phone and glared at me. “So, when were you going to tell me you had another guy spending the night in our house?”

I halted, both surprised by his question and… not. He’d moved out because he wanted space while we decided if we’d stay together or not, but ever since he’d left, he’d given me the third degree every time I so much as talked to a man. I should’ve known blindsiding him with a guy staying overnight would cause some unpleasant sparks to fly. In fact, I had known that. I’d known it to my fucking bones. But I still hadn’t told him, and as he watched me now, I had to wonder if I’d subconsciously done that on purpose. Which wasn’t normally my style—I didn’t like fights or confrontation except on the ice—but what could I say? I was frustrated that getting him to talk to me was like getting blood from a stone. The only time we talked at all anymore—at least about anything substantial—was when we were fighting.

So… why not fight?

God, we’re a mess…

I glanced toward the garage door Wyatt had probably gone through with Lily, then met my boyfriend’s gaze again. “I would’ve told you last night.”

The way his jaw worked, I knew the barb had hit its mark. I felt both guilty and vindicated; passive aggression also wasn’t my style, but hey, desperate times…

Simon crossed his arms over the Bobcats logo. “So it’s my fault you didn’t tell me you had an overnight guest in our house.”

I shrugged in that way I knew made his teeth grind. “You didn’t want to talk.”

“Uh-huh.” He shifted his weight and narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t want to FaceTime after you wanted to reschedule, so a text of, hey, Simon, another man is staying in—wait, when you said something came up…” He gestured sharply toward the door. “Is that what you meant? That you had company?”

“It was a last-minute thing,” I said with complete honesty. “He needed a place to go, so I—”

“Who the fuck is he?” Simon snapped. “Because you’ve never mentioned this guy once.” His eyes flashed with the fury. “Are you fucking him? Is that what’s—”

“No! I’m not cheating on you. Jesus Christ.” Anger tightened my chest at the same time hurt had my throat constricting around my breath. He’d accused me of cheating more than once since he’d left. I’d never given him any reason to believe I was, and quite frankly, sometimes I thought he hoped I was. So he could dump me with a clear conscience? So he could blame me when the team found out we weren’t together anymore? So I’d take the professional heat and media scrutiny?

“You’ve got a random dude staying here,” my boyfriend growled. “A random dude you’ve never bothered to mention. And I’m supposed to believe you’re not banging him.”

“He’s a friend of a friend,” I said, “and he was in a bad situation.”

“Whatfriend?” Simon demanded.

I was saved from needing to answer that immediately when the door opened. Wyatt stepped in with Lily beside him, and he gave us both wary looks.

Simon muttered something under his breath. “I’ll be in the car. We need to leave now or we’re going to be late.”

With that, he brushed past Wyatt and stomped out into the garage.

The door banged shut, making Wyatt jump. Lily leaned into him, and he petted her as he turned to me. “I, um… If me being here will cause problems, I’ll—”

“It’s fine,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “You two need to stay in where it’s warm. Especially while she’s on her meds.” I gestured at the garage. “I’ll handle him.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Listen, I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I don’t want to cause issues with your boyfriend. I can talk to him if you need me to. Let him know there’s nothing going on…” He gestured at himself, then me.

My face heated. I hadn’t realized he’d heard that much through the door. I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it.” Before he could protest, I barreled on: “I’ll be back this afternoon, and then I have a game tonight, so I’ll be taking off again until probably eleven or so.” I paused. “You don’t have a phone, do you?”

“I, um…” He motioned down the hall. “I have a bottom-of-the-bucket cheap thing. Not a smartphone or anything, but it gets the job done.”

I nodded and took out my own phone. “Can you text?”

“Yeah. It’s limited—had to go with the cheapest plan they had—but… yeah.”

“Okay.” I opened up the text app and handed him my phone. “Put in your number. I’ll send you a text, and then we’ll be able to reach each other.” As he took it and started typing, I added, “If you need anything, hit me up. I don’t have my phone on me while I’m on the ice or in the locker room, but I’ll check it as often as I can.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Wyatt gave it back. “I, um… I really appreciate all of this.”

