5. Sage

CHAPTER 5

SAGE

I'm playing in a Metros game… tonight.

The thought repeats over and over. Each time, the fluttery feeling in my stomach intensifies.

Lugging our suitcases and gear, Morgan and I rush through the opulent lobby of the Metros' team hotel. The news the team needed us tonight in Edmonton and tomorrow in Seattle because four of their players got food poisoning came while my Slash teammates and I were boarding our bus, about to head to Chicago for a two game trip.

It's been a hectic morning, starting with rushing back home to grab our passports, so we could join the Metros on rest of their road trip. We got a direct flight, but arrived too late to take part in the morning skate. Our contact with the team told us to meet the Metros in one of the conference rooms for video review after we checked in and dropped off our stuff in our room.

The thought of having to play tonight without the chance to practice with my new teammates makes my stomach churn. My fingers slide over the new fidget toy Phil dropped into my coat pocket yesterday, bending the orange squishy bracelet into different shapes.

His phone pressed to his ear, Morgan taps my hand, stilling me. He then bumps his shoulder into mine, and grins.

Him being here helps. I hope we'll get to play on the same line.

Using his thumb, he punches the button for the elevator, and adjusts his phone. "Thanks, Mom. Yes, I'll tell Sage you wished him good luck too."

I smile at that. "Thanks, Mrs. Rhodes." His mom is so nice. My parents haven't texted me back yet, but that's not unusual. Their jobs take up a lot of their time. Our relationship primarily consists of communicating via texts that are light on details, so there's less of a chance we'll stress each other out.

Rhys, however, has texted me multiple times today. Starting with a row of celebration emojis when I told him we were on our way. Then updates on what the team was doing earlier today. And a few minutes ago, letting me know where the conference room is located so I won't worry about getting lost in the maze of hallways.

As Morgan ends his call, the elevator car arrives. "We have to hurry."

Tapping my keycard against my thigh, I will the car to rise faster. Finally, we reach our floor. Everything in our room looks plusher than the hotel rooms we're used to. We'll have it only for this afternoon so we can get in our pre-game nap. The team's flying out after the game.

I drop my bags by the closest bed. "Okay, let's go. Rhys said it's on the second floor, around the corner from the bank of elevators. The hallway's kind of hidden."

We race back to the elevator. Thanks to Rhys, we arrive at the conference room within a minute of stepping onto the second floor. My heart pounds as Morgan opens the door. The lights are dimmed for video viewing, but there's enough light to see over twenty Metros players and staff look our way.

Coach Grant waves us inside. He's a former player, known more for fighting than scoring, but he's coached three teams to the Cup finals. "Gentlemen, meet Sage Murray and Morgan Rhodes. They're putting up great numbers for the Slash, and hopefully can help us win tonight. Fellas, find a seat."

Remy wildly waves for us to sit by him. We pass Rhys, and he reaches out his hand so our fingers brush together. It's enough to slow my whirling mind and help me focus. His small gesture means so much to me.

I last saw him a week ago, when he came over, fresh off a road trip, with breakfast for the two of us. We ate French toast in my apartment before I boarded my team bus, bound for two games in Texas. Our schedules aren't meshing well for seeing each other in person, but we text and video chat all the time.

Settling on the floor in front of Remy, I lean against his legs. He pats me on the head before returning his focus to the coach and the images on the screen. With clips from the Metros game the other night against Winnipeg and of Edmonton's players to prepare for tonight, the review and breakdown is similar to what we're used to with the Slash. Coach points out things players have done well and mistakes that were made.

The last video ends, we talk about the penalty kill, and then the image on the screen fades. Coach nods at someone behind us and the room's lights flare bright. "Since we're down a few men, we're shaking up a few of the lines tonight. Jonas, I want you with Sage and Morgan." Sitting beside Rhys, Jonas gives us a thumbs up. "Nicklas will join Maxim and Quinn. Darius, you're with Enzo. And Rhys will partner with Remy. That's all for now, gentlemen. Thank you."

The room comes alive with staff, coaches, and teammates' conversations.

Remy's hands land on my shoulders and he squeezes hard. "I can't believe you're here. The three of us playing together tonight is unreal."

I tilt my face back, grinning at him, then Morgan. "Unreal is right."

He taps the back of my head. "Rhys is coming over."

I surge forward, then jump up. Indecision over how to greet him freezes me. Can I hug him? Should I shake his hand? Simply nod?

With a warm smile, he pulls me in for a hug. The light squeeze settles me, so does drawing in his spicy scent. Too soon, he lowers his arms and steps back. "Hey. Doing okay? Excited for tonight?"

"Yeah. I can't wait." That's mostly true. I'm also kind of terrified. What if I mess up? What if I'm out of my depth?

Most of the Metros players come over to say hello. One of the assistant coaches grabs Morgan and me for a quick meeting, and Rhys murmurs in my ear that I should find him once it's over.

