20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Cody

Something is going on. I can feel it the minute Luke and I walk into the locker room. Everything goes instantly quiet; the usual banter and shit talk gone in an instant, all eyes on us. Even Nowak, who’s usually in charge of the locker room entertainment, has stopped talking. Luke halts in his tracks next to me and looks around the room.

“Who died?” he says, looking straight at Riley, who immediately looks to Nowak, who snorts, spinning his phone in his hands.

“No one died,” Riley says, rubbing at his beard. “But someone made the news.” He turns toward Nowak, nodding at the phone.

“What news?” Luke asks, his voice calm and steady, his entire being unfazed while I’m immediately spun into a black hole, my mind conjuring up all sorts of apocalyptic scenarios. Why are we in the news? Is it bad? I bet it’s bad. What did they find out? This is it, right? I knew it was too good to be true. Shit. Did they find out about my old injury? Did they find out I’m gay? How did they find out I’m gay?

Crane smirks as he gets up from his seat on the bench and glides toward us, his eyes bright and overspilling with mirth like he can hardly contain himself.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Carrington,” he says, tilting his head slightly, grinning like a cat that just raided an entire bird’s nest. “Although… I see it now,” he nods. Luke waits him out, still projecting an almost bored aloofness, and it’s not until Crane’s gaze moves to me I feel Luke tensing up. His entire posture changes and the air sparks with electricity. “Mitchell, on the other hand…” Crane blinks, licking his bottom lip. “Makes perfect sense now that I think about it,” he winks. “Such a pretty boy.”

Before I have a chance to say anything, Luke steps in front of me and places his right finger in the middle of Crane’s forehead. Stressing each word with a tap, Luke growls, his voice with a deadly undertone I’ve never heard before, “Step. The. Fuck. Away. From. Him. Asshole.” I’ve seen Luke like this on the ice—protective and assertive during altercations—but I’ve never seen him like this before outside the rink. It’s so out of character for him, no trace left of his usual cool and calm demeanor. I can tell that Crane is surprised, too. He swallows audibly while Luke continues to stare daggers at him.

“Luke…” I reach out, placing my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to notice it, though, as he continues, “You don’t look at him. You don’t talk to him. You don’t even fucking breathe in the same space as him. You got that, Crane?”

Crane finally bats Luke’s finger away from his forehead, but he fails to hide that Luke’s words have not left him unaffected. They haven’t left me unaffected either. Holy… wow , I guess. Protective Luke goes straight to my chest and does something in there that feels a lot like fireworks. On crack. Fireworks on crack. No one has ever stood up like this for me before—at least not since Danny—and it makes me feel important and treasured and…

“What the fuck, dude. Relax. I was just messing around.” Crane looks at me and a muted growl escapes Luke’s lips. “Mitchell knows I was just messing around, right man?” Luke continues to stare at Crane and after a few heady seconds, Crane takes a step backward.

That’s Caps’ cue to get up from his seat and step between the two of them. With his six-foot-five, polar bear posture, he’s not easy to ignore.

“Guys, guys, can we just take a breather here?” He looks at first Crane, then Luke. Luke’s cheeks flush a fiery pink, while Crane looks slightly queasy, his face pale. “Crane, sit your ass back down.” Then Caps turns to Nowak. “Enlighten us, please, because I know you’re dying to.”

The dread returns just that fast, a heaviness making a home in my stomach. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel like just spinning around on my heel and getting out of here. To just run all the way back to Arizona, or hell, even Siberia, never looking back, my mom’s words echoing in my head with every step. ‘ You wanna be a deadbeat loser, just like your dad? Is that it, Cody? Because you’re well on your way.’

Nowak clears his throat before looking at Caps, who just nods at him.

“So, this is an article from Just Women’s Sports from two nights ago,” Nowak starts.

We played against the San Antonio Armadillos two nights ago and it was the first time that we went away with a win against the Californians. As soon as the game ended, the rink broke out in unprecedented celebrations, the crowd roaring like lions, calling out their favorite players’ names, holding banners high. There was a lot of press around when we left the arena, and some of the players were interviewed. I wasn’t one of them, though. I know Luke was, but post-game interviews are standard.

Nowak continues, his Polish accent struggling with a few words as he reads from his phone.

“So, the article is called Build Your Perfect Hockey Boyfriend.” He hesitates as he looks at me first, then Luke. We’re still standing a few steps from the entrance to the locker room and I’m sweating bullets in my winter gear. Pulling my beanie off my head, I quickly look at Luke, who just shrugs.

“No idea,” he murmurs to me before Nowak goes on reading.

“Number one,” Nowak starts. “‘ Royal hair like yummy Swedish forward for the Cleveland Climbers, Noah Larsson. Best flow in the League .’” There are a few chuckles and low murmurs around the room. Larsson is an amazing player with a powerful presence, and outside the rink, he’s often featured with his long hair either gathered in a man bun or hanging loose, reaching his shoulders. Although he’s not my type, I do see the appeal with that whole Viking vibe he’s got going on.

“Number two,” Nowak cuts through the muted conversation. “‘ A cute accent like Latvian Artūrs Vasi?jevs, smooth-talking goalie for the Halifax Huskies. Talk dirty to me, Artūrs .’”

