23. Tyler

CHAPTER 23

TYLER

I take a deep breath as I lace up my skates, trying to focus on the familiar ritual and push away the thoughts swirling in my head. Dinner with DJ and Sydney last night was...a lot. The idea DJ proposed—exploring something more, together, the three of us—it's intriguing but scary as hell.

I'm still wrapping my mind around being bi, and now this? Fuck .

I step out onto the ice, surprised to see Ryan already out there waiting for me. He gives me a knowing look, like he can see right through me. Great .

"Hey man, ready to get those legs pumping?" Ryan calls out, skating over.

"Always," I reply, falling into rhythm beside him as we start warm-up laps. "What's with the look?"

"What look?" He feigns innocence that I'm not buying but I'm all too happy to keep the conversation to a minimum.

We pick up speed, making tight turns around the goal posts. My mind keeps flashing to DJ's lips on mine, imagining Sydney joining us, her soft body pressed between our hard...

"Tyler!" Ryan's voice jolts me back to the present. "Get your head in the game, bro. Those posts aren't going to dodge themselves."

"Sorry, just...distracted," I mutter, focusing on my stride.

"This about DJ?" Ryan asks casually as we switch to suicides, sprinting back and forth.

My feet nearly tangle and I have to windmill my arms not to face-plant on the ice.

"What?" I sputter. "Why would you think that?"

"Dude, you've been drooling over him all season. Anyone with eyes can see it. And lately…seems like you guys are getting closer, that's all."

Thankfully the arrival of the rest of the team and Coach's whistle saves me from responding. We spend the next hour running drills—passing, shooting, checking.

But when we break for lunch, I know I'm not getting away that easy. Ryan suggests burritos and I agree, if only to get out of the locker room and away from DJ's curious, charged glances.

"So?" Ryan demands around a mouthful of carnitas as we sit tucked in a back booth. "What's going on with you and DJ?"

I push rice around my plate, hesitating. It's probably not the best idea to talk about this with another teammate, right? Sydney technically being the team counselor and all…

But I know Ryan won't judge me, and I do have a lot I need to sort out…

"He umm...he sort of asked me… totryadatingthingwithhimandSydney," I mumble.

Ryan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Like a throuple? Damn." Then he grins. "Something in the water on this team."

I pause. I vaguely knew that Ryan was involved with a few other players and Emma, our newest coach, but I've never brought it up, unsure if it's cool to ask for details.

"Yeah..." I drop my fork, raking a hand through my hair. "It's a lot. I mean, I like them both so much but...I don't know, man. This polyamory thing is way outside my wheelhouse."

"I get it," Ryan says candidly. "When I first considered the poly thing, I felt so lost. It took me a while to really understand and accept that it could work for me."

"Really? I had no idea." Suddenly I don't feel so alone.

"Not exactly something I shouted about in the locker room," he shrugs. "But yeah, it's a journey. There's no roadmap."

His words strike a chord in me. My truth...maybe it's not the conventional white picket fence fantasy. Maybe it's messy and complicated and beautiful in its own way.

"I really care about DJ," I confess. "And Sydney, actually. Both of them. And I don't want to screw it up, hurt either of them."

"Then don't," Ryan says simply. "Talk to them. Be honest. It won't be easy, but the best things in life rarely are. You just have to decide if it's worth it to you."

Deep down, I already know my answer. DJ and Sydney bring me alive in ways I never imagined. If there's even a chance...

"Thanks man," I bump Ryan's fist. "I think I know what I need to do."

The next night, the cheers booming through the home arena thrum in my bones as we skate out onto the ice. This a crucial game, a game we have to win to keep our playoff hopes alive. The pressure would be crushing if I weren't getting used to it by this point.

DJ skates over and taps his stick against my pads with a friendly, uncomplicated smile. "You got this, Ty. Let's shut these fuckers down tonight."

I nod, his simple words filling me with confidence. "Damn right. They won't know what hit ‘em."

The puck drops and the game is on, a frenzied back-and-forth right from the start. I'm lasered in, tracking every play, challenging shooters, kicking out pads to deny their scoring chances. We trade goals, neither team able to pull away.

