7. Sage

CHAPTER 7

SAGE

Soft music with a steady beat plays through the record store. The Saturday evening patrons make the place more crowded than I prefer, but tonight's live music act is a newfound favorite of mine, and I thought Rhys might like them too.

I draw in a breath, inhaling the scent of coffee, vinyl, and Rhys's spicy scent wafting from his place beside me. I needed the comfort this place brings.

Life has been a whirlwind.

After the two games I spent with the Metros, they sent me down to the Slash. But I was only back with my old team for five days when the Metros called me back up. It's been ten days since that call. It feels great to be wearing a purple star on my jersey again.

They brought me up because Nicklas, Maxim and Quinn's line mate, took a skate blade to the thigh. He's expected to be out at least six weeks, which is the rest of the Metros' regular season.

In the three games since I've been back, I have four goals and three assists. I'm on a bit of a hot streak. By all accounts, I should be on top of the world, but it's a stressful place to be too. If my production slows, will the team send me back down again? I don't want to find out.

The music from the speakers changes to an acoustic guitar accompanied by a man's soulful voice. Tapping my hand against my thigh, I flip through another row of albums.

Head bent, Rhys looks through the neighboring row. The white sweater he wore the night we met stretches across his torso. There's no trace of the stain.

Grinning, he holds up an album. "What about this one?"

"Whale songs? The fisherman's sweater is getting to your brain, Cap'n." Laughing, I shake my head. "If I do that, the guys won't let me play DJ ever again."

Tomorrow is my turn to pick the music in the locker room. I can't decide what to play. He's hoping to find something that inspires me.

"They will, but it might take them a few months." Rhys playfully bumps his shoulder into mine. "My next turn, I'm doing sea shanties. With their joking about this sweater, they've brought it upon themselves."

During our road trip to Arizona and Colorado this week, I snuck into his hotel room to sleep. Being in his arms soothes me on a level I've not experienced before. And when I woke, it was to his arms banded around me.

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans, checks the notification, and laughs. "Maxim is bitching about Jonas picking the worst movie of all time tonight. They're out with Quinn and Pierre. The movie isn't helping Pierre's mood either. He's still bummed about Evgeny being traded."

"Understandable. He lost his seatmate on the plane and will be playing Solitaire on the road trips until he finds a new card partner." I put back another record. Losing teammates who've become friends is never easy.

Like Evgeny, lots of players across the league were on the move this past week, due to yesterday's NAPH's trade deadline. Several clubs added new faces, along with placing a bunch of players on waivers or sending them down to the PHL. The Metros did it too, sending some players to the Slash.

No one wants to be sent down. And the ones that are, desperately want to get back.

Rhys holds up another record. "What about an 80s metal band?"

"That's a possibility." Leaning into him, I trace my finger over the list of songs. "I think I have one of their albums at home."

"Is it one that belonged to your parents?" He slips his arm around me.

We talked more about our families the other day, sitting together in the big leather chair by my balcony, while I played my guitar. Then he made me waffles topped with ice cream and we ate that in bed.

"Yeah." I pick up another from a few rows over and hold it up. "Maybe pop divas instead."

"Jonas would like that."

My phone vibrates in the front pocket of my jeans. Since being added to the Metros' players chat, my phone is always going off between that one and the one with my housemates. I'm still part of the Slash chat, but muted it because the overall volume of texts was overwhelming. I check the screen. Two messages in the housemates chat.

One from Phil: Yanni got traded. He's on his way to New York tonight.

Followed by one from Gio: If you text Yanni, do it direct. Don't go into the team chat right now. Trust me.

"That's too bad, I liked Yanni." I show Rhys the text. The PHL trade deadline is next Friday, so this week is like how last week was for the NAPH. "I'll text him later."

He slips his fingers through my hair. "Tell him I said good luck. What's with the thing about the Slash group chat?"

"I don't know. But he's making me want to look at it." I roll my shoulders. "They know I hate seeing pics of people's injuries in the chat. Maybe it's that. Like, I don't want to see how a bruise is changing, or weird lumps, or close-ups of cuts or stitches."

He nods. "Especially if you're eating at the same time."

"Exactly. But he probably would've said, ‘don't go in the chat, there's a gross injury up', so I'm thinking it's something else. I wonder why he didn't say."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

I tap his hand. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to? Champion worrier, here."

Smiling, he kisses me. "Sorry. Do you want to text Gio?"

"No, it's okay. If something were wrong, I'd have more texts."

We wander to the section of books that separates the record store portion from the coffeehouse. I point out biographies I've read of music legends and books on music genres that seem interesting. Rhys finds some books covering the history of the music industry. There's sheet music and magazines.

A text from Soren, direct to me and not part of the housemates chat, pops up. Are you still out with Rhys? Don't check the Slash chat.

At my groan, Rhys looks over. I show him the text. "Okay, now I think I have to look. Why are they being so cryptic?"

He returns one of the books to the shelf. "Soren's text asked if you're still out with me. Phil and Gio know you are. Maybe it's something that might bring you down or upset you or make you angry. Something that's better to see if you aren't alone."

"That's something they would do. Always looking out for me. And, I'm not alone. You're here." I watch him put another book down, and what I've just said hits me.

He's here. On a date with me. And I'm obsessing over messages when I should be focusing on being with Rhys in one of my favorite places. Sometimes, I really hate the way that I'm wired. Rhys is probably finding this frustrating too.

Rhys returns the final book in his hands to its place on the shelf. I wouldn't blame him if he's getting ready to make his excuses and leave. I feel like I'm the worst date ever.

An ache blooms in my stomach. I curl in on myself, shoulders slumping, and focus on a spot of paint on the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm getting fixated on this. It's an anxiety thing. With those messages, I feel like something's wrong and I can't relax until I know what it is."

