16. Christian

Christian

After a big win on the road, the Rainiers always wound up in the hotel bar until the early hours of the morning. Unless they had to be at the airport, of course, but this time their flight wasn't until late tomorrow morning.

Marty and I had stayed back at the arena with the rest of the equipment crew to finish loading up the trucks, and we'd gone to the airport to load the plane.

That was something we had down to a science, of course; we started breaking things down during the third period and packing them into crates. By the time the team was finished stripping off their gear and showering, all that remained was to grab everything they'd taken off, pack it, and load it. The trucks left the arena less than twenty minutes after the final whistle, and we were back at the hotel by one o'clock.

Unsurprisingly, the players were still in the bar, gathered around a large booth, loud and raucous and drunk after their comeback win. St. Louis had had them on their heels early on, but in the end, Seattle had stomped them 6-3. They deserved to celebrate, especially Condit, who'd managed a hat trick, and a certain winger who'd potted his first ever NAPH goal tonight.

After an eighteen-hour day, I was dragging ass and just wanted to go faceplant in my pillow. Marty and the other guys shuffled toward the elevator, all three of them fully in zombie mode and ready to collapse.

I should've followed. Really, really should've.

But I went into the bar anyway.

"Hey, Christian!" Condit slurred, waving his glass at me. "You joining us?"

"For a few minutes." The guys moved over enough that I could squeeze in on the end of the bench. I caught Theo's eye across the table but didn't hold his gaze, instead shifting my attention to the server who'd come to take my order.

"Yo, now that you're here…" Sorenson said. "Remember that night Langley's stick got stuck between the boards, and then Condit tripped over it and busted his skate?" He flailed a hand at Grekov. "Because he thinks we're lying."

"You are lying." Grekov gestured with his beer bottle. "Is bullshit."

"No, it's not bullshit." I tsked. "It was the stupidest thing, I'm telling you."

Grekov eyed me suspiciously.

"Okay, so they were playing in—I want to say it was Long Island?"

"Buffalo," a couple of the guys chimed in.

"Buffalo. Right, right. Anyway…" I waved a hand. "Somehow, the blade of Langley's stick got wedged between the boards behind the goal with the handle sticking up. Condit had no idea, and he comes flying around behind the goal, trips over it, and while he's trying to stay on his feet, he lands weird and manages to snap off his fucking blade." I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "And he broke the stick, too, which is just rude."

"Hey!" Condit crossed his arms. "I didn't see it!"

"Still! Those things are expensive!"

The captain huffed. "Yeah, well, I think I served my penance crawling the hell back to the bench while the game went on."

Grekov's eyebrows were almost to his hairline. "So… is not bullshit?"

"Nope." I shook my head. "I'm surprised no one got a video."

"Oh, there's videos," Condit said. "But you showed up, so now we don't have to find them."

"Lazy asses," I muttered. No one argued.

Grekov did want to see the video, though, so out came the phones.

While everyone was poring over YouTube, I stole the opportunity to steal a glance at Theo. He met my gaze across the table, but quickly flicked his eyes way. Understandable; if he was anything like me, he was terrified that even the most innocent glance lingering a second too long would give us away to the rest of the guys. Didn't matter that they were drunk and busy chirping. We were both paranoid. That was kind of a necessity if we wanted to stay employed by the Seattle Rainiers.

But sitting this close to him, casting surreptitious glances to drink in the sight of him in that navy blue suit, I was going to lose my mind. We'd been on the road for a few days, which meant we hadn't been able to touch.

Despite my long day and the promise of an even longer one tomorrow, and despite the increased risk of being caught, I needed to spend some time alone with Theo. Question was… how to pull that off without his teammates or my coworkers—all of whom were staying on the same floor of this hotel—finding out?

Eh, we could be stealthy. This late at night, the guys peeled away one or two at a time, so it wouldn't be suspicious if we left, and we'd have the elevator and hallway to ourselves. Even if someone else decided going to bed was a good idea, they wouldn't hang out in the hallway forever; Theo could just chill in his room for a few minutes, then sneak into mine.