“I know.” I flashed him a quick smile, then looked down at my phone and sent him a text. “There. We’re good to go.” I pocketed it again. “Help yourself to anything in here.” I motioned around the kitchen. “TV remote is pretty straightforward, and—”

My phone beeped.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. That was undoubtedly a hurry-the-fuck-up text. “Anyway. Like I said—you need anything, let me know. If you take her out, make sure you go through the garage or one of the sliders; all the other doors lock automatically when they close. And no matter what the cats tell you, they are strictly indoors unless I take them out on a leash.”

Wyatt nodded. “Duly noted. Thanks.”

I left him to it and hurried out to the garage. After I’d slipped on my sneakers, I slid into the passenger seat of Simon’s BMW X5.

The heavy silence was nothing new, but it rang in my ears after the easy conversation with Wyatt. And while it was nothing new, it was anything but comfortable.

Neither of us spoke until we were on 520, crawling toward the bridge along with thousands of other Seattle-bound commuters. It would probably take us a good twenty minutes or more to get across the bridge, and from there another fifteen at least to the arena. That meant we had about ten or fifteen minutes to hash out whatever needed to be hashed out, and then the rest of the drive to silently decompress before we had to pretend to be a happy couple.

I thumbed the edge of my seat belt. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you or blow you off last night. It was a last-minute thing, and I didn’t know when we’d be at the house, so I didn’t want to leave you hanging.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

That much was true. Yeah, it seemed like a contradiction, and it kind of was. I’d unconsciously withheld the information about Wyatt even though I knew it was exactly the kind of thing that would set off Simon. I couldn’t even pretend that hadn’t been deliberate on some level. Sometimes instigating arguments with him was the only way I could get him talking.

That didn’t mean I felt good bad about it.

Beside me, Simon white-knuckled the steering wheel as he glared at the long line of unmoving cars in front of us. “You could have at least mentioned you had a guy staying over.”

It was so tempting to bring up that he’d had friends crash at his place before we’d moved in together. And that I was pretty sure he’d had a friend stay at the place he was renting now. I hadn’t made a big deal out of those because I trusted him, but he’d always had issues with me having anyone over when he wasn’t around, even when we’d lived apart the first time. I’d had some female friends back in Boston, and after a couple of them stayed the night once when they’d been too drunk to drive home, he’d lost his mind.

“Just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m going to screw anyone who stays in the same building as me,” I’d told him back then. “If you don’t trust me, say so now, because I’m not going to walk on eggshells for you.”

He’d backed off at the time, but now here we were. And here I was… walking on goddamned eggshells, just like I’d always sworn I wouldn’t.

It was fucking exhausting, but much like I was stuck in this car, partway across a bridge, surrounded by cars with no escape unless I scaled the jersey barrier and ran down the bike lane, I was stuck with him. There was too much riding on this relationship to risk it by pushing too hard.

I sank back against the passenger seat and gazed out at the water. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about him. I just didn’t think about it because I was focused on getting him here and settled.”

“Why is he even your problem?” Simon tapped his thumbs on the wheel like he often did when he was annoyed. “And you still haven’t told me what mutual friend you have with him.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. I didn’t like lying to him. I really didn’t. But we were less than an hour away from having to be the perfect happy couple, and I needed to keep the peace by any means necessary.

“Dr. Green knows him.” Kind of vaguely true? “He’s between jobs and dealing with the VA. He just needs a place to stay while that’s resolved.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like exactly the kind of person you should leave unsupervised in the house with expensive shit.”

I bristled. “We have security cameras, and everything is insured.”

He grunted.

“Your stuff is all at your place,” I reminded him.

“Good thing,” he muttered.

