Open Ice Hit (The Sin Bin Book 2)

So, he was a coward. So fucking what. It wasn’t affecting his game and that was the only thing that mattered. Their roadie streak ended with a shit game in Utah. Kevin was slammed into the post at the right angle to wrench his shoulder, and as much as he shouted to go back in, their coach refused to let him go back out. Yash did his best, but the dynamic was thrown, and it led to a streak of losses, which had Noah both frustrated and a little petrified because their first home game back was against the Sea Dogs.

He’d exchanged a handful of texts with Tommy, nothing profound. Nothing to indicate there was anything more between them except low simmering animosity on his part, and the ability to get under his skin on Tommy’s. He also checked the gossip columns a couple of times to make sure Theo hadn’t gone after him in the press, but if he’d tried, the story had been ignored.

Noah supposed in some ways it was beneficial to be known as the hockey drone.

He threw his all into practice when he got back, but that was also nothing new. No one expected him to do anything but eat, sleep, and breathe the game. And if he seemed more on edge than usual, they likely assumed it was because he was still shaken from last season and their short string of losses.

There was another thrum of anxiety, though, as they took the ice for warm-ups. Zed was on the ice without the red no-contact jersey making him a beacon, and Noah wanted to breathe easy, but it was hard. He was watching Zed like a hawk for any sign of weakness or pain. And he knew it would only piss his friend off, so he tried to keep it to himself, but he was never the most subtle man.

“I will kill you,” Zed told him cheerfully as he sank down next to him, reaching forward for the front of his skates. “If you don’t get off my ass, I will bury you in the woods and no one will ever find you.”

Noah raised a brow at him. “Okay?”

“I’m fine.” Zed punctuated his sentence by digging his elbow hard into Noah’s side. “I will check your ass through the boards and into next week if you get in my way again.”

Message received.

He didn’t really have time to think about it. The Sea Dogs took the ice a second later and began to skate their warm-ups. His heart did a flip in his chest when he realized he recognized Tommy by the way he moved, not just the name on his jersey or the smirk on his face when he passed by.

He offered a wink to Zed, and then a hot look at Noah, but if Zed noticed, he didn’t say anything. Noah felt like he was holding his heart between his teeth and a single wrong step would make him bite down and crush it.

This was not the time, and anger rose through him because this was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. He’d avoided bullshit like relationships and love because they got in the way. They distracted him from the point of the fucking game, which was to play.

Which was to win.

He moved through the rest of his stretches, then he and Zed skated back toward the bench. “That fucking asshole,” he muttered.

Zed let out a groan. “Let it go, dude.” He pulled off his helmet and adjusted the thick band he wore around his processors to keep them in place and to keep them from getting crushed when some giant Russian inevitably slammed him into the boards. “You’re the only one still pissed.”

“And you don’t see a problem with that?” Noah said, not quite an accusation but almost.

“I’m here, I’m playing, and I’m fucking fine,” Zed spat at him. He used his teeth to rip off his gloves so he could sign. ‘If it mattered, I would say something, but it doesn’t. Let me move on.’

Those words felt unfair, even though they weren’t. They were Zed’s right, and Noah knew he was projecting more than just his anger on the situation anyway. But he had to focus. ‘I’m sorry,’ he offered.

Zed reached out and gave his cheek a soft pat before he pulled his hand back and slapped him. Not hard but enough to make a noise. “Get your fucking head in the game.”

Noah squared his shoulders and felt a few of the guys pat his back as he stepped off the ice and got himself ready to play.

They were tied, and they were heading into OT if they couldn’t get control of the puck, but Noah was feeling it. The rush, the power, the plays—they were running through his veins like blood, rushing through his lungs like oxygen.

Nothing existed but the ice beneath his skates, and the stick in his hand, and the desperation as he finally grabbed the puck from Schmidty, dodging Ricky, who had zeroed in on him. Henny flanked his left, Zed on his right. He didn’t need to see them. He could feel them.

His fingers twitched in their subtle signs, then he fell back and slapped the puck right onto Zed’s stick.

