Chapter 4

Chapter Four

TORIN

I’m super self-conscious today about being at practice, so I’ve stayed out of the stands. How many times can I realistically explain away why I’m hanging around when I’m not needed? My job is self-explanatory when there are people here. Any kind of audience at all. But when it’s just the team on the ice? Not so much.

Instead, I’m creeping inside the chute, hopefully just out of sight. It’s well lit so I can’t quite say that I’m in the shadows, but I’m definitely not right up against the boards or sitting somewhere in the stands, either.

I grin when Miles Norton scores on Winslow. The team shares some cheers and high fives with him. Not that I want many people to score on our goalie, but you have to have a healthy balance and root for every player in all positions. Right?

I’m startled when a shadow falls next to mine. Coach Ajo stops next to me, hands in his pockets, and watching the team. I had no idea he wasn’t still out there. He’s a good looking man with short, neat hair that’s graying just above his ears, bright blue eyes, and a shadow of growth on his face.

“They’re looking pretty good,” Coach muses.

I nod, cheeks flushing.

“Think they’re ready for their first game next week?”

I nod again.

Ajo looks at me. He’s one of those people whose resting expression can look a little… cold. Not mean exactly, but just… unfriendly. However, when he looks at me, there’s a softer expression. A small smile. I still tense, but not because of how he’s looking at me. Just that he’s looking at me at all.

“What d’you think?” he asks. “Anywhere you see that we need to work?”

It feels like he’s asking me if I think he’s doing his job well. My face burns a little more as I shrug, shaking my head.

His smile climbs a little as he looks back at the ice. We’re quiet for a minute. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for me to say something or if I should excuse myself since I have no business being there.

“They were concerned when they didn’t see you in the stands,” Ajo says.

I look at him, startled, unsure what he’s talking about.

His gaze touches mine, but he continues to watch the team instead of looking at me. “I’m confident they view your presence as a good luck charm. Knowing you’re here watching them gives them confidence.”

My breath catches. “I—It does?”

I’ve never seen Ajo smile; at least not a big, happy, friendly smile. When he smiles or is pleased, it’s always small and unassuming. In his eyes, you can tell when he’s happy. They’re very expressive as far as showing his displeasure or happiness. But his smile never gets very big.

When he looks at me, he gives me probably the biggest smile I’ve ever seen him have. Which is saying something because it’s still rather small and unassuming. “Hockey players can be very superstitious,” he tells me. “Not sure if you know that. But yes. They look for you every time they get on the ice—game or practice, doesn’t matter. Your presence comforts them.”

I bow my head, tears stinging my eyes. I try to blink through them, so Ajo doesn’t see me teary. When I think I have myself under control again, I look back at the ice.

“Look at Atlas,” Ajo says, and I search him out. He’s standing on the ice in front of the bench as he drinks. With a mouthful of water, he shifts to look around. Almost as if he’s searching the invisible crowd for something. “He’s looking for you right now.”

My stomach flips. Especially when Atty frowns and turns back to the bench. Another drink of water and he sets the bottle down and returns to the ice.

Ajo nudges my arm gently. “Let me know if you spot something I might have missed that our boys can work on, hmm?”

“I don’t know hockey that well,” I say.

He chuckles. “I think you know hockey very well, even if you don’t understand terms and drills and plays. I’d be willing to bet you could name every player’s weakness and strength.”

Chewing on the inside of my lip, I don’t argue. Even if I’m not sure he’s right. Considering I spend most of my time drooling—uh… observing?—Hugo, I’m not convinced.

“Let me know,” he repeats and steps toward the door in the boards.

“Yes, Coach,” I promise quietly. I’m not sure he even hears me.

I watch as he steps onto the ice. After a few minutes, I make my way into the stands and sit in the front row just off to the side of Winslow’s net to watch. My heart jumps when I see Noah look my way. He nudges Wiliker and nods in my direction. Both give me big grins and waves.

They’ve never waved at me before. My face burns and I wonder if they can see it from here. I sink a little lower in my seat, but raise my hand in response. I’d never be rude to them.

I watch the remainder of practice as if from afar. While Hugo always has much more of my attention than literally anyone or anything else, I make a concentrated effort to look at everyone. Noah and Wiliker aren’t the only ones that seek me out. There’s a moment on the ice where several players nudge each other and point to me.

They always meet my eyes with wide smiles. I’m not sure I can crouch down in my seat any more than I am. I’ve been invisible most of my life. I enjoy being unseen because it doesn’t force me to try to socialize. When I’m not faced with another person, never mind a group of people, my social anxiety doesn’t have me in a vice grip until I can’t breathe and the world spins like a top.

And yet, warmth floods me. I had no idea that they even realized I was here. Most of the time, they walk by me without looking my way. Unless Hugo says hi and they’re close. Then I receive a startled look, but it’s usually followed by something friendly, even if it’s just a nod of their head and a smile.

Being seen is a double-edged sword. I’m overcome to learn they look for me. Even if my presence is a superstition of theirs, they notice when I’m not here. For the first time ever, my breath feels heavy because maybe I matter to someone. Someone outside of my family.

Not that I’m under the impression we’re friends. Or that they’d care outside of this capacity, but it’s still more than I’ve ever had before.

Another first for me is as the team heads for the chute, every single one of them looks at me. They smile, wave, say hi. I can’t catch my breath. I’m not sure they can ever understand what their kindness means to me.

