19. Bryson

Toronto in late January was not for the thin-blooded. A brutally cold wind whipped off of Lake Ontario, seeping under my down jacket as Smitty and I hustled into his luxury lakefront apartment building.

Yes, Toronto. Canada. I'd flown with my secret-boyfriend-slash-neighbor from Burlington to Toronto, complete with an hour-long layover in New York City. And no, that didn't mean the world finally knew there was more between us than friendship. Smitty's team happened to have a bye the same weekend Jake was playing in Toronto. Smitty had to move out of his apartment, and the timing worked out perfectly.

Like a lucky coincidence.

But no one knew.

No, we didn't tell anyone we were here together.

Don't get me wrong…a few people knew we'd be in Toronto at the same time, but they assumed we had separate business in the city, which was true.

But we were together. So add another lie of omission to my list of sins. I couldn't help it. I didn't know how to act casual about our "friendship" without giving myself away.

Something had changed. I couldn't put a finger on the day or time, but it was impossible to deny I'd developed real feelings for Smitty. I was proud of him, I was enamored of him, I was horny for him. He made me laugh, think, and…hope.

For the first time in forever, I wasn't alone. I had someone who wanted to be with me, talk to me, play games with me, share pieces of his day and life. Someone who wanted to hold me. There was no way to pretend this was just sex anymore. We'd simply become more. It wasn't overnight, of course, but in a way, it felt like a blindfold had been stripped away and everything about us was so…obvious.

We clicked on every level. We'd become good friends who shared unpleasant truths. We respected each other, cheered wins and consoled losses. In private, we were inseparable. And in the days and weeks after the holidays, we gave ourselves permission to step out of our comfort zone and be friends in public.

Nothing crazy, but we had coffee together at Rise and Grind, met for lunch or dinner at the diner, shoveled snow, and yeah, I went to a few games. It wasn't a huge stretch to let our friends know we'd be in Toronto at the same time, but we didn't talk about it. And we didn't talk about feelings or intentions.

I was used to protecting my privacy—and Jake's, for that matter. I didn't know how to act with a "boyfriend." If that's what we were. We hadn't discussed labels and Smitty wasn't out, so maybe it didn't matter. I just knew I wanted him, and the wanting made me nervous.

Yet when I was with Smitty, I'd wonder what I was so worried about. Who wouldn't want to hitch their wagon to a six-foot five beefcake who owned Dragon Ball Z VHS tapes and a well-preserved Pokémon card collection?

I shrugged off my coat and hung it on one of the barstools at the island in the sleek, contemporary kitchen and peered into the box filled with childhood memorabilia.

"Are you giving that stuff away or storing it?" I asked.

Smitty gasped in mock horror. "Are you joking? This box is getting a fast pass to Elmwood."

I raised my brows. "This might be a touchy question, but…why? Do you even own a VHS machine?"

"No."

"I see. And what are you going to do with those cards? You could probably sell them. Just thinking out loud, of course."

He blinked…fifty times. At first, I chuckled 'cause it was mildly amusing. But the longer he stared and blinked, willing me to retract my statement and grow a heart, the funnier it became. My laughter morphed into unruly, knee-slapping hysteria. I repeat…this wasn't funny, but he was.

After what felt like an hour, Smitty pointed at the door. "Out, you big…meanie."

And now I was doubled over, heaving desperate gulps of oxygen. This was what he did to me. I collapsed onto the nearest barstool and wiped tears from my eyes. My cheeks and stomach muscles hurt from laughing so hard. I didn't dare look at him for fear he'd set me off again.

I pulled myself together and arranged my features into a mature tight-lipped expression, surprised to find Smitty standing above me, grinning like a fool.

Next thing I knew, I was in his arms. We were kissing, circling in a slow dance around his living room…in front of all of Toronto. And God, it felt good. It felt like something I'd waited my whole life for.

It felt like love.

Oh.

Shit.

I stiffened for a beat, unnerved by what felt like a lightning bolt realization.

Fuck, I was in love with Smitty.

"You okay? Your eyes went spacey for a second."

Reset, Milligan. Reset.

I slipped my hand between us and palmed his heavy cock through his jeans. "Mm."

He captured my wrist, shaking his head mournfully. "No time for sexy shenanigans, babe. We have to go soon. I told my buddies I'd meet up for a pregame beer. You sure you don't want to join us?"