“Fuck yeah, on your left!” he screamed, hoping Zed would be able to hear him. Panic seized him only for a second as Ricky went after Zed, but he spun like the graceful motherfucker he was, then got the puck to Henny who saw his opening.

And took it.

Noah’s heart was in his throat as he heard the slap, as the entire fucking arena collectively paused.

The puck flew past Mitya’s glove and hit the back of the net. For a second, Noah didn’t let himself feel it, then Zed was on him, smashing him into Henny, who smashed into the boards. His scream was overwhelming, and it was fucking perfect. There were thirteen seconds left on the clock.

Noah was still trembling a little as they finally made it through press and then into the showers. The mood in the locker room was good but heavy, knowing this was just the start. There were months in front of them—wins and losses that were going to let them ride high and fall hard.

But it was what he lived for. This was why he’d done it.

He took a selfie with Henny and the puck that won the game and sent it off to his sister. He hated that he did this in weaker moments when he wanted to remind his family that he’d done something for himself, not just because he was being a rebellious shit, but because this was who he was. And he was good at it.

He deserved to have made this choice.

It wasn’t wasted.

As he set his phone down and reached for his shirt, the screen lit up with a text. He assumed it was his sister’s reply, but his heart beat a little faster when he saw Tommy’s name instead.

Tommy: I’m in the parking garage

Fuck. Fucking…fuck. Noah glanced around. He wasn’t alone, but no one was paying attention to him. A few of the guys were planning on going out, but no one asked him because he never said yes, which meant they wouldn’t be watching him as he left.

He tried not to rush through getting dressed, tried not to feel eager because it was so fucking ridiculous. He should not be eager for this—this thing that was entirely fucking with his head and with his game.

Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he dropped his skates off so he could sharpen them in the morning, then he slipped through the doors and made his way down the long corridor and into the parking garage. He knew where to find Tommy—where he hoped no one else was lingering. The away players always parked on the lowest level, so he took the elevator down, his fingers drumming a nervous staccato against the side of his thigh.

He half expected some sort of production when the doors opened, but all he found was Tommy’s green Lexus parked in the corner, and the man himself behind the wheel. He could only see part of him through the tinted glass, but it was enough. His dick throbbed a little, and he caught his breath before opening the back door and throwing his bag in.

“You jerking off in the shower or what?” Tommy asked.

Noah gave him a dark, flat look and said nothing as the man started the car and headed out. Noah wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the guard seeing him in the car, but the man’s eyes passed over them like they were no one.

Just the way he wanted.

They hit the road, and Noah let himself briefly wonder what it would feel like if they were other people. If they weren’t Noah and Tommy. If they weren’t a Phantom and a Sea Dog. Would Noah have given him the time of day in another life?

He glanced at him and realized he couldn’t remember what it was like not being attracted to this man.

“So, uh,” Tommy said, patting a little rhythm to the low music coming from the speakers, “this ASL shit…”

“It’s not shit,” Noah snapped.

Tommy flushed a little and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, bud. I figured if Zed and I were gonna be friends, I should learn. I saw some classes on YouTube, but…”

“You have millions,” Noah told him, his irritation still high. “Hire a fucking tutor. A Deaf tutor.”

“Is that what you did?” Tommy asked, and he sounded genuinely interested.

Noah shrugged. “Coach Katz hired one for the team when Zed was called up, and he, uh, gently encourages anyone else to take up private lessons.”

Tommy snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I bet he’s real fuckin’ gentle, eh?”

Noah cracked a smile, though he didn’t mean to. “I can recommend a couple of people who are good about working with our schedules. They’ll do Skype sessions when you’re on the road. If you really want to do this.”

“I do,” Tommy said.

Noah half wondered if it was out of some misguided guilt, but that felt unfair to Zed, who deserved to have all his friends step into his world and use his language. “It’s hard, but it’s worth it.”

Tommy hummed but said nothing, and Noah didn’t bother asking where they were going. He already knew. They pulled up to Tommy’s, and after a moment of indecision, he grabbed his bag and followed the man inside. His place was maybe worse than it had been the first time Noah had seen it. There were still the same coffee mugs and take-out boxes on the counter, but this time the living room table was full of papers, open books, and his laptop.