By the second period, my legs are jelly but I dig deep, determined not to let the team down. Gabe slides to block a shot and when the rebound squirts free, I dive for the save.

But the puck sails just past my glove, hitting the back of the net with a devastating swish.

Dammit! I should have had that one.

Pissed at myself, my eyes dart across the ice to DJ, unconsciously seeking his reaction. But my mistake flies to the back of my mind when I see that DJ's unfocused, skating gingerly, his movements slightly awkward.

You wouldn't know it unless you knew the way he moved like I do—he's hiding it well—but I instantly realize something's wrong.

What's going on with him?

I try to ignore it, to get my head back into the game.

But as the clock ticks down in the second period, I can't stop glancing over at DJ, wondering if he's okay, if he'll be able to finish out this critical match. My mind isn't fully on the ice and it shows.

Another shot squeaks by me.

The opposing team whoops and high-fives and the crowd groans.

I slam my stick against the goalpost in frustration.

"Fuck!"

The self-doubt creeps in, an all-too-familiar voice. You're just Adam's backup, in over your head. You'll never be as good as a real starting goalie. Never be the star your brother Steven is.

The buzzer pierces through my spiraling thoughts, ending the disastrous second period. I skate to the bench, shoulders slumped, avoiding eye contact with my teammates.

In the locker room, I rip off my mask and collapse onto the bench, head in my hands.

"Simmonds!" Coach Daniels' gruff voice booms out. I look up to see him standing over me, arms crossed.

Here it comes, the tongue-lashing I deserve.

But his expression softens. He claps a meaty hand on my shoulder pad.

"Tyler, you're doing great out there. A few unlucky bounces, that's all. I've got full faith in you, kid. This team needs you. Now get your head on straight and finish strong, you hear?"

I nod, a lump in my throat. "Yes, Coach. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't." He gives my shoulder a final squeeze and strides off.

I take a deep breath, rolling my neck, shaking out my arms, and closing my eyes to get myself in the right headspace.

Coach is right. I've trained my whole life for this. I can do this. I will do this.

By the time I skate back out for the third period, a sense of calm determination has washed over me. I deflect shot after shot, my movements fluid and precise. The minutes tick down and we hang onto our narrow lead.

The final buzzer sounds and my teammates mob me, a mass of sweaty limbs and joyous shouts.

Over their heads, I see DJ beaming at me with pride, and something warm unfurls in my chest.

Like everything is finally clicking into place.

The locker room erupts in cheers and high fives as we clatter in, still high on adrenaline from our big win. The sweat soaking my jersey has begun to chill against my skin but I don't even care.

Playoffs are in reach.

"Yo, day off tomorrow! Where are we hitting up tonight to celebrate our win—and the fact that we don't have to wake up early?" Mikey hollers, toweling off his shaggy hair.

I lock eyes with DJ across the room.

The last time we all went out drinking as a team...well, things didn't go so well. DJ raises an eyebrow at me and it's clear we're both thinking the same thing: we can't let that shitshow happen again .

Someone needs to step in and derail this plan, and soon, because the team's enthusiasm is gaining momentum.

"Actually, I got an idea," DJ pipes up, his voice carrying over the rowdy chatter. "Let's do something where everyone can join, and we don't have to feel awkward about doing two separate things. Like dinner at a nice restaurant, call ahead, no booze at our tables. Keep it chill, you know?"

"Hell yeah, I'm down," I chime in. "Mad respect for our boys staying sober. We're a team, we stick together."

To my relief nods and words of agreement ripple through the group. Slade claps Tomas on the shoulder, and I see Jason aiming a grateful look at DJ.

"Means a lot, guys. Seriously," Tomas says gruffly.

"Then it's settled!" DJ grins at me, a spark in his eye. "Ty, wanna help me set it up?"

"For sure, bro." I match his grin, my stomach fluttering.

I might even find the stones to talk about his crazy proposal that's been playing on an endless loop in my mind—sharing him with Sydney. I bite my lip.

And maybe…we'll do more than just talk.