5. Theo

Theo

"Mathis." Jack Hayes's sharp voice cut through the noise in the locker room and sent my heart into my throat. When I met his gaze, he gestured for me to join him in the hallway.

I swallowed, my hands still on the shin pad I'd been pulling on. Oh, fuck. This couldn't be good.

I didn't dare keep the GM waiting, so I hurried after him. I was mostly dressed—everything except skates and jersey—and I strode across the room, pretending not to notice my teammates glancing my way. Did they think I was about to get my ass chewed? Because I was pretty sure I was about to get my ass chewed, and not in the fun way.

As I stepped out into the hall, I felt weirdly naked despite all the protective gear I was already wearing. Something told me I wouldn't have felt much better had I been decked out in goalie pads. No amount of equipment would shield me from the things Jack Hayes could do to me with the stroke of a pen.

It didn't help that he was huge. He'd been an enforcer back in the day, and his sheer size had been enough to intimidate even the meanest players. In his fifties and no longer in his gear, he was as narrow as any of us, but he was still almost six foot six. In that moment, I wished I was one of those guys who put my skates on before my shin pads; at least that would give me a couple extra inches instead of facing him down from my usual height of five-foot-ten.

Not that it would actually help, but I'd take whatever I could get right then.

He glared at me for an uncomfortably long moment. I was vaguely aware that the hallway around us had gone quiet. There'd been staff members moving around, and someone was cutting a stick while someone else rifled around in a trunk for something. Now everything had fallen silent and the people had scattered like startled mice. There was no one around except the two of us.

"Listen, kid," Jack said in his don't-fuck-with-me tone. "Before you touch that ice with my team, there are some things we need to get straight."

I gulped and nodded but didn't say a word.

"Coach Baldwin specifically asked me to bring you up," he said through his teeth. "In fact, he's been wanting you to come up ever since Alton went on LTIR."

Some part of me knew I should've been downright giddy over that. The head coach wanted me here? Oh, hell, this was definitely my time to shine so he might want me to stay here.

But the excitement that desperately wanted to bubble up kept simmering beneath the surface, because Jack wasn't finished.

"Quite frankly, the way you play, I would've happily brought you up. In fact…" He half-shrugged. "I'd have encouraged him to keep you after training camp."

Whoa.

A tiny bit of excitement tentatively swelled in my chest.

Then Jack's expression darkened, and he leaned in enough to make me draw back. "But I haven't forgotten that stunt you pulled last season." He inclined his head. "Do you know what stunt that was?"

I nodded.

He raised his eyebrows, clearly encouraging me to go on.

I cleared my throat. "I, um… I put rainbow tape on my stick. After you canceled Pride Night."

"Yes. You did." His jaw worked. "And that kind of disrespect is going to keep you in the PHL for the rest of your career. Or maybe all the way down to the HLW, if I decide to send you down there."

"I, um… I know." I swallowed. "I'm sorry." I wasn't. Not at all. But I was admittedly scared of this guy already, and he was determined to show me that my hockey career was on the edge of a knife that he controlled.

"If Coach Baldwin wants you to stay up while he sends down one of the other boys," Jack went on, "then I'll allow it. Now that you're here, if you prove to him you can play at this level, then I'll let him make the call." He stabbed a finger at me, very nearly hitting my chest protector. "But step over that line again, kid—give me one reason to believe you're even thinking about disrespecting me again—and I won't just send you down. I will make sure no GM in North America puts your name on another roster. Am I clear?"

That wasn't an empty threat. There'd been rumors for several years now that he'd had a player blacklisted for something or another. I didn't know if the rumors were true, and no one was clear on the offense that had pissed off Jack, but that player was tearing it up in Europe now. Absolutely North American caliber, but effectively banished to the other side of the Atlantic.

Slapping Jack Hayes in the face was… costly.

I fought the urge to draw back farther. Where there'd been uneasy excitement earlier, there was a deep chill now. One that had me on the verge of shivering. I was genuinely shocked I didn't see my breath as I said, "Yeah. You're clear."