He didn’t know if he wanted to see this side of Tommy. He wasn’t quite sure if he should. Too much of him had already crawled inside Noah and made a home. He didn’t want to make room for more.

Dropping his bag, he turned and reached for the other man, but Tommy dodged his hands and ducked his head. “Hey, you hungry? Ricky’s mom makes this fucking amazing paella for everyone. I always freeze mine so I can keep it for shitty nights where I don’t feel like cooking.”

Noah frowned as he followed the man into the kitchen, watching him reach for the freezer, still rambling. He felt…almost rejected, so he took a step forward and laid a hand at Tommy’s waist which stopped his flow of words.

“Did I do something?”

Tommy swallowed thickly, then shook his head. “Nah. Just hungry.”

Noah heard the lie, and he gently spun Tommy, pressing him against the fridge. He was only half-hard, unsure his touch was even wanted, though he could see a faint pink rising in Tommy’s cheeks. He thought about what Zed had told him—some people liked that, the control. He’d spent as much time reading up on that sort of power dynamic shit as he had watching tape over the last few weeks, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

Tommy was sending all the signals that he needed this, but he hadn’t asked for it.

And Noah didn’t want to overstep.

“Want me to go? If you’re not up for it, I can leave.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “No. Why are you being so fucking nice right now?”

Noah scoffed. “Is that what I am? Nice?”

“You’re a dick,” Tommy said, giving him a half-hearted shove.

Noah leaned in, dropping his voice, pressing his nose against Tommy’s cheek a little harder than he might have otherwise. “You texted me. You begged me to come over here.”

“I don’t remember begging,” Tommy said, his voice taking on a soft wobble.

Noah bared his teeth, then grazed a bite along his jaw. “I believe you did. I can give you a reminder if you want.”

“Shit,” Tommy breathed out.

Noah grabbed him roughly by his crotch, feeling him fill out. “You want more?”

“I want you to go fuck yourself,” Tommy spat. He shoved Noah back, harder this time. “You arrogant piece of shit. You won one game, and you think you own me.”

Noah tuned into what Tommy wasn’t saying, what his tone was screaming. He was trying to piss him off, and it was working. He was goading him into anger because they couldn’t have anything else, and that alone worked him up into a rage, because of course Tommy wouldn’t want all of him, just the reckless parts.

He reached around Tommy and slammed the freezer door shut, then curled a hand around his neck. “I’m gonna give that mouth something better to do than talk shit.”

Tommy swallowed, his throat moving against Noah’s grasp. “You talk a big game, eh, but I’m not sure you have the balls.”

Noah kicked Tommy’s legs wider apart, then gripped his crotch in a hold that probably should have been painful, but Tommy moaned and leaned into it. “I don’t know you well. All you do is piss me off, so if you want me to stop, you’re gonna have to say stop.”

“I…” Tommy said with a frown, and Noah squeezed a bit harder.

“Stop means stop.” And if they did this again, maybe they could talk about deeper, more complicated things. But if he tried now, he knew Tommy would throw him out, and Noah wasn’t ready to go. “Do you understand me, Tremblay?”

Tommy let out a breath, then nodded. “Fuck you. I’m not a kid.” Noah narrowed his eyes until Tommy groaned. “Fine. Stop means stop, you asshole. Now make yourself useful and touch me for real, or get the fuck out of my house.”

Noah let his balls go, but he dug his fingers into the fabric of his jeans and led him by the cock to the bedroom. Tommy was hard enough Noah wondered if it was possible for him to bust his zipper, and he kneaded him with the heel of his palm, making Tommy’s legs stutter to a halt.

“Jesus. Fuck,” he swore.

Noah grinned and increased the pressure. “Having trouble focusing, Tremblay?”

“Dick,” Tommy groaned, but there was no heat behind it this time.

Noah’s smile turned a little feral as he backed Tommy up toward his bed. “Get your jeans off, then get on your knees.”