Funny how he didn’t seem concerned about the cats anymore, but that was nothing new. He liked them well enough, and he wasn’t unkind to them—I never would’ve lived with someone who was mean to animals—but they weren’t a priority for him like they were for me. I took them to all of their appointments. I handled the litter boxes. I kept both boys brushed, which was a chore with Maine Coons. Simon didn’t mind taking them on walks with us, and he’d certainly feed and water them if they needed it or deal with the litter boxes if I wasn’t there. He just didn’t have the same bond with them that I did, and he was, unsurprisingly, more worried about Wyatt stealing something expensive than putting our cats at risk. If I had to guess, the only reason he’d brought them up in the first place was to pressure me into kicking Wyatt out, not because he was actually worried about their safety. They were, and probably always would be, and afterthought for him.

At least that had made the decision easy about where Moose and Bear would live when Simon moved out.

“Well,” Simon grumbled finally. “Let’s just hope the house is the way you left it when you get home.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope.” I studied him. “So, are we good? About Wyatt and—”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” he said flatly. “Just talk to me next time. Okay?”

“I will.” I bit back a suggestion that he could be a little more flexible about FaceTiming, which would give me more opportunities to be open with him about things. But that would just be another battle I was too tired to fight right now. It would be one more thing we’d both have to calm down about before we showed our faces at practice.

So, I let it go. I could broach the subject next time he made an excuse to skip our mostly-nightly chats.

Just like I’d promised myself I would the last three times.

I rubbed the back of my neck and stared out at the glittering water of Lake Washington. We were almost across the bridge now, the traffic breaking up a little as a few cars peeled away to exit. Before long, we’d reach I-5, and from there, we’d exit toward the arena. Then we’d have to have our game faces on, which meant we needed to be calm, collected, and done arguing.

I had to wonder how many of our arguments had only failed to become screaming matches because we’d been en route to practice or a game. Neither of us could afford to be fuming when we got out of the car, so we’d long ago gotten into the habit of quickly and quietly hashing things out, then focusing on cooling off.

It didn’t do much for fixing the cracks in our relationship, but it kept us from drawing any attention to those cracks. I guess that was a win?

Ugh. I hated that we were like this. More than that, I hated who I was with him these days. Provoking him just to get us talking. Lying to him. Apologizing for things I didn’t regret just so we wouldn’t fight anymore.

But he didn’t want to talk about us. He didn’t want to go to counseling. We couldn’t live together without fighting, but we couldn’t fight without someone possibly seeing or hearing us. We were just spinning our tires and getting nowhere, and it fucking sucked.

How much longer are we supposed to live like this?

I triedto remind myself the booing from our hometown crowd was the fans disapproving of the ref’s call. Even when the offense was obvious and egregious, they always booed when a Bobcat was sent to the penalty box.

But as I toweled off my face and watched the penalty kill set up against Calgary’s power play unit, I felt every one of those boos just like I was going to feel Coach’s words during intermission.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Aussie? Tell me, because I’ve got half a mind to go up to Clark’s office and have you sent down. You hear me?”

I didn’t know if Coach would actually tell our GM to send me to the minors over it, but right now… Hell, right now I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.

Especially since this was my third penalty of the night and we were only five minutes into the second period. While one of those calls had been a bullshit soft penalty to even things up after Calgary had taken three in a row (yeah, I’m on to you, refs), the other two had been ridiculously stupid on my part. That crosscheck in the first period? Yeah. I’d fucked up. Let that jackass winger get under my skin and goad me into reacting. That had been costly, too—a power play goal had broken the 1-1 tie, and Calgary was still holding on to that lead now.

This time, my temper’s fuse had been dangerously short, and after a perfectly legal and clean hit from one of Calgary’s defensemen, I’d seen red. I’d hit that defenseman in the neutral zone, not even caring that he’d long since passed the puck to someone else.

“Seattle, number twelve,” the ref had said over the thundering boos. “Two-minute minor penalty. Interference.”