He glowered for what felt like an entire twenty-minute game period. Then he gestured into the locker room. "Get your ass dressed."

I mumbled a thank-you and beat feet into the locker room. I kept my head down, my face burning as I hurried to my stall to finish putting on my gear. There were some murmurs, but it was hard to tell if they were about me or just the guys talking to each other. The room was definitely quieter than normal. Less banter. Less chirping.

Condit was the one to break the ice, so to speak. He came up as I was lacing up my skates, and he gave my boot a tap with his stick. "Good to see you again, kid. You're not too jetlagged, are you?"

I managed a laugh as I sat back. "Nah. I'm caffeinated enough to keep me going."

He studied me, then chuckled, tapped my skate again, and headed for the sheet.

I followed a moment later, my stomach a mix of excited butterflies and panicked nerves. I was terrified of Jack Hayes. Everyone knew he was one of the most ruthless GMs in the league, absolutely willing to trade or send down anyone who couldn't produce or wouldn't toe the line. Making myself persona non grata in his eyes probably qualified as a career-limiting move.

But I was here. I was on the ice, ready to prove myself worthy of a spot at this level. That was going to be a lot harder for me than for my other PHL teammates because the GM hated me, but it was what I had to work with. Fear and threats be damned—a long as I was playing with the Rainiers, I was going to shine.

The morning skate went well enough. I was still starstruck by some of the big guys, same as the last time I came up, but I focused on this sport I'd been playing since I was little, and I held my own. I even put a couple of pucks behind Jan Stetina, the star goalie. Okay, so he was taking it easy in order to avoid injury before tonight's game, but still—there was something immensely satisfying about getting a shot past one of the NAPH's top netminders. I'd take it.

Aside from that conversation with Jack Hayes, I felt pretty good about everything, honestly. Even though I probably wouldn't be playing, if I could impress the coaches enough during practice, maybe they'd tell Jack to call me up again. A boy could dream, right?

As I stepped into the locker room, though, my gaze landed on one of the equipment managers, and my heart skipped.

In same instant my eyes found Christian, he looked my way, and I almost stumbled on my skates. Cheeks suddenly on fire, I quickly averted my gaze. I had no idea if he did the same or if he was staring at me, and I was afraid to look.

He was going to make things complicated, wasn't he? Not directly or deliberately, but just by existing. By being here. My first time with the Rainiers, he'd distracted me the same way some of the really hot players did—just by being hot and making me wish we could hook up.

This time…

Oh, God. This time, we had hooked up. I knew what that man's mouth could do. What his kiss tasted like. What it tasted like after he'd sucked me off. How my scalp burned while he gripped my hair and what he sounded like when he came.

And I was supposed to play hockey while he was here?

Fuck my life.

I shook myself and focused on getting out of my gear. My career was too important to me. I wasn't going to risk it by getting all stupid over a man I never should've touched in the first place.

A man I regretted never touching again.

A man I desperately wanted to touch—

Mathis. For fuck's sake. Get it together.

Way too much on the line. Had to focus. Had to.

Though this was a different locker room, a different level, and a different team, my routine stayed the same. I peeled off my practice jersey and tossed it in the laundry bin, then started on all the various pads and protectors.

I was down to my base layer and had just toed my skates under the bench when Coach appeared at my stall. "Mathis, you're dressing tonight."

I blinked. "I am?" I'd expected to be here as a backup. Dress for warmups, sure, but not the game itself.

He nodded grimly. "Hams and Mac are both down for a while, and I'm healthy scratching Brody." He clapped my shoulder. "Next man up."

"Oh." I gulped. "Okay. Yeah. I'll be ready to roll."

He gave a sharp nod and clomped away.

I stood there stupidly for a moment, disbelieving this was actually happening. I'd fully expected to just be here as a backup while the team was on the road, but now this? Holy fuck. I was excited, but also nervous as hell for a million reasons. Especially since Brody was a healthy scratch, which probably meant Coach wasn't impressed with his performance. Coach was hard up for players, but he was still more than willing to bench one of us if we weren't up to snuff.

No pressure, or anything.