Tommy shook the hair out of his eyes with a flip of his head as he took a single step back from Noah’s hand. “Make me.”

Noah’s other hand flew to his neck, walking him backward the rest of the way. “Is that what you want?” Tommy said nothing, but his grimace said he wanted to be pushed, though there was something else in his eyes Noah couldn’t quite read yet. Either way, he reacted on instinct, his hand moving from Tommy’s throat to a bruising grip on his jaw, then he kissed him.

Though he wasn’t sure he’d call what they did kissing. Not once had it been tender. It was all teeth, and the faint taste of blood, and stiff lips like they were fighting on ice for the puck. Noah held him tighter as his other hand wandered down and flicked his button open, then kneaded his hard cock.

“Take your fucking jeans off,” he growled.

Tommy shoved at him, but his hands were shaking so hard the push was weak. He met Noah’s eyes, his lips red, swollen, and spit slick as he moved to obey, and words began to rush past Noah’s throat.

“Good boy.”

Tommy’s hands froze, and his eyes went glazed for a second, then he shook his head again. “Stop trying to be cute, Viklund, and do something useful with your mouth or your dick.”

Noah knew when he was being goaded, and he didn’t move, drawing out the tension. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked making Tommy wait for it—not when there was fury in his eyes—but the desperation was enough for him to keep pushing.

“How do you want me?” he finally said.

Tommy’s eyes widened a little, and he looked almost…afraid. Though no, it wasn’t fear. It was uncertainty. “You’re asking me?”

His misstep was obvious. Tommy didn’t want to be asked. Noah could work with that. He took a step forward, and Tommy took one back. He took another, then another until Tommy’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and Noah caught him by the front of his shirt, dragging their bodies together.

“Get on your knees,” Noah said through clenched teeth. He was feeling something close to anger, but it wasn’t what he wanted, and that was frustrating him more. He didn’t understand what any of this was. Emotions had always confused him, and he didn’t need this shit.

But God, he wanted it. With the way Tommy was looking at him now, jeans open, cock straining at his boxer briefs as he crawled onto the bed, Noah was damn near desperate for him.

When Tommy’s hand moved toward his dick, Noah reached out and slapped it out of the way. “No.”

Tommy’s eyes lit with something like fire, and his mouth opened to retort—probably something smart-ass and cutting—so Noah stopped him like he promised he was going to. He licked his own fingers which made Tommy’s jaw drop lower, and then he shoved two of them along the other man’s tongue.

“Suck.”

Tommy did like it was instinct, like it was the only command in the world he could obey. His tongue curled around the digits, and he swallowed. Noah felt a line of spit dripping down his wrist, and he wanted to smear it over Tommy’s face just to see what he’d do.

Instead, he took a step forward and pushed his fingers deeper—to the edge of Tommy’s gag reflex. “Turn around and grab the headboard, and don’t fucking let go. Do you understand?”

Tommy didn’t move, so Noah raised his free hand, curling it around the side of his throat, then pushed his thumb gently against the underside of his chin.

“I asked you a question.”

Tommy swallowed against his hand, then he nodded.

It was good enough. Noah’s hand dropped to Tommy’s jeans, and he pulled his other hand free from Tommy’s plump lips, missing the warmth and contact. But Tommy was still dazed, so Noah took the opportunity to yank his jeans and briefs to his knees, trapping him in one position.

When Tommy tried to wriggle out the rest of the way, Noah stilled him with a firm grip. “No.”

Tommy froze, his breathing ragged, and Noah felt like he could get used to making this man go entirely still with a single word.

When the moment had calmed, Noah gently released him, and Tommy spun as best he could. His headboard was made of wooden slats, perfect for hanging on to, but there were so many pillows he sank forward, his legs spreading as far as the jeans would allow.

Which was exactly the way Noah wanted him. Tommy made a noise of discomfort, but Noah ran his hand down the pert, sculpted hockey ass, letting his nails scrape through the coarse hair peppered on each cheek.

“Hold yourself right there,” Noah said.