I drummed my fingers on my stick and chewed my lip as I watched our penalty kill fighting to keep Calgary’s power play from converting. Our PK was solid—third in the League so far this season—but this team had a power play from hell. Two of their forwards were in the top ten in the League for goals, and they were deadly with the man advantage.

Through the Plexiglas, I watched helplessly as Calgary cycled the puck, trying to lure our goaltender to one side or the other and get the skaters off-balance enough to open up a lane. One of them fired a one-timer that I was sure was about to go in, but Russell blocked it with his body. He was grimacing as he kept playing, unable to leave the ice safely until someone cleared the puck or a whistle blew. I owed him dinner for that block alone.

Young cleared the puck, and the penalty killers scrambled for a line change while Calgary’s defenseman retrieved the puck from their own end.

When the defenseman’s stretch pass landed on the left winger’s stick, I knew. Somehow, I could feel it. Even as my teammates formed a dense screen in front of the net, I knew what was about to happen.

Sure enough, the winger sent the puck screaming onto the tape of the team’s most dangerous sniper.

A split second and one slapshot later, the red light came on.

As I stepped out of the box, Beaulieu hung his head in obvious frustration before digging the puck out of his net. Beaus had tried like hell all through the penalty kill, but there’d only been so much he could do. I owed him dinner, too, that was for sure.

The skaters made their way back to the bench, aggravation radiating off all of them. I kept my gaze down as I joined my teammates on the bench.

“Not your fault, Aussie.” Sergei Novikov, my defensive partner, punched my shoulder. “There’s still time to turn it around.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have dug us into a hole.”

“Nah.” Nova shook his head emphatically. “Don’t think like that. There’s time.”

I acknowledged him with a quiet grunt, and we watched our teammates setting up for a faceoff.

My gaze landed on Simon, who was skating up to the dot, and my heart sank even further. I took full responsibility for being a mess tonight. I needed to get my head together and focus on hockey. That was definitely on me.

But I would be lying if I said the tension with him wasn’t the catalyst.

We needed to fix this. We had to find some way to stop butting heads over every goddamned thing. We needed to be teammates and boyfriends again, and right now, we were a million miles from either of those things, and it was killing me.

I didn’t know what to do.

While I figured that part out, the least I could do for my team, my boyfriend, our fans, and myself was to get my head out of my ass and remember how to play hockey. I wasn’t doing anyone any favors by being a disaster tonight; all I’d done for my team was give them more work to do. We could come back from a two-goal deficit, and we had before, but games were a lot more fun when we weren’t in the hole.

Unsurprisingly, Coach kept me and Nova on the bench for the rest of the period.

During intermission, while everyone else stripped off gear, cooled off, ate, and hydrated, Coach pulled me out into the hallway before I could even take off my helmet.

Crossing his arms over his pinstriped blue suit jacket, he looked me right in the eyes. “What’s going on out there? Because that?” He pointed sharply toward the ice. “That isn’t you, and it’s costing this team. What is going on?”

I swallowed. “Nothing, Coach. I’m—”

“Bullshit.” He glared at me. “If nothing is going on, then how do I know this isn’t going to continue? Hmm?”

Shaking my head, I quickly explained, “No, no, I mean… It’s an off night. A really off night. But I’ll pull it together.”

There was nothing but skepticism on his face, and Coach was not a man to let things go if he wasn’t convinced.

So, I did the same thing I had with Simon: told him a half-truth.

“I’m a little distracted,” I admitted. “I took in a friend of a friend last night who needed help, and the whole situation just threw off my concentration.”

One eyebrow rose. “Is this a volatile situation?”

“No.” I shook my head again. “It was just unexpected. Everything’s fine now, though.”

He studied me for a few uncomfortable seconds. “So everything’s fine with this… friend of a friend.”

I nodded.

His expression hardened. “Then how about everything being fine with your hockey?”

“It will be, Coach.” I stood a little straighter. “Next period will be better. I promise.” I hoped to God I wasn’t lying.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” he muttered. “Go get some water.”