Warm fingers graze under my chin, tilting my face up. His blue gaze is steady on mine, and comforting. He brushes his thumb along my lower lip. "How about I look at the chat for you?"

I gape at him. "That's… not at all what I expected you to say."

"What did you expect?" He slides his hand to my shoulder, and lets it rest there, anchoring me.

"That you might be annoyed."

"Well, I'm not. You can't help the things you worry about."

The ache in my stomach, all of my tension, releases. I inch closer. "I don't want to ruin tonight."

"Not possible." Smiling, he squeezes my shoulder and his thumb traces the skin just above my collar. "Like you said, I'm here. Let me look, see whatever it is, and we can deal with it together."

"That's really, really nice of you." And protective. That he'd do this for me, and want to help, and not think I'm too much, means more than I can say. I tap the yellow icon and hand him the phone. "Thank you."

Rhys scans the chat bubbles, brows narrowing, his expression growing perturbed.

I clutch his biceps, my fingers digging into his soft sweater. "It's bad, isn't it? I knew it. How bad? Really bad?"

He rearranges us so his arm is around me. "There's a rumor going around that you're being sent down."

"That's bad."

"And traded."

The buzzing of a million bees swarms my head and my pulse pounds against my temples. "That's really bad."

His lips pinching, he flicks a finger over the screen. "There's no basis for any of this. You're up with us, and you're playing great hockey."

I rub my hands over my arms, but can't quell the discomfort itching beneath my skin. "Uh huh."

"This could just be someone in the chat trying to cause drama, or because they're bored. Or jealous. I haven't heard anything at all anywhere else. Have you?"

"No. But surprises happen. Just because my name's not been lumped in with the other players potentially on the move doesn't make me safe."

"I know that. But would any of these guys really have inside information? No. Not a chance."

"It's still scary to think about, though. When you're in the minors, you're so focused on working hard to get the call up. And then when you do, you have to worry about everyone below you wanting to take that spot away from you." The Metros players who are doing conditioning assignments, and the ones sent down yesterday, and other Slash players flit through my mind.

He hugs me closer. "Well, as long as I'm here, they can't have you."

I laugh, but it sounds hollow. "We both know that's not how it works. To stay up here, I have to keep scoring. Keep being productive. There's so much pressure. If I have one bad game, that could be enough to send me down."

"Sage." Rhys tips my chin up, then the backs of his fingers caress my cheek. The touch is so soothing, feels so caring, my chest aches at the sweetness of it. "It's okay."

I drop my gaze to his chest and the intricate pattern woven into the chunky knit. "I don't want to go down. Not when coming back up can be so hard."

"I remember those days." Strong, warm fingers massage the back of my neck.

My skin feels too tight. And hot. Like the air is compressing me.

He turns me so we're face to face, chest to chest, and cups his hands over my shoulders. Squeezing them. Blue eyes burning with intensity stare into mine. "Even if you do get sent down again, you'll get another chance. You've already proven yourself."

"Gio and Phil have played games here and there with the big clubs over the years, but they've primarily stayed as career PHL players. They're older than you. Who says that won't happen to me too?"

"You're what, twenty-four?"

I nod. "I feel like now's my opportunity, and I also feel like there's so many guys gunning for me to fail."

"And a bunch of other people pulling for you to succeed." He touches his forehead to mine. "Especially me."

His support means everything. My fingers curl into his sweater. I don't want to let go. "Rhys."

"I have you." His beard tickles my chin as his soft lips meet mine. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

The music fades away. As Rhys and I separate, noise comes from the band setting up at a small stage in the rear of the shop. I smooth my hands over his sides. "I warned you I was an anxious mess."

"You're fine. I know the worrying happens, but I hope you're able to enjoy the time you're spending with the Metros. I know I am." The twinkle in his eyes increases with his smile.

Leaning in, I kiss his jaw. "As much as I worry, I'm loving it."

My phone buzzes. Worried that it might be the team or my agent with news I really don't want, I keep an arm around Rhys and tap on the screen. "It's texts from Morgan and Remy."

I angle the phone so we can read them together.

Morgan: If you look in the Slash chat, just know people are talking out of their asses. Ignore it all.

Remy: I'm sitting with Morgan. Saw the Slash chat. Jealous fuckers, every one of them. Love you, bro.

Rhys grins then kisses the top of my head. "Morgan and Remy are right."

Their texts, and especially Rhys's words and actions, help me feel better. "Let's find a good spot. The band's about to start."

We walk to the crowd gathered at the stage. The frontman of Satyr's Kiss introduces himself and his bandmates, and they jump right into playing. Their rock-metal sound is creative and grabs hold, pulling the crowd into the music.

Rhys embraces me from behind, wrapping his arms around my torso. I lean against him, hugging his arms to my chest. This experience is as special as everything he said to me tonight.

My anxiety isn't too much for him yet. Maybe it won't ever be.

At the end of the set, Rhys heads to the restroom. I buy him a copy of the band's latest album, then move to the coffeehouse section and get us cappuccinos and scones. Once I have a table, I text him so he'll know where to find me.

He walks up carrying a bag that's identical to mine and passes it to me as he sits. "Here."

"I got you something, too." I hand over my bag.

We open them at the same time and both pull out a copy of the same Satyr's Kiss album. Gorgeous artwork and cherry red vinyl. Laughing, I look into his beaming smile. "Great minds think alike. I wanted something to remember this night."

"So did I." He reaches across the table and takes hold of my hand. "I think this is what you should play tomorrow in the locker room."

I nudge my chair closer so I can capture his leg between mine. "That's a good idea."

"I also think that once we finish this food, we should go back to your place and listen to it." He traces his thumb along the side of my palm and his eyes glitter with heat. "In bed."

"That's an even better idea."