12. Rhys

CHAPTER 12

RHYS

The alarm clock's blare yanks me from sleep. I roll over, wincing at the screaming protest in my shoulder and back. At least my head isn't pounding anymore.

The mattress dips behind me, and with a rustle of blankets, the alarm silences.

Sage came back?

Our fight last night was a mess. I'm still angry and worried about his hand. We need to talk, and I'm not sure what to say.

Pressing my hand into the mattress, I push up and turn over.

Maxim sits beside me, the blanket pooled in his lap, his sleep mask askew on his forehead. "You have to start using your phone for your alarm. No one needs to wake up to that awful beeping. There are better options."

Surprise that he's here and disappointment that Sage is not, hit me in equal measures. He came in last night after Sage left and sat with me. I remember him being here when I drifted off. "You stayed?"

"Your boyfriend asked me to." He gets out of bed, adjusting his sweatpants. "He was worried. I was too. How are you feeling?"

"Not awesome. At least nothing's torn or broken this time." Just deep bruising that makes every movement hurt. I rub my hands over my face. "Chad's a piece of shit."

He opens the curtains, flooding the room with light. "I texted Phil and Gio after the game and asked them to do some digging. They know some guys on Chad's previous team."

"Okay…?"

"Chad blames you for his getting traded from Vancouver, and his resulting tour of the minors, instead of taking responsibility for his own actions. By all accounts, he's a bitter man and a shit teammate. And I'd like to add, a mediocre hockey player who coasted by on some talent, but never put the work in, and deserves everything he gets."

I'm torn between pity and disbelief. "Fuck."

"Yeah. So, score one for my intuition being bang on once again." He raises his fist in the air. "Do you need help getting up?"

"I think I can manage." I push off the blanket and see I'm still wearing the shirt and pants from last night. Taking that shirt off and putting another on won't be fun. Swinging my legs to the floor is okay. The bedside table gives me leverage to stand.

Maxim watches me, his arms crossed over his chest. "What happened with Sage?"

"I don't know if I want to talk about that right now." I shuffle to the bathroom. After I do my business, I load up my toothbrush and return to find Maxim hasn't moved an inch.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Sage was upset when he left last night."

With a sigh, I finish scrubbing my teeth, then rinse. "We both were. We had an argument."

"I know that much. These walls aren't that thick."

I unzip my suitcase and pull out a fresh tee, joggers, and socks. Lifting my shirt up is a struggle. Maxim catches the hem and does the work for me. "Thanks."

"Talk." He slaps the new shirt against my chest.

Scowling, I rub my left pec. "Ow."

He rolls his eyes. "And they say I'm the dramatic one."

Working together, we get the shirt over my arms and head.

Sitting on the bed, I manage the pants and socks alone. "I told him he shouldn't have fought Chad."

Maxim folds my discarded shirt. "We all wanted to fight Chad. He just beat us to it. Little guy's fast. Snuck right out there. I was proud of him."

"Chad hurt him." I grip the blanket, picturing the fight all over again. "And I wasn't there to stop it. Do you know how helpless I felt watching that? Knowing what Chad's capable of?"

"Maybe as helpless as Sage and the rest of us felt watching Chad crack his stick over your back like a fucking coward, and seeing you drop like a stone." His movements are stiff as he folds the rest of my things, then slams them on the dresser.

My shoulders sag. "I'm sorry, Maxie."

He drags his long hair into a knot at the top of his head, then draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, his hands pushing through the air like he's visualizing forcing away his tension. When he opens them, he gives me a shaky smile and sits next to me. "First Jonas, now you. If Quinn gets so much as a hangnail in the next game, I'm out."

Swinging my arm around his shoulders hurts, but I hug him to my side. When he relaxes against me, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Want to see if Jonas will overnight us some bubble wrap?"

Laughing, he taps his head to mine. "I would, just to see Quinnie's face when I tell him it's to keep him safe."

"Sage is a good fighter. But that's not his role. We need him on the ice."

"Rhys, we both know that's not how things work. Yeah, sometimes we can leave sending a message to one of our other teammates, but other times, you have to take care of shit yourself. We've all done it."

"I know." I lift my arm to my neck, but quickly drop it when a bullet of pain shoots through my shoulder. "But I just want to keep him safe."

"Fighting or not, there's no guarantee of that."

"I know that too."

He stands. "Was that the extent of it?"