But we probably shouldn't actually leave together. That would be a little too risky.

I took out my phone and wrote out a text.

Christian:I'm going to head up to my room in 10 minutes. Room 922.

Then I sent it, and I fixed my attention on Condit, who was drunk off his ass and animatedly telling a story about when he and Wilcox were in major juniors together. Theo's phone was facedown on the table, and when it buzzed, the vibration made it to my arm. I didn't dare look at him or the phone, though.

He waited a good two or three minutes before he even picked it up to look at it. When he read the screen, he swallowed hard, but otherwise didn't give away that anything had even registered.

He sat back in his chair and casually wrote out a text, sent it, and put the phone down again before turning his attention back to the story Condit was still slurring his way through.

It was absolute torture, pretending I hadn't felt my phone vibrate. Every minute I waited to look at it put more distance between the moment Theo sent a text and the moment I read it, which would throw everyone else off the scent that we were texting each other.

Everyone else who was drunk, laughing, and completely focused on whatever wild story Condit was telling. Literally no one cared about me, Theo, whether we were texting each other, or what we might be texting about.

Still, our jobs were on the line, so we were rightfully paranoid.

After four agonizing minutes, I casually took my phone out of my pocket.

Theo:I'll wait another 10 after you leave.

God, yes. I was so, so tempted to send back a teasing message about how I planned to wait for him and what he was going to do to me once he was in my room. I thought better of it, though. I didn't need one of his teammates to read over his shoulder, and if he ended up with a hard-on, it would take him even longer to get out of here and into me.

So I'd keep the teasing to myself.

After a couple of minutes, I drained my drink and got up. "All right, gentlemen. Some of us actually have to work for a living, and—"

That got me a chorus of "Fuck you" and "Let's see you skate five miles every goddamned night."

I chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I'm calling it a night. See you boys at breakfast."

"Going to bed already?" Abrahamsson slurred. "But the party is just getting started!"

"Uh-huh. Says the guy who isn't the first to the arena and the last to leave every night."

Immediately, half the guys started making "world's smallest violin" gestures.

I gave the haughtiest scoff I could and shook my head. "Go ahead, boys. Troll the man who decides which chemicals wash your jocks."

That changed their tunes, and they all shouted, "Whoa, wait" and "You know we were kidding, right?" at my back as I headed out of the bar. I just smiled cheekily and flipped them all off before continuing to the elevator.

I chuckled to myself. I loved the relationship I had with all these men. There was plenty of chirping and trolling, which was basically how hockey players showed affection. I also knew they deeply respected and appreciated me as well as the other equipment managers. More than a few of them went out of their way to thank us for keeping everything running smoothly, and they went all out for us on Christmas, birthdays, and the end of the season.

As I waited for the elevator, my smile fell a bit. All the teams treated their equipment managers that way if they knew what was good for them, but I was also close to these guys. They were like brothers to me, and I felt it every time one of them was traded, retired, or signed elsewhere. I worried when Yanni's brother got hurt or when Foster's wife's pregnancy had some complications last year. People said that "we're like a family" was a red flag for a toxic work environment, but in hockey, teams and organizations really were like family.

And the relationships I had within this family were arguably more loving and functional than the one I had with my own father.

Was I being stupid, risking this camaraderie so I could screw one of their teammates? And how would they feel if they found out? They were all completely fine with my sexuality, and in my time with the team, there'd been two openly gay players who'd passed through without any issues (aside from my dad being a dick). But would that good will extend to a player and an employee hooking up? Would they be okay with two of their teammates hooking up? Would it suddenly get weird in the locker room if everyone knew two people in the room had been fucking?

Well, it probably wouldn't matter anyway. If the players knew, then Dad would know, and Theo and I would both be gone.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. As I rode up to the ninth floor, I reminded myself for the millionth time that I was taking a massive risk.

But also for the millionth time, I didn't heed my own warnings.

Maybe I was playing with fire, but what could I say?

I loved the heat too much to stop.