My anxiety climbs throughout the meeting. By the time we meet up with Rhys, Jonas, Maxim, Quinn, and Remy to grab food at a restaurant across from the hotel, concentrating on the conversation is like trying to score a goal blindfolded and skating backward while reciting the names of every Cup winner in order of their birthdates. I get through most of my sandwich, but it sits in my stomach like a boulder. Rhys's leg keeps bumping mine under the table. I try to smile, but know I'm not fooling him.

As we leave the restaurant, he slips his hand around my elbow, holding me back. "You seem tense. Talk to me. Let me help."

Scrubbing my free hand over my face, I lean into his side. With my mind racing and the noise from the street traffic blaring, curling up in a dark room sounds good. "It feels like everything is riding on tonight. What if I screw up? Or cost us the game? What if I'm not good enough?"

His thumb caresses the inside of my biceps. "Come up to my room. We'll talk."

I fall into step beside him and remember the world doesn't revolve around me. "Do you know if your sick teammates feel better? How are you ?"

"The guys are hanging in there. Everyone keeps checking on them in our group chat." Our footsteps echo across the lobby. He hits the button for the elevator and it opens right up. "As for how I'm doing, I'm happy you're here."

We're alone in the car. Twining his fingers with mine, he taps the button for his floor. The same one as mine.

The car opens and we step out. I see Maxim disappear into a room, and Jonas into another. "Is everyone on this floor?"

"Seems like it." We walk down the hall and he slows to a stop several doors down from mine. "Here we are."

He opens his door. His subtle spice hangs in the room's air. Still holding my hand, he tugs me toward the huge window. The room looks out at skyscrapers, and all the cars and people on the ground look so small. "Making mistakes in games happens. All of us have done that. But I'll tell you right now, you're better than some of the guys who've been playing with us for years. Making a mistake won't change that. You deserve this chance. Hell, with the way you've played, you've earned it."

Hearing that helps. I hope I won't let him down. "Can you hug me?"

"Of course." He wraps his arms around me. "How's that?"

"Tighter." I slide my hands over his waist, linking them at his back. The strength in his hold increases. "That's perfect."

"Can I kiss you?" His words tease over my ear, raising goosebumps on my body.

"Please."

My lips skim his cheek as we turn our heads. His mouth finds mine, and my heart sighs at the taste of him. My mind quiets and my muscles loosen. This is what I needed. Rhys is who I needed.

We kiss for what seems like hours. Every second in his arms calms and centers me. I've been so needy today. I want to show him I can be there for him too. More importantly, I want to thank him.

My hands journey up his back, then around to his front to stroke up his chest and over his stomach. The soft slide of his athletic shirt is like satin under my hands. We kiss, and I press closer, my cock pitching a tent in my jeans. Rubbing it over his thigh, I groan at the feel of his bulge growing harder against my stomach.

His palms glide under my shirt, and he groans, rocking into me. The roughness of his caresses makes my blood run hot. I work my hands between us, ripping open the button of my jeans and lowering the zipper. He moans his approval, and we both work to ease down his sweats and boxers, and then mine.

One handed, he whips the tee over his head and tosses it on the bed. He's far more gentle with mine, raising it while trailing his fingertips over my skin, his eyes full of sexy smolder.

With the shirt gone, he lets his hands roam free and I do the same. I've seen him shirtless and more in the locker room, but today, I get to look my fill.

He's gorgeous. Skin paler than mine dotted with freckles, sculpted muscles, and a thin mat of auburn hair on his chest and stomach, tapering down to his cock.

Rhys's gaze devours me as his roaming hands send me higher. He cups my cheek, leans in, and seals his mouth over mine. I lose myself in the delicious slide of skin to skin, the two of us rubbing off on each other, until he wraps his hand around my cock, and strong strokes take me over the edge where the only thing that exists is pleasure and him.

Still flying, I take him in my grasp, and the room fills with the soundtrack of his breaths and groans. With his whisper of my name, the wetness of his release coats my skin.

We fall onto the bed, wrapped in each other, and for the first time all day, I'm at peace.

The Metros jerseys lined up at each stall are bright spots of color in the stark visitors' locker room. Walking in with Remy and Morgan, I scan the row of purple names and numbers.

There, in between jerseys for Morgan and Maxim, is mine. Murray and the number eleven on the back of a Metros jersey. I run my finger over the letters and everything fades away. Conversations, lockers slamming, the smell of bleach and sweat, all gone. Only the smooth fabric of the M, the curve of the U, the matching bumps of the Rs, the long lines of the A, and the open arms of the Y exist. My skin pricks with goosebumps and my head spins in the best way.

Beside me, Morgan traces his name. His blond hair falls over his forehead as he shakes his head and smiles. "Wild, right?"

"Yeah." The ball of anticipation in my stomach grows bigger and bigger. Listening to Maxim converse in French with his teammate on the other side of his stall, I get into my gear, then the uniform. Purple socks, shorts, and gloves, and on the white jersey, the Metros logo is prominent across the chest. My hands shaking, I slide the jersey over my head, taking the same care I did the first time I pulled on a Slash jersey. One more step closer to my dream.

Looking down at that star of purple edged in gold, I bite my cheek against the swell of emotion threatening to choke me. I'll fight until I can't any longer to prove I belong here.