It’s probably difficult to tell as I literally try to melt into the floor and have likely turned as red as a fire engine while I choke over my responses back.

I’m breathless when Hugo stops. He doesn’t just say hi on his way by, but stops . “Hey, Torin,” he says, a big grin beaming right at me. “Glad you’re here.”

“Hi,” I squeak back and try to subtly clear my throat. “Thanks.”

“You ready for the first game next week?”

I nod.

“Have some new seal moves?” I didn’t know his smile could get bigger, but I think it just did.

I shrug. “There’s only so much a seal can do.”

He laughs. “I guess. We didn’t think you were going to make it in today.”

“I’m always here,” I say and then realize how creepy that sounds.

“Here where we can see you,” he corrects, adjusting his weight to his other leg.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

He shrugs. “You do what you gotta do. We get it. Anyway, see you tomorrow?”

I nod, trying to ignore the way my stomach flutters violently. It takes me nearly chanting to myself that Hugo is talking about seeing me here. At the arena. For practice. Nothing else. I will not read into it!

Once everyone’s gone—Ajo is the last off the ice this time and gives me a smile that I interpret as I’m glad you finally see —I get up and move onto the ice to gather the pucks. They’re not scattered around today since they ended with a scrimmage. Still, I enjoy this time alone as I shuffle along in the chill. If for no other reason, it helps to cool my burning cheeks today.

I bet no one here knows what I actually look like. They only ever see me when I’m burning up or inside a seal costume. Would they be able to pick me out of a lineup?

Today, I don’t hang around in my office. There’s nothing to do there. Nothing at all! I prepared for our first game far in advance, so now I’m very obviously just creeping. So I don’t hurry on the ice and I stop in my office to strip off my hoodie and hat because it’s definitely not cold outside this building, then I turn off my lights and close up.

The hall is filled with voices echoing from the locker room. I hurry ahead before someone catches up and I’m forced to attempt not to swallow my tongue. I love that they all look for me. It means a whole lot more than it should since I understand hockey players are superstitious, and it doesn't have anything to do with me . But it still means a lot.

All this time, I thought Hugo was the only one who really knew who I was. The only one who actually saw me at all anywhere. But at least when they’re on the ice, they all look for me.

Maybe they look for me elsewhere, but I’ve perfected my superpower of being invisible. And only Hugo can see through it.

The thought makes me smile as I step outside into the warm L.A. afternoon. I take a deep breath. I can’t say that the air is clean or fresh, exactly. It’s L.A., smog and pollution abound. But it’s outside air. That’s something, right?

I climb into my car and start the engine. That’s when the team slowly starts trickling out of the door I just walked through. One or two at a time. Sometimes a small group of four or five. Because I can’t help myself, I wait until Hugo leaves.

As per usual, he’s walking out with Winslow. Also as per usual, Hugo has a big smile on his face. Even with it not directed at me, it still makes my stomach flutter and my chest tight. My longing for him is truly out of hand. I know that. Yet, here I am .

They don’t break apart as they usually do with Hugo going off with some random girl. There are girls hanging out. There always are. Instead, Hugo follows Winslow to his car. He waves and flirts with the girls, but he doesn’t invite one over this time.

It means nothing. Less than nothing. He owes me nothing. But I feel over the moon when he climbs into Winslow’s car without a girl. He’s hanging out with his best friend today. Not fucking some random puck bunny.

Not that I’m judging him. He’s allowed to fuck whoever he wants. Obviously. But the way it makes me nauseous… because I’m totally in love with this man. I’m a cliché gay guy crushing on a straight man. Why? Why do we do this to ourselves? Setting ourselves up for failure and heartbreak.

I watch Winslow pull out of the parking lot. It’s not like I wanted to fall for a man who I barely know, rarely exchange more than a greeting with, and who is fucking straight! But I was simply enchanted by Hugo from the moment I first saw him.

He was the first person outside of management who acknowledged me since I’d started with the Golden Tide franchise. And he’s always so nice to me. Nice to everyone, really. His smile is beautiful. His voice is swoony.

Then if I’m in a place where I’m going to allow myself to be superficial, he’s also gorgeous. I’m not even going to lie and pretend I haven’t noticed how he always wears gray sweatpants and never wears underwear, so what he’s packing is very well on display.

I’m totally a size queen. Like, that’s one of my few criteria when I’m looking to hook up. If I’m going to fuck some stranger, it better be worth it. Otherwise, I can find release all on my own, thank you.

I shift my car into drive and pull out. While I try not to glare at the stupid puck bunnies still lingering about as if there’s anyone else here interested in them, I’m not sure I succeed. Just to be clear—I don’t hate on women. Or anyone. Not even on the hookup culture. I get it. To some extent, I’m part of it.

It’s all just jealousy, knowing that they stand more of a chance with the man I’m totally in love with than I do. It irritates me that they’re likely only interested for superficial reasons. His job, his status, his wealth, his looks. His dick. Bragging rights to having hooked up with the Hugo Bladen .

None of that means anything to me. It’s Hugo himself that I’m enthralled with.

Okay, enough of this. I’m going to drive my hour commute and lock myself up in my pink apartment with Fish Hugo. I’ll log into Creature Community where I have Game Husband Hugo waiting for me in my online pink house within my village of walking, talking animals.

Maybe I’ll convince myself not to text Hugo right away. Maybe I’ll wait until he texts me first. It means he’s thinking of me. That he likes our conversations. Even when they’re just about fish!