"Not exactly." My sneakers are at the side of the bed. I shove my feet into them, not bothering with the laces. I don't want to risk straining my muscles any more than necessary. Maxim sighs, bends down, and ties them for me. Then he hauls me to my feet.

"Grab your phone and key. We need to move this to my room so I can get ready. We have to be downstairs soon." He waits while I grab my stuff, then leads me next door.

His suitcase is twice the size of mine. As he does his morning routine in the bathroom, I sit on the bed, looking at the variety of tops and bottoms he brought for a nine-day trip. He has enough clothes for double that. Plus three spy novels, and a paperback romance that was sticking out of Remy's bag at the start of our trip.

Maxim returns, rubbing in his face cream. "Time's ticking away. Talk."

I set the paperback down. "We also argued because Sage wants to play and I don't think that's a smart idea. He has a broken bone and could make things worse if he doesn't let it heal."

He pulls a T-shirt over his head. "That's true for any of us who've played through injuries, but that hasn't stopped a lot of us from trying. Including you."

Knowing he's right doesn't make hearing it any easier. I pace his room as he switches pants and finds his sneakers. By the end of the playoffs last year, all of us were so banged up, I was surprised anyone could still walk.

Maxim pulls on a hoodie, then tucks his phone into the front pocket. "Hanson has a broken foot. Eddy needs shoulder surgery. Thornton has a sprained ankle. Think they should sit out games too?"

"That isn't the same situation."

He lays his hand on my shoulder. "Ask yourself why that is."

Shoving my hands into my pants pockets, I rock back on my heels. "I know why. Sage isn't them. He means more to me."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Not in so many words." I drag my hand through my hair. "I was in so much pain. And angry. And scared. Scared of what might have happened to him."

"I can understand that."

I drop my hand, helplessness running through me once again. "Telling him that isn't going to change his mind about trying to play."

"Maybe not. But I think he needs to hear it anyway."

Walking to the conference room with Maxim, I scan our teammates for Sage. The guys fan around the three rows of seats, drinking coffees and water, chatting about last night. Coach has the video queued up and ready to go.

Using his coffee cup, Maxim points to two seats beside Quinn. We head there, and I spy Sage, tucked along the far wall between Morgan and Remy. He has the fidget toy in his good hand and an ice pack resting on the other.

Coach dims the lights, so I have to sit. My coffee and the breakfast sandwich Maxim made me eat aren't sitting well in my stomach.

We start with neutral zone attacks, look at situations where we lost control of the puck and should've kept it, then turn to our power play.

Coach pauses the video. "Obviously, what Cullen did to Rhys was way out of line. I liked the focus and determination the units maintained during the power play, in light of the emotional situation."

Some of our teammates pat Maxim on the shoulder for getting his goal during that five minutes.

"But that being said." Coach holds up his hand. "You know I played. So I understand what it's like to watch someone go after one of your teammates for the sole purpose of taking them out of the game. I'm not one of those guys who says there's no place for fighting in this sport. There is. You had to send a message that Chad's dirty hit wasn't okay. Sage delivered that for us. Sage, I'm sorry you got injured, but that was a hell of a fight."

My teammates break into cheers of agreement, then chatter about how they all wanted a piece of Chad. I'm touched they'd all go to war for me. But I'm more worried about Sage's hand than I am about further revenge on Chad should he still be playing for San Jose when we face them somewhere down the line. Though, if I get the chance to knock Chad into the boards, I'm taking it. For what he did to me, but more for the bruises he put on my man.

The room quiets down and Coach goes back to video, now of Los Angeles and what we might face in tomorrow's game.

Video review wraps up. Some of the guys head out for yoga. I hang back, hoping to talk to Sage, but he's in the ear of an assistant coach, and I bet he's making his case for attempting to play.

Maxim pushes me toward the door. "Yoga now. You can apologize later."

I join my teammates for the stretching, my range of motion limited by the pain in my upper body. After that, we board the bus to go to the arena for on-ice work. I save a spot next to me for Sage.

He climbs aboard at the last moment, with the assistant coach behind him, and they sit at the front, deep in discussion. He still has an ice pack on that hand. I know the team will use him if they can. He's too good, and we do need him.

At the arena, we're all together, there's no privacy. The two of us not interacting is odd. Teammates give us sideways glances, and I wonder if more than Maxim heard us last night.