Tommy breathed out, then nodded. “Okay.”

That single word let something unwind in Noah. Tommy was lost in pleasure—or maybe anticipation—but he could still speak. Noah’s hands were steady as they went for his clothes, leaving them in a pile beside the bed. When he put a knee up, the bed was softer than he’d remembered, but it was nice. He sank in gently as he knee-walked over to the other man, then used both hands to knead at his ass.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured. He truly was a fucking work of art. Noah was fit—muscular in all the ways he needed to be for the position he played—but he wasn’t pretty. He was barely good looking with his sharp nose, which had been broken too many times, and the way the left side of his jaw stuck out farther than the right.

He was plain, at best, and he wondered why the fuck someone like Tommy would even want him there.

Then Tommy let out a needy groan and all thoughts of himself were gone, replaced by the man kneeling in front of him. Noah stared for a long time at the body—at the person—he had been so determined to hate. And he wouldn’t say he’d softened. He wouldn’t even say he liked him.

But he felt…something.

He used his thumbs to dig between Tommy’s cheeks, then he spread them wide and stared at his pucker. It was hairy and clenching with each one of Tommy’s inhales, and Noah let one side of his ass go to rub two fingers over it.

“How dirty are you, Tremblay?” When he was met with silence, he pushed harder against his hole, just until he felt some give. “Tommy. Answer me.”

“I cleaned,” Tommy gasped. “I…at the arena. When everyone left.”

Noah swore softly under his breath at the thought of Tommy sneaking into the locker room, filling himself up, and emptying himself out. All because he was planning on sending a text to Noah and convincing him to come over.

With a soft hum, he leaned in and rubbed his nose up his crack, then pressed his tongue over his hole. When Tommy pushed back, Noah slapped him lightly on his thigh. “Don’t move. This isn’t for you.” The words were a lie, but they made Tommy react, so he didn’t take them back.

Tommy whimpered softly, but he turned his head back, and Noah swore he heard the wood creaking from how hard Tommy was gripping the headboard.

“Good boy,” Noah said again, and he swore he felt heat rush through the other man. “So good for me.”

Tommy twitched, shifting like he wanted to beg, and Noah debated making him. But…eating him out sounded better, so he pushed his face hard against him, shoved his tongue in, and devoured him like a postgame meal.

He tasted the plain, sharp taste of distilled water, Tommy’s sweat, and something that was uniquely him. And Noah wanted to savor this because when it was over, he’d be back to men like Theo. Men who were looking for a story to tell. It would be dark bars and people who wanted his name or just to get off with some willing stranger.

When this ended, it would crack Noah in two, and he would feel the loss every day.

He was so far past pulling back now to avoid it, he decided to take everything he could. Lifting his head, he listened to Tommy’s whine of protest before giving his flank a soft pat like he was soothing a restless animal. He rolled to the side where he knew Tommy kept his condoms and lube, and he found a fresh box and unopened bottle.

“Were you feeling lucky, Tremblay, or just arrogant?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Tommy said on the edge of something that could have been a moan.

Noah laughed, and Tommy made the noise again. Crawling back over, he used his teeth to pull the plastic off, then popped the cap and let it pour over his fingers. It was slick and cold, and he didn’t give Tommy any warning before pushing a finger inside.

“I’m not going to prep you much,” Noah told him, reaching deep in and curling his fingers until Tommy’s body gave a jolt. “Gonna let you stretch on my dick.”

Tommy murmured something, and Noah reached up, grabbing him by the hair. “Do you want to speak up?”

Tommy bared his teeth, a blush racing from his throat to his cheeks, and his eyes rolled up to meet Noah’s. “I said do it,” he spat.

Noah let him go, then dragged his nails down his spine before pulling his cheeks apart again. He watched the lube-slick pucker twitch, then he reached for the box of condoms and ripped the package open with his teeth. Rolling one on, he used the lube left on his hand, then positioned himself right at Tommy’s entrance and pushed.

His head slid in, and Tommy groaned, trying to fuck back. Noah smacked his side again gently, then held his hips still. “Take what I give you.”