I took the dismissal and hurried into the locker room.

My stall was right next to Simon’s, but fortunately, he was over by Young’s stall, chatting with him and Beaus. Good. I could catch my breath and pull myself together.

Nova’s stall was on my other side, and he watched me with concern in his eyes as I stripped off my jersey. “Everything okay, man?”

I sat on the bench and took a swig of water. “Yeah. Just… an off night.”

He didn’t believe me any more than Coach had. His eyes flicked toward Simon, then back to me, and his eyebrows rose.

I dropped my gaze. Nova was the only one on the team who was aware of the situation with Simon. He was way too perceptive and knew me way too well to miss it, and I’d sworn him to secrecy hundreds of times over.

“I’ll be fine,” I told him.

He tapped his skate against mine. “Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been a mess since this morning.”

“I know.” I grabbed my stick and started retaping it just for something to do. I turned a pleading look on my D partner. “I need to be fine next period, so can we just drop it?”

He seemed to be debating whether to push the issue or let it go. Fortunately, he went with the latter, and he clapped my shoulder. “Next period will be better.”

I hoped he was right. I wanted to be better next period. I didn’t even know why this particular argument with Simon was bothering me more than usual. I’d asked myself multiple times today if it was the stranger in my house who was throwing me off my game, but… no. Wyatt probably should’ve had me nervous and uncomfortable, but he wasn’t. Yeah, the situation was weird as hell and I really didn’t know the guy at all, but I was just… at ease with him. With having him in my house.

Several times throughout the day, I’d checked the security cameras, and I’d mostly found him hanging out in the living room, sometimes talking on his phone. He’d taken Lily out a few times, and I’d even caught him playing with both cats. When I’d come home for a couple of hours this afternoon, he’d been making himself a sandwich, supervised by the boys.

“I wasn’t sure if they were allowed on the counter,” he’d said somewhat sheepishly. “They, uh… They kind of got up there like they owned the place, though.”

I’d laughed. “Oh, yeah. They’re allowed. And I should’ve warned you—don’t turn your back on any food, or it’ll be gone.”

“You don’t say.” He’d chuckled and tousled Bear’s ears. “I’ve already had to grab the cheese back from him twice.”

“Sounds like him.”

So, yeah, I’d spent time thinking about Wyatt today, and I’d wondered a few times if I should be more stressed about him than I was, but he wasn’t the reason I’d racked up six penalty minutes tonight. If anything, I had to wonder if his presence had soothed me in ways it shouldn’t have. I wasn’t used to living alone anymore, and having a stranger fall out of the sky and land in my house was not as unwelcome as I’d have expected.

My gaze drifted across the room to Simon.

Why are you, the man I love, stressing me out more than the complete stranger staying in our house?

I shook myself and continued taping my stick. Then I started putting my gear back on. One way or another, I was going to play better in the third period. I had to, even if the thought exhausted me.

God, I should’ve told Coach I was sick or something. Food poisoning? The flu? Rabies?

But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to play hockey. I loved hockey.

I just… didn’t love it tonight.

That gave me pause.

When was the last time I did love it?

Great. Something to chew on while I tried to go to sleep later tonight. First things first? Helping my team erase the deficit I’d created.

Out on the ice, while we all skated a little to get warmed up again, Simon came up beside me and put a gloved hand on the small of my back. With a perfect media smile in place, he said, “How about staying out of the box so we can salvage this fucking mess?”

I faked a laugh for the same reason he was smiling—so fans, cameras, and our teammates would think we were just sharing a joke. Then I skated off to take my place while he set up for another faceoff.

As he leaned over the dot, I glared at his back.

We really had become the problem our coach and GM had warned us against, hadn’t we? Letting our bullshit out onto the ice. Now, as a direct result of my concentration being fucked up, our team was down two against a divisional rival.

And a second before the puck dropped, the same question from early echoed through my head:

How much longer are we supposed to live like this?