Sage is beside our backup goalie, wrapping a wad of tape around his stick. From the size, there has to be more than one roll on it. Dark shadows ring his eyes. The vulnerability in his gaze is like a sucker punch to my solar plexus. The steel underneath, stubborn determination, makes me proud. But I'm still so worried for him. I think playing is a mistake. There's too much risk.

Though, if I were in his place, I know I'd do the same thing.

I slip in beside him, and wrap tape around my stick a few times. "We need to talk. Later."

He nods, then turns away and adds even more tape.

Fuck. I want to pull him into my arms. I hate this tension.

We suit up in the locker room. He's with Remy and Morgan and they help him dress. That should be me. Across the room, Pierre's doing the same for a teammate with a cracked rib.

On the ice, we walk through some drills and how Los Angeles likes to play, and work on things that will help when we're facing them tomorrow night. It's an easy, light practice. Twenty minutes, and we're done.

Coach dismisses us, and then, as my teammates and I move toward the bench, he waves for Sage to join him and the other coaches near the blue line.

He skates toward them. "Still hurts, but I can grip the stick while letting my index finger rest on it more than anything else. I think this will work."

I stay at the bench, holding the door open for my teammates as they continue off the ice and into the hallway.

Lined up in front of the first of several pucks, Sage gets into position with his stick. "Ready."

Coach nods. "Let's give it a try." Then he looks up, sees me, and says something to Coach Lindstrom, then the assistant coach skates toward me.

"Rhys," Coach Lindstrom steps off the ice. "I need a word. Let's talk in the hallway."

I can't ignore that order. Silently wishing Sage good luck, I follow the coach.

We walk toward the locker room. He unzips the thin jacket he always wears on the ice. "We've decided to have you sit out of tomorrow's game. Probably Thursday too. We'd rather have you rest, so you're fresh for the playoffs."

Game one is next Tuesday. If I don't play Thursday, that'll give me over a week to recover.

"I feel sore enough to appreciate having tomorrow off, so I won't argue."

He pats my uninjured shoulder. "Good. Get changed. You have a treatment session today, yes?"

"Yeah." I shake his hand, then head into the locker room where Maxim waits to help me get out of my gear and change clothes. He and Quinn keep me company on the way back to the hotel. I arrive for my treatment session with the trainer, physically and emotionally exhausted.

Lying on the table, while the ice packs do their work, I thumb through my texts. Sage and I haven't gone a day without texting since early in our relationship.

It's been a while so I don't think he's still at the arena. He's not been active in our team chat either. I don't know what to say, so I tap out: How did it go?

By the time my session ends, he still hasn't replied. Maybe he's still angry with me and wants time to cool off. I don't want to annoy or upset him anymore than I already have.

I go back to my room, text Jonas to see what he and Soren are up to at the Slash house, receive pictures of them hanging out with Benny, and collapse onto the bed. A movie might distract me, but I doubt it. Music from Sage's playlist could make me feel worse about the way things went down between us, but it also makes me feel close to him.

I hit play, and close my eyes, thinking about what I'll say when I have him in front of me once again.

BANG. BANG. BANG!

Pounding on my door jolts me from sleep. I spring off the bed. "What the hell?"

The faintest shades of pink streak across the sky. I whip around to look at the time. How did I sleep for the entire afternoon?

No teammate has ever knocked like that. I stomp to the door and check the peephole. Remy and Morgan stand in the hall, their faces grim. Morgan raises his fist to knock again.

If they're here, it's probably to yell at me about Sage. I flip the lock, then wrench the door open.

Before I can say anything, Remy marches past me.

I step aside so Morgan can enter, then close the door. "What's up?"

"Sage is spiraling."

Concern for him crushes my chest. "Where is he? What happened?"

Morgan plants his ass on the desk. "He and Coach had a meeting with the doctor and trainers after practice. They won't let him play. He can't get enough power or control with the hockey stick."

Standing at the window, Remy crosses his arms over his chest, his features pinched in worry. "The doctor said it's too early in the injury, that maybe if it was three weeks into healing, things would be different. So no finishing out these last two games, and no playoffs next week."

"They're sending him down?" My mouth falls open as my mind races with the unfairness of it. Sage has been a major part of the reason we've gotten this far.

"Yeah. But it's more like they're sending him home. The Slash didn't make the playoffs and this is the last week of their season. They won't let him play either."