Tommy’s body shivered, but he nodded and bowed his head, his knuckles a sort of yellow-white on the headboard. Noah almost made him let go, afraid he’d fuck up his grip for his game tomorrow, but if he played his cards right, he’d get him to orgasm before it became a problem.

And for all that Noah was a mess, he loved a challenge.

Snapping his hips forward, he slid in to the hilt, then stilled again to let Tommy adjust. He was searing hot, clenching around him, and his breath was coming out in short gasps.

“Trem—” he started, then something stopped him. “Tommy.”

There was a long pause, then Tommy bowed his head. “I’m still here.”

Noah gripped his hips tight. “I’m going to fuck you now, and you’re going to take it, and you’re not going to touch yourself.” The words were meant to have bite, but there was a tender edge to them that terrified him. He chased it off as he pulled out, then slammed forward, making the bed rock into the wall. The loud slam was enough to shake Noah out of his head, and he grit his teeth as he chased back his orgasm, determined to make Tommy come like this.

He knew him now—knew where to touch, where to scratch with his nails and grip hard with unforgiving fingers. He knew the angle of his body, how to tilt his hips the right way to nail his prostate until Tommy was on the verge of tears.

And he used every single bit of that knowledge. Tommy was a mess of noises, a soft, “Uh, uh, uh,” filling the room like an echo of each one of the slaps Noah’s hips made as they slammed into his ass. He leaned into every touch—soft or cruel—like he needed it to go on. Noah managed to get his legs to spread a bit more, then he used his body to press Tommy down until his dick was dragging along the pillows.

It would be agony—pleasure—but not enough as he was being railed. Tommy’s head fell back, and Noah wrapped an arm around his chest as he ground down, making Tommy feel every inch of it, the head tormenting that spot inside him that had him twitching.

“Look at you, you fucking mess. Look at you falling apart for me,” Noah growled into his ear.

Tommy whimpered, and Noah felt it—the shivering second before he lost control. He circled his hips, then pulled out and slammed in once more as Tommy cried out and spilled all over the sheets below him.

It was seconds after that, two thrusts, before Noah lost it. His balls pulled up tight and his vision went dark, and for a lingering eternity he was just sensation. He was overwhelming pleasure and a little bit of pain, and his lungs were empty of breath.

When he came to, Tommy was still hanging on to the headboard, so Noah forced himself to regain control. With careful fingers, he pried Tommy’s hands off, then massaged the fleshy, calloused parts of his palms as his dick began to soften.

When he felt the condom slip, he eased Tommy down to the pillows, letting him lay in the mess since he didn’t protest, and held his dick as he pulled away. He was still stiff, and the condom was full and messy as he tied it off and searched the side of the bed for the little bin.

It hit with a loud fwap, and he winced as he fell onto his side and stared at Tommy, whose face was buried in the fluffy cotton.

“Are you breathing?”

Tommy snorted, then lifted a hand to give him a lazy middle finger. “Screw you, asshole. Someone like you should not be able to fuck like that.”

Noah wasn’t quite sure how to take that mixture of insult and compliment. He knew Americans had a word for it, but he could never remember what it was. It still hit the same though, and it reminded him he was lucky to be there, considering Tommy could have his pick of anyone.

He glanced off to the side and saw his clothes, and he wondered if Tommy was hoping he’d leave without a fuss. But it had felt cruel when he’d done it before, and everything he’d read online told him he was supposed to stay.

They weren’t lovers. They weren’t friends. But Tommy’s aftercare was his responsibility, and he wasn’t going to fuck that up again.

“If you want to sneak out, I’m literally too fucked-out to stop you,” Tommy said, turning his face to the side. His eyes were heavy lidded but clear.

“Did I hurt you?” Noah asked.

Tommy scoffed. “What the fuck do you care, eh?”

Against his better judgment, Noah reached for him and picked up his hand, inspecting his fingers. His palms were red, but his knuckles weren’t swollen. “I don’t,” he lied. “I just don’t want you telling the press it was my fault you couldn’t grip your stick.