32. Hunter

He wouldn't look at me. No matter how many times I tried to catch his eye, he deliberately avoided me. I needed to explain—right then and there. He needed at least a little bit of the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but enough to convey my intentions.

As the power play unfolded on the ice, Tyler insisted on being part of the action—against Coach's advice. Meanwhile, I found myself benched due to my shoulder. Coach had seen the strain, and now I had to figure out a way to clear it without disclosing too much. My attention shifted to the game, focusing on our first line with Colton, Amon, and Tyler as forwards, while Jarman and Lachlan held down the defense.

Tyler's expression was something new, a fierce determination I hadn't witnessed before. Usually, he straddled the line of a serious go-getter or a golden retriever. Now, he was poised like a relentless bulldog. The defense from Merrimack was solid, and time ticked away on the clock as the power play neared its end. This play could either make or break us.

The puck danced back and forth, Tyler weaving through checks, searching for an opening. Then came the denial, followed by Tyler's quick recovery. He circled back to the blue line, assessing the situation. In a seemingly solo effort, he dodged opponents and passed the puck to Amon, orchestrating a distraction that let the puck to glide between Amon and Jarman. With a flick from Jarman, the puck met Tyler's stick midair and in one fluid motion; it soared over the goalie's right shoulder. The team erupted in celebration, sticks banging and shouts echoing through the arena.

Amid the jubilation, a Merrimack defenseman slammed Tyler into the goal post. The sickening crack of helmet meeting metal resonated through the now silent arena. Tyler sprawled awkwardly, the culprit conveniently extracting himself from the scene. Jarman quickly intervened, blocking my view as he shoved the guy away from Tyler.

My heart froze.

Mouse appeared beside me. "Dude, is he okay? He's still down."

"Boys, stay here—too much traffic." Coach demanded. He, along with the teams' trainers, bolted onto the ice.

It was all my fault.

I leaned sideways on the bench, trying to peer through the traffic. Eventually, I saw Jarman help Tyler to his feet, though he was a bit unsteady. Amon adjusted Tyler's helmet before he got nudged away by the trainers. Ignoring the concerned faces around him, Tyler raised his hand in a signal that he was fine. I let out a sigh of relief, keeping my eyes fixed on him and silently urging him to look my way.

"Come on, baby, look at me," I muttered.

As if he'd heard me, Tyler turned in my direction. However, the expressionless look in his eyes left me feeling defeated. I sat down on the bench, a sense of disappointment settling in. Tyler was promptly taken to the locker room for a checkup as the remaining teammates managed to hold the lead for the last minute, securing the win. Despite the victory, our team was visibly shaken. Between Jarman, Tyler and me, we'd taken some hard hits—and we still had another game to go.

The team quietly descended the chute, exchanging occasional taps and careful pats on the shoulders with affirming expressions. In the locker room, Tyler was stripped down to his boxer briefs, flinching away from the light the team doctor shone into his eyes.

"I'm fine," Tyler growled, hating the attention. Coach quickly joined them to hear the verdict.

"He's battered and bruised, but no signs of a concussion. If you experience headaches, dizziness, or nausea at any point, you need to inform one of us immediately. A scratch tomorrow is better than risking a prolonged absence due to a repeat head injury."

Tyler rolled his eyes, displaying no signs of impending issues. "I'm fucking fine."

The team doctor raised his hands in surrender, accustomed to moody twenty-somethings eager to get back on the ice. Coach didn't press further, exchanging a meaningful look with Tyler that told him to speak up if anything happened. Tyler nodded his head in understanding and grabbed his towel, storming off to the showers.

The rest of the team parted ways, perplexed by the sudden change in Tyler's demeanor. He wasn't known for having a temper. As I hurried to strip down and join him in the showers, I couldn't help but shake off the thought that, despite the circumstances, there was something… sexy about it. Yet, as I entered, he still avoided eye contact and purposefully ensured that not a single inch of his skin touched mine. "Ty…"

The locker room buzzed with the team's lively chatter, providing cover for my next audacious move. I threw caution to the wind and gently touched his shoulder.

Though I flinched as he whipped his head towards me. The fire burning in his eyes wasn't of a sexual nature, but I couldn't say it would have bothered me if it was. A twisted desire grew within me, yearning for him to channel that frustration towards me, to hold me, to deliver some kind of retribution.

"Don't fucking ‘Ty' me. Next time I'm gearing up for a game and one of us has a target on our backs, you better tell me, got it? I don't like being blindsided and I don't appreciate someone seeing right through me. And also, I don't like discovering things about your exes while on the damn ice. I feel like an idiot for defending you when I clearly don't know a fucking thing about you."

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his voice a restrained whisper that lashed at my bare skin.

"Ty, I'm sorry, really. I didn't think he'd target you."

Tyler rolled his eyes, and I couldn't help but bite back a smile over how that simple gesture stirred something within me.

"Well, surprise, surprise, Hunter: You have this stupid magic fucking dick that makes everyone remember you."