"Looking good, boys." Remy joins Morgan and me. "Good luck out there tonight. Have fun. And remember, if you score a goal, you gotta buy us all a drink."

"Ha ha." Morgan motions for him to come closer, then lowers his voice, "I'm so freaking nervous."

I crowd in too. "Same."

"So was I, my first game. It gets easier." Remy loops his arms around our shoulders. "If you need to play what's the worst that can happen , we've got you."

"I did that earlier with Rhys." I glance his way. Seated across the room, Rhys chats with Jonas. "I'm okay."

The door swings open. Coach Grant comes in, and the room's chatter dies down. He strides from one side of the room to the other, reminding me of a prowling tiger. "All right. Starting lineup tonight, we have Quinn, Maxim, and Nicklas. Rhys and Remy on the blue line. Pierre in between the pipes. Let's have a good game, fellas."

My teammates break into whoops, clapping their hands. Everyone stands, Coach leaves, and we're ready to head onto the ice for warmups. Jangling nerves and anticipation carry me into the corridor behind Remy.

The closer we get to the ice, the bigger the feeling grows. Music blares throughout the arena. My heart races as I skate onto that smooth sheet of ice, stick in hand. There are so many people, maybe three times the size we get at Slash games.

I do a lap around our zone, taking deep breaths, soaking up the moment. The crowd, the cool air on my face, the smell of the ice, the fact that I'm here. Here . Some players never make it this far.

Morgan slides a puck my way. We join our teammates in shooting pucks at Pierre, and running through basic line drills with Jonas. Rhys passes me, working with Remy, and pats my ass with his stick.

That little touch, and his smile, stay with me through the rest of warmups.

When I return to the locker room, he waits for me by my stall. Tall and broad, his auburn hair shining in the lights, he's a captivating presence. "You looked good out there. I like you in this jersey."

I'm reminded of the other week, when it was me standing near him in the Slash's locker room, readying to step onto the ice together. "I do too. It'll be hard returning to a Slash jersey after this. I want to do a good job out there. Good enough to stay."

He lays his hand on my shoulder. The tip of his thumb brushes along my neck in a soft caress. "You will. Focus on one play at a time. You're on a line with Morgan, so that'll help. Jonas is great at reading his line mates and adapting to them. And whenever I'm out there with you, I'll have your back."

"I know you do. Thanks."

He bumps his fists to mine, something I've seen him do with his other teammates before the start of games. Others claim his attention, and I stick close to Morgan as we head into the tunnel. The home fans boo us as we take the ice and it feels more real than ever right now.

Every seat filled, the arena looks like a sellout. My nerves settle a bit once the puck drops and my mind focuses completely on the moment. Maxim and Quinn's line is strong, starting off the game. They battle hard and dominate. Rhys and Remy work well together.

I keep my attention on Quinn. When he comes off the ice, I need to go on. Maxim skates over at the same time, with Nicklas dumping and chasing the puck. I hop over the boards with Morgan and race to join the play. Nicklas plays the puck around the boards, and Edmonton's massive defenseman gains control, knocking it to their star center.

Jonas barrels in, delivering a check that knocks the puck loose. I get my stick on it and fly up the ice. Skating fast is one thing I know I can do. Morgan keeps pace in the corner of my vision.

Bam! Something slams into my side, sending me careening onto my hands and knees, and across the ice. The boards rush up fast. I twist to avoid my foot colliding with it, and take the hit to my back instead.

My stick is who knows where, and I'm jarred, but I rush to stand and get my bearings. I think the massive defenseman hit me.

Rhys is still on the ice, and he crashes into that guy. The whistle blows as the two exchange words. The ref signals a roughing penalty on Rhys. Two minutes in the box.

I find my stick and skate back to the bench. Remy opens the door for me. "You okay?"

"Fine. Annoyed that I didn't get a shot off before he hit me."

"You'll get another one." He pats my shoulder.

The penalty kill unit is out there trying to keep Edmonton off the scoreboard. Rhys is in the box for defending me. I feel helpless sitting here, but all I can do is wait for my next shift.

I'm on the edge of my seat, watching Edmonton with the extra attacker dominate in our end. They make one too many passes, and Maxim gets the puck, clearing it up the ice.

Quinn's coming off, and Coach sends me out. I win the puck from Edmonton's winger in the neutral zone. The penalty box door opens and Rhys tears out, joining the rush. Powering toward him, I pass the puck. He dodges a defenseman, closes in on the goalie, and shoots the puck through the five hole.

The goal light flashes and he pumps his arms in the air.

"Yes!" Breath heaving and so freaking happy, I fly into the teammates hugging him.

He bends his head, tapping our helmets together. "Nice moves. Way to make an impact."

"It was a team effort."

The PA announcer's voice rings out. "Minnesota goal scored by number seven, Rhys Farrell. Assist by number eleven, Sage Murray. Time of the goal, ten minutes, thirty seconds of the first period."

We skate to the bench and bump gloves with our teammates. The tension in my muscles eases. It's only one assist, but it's my first point in this league.

I hope it won't be my last.