Smitty had played for Toronto for a long time and had stayed in touch with old teammates. A few who'd be at the game later. I didn't know what to think about casually meeting his friends. There was an eleven-year age difference between us, and that was before they even knew we slept together. But small talk was my specialty. I could talk to anyone for a short time, and hockey was easy. What was my problem?

Oh, right. The L-word.

"No, I like to get there early. I'll meet you at the rink." I kissed his cheek, squeezing his biceps as I stepped aside.

"All right. Save my seat."

I moved into the hallway and glanced back at the closed door.

Oh, my God. No.

How could I have been so careless? I wasn't supposed to fall for him. That was a cardinal rule.

But I broke it.

And now…I had a bad feeling I was going to fuck this up.

Toronto showed up for hockey.Music bounced off the walls and reverberated around the packed arena as the visiting team warmed up. I stuffed my jacket on the seat next to mine and settled in to watch. As always, I looked for Jake, my heart swelling with pride as he skated by.

I waved, hoping he'd notice and when he gave a thumbs-up and smiled, the years melted away. Suddenly he was six years old at Elmwood Rink at his first Mighty Mites game wielding a stick that seemed bigger than he was. I'd never forget how nervous I'd been. And excited for him.

The feeling never faded. I was always jittery, but now, I couldn't sit still. And I knew why. My two worlds were colliding…in public. It had already begun. I was at my son's game with my lover. Jake was going to wonder why I hadn't mentioned Smitty at all.

They weren't exactly buddies, but the time Jake had spent coaching in Elmwood was time he was being coached by Smitty too. Honestly, he was playing better than ever because of it.

"Keep your elbow up. If your shot is off by an inch, it might as well be a mile. Come on, you can skate faster than that, Milligan. I'm old and you can't catch me."

Okay, so Smitty goaded, and Jake rose to the bait. Their tense exchanges fueled a fire in Jake. He'd scored a hat trick in a game last week in Florida and his improbable high corner shot at the end of the third period had been the game winner in front of an enthusiastic hometown crowd in Syracuse two nights ago. It was thrilling for Jake…and everyone who knew him.

Elmwood buzzed with all the hockey news. I couldn't walk down the street without someone mentioning Jake. That shot in the first was a beauty! Did you see his assist? Mark my words, the NHL is watching too.

It was truly awesome. I was proud of Jake and of the high school coach who was currently enjoying a sweet five-game winning streak with the Elmwood Hawks.

And there he was.

I shoved my jacket in my seat behind me and smiled over at Smitty, standing at the end of the row taking selfies with a few Toronto fans.

The jitters were back full force. Great.

"I forget you're a celebrity," I teased, thanking Smitty for the water bottle he handed over.

"Oh, yeah. I don't think celebrities have to wait in concession stand lines for twenty fuckin' minutes," he snarked.

And maybe he said something else too, but the lights dimmed and flashed, and the crowd roared.

Game time.

Thank God. Hockey would clear the starry-eyed nonsense fogging my brain.

Toronto dominated in the first period. Their star right wing scored almost immediately and kept Syracuse on defense. That changed in the second period after Jake scored, deking out Smitty's replacement and finding a mousehole-sized opening in the net. We were tied going into the third and if the noise level was off the charts before the game started, it was now at epic proportions. I literally couldn't hear myself think. And my pulse was in the stratosphere.

Smitty must have sensed my angst. He didn't playfully taunt me that his team would kick Syracuse's ass, like he had in the week leading up to this game. He wolf-whistled when the Scorpion's D-man got sent to the sin bin for a high check, though.

Toronto had a power play with three minutes on the clock. Not good. Jake skated to the net just as a Toronto's wing one-touched it to a teammate for a quick slot goal. Jake saw it, darted in front of the puck to kill the play and got shoved in the process—hard enough to send him flying into the boards.

He'd done his job, score averted. Toronto groaned, and the few Syracuse fans went wild. Including me.

But Jake didn't get up.

Syracuse has a player down…

He lay flat on the ice, one hand lying limply over his chest, his stick loose in the other.

One second, two seconds…

He didn't move a muscle.

My heart stopped. Blood drained from my face, and cold dread twisted in my gut.

"Get up," I whispered. "Get up, Jake. Get up."

Smitty shifted to the edge of his seat. "Let's go, Jake. C'mon."

A whistle blew, and medics raced out with a board.