"Sage is devastated. He's mad at himself, the situation, the timing, and he's worried about the argument you two had." His words gathering in strength and volume, Morgan paces, then throws up his hands. "And then you say to him the dreaded we need to talk line? What the hell?"

"Well, we do need to talk. Shit, I didn't mean it like that type of ‘we need to talk' . I'm not breaking up with him." I shove my feet into my sneakers because I need to straighten out things with my man ASAP. "Where is he?"

"Before we tell you that, you need to understand something. When he thinks he's hurt someone else, the whole anxiety thing triples. He beats himself up so much because he feels so bad about causing them pain."

"Whether it's something he's unintentionally said or done, or an accident. Like, for instance, tripping and spilling a pint of Guinness on someone's sweater." Remy gives me a meaningful stare.

The profuse apologies and offers to make things right with my sweater that night suddenly make a lot more sense. "Shit."

"Yeah. So imagine how he feels today. He defended you. Injured himself. Now, he can't help the team. He can't play hockey. Or guitar. He's worried about how you're doing, and he's unsure of where the two of you stand."

I feel even worse about how we left things last night. The knot in my stomach doubles in size. I scrub my hand over my face, then drag it through my hair.

Remy wanders closer, his hands tucked deep in his pockets, as solemn as I've ever seen him. "Our boy is going through a lot."

"Tell me where he is. Please." I sit on the edge of the bed to tie my laces. The last thing I need is to trip over them and injure myself even more. Especially if it would delay my getting to Sage.

He bites his lip, studying me with a conflicted expression. "I feel responsible for the two of you meeting in the first place."

"You are responsible." Morgan grumbles. "And look what that's done."

Remy rounds on Morgan, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hey, just because I believe in romance?—"

"Where. Is. He." The barked words hit the air, their bite breaking the standoff between the two friends. Wincing at the pull in my shoulder, I stand.

Morgan holds up his phone, showing me a map with a green dot on it. "Venice Beach."

"Does he know you're tracking him?" Making a lap around the room, I pocket my wallet and my phone.

His brows pull low over blue eyes, shooting daggers at me, his expression equal parts annoyed and indignant. "The six of us always share our locations with each other. It's good for safety."

Holding up a hand in apology, I walk toward the door. "Can you text me with his exact location?"

Remy follows me, pulling Morgan with him. "I'll send it now, and update you if it changes."

"Thanks." We step into the hall and I pause to pull the door shut behind me. "For that, and for coming to tell me about Sage."

Morgan begrudgingly pats me on the shoulder. "Don't fuck this up."

"He means good luck." Remy's focus is on his phone. He taps the screen a few times, and my phone vibrates in my pocket. "There."

"Again, thanks." I jog to the elevator. While waiting for the car, I request a ride through the ride share app. On the way down to the lobby, I check the driving distance. It'll take about forty minutes to get to Sage. Sighing, I rub my hands over my face. I want to get to him now .

The ride share is waiting when I step out of the hotel. As we pull away from the curb, I text Quinn and Maxim, letting them know I won't make dinner with them, and why. This entire team owes Sage a lot. Without him, we wouldn't have made the playoffs. All of us will need to do something to show him we appreciate him.

The sky continues to turn pink and orange the more minutes we travel. Finally, we arrive.

I hustle from the car, searching the benches along the boardwalk.

No Sage.

My phone is in my hand, my finger poised over the button to call Remy, then I spot him.

Sitting on the sand, his forearms resting on his knees, staring at the sea.

Waves of relief and worry lap over each other. My heart lurches. I'm not sure what to say or how I can fix this. It's not like I can instantly heal his finger.

My sneakers sinking into the sand, I make my way toward him. When I'm close enough to clearly view his profile, the dejection dulling his features guts me.

He turns his head toward me, then does a double take. His eyes round and a jolt shakes his posture so he drops his hands to the sand. "You're here."

"Remy and Morgan told me where to find you."

"If you're still frustrated with me, I can't argue… I just can't right now." He drags a hand through his hair.

I slowly sit beside him. "I came to apologize, not argue."

"Apologize?"

"I screwed up last night." I wing a pebble into the ocean. "But seeing you hurt, and knowing I couldn't protect you from it? I hated it. Watching that fight, I was scared for what could've happened. Keeping you safe is so important to me, even though I know there's no guarantee of that, regardless of what you do on the ice."

"Thank you for that."