Well, I hadn't expected a lack of pressure at this level. As far as I was concerned, this was my time to shine.

Or fall flat on my face.

One of the two.

I let my gaze drift toward Christian, who was poring over something on a clipboard with one of the other equipment managers.

Having him this close by—that ridiculously sexy man with the mind-bending kiss—definitely tipped the odds in favor of me falling flat on my face. He'd been a distraction and a half for the last several months, even when I'd been playing in Everett.

Now I had one and only one chance to prove to the Rainiers that I was worthy of a spot on this team, and Christian was… here. In the same locker room. On the same bus. On the same plane. In the same hotels.

Goose bumps sprang up under my thin shirt as I tore my gaze away from him.

Oh, man.

I was so fucked.

Last season

"That took some serious balls, kid."Condit clinked his beer glass against mine. "Standing up to Jack is not for the faint of heart."

I laughed nervously. "Probably not for the professionally ambitious, either." I rolled my eyes as I brought my beer up for a sip. "Pretty sure I just shot myself in the foot."

Nobody at the table piped up with any dissent, so… yeah, I'd probably fucked myself pretty hard with what I'd done tonight.

I didn't regret it, though. There were kids at that game tonight. Probably a few who were queer—some who may not have even known it yet—and they didn't deserve to wonder why their favorite team had canceled Pride Night. If the tape on my stick made just one kid in the audience feel like they belonged there, then whatever fallout came my way was a hundred percent worth it.

It would still suck, though. No doubt about that.

I set my beer down as I scanned the faces at the table. I wanted so badly to play with these guys again. Some of them were future Hall-of-Famers. Some were just incredible players who I'd admired from the minors and juniors.

Still think it was worth it?

Before I could think too much about that, my gaze landed on the one man at this table who hadn't skated tonight.

Christian Hayes.

And in that same moment, his gaze landed on me. We were at opposite ends of the long table, so in theory, he could've been just looking in my general direction, but no… our eyes locked. And I felt it.

I also felt it when he grinned behind his beer glass. And I remembered how crestfallen and hurt he'd been in the locker room earlier tonight. When he'd been visibly crushed that his dad had nixed Pride Night.

Oh, fuck yeah, the tape was worth it. Whatever fallout came, I'd take it, because Christian had been smiling all damn night.

Now that we were out of the locker room, with the game behind us and some alcohol flowing, he was still smiling, but there was something different to it now. Every time we looked at each other, one corner of his mouth would lift, and something would spark in his eyes that made me squirm in my seat.

I'd never in a million years forget the way his eyes had lit up when he'd realized the rainbow tape was happening despite Jack's bullshit. The way they watched me now, though? That was something else entirely. Something that simmered—smoldered, really—as if this wasn't the time or place to let it out.

Something that seemed to echo what had been tingling along the length of my spine ever since I first laid eyes on Christian.

What could I say? He was one of the hottest men I'd ever seen, and considering he was surrounded by hockey stars, that said a lot. He just had this smile and these beautiful eyes, and I loved the way he lit up the room just by strolling into it. He was one of the very, very few men in that room I hadn't seen naked, but even fully dressed in workout pants and a hoodie—his usual uniform when he was working—he pulled my attention away from every ass and six-pack in sight. Not that I made a habit of checking out my teammates, but when there were men in various states of undress everywhere you looked, you saw things.

And he's probably the most attractive man in the building because he's the absolute last one you have any business touching if you value your career.

Ooh, right. That. Christian's dad had waaay too much control over my future in hockey for me to fuck around with his son.

Then again,I thought as I "accidentally" caught Christian's eye across the table, I probably torpedoed my hockey future the minute I put that rainbow tape on my stick.

So what's the harm in getting naked with Jack's son while I have the chance?

And looking in those eyes… oh, fuck. I did have a chance, didn't I?

I took a deep swallow from my drink just to cool myself down. When Christian smiled at me before taking a sip from his own glass, my body temperature skyrocketed all over again.

That was probably the last time I'll ever play for Seattle.

If he's game tonight…

Why the hell not?