I couldn't see. There were too many people in the way. Players stood waiting nearby, their faces etched with confusion and worry as the crowd parted for the medics to take him off the ice. Jake's coach carried his helmet and followed. And he was gone.

I stood frozen and dizzy, unsure what to do. "I have to—I'm…"

"This way."

Smitty tucked me close to his side and pulled me out of our row, up dozens of steps to the main concourse. We ran by empty kiosks and concession stands, down a flight of stairs to the players' entrance.

"No entry. I—Smitty? It's good to see you," the security detail gushed.

"You too. Hey, my friend's son got hurt. Jake Milligan. He needs to get to him. Fast. Help me out, Larry."

Larry didn't hesitate. "This way."

More corridors. Everything was gray and white, squeaky clean. There were photos of former hockey greats on the walls, framed awards, a wide open door, and an ambulance screaming away.

I broke away from Smitty and ran toward the receding flashing lights. "He's gone."

Smitty caught up to me. "I'll take you to him. I got you."

After that…itall went fuzzy.

A hospital, tests, nurses and doctors, and that antiseptic institutional smell that reminded me of bleak times.

They said it was a concussion, but they said he'd be all right. I had no choice but to believe them. Jake's breathing. No oxygen deficit, he'll be fine. He was groggy, and in and out of consciousness, but not fully awake yet, so…I didn't know.

I paced the narrow confines of the curtained-off space that didn't really qualify as a room. I wanted to be here when he came to and I wanted?—

"Dad?"

I jerked to attention and clasped his hand. "Jake. There you are. How do you feel, buddy?"

"My head hurts, and—are you crying? Geez, am I dead?"

"That's not funny." I swiped at my face. "I'm happy to see you awake, that's all."

He winced as he sat up. "I'm okay. Don't worry. What happened?"

"Concussion," a nurse spoke up, pulling the curtain aside. "How do you feel?"

Jake licked his parched lips. "Not too bad. Did we win?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

"You won by one," the nurse reported, adding with a smile, "I had a feeling you'd ask."

"Cool. I'm ready to go home."

The young nurse chuckled as she checked his vitals. "I bet. The doctor will want to run a few tests first."

The doctor examined him soon after, grinning brightly as if nothing serious had happened. "Youth is on your side, Jake. I'm going to recommend a week off from heavy workouts, but you'll be just fine."

"Wait. That's it? He was out cold…for a long time," I argued. "Many minutes."

"And now I'm fine. I'm ready to go," Jake asserted.

"Soon enough," the doctor said. "We're going to keep you here for a few hours for observation."

"Hours?"

"Patience, Mr. Milligan. Your audience will still be there."

The doctor left and the nurse took over, examining the bandage on Jake's forehead.

Jake frowned. "What does he mean? What audience?"

"There's a circus in the parking lot with news crews. You're kind of famous, Mr. Milligan."

He grinned. "Me?"

"Sure. I'm a big hockey fan, and you're having a great season."

"Thanks."

The nurse smiled. "I bet there were some NHL bigwigs there. Oh! And there was a Smitty Paluchek sighting in the hospital waiting room. I bet those idiot reporters want a side story about a rematch between you off the ice. You know…a carryover from that punch last year."

"Smitty?" Jake repeated, clearly confused.

"He was at the game with me," I explained, squeezing Jake's hand, adding for the nurse's benefit. "He lives in our town."

"He was always one of my favorite players," the nurse gushed as she moved to the door. "Glad to see you awake and well, Jake. We'll spring you out of here in no time."

"Thanks," Jake rasped. He blew out an exasperated breath and stared at a monitor. "I didn't know Smitty was coming today."

"I thought I mentioned it," I lied. "He's moving out of his apartment and he has friends in Toronto and that's his old team."

I snapped my mouth shut, ashamed of myself.

"Hmm." Jake closed his eyes, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. "Did you see my goal? I didn't think I could get by Trinsky. The guy is built like a truck…one of those huge ones with…"

I sat back, relief flooding my system as the Jake I knew and loved slowly emerged from his foggy cocoon as if nothing potentially catastrophic had threatened our world.

But I knew how this would play out. They might put him on a one-game concussion protocol, but Jake would be on the ice soon after. And he'd fight to be there. He was young and it was his choice, his passion. His dream was to play for the NHL, no matter the cost.

For the first time, I realized it could be very costly indeed.

And not just to him.