With that, he grabbed his towel and stormed out, leaving my mouth hanging open in stunned silence.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't snag a seat beside Tyler on the bus back to the university. Instead, I found myself sitting in an empty seat, staring at him like some smitten teenage girl. Jarman settled in beside me, his knee unintentionally knocking into mine. "You two good?" His voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

"I messed up," I admitted, the weight of my mistake heavy in my chest.

Jarman responded with a low, rumbling laugh. "No shit. Not telling your guy about your ex, and then having your ex rile him up with an agent in the crowed is pretty fucked." I looked at him, wide-eyed, my words stuck in my throat. Jarman seemed unfazed, an amused expression on his face. "Dude, I've known you since preschool. We've played on the same team our whole lives."

He wasn't wrong, but his observation left me feeling guilty. I realized I knew practically nothing about him, except for the fact that he had a lot of sisters.

"But..."

"But nothing," Jarman interrupted. "I saw how you looked at Zane. Your little secret smirks weren't so secret to me. Maybe growing up with sisters means you learn to see things that others don't."

"You saying you're a girl?" I snarked, earning myself a well-deserved smack across the back of the head.

"No, it means I'm not just another meat-headed guy who only has his head in the clouds."

I nodded, silently urging him to continue talking. I didn't want to admit to anything. Plausible deniability was my refuge.

"During that last term, you'd been with Kinsley more than anything. So, I assumed you and Zane had a falling out. I still don't understand why you punched him, and I was a bit disappointed in your behavior. Despite you never noticing me, you were a nice guy, in a way. I mean, you were never rude."

"So, that's the low bar for a nice guy?" I quipped. "Just not being mean? But you're not necessarily nice to people either, just indifferent."

Jarman shrugged. "Sometimes, being nice is doing nothing at all. You had shit going on. I got the impression you didn't have the best family life. I never saw your parents at games and once I saw your dad drag you by the back of your neck and shove you into a car. So, I think you not being a royal asshole because your life sucked means you're a nice guy."

I didn't say anything, hating how ignorant I'd been all those years. He knew I was queer the whole time and never once said anything.

"Since you won't say anything—and please note that I hate talking—I don't care about your sexuality. But I see you with Tyler, and he's different than the rest. I know you care about him."

I deflated at that "Yeah, he's…" I sighed, not sure how to put it into words. Because I only wanted to say perfect.

"Do you have a plan?"

I looked back to Tyler, who stared blankly out the window, letting Mouse animatedly talk to him about the amazingness—his word, not mine—of the star-nosed mole. Mouse was none the wiser that Tyler was tuning him out and that his unamused grunts were only for show. Jarman scoffed, and I looked back to him, dark eyes glimmering at his best friend.

"No plan. I need to be able to explain, to apologize. But I shouldn't be getting close to him—for more reasons than one."

Jarman took his attention away from Mouse, still smiling. "The reasons are?"

I shot him a look and he rolled his eyes in a way that meant, "Spill."

"His entire life just fell apart. He's lost both his parents in a span of two years and his little brother is hiding in his dorm room until he needs to go back to school. Between the loss and the responsibility, he doesn't need to take on my bullshit."

"Stupid reason because he needs you now more than ever. Next."

I furrowed my brow yet again.

"Come on, Hunt, I don't have all day. Accept the fact that I know you better than you know yourself."

I did just that and continued. "The NHL isn't exactly rolling out the rainbow carpet for gays."

He nodded, seeming to mull over that information. "It won't be easy, but what they don't know won't hurt them. You get to the league, show them how amazing you are, and then come out. Use your big lawyer knowledge to sue for discrimination if they try anything silly."

I had to love his optimism. "Jarman…"

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know there's the timeline between you graduating and him doing what he does, but time is just that: time. You two have something that could withstand the test."

I rolled my neck out, considering it. Even just a month with Tyler Riley would be a dream.

"So, next concern."

"My dad. He… isn't a nice guy, Jarman. I don't want him anywhere near Tyler. I'd never forgive myself if he got hurt."

His hand clasped my shoulder. "You are out of his home, Hunt. He surely can't have that much reach."

I gulped, meeting his warm brown eyes. "I'm only here because of him. I don't have a scholarship—he owns me, Jarman."

Jarman's face contorted. "Well, is there any way you can get an agent? Or even enter the AHL without him knowing? You're good enough, man. That way you can start your life on your own terms."

I shrugged. I hadn't been approached like Colton and Tyler had. But I wasn't exactly reaching out for agents either. The thought seeded itself in my mind, and Jarman smiled proudly.

"I'll look into it," I relented.

"For what it's worth, I think you two are good for each other. If your chemistry on the ice says anything, then you can get past the hurdles, however many they are. I like you two together."

"You're making me feel like a dick," I grumbled half-heartedly, and he chuckled.

"I've always considered you a friend, Hunt, even if you didn't realize it."

I patted his knee. "Thanks, man. I am sorry. Really, you're a good guy—and a good friend."

We left it at that. During the drive back to our rink, I concocted a plan to try and win Tyler back.