“Oh, Artūrs,” Kennedy moans. “Talk dirty to me, Artūrs.” He leans in against Virtanen’s shoulder, pretend-swooning, his eyelashes fluttering. The Finn just pushes him to the floor, chuckling. “Ouch, dude.” Kennedy grins back and Virtanen reaches down and pulls him back up by his shoulder guards.

“Quiet, please,” Nowak looks solemn before a cheeky grin washes over his face. “Number three,” he says ceremoniously, while Bardét does a drum roll with his palms against his cubby. “‘ Another goalie to die for. Ice-melting eyes like Carey Arnold from the Moscow Hogs. Swoon, ladies .’”

Virtanen pushes at Kennedy’s shoulder teasingly, “Now you swoon, dumbass.”

“Number four,” Nowak raises his voice. “‘ Favorite player/dog duo. French playmaker and two-way forward Philip Blanchet from the Huntsville Explorers and his adorable dog, Coco. Woof-woof , ladies .’” As barking erupts in the locker room amongst the guys, Tanner jumps into Badura’s lap and starts woofing and panting like a dog. Badura is a good sport at first, just quietly murmuring something in his native language, but when Tanner attempts to lick his chin, he growls something menacing that makes Tanner retract immediately.

“And finally,” Nowak raises his voice over the woofing and howling. “Quiet! Gentlemen, please,” he yells, and again, all eyes are on us. On Luke and me. Because they apparently all know what’s coming and Luke and I are the only ones left in the dark. At least for a few merciful seconds. “Número Cinco,” Nowak purrs. “‘ For the best smile, head to Colorado. Find yourself a guy that smiles at you the way defenseman Luke Carrington from the Aurora Mountain Lions smiles at his teammate, goalie Cody Mitchell .’” Fuck. Me.

The room goes eerily quiet, everyone looking either at us or at the floor. Then Luke pulls out his phone from his coat pocket. The screen lights up when he taps it and after a few seconds, he finds the article in Just Women’s Sports. At the very end, there’s a photo of Luke and me, his smile broad, taking over his entire face as he looks at me. But it’s not just the smile as such. It’s his eyes. His golden-brown eyes are beaming under the bright lights in the arena as they fixate on me. On me. No one has ever looked at me like that—aside from Luke . No one . And it’s not even a lucky shot by the photographer because Luke looks at me like that— exactly like that—all the time when we’re together. When it’s just the two of us. When we forget ourselves. I realize that now.

I’m catapulted back to that night.

The shot was taken during the pre-game warm-up before the puck drop. In the photo, Luke is skating backward away from me. He had just made his world-renowned impression of Victor, realizing someone had eaten the last cookie. I was snorting with laughter while trying to do my stretches, calling ‘You’re impossible’ after him. Our fans were watching us warm up as they usually do, snapping pictures, and calling out individual players’ names. The press was there too.

‘You mean irresistible?’ he laughed, circling back, skating around me. To the outside world, we probably looked like two teammates just talking final tactics.

‘Presumptuous much?’ I threw back teasingly.

‘Just optimistic,’ he smiled. ‘Hopeful,’ he added, before once again skating away from me as a sea of hockey players and the roar of the crowd swallowed him up.

And that’s the shot. The shot that has earned Luke a place in the Build Your Perfect Hockey Boyfriend Top 5. Luke, skating backward away from me, his eyes shining brighter than the starlit sky at night, his smile so overwhelmingly broad. I see it, so of course, everyone else sees it too. And while it should make me happy that Luke looks at me like I hung the damn moon, it freaks me out too. Luke Carrington, defenseman for the Aurora Mountain Lions, looks fucking stunning when he’s in love—because there’s no doubt that it’s love in his eyes. Luke’s in love with me.

“Who died?” Coach’s deep bass booms through the locker room, echoing Luke’s words from earlier. “Why the fuck are you not ready yet? Get your asses in gear, assholes!” He drones on, his voice ringing against the walls. “You might’ve won last night, but what I saw out there was nowhere near being pretty. You played like a sack of rotten potatoes.” He pauses, his gaze searching the room until they land on Luke and me. He clears his throat, and I brace myself for what’s coming. Shit, is it about the article? “Well, not you two,” Coach looks at Luke, then me. “My new dynamic duo, huh?” he shakes his head, brushing at his outgrown beard. Then he nods, pride evident in his eyes. “Keep it up, boys,” he grunts, and I swear to God there’s an edge of emotion in his voice. “Keep it up.” Then he turns around, facing the rest of the team. Resting his giant paws on his hips, he clears his throat, his voice back to its usual boom box level. “I thought I made myself clear. What are you waiting for? GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR!”

I shake myself out of my stupor and head for my spot, my feet dragging with every step. Riley gets up and walks to Luke, mumbling something in his ear. Luke shakes his head, saying something back that’s swallowed up by the scrambling of skates and equipment in the room. While everything goes back to business as usual, the image of Luke from two nights ago lingers, forever burned into my retinas. Luke’s in love with me. And I’m in love with him too. As much as I’ve tried to fight it and reason myself out of it, I’m fucking defenseless against that feeling coursing through me right now. I want Luke just as much as he wants me. I’m just not sure that we want each other in the same way.

Shit.