I lay my hand on his shoulder. His muscles are stiff, but he doesn't shrug me off. "I should've held you and thanked you for having my back, and kissed all your bruises."

He gives me a watery smile. "That would've been nice."

"My emotions got in the way. I'll try to do better."

"Emotions mean you care."

"And I do. I'm also here because I'm worried about you. I'm sorry you can't play."

Sage's soft smile drops into a hard frown. "It's a stupid injury. One tiny bone. I can't play hockey or guitar…" His voice breaks. A muscle in his jaw stands out as he stares hard at the sand, clenching fistfuls. After a moment, he clears his throat. "I can't help anyone. I let the team down. Let you down. In that interview, you said you counted on me, that you needed me. Now, I'm not any good to anyone."

"Stop." Desperate to soothe him, I rub circles on his back. "Just stop. You're so good. You didn't let anyone down. If anything, you gave us a chance we didn't have. This game is a team effort, but you're a major reason why we won enough games to make the playoffs. That's a fact. Without you, our season would end on Thursday. Now, we have a chance for more."

"And I won't be a part of it."

"That sucks more than I can say. Will we win without you? I don't know. We're already so depleted, missing big pieces and holding everyone else together with duct tape. Will we miss you? Hell yeah. No one, and I mean no one can take your place."

He shrugs. "You don't have to say that."

I wrap my arm around his waist and tug him to me because I need him close. Need him to feel that I mean what I say. "I mean it. You're a hell of a teammate and friend. You're both those things to me too, and more, lover, boyfriend… a partner. I didn't think I could feel this way about someone, but knowing you're there for me, that I can trust in that, in you , is everything."

He drags his eyes to meet mine, and in them I feel all his worries, insecurities, strength, passion, and care. "I…"

"I'm in love with you."

His eyes widen and he jerks his head back like I've startled him. "You are?"

My heart beats fast. "Yeah." I swallow hard, "I'm in love with you and I want you to be safe, and I care so much about you, it overtakes everything else."

Jumping to his knees, he throws his arms around my neck, his sweet expression earnest. "I'm in love with you too. I would do anything for you. Anything. Fight for you, stand beside you, take care of you. You're mine. Finding you, having you accept me as I am, I never thought that could happen."

He loves me too. The weight of that sinks into me. We're in this together. Holding each other's hearts in our hands.

I encircle his waist with my arms because there is no way I'm letting him go. Closing my eyes, I drink in the sound of the sea, the smell of salt air, the sun on my skin, Sage in my arms, and that he loves me. For real. I open them, gazing at the man I love. "Knowing you love me too… has turned this mess of a day into something good."

"Same here." He rests his forehead to mine, smoothing a hand up my neck and into my hair. "How's your shoulder and back?"

"They hurt. I'm not allowed to play tomorrow. Maybe not Thursday either." I slide my hands under his shirt, the warmth of his skin healing the broken physical and emotional parts of me. "Holding onto you makes dealing with everything else easier."

"It does. Coach said I can fly back with you all after the game tomorrow. So we can sit together and watch them play." Sighing, he glances at his injured hand resting on my shoulder. "This is a stupid injury. I hate sitting out while the rest of you continue."

I brush my lips over his scratchy cheek. "It's the worst part of being a player. I felt the same way when I couldn't play. We'll get through this together."

"I like the together part."

"Me too." Hugging him to me, I look out at the ocean and the setting sun. "You impressed everyone. Our team is better with you, there's no denying that. I wouldn't be surprised if you're a Metro next season."

Sage's smile is soft and shy. "That would be awesome. I want to be your teammate, on and off the ice."

"I want that too. And I'll fight to make it happen."

He tilts his face to mine. My heart tripping, I lean in. Our lips touch, and breathing him in, tasting him, I'm slammed by how much he means to me, and how I'll strive every day to show him how much he is loved.

Deepening the kiss, he clings to me. I slide my hand into his hair, keeping him close, chasing kiss after kiss until my heart settles and he sighs against me, completely at ease.

"Ready to get out of here?" I brush his hair off his face. "We can head back, order room service." I check my phone and find messages from Sage's friends and mine. "I got a bunch of texts from the guys, you should probably let them know how you're doing."

He smooths his hand over my chest. "We could ask them to meet us for a drink, so I can see everyone at the same time."

"Okay, but only a quick one. And then for the rest of the night, you're mine." I nip his lips.

Sage smiles into the kiss. "I like being yours."

"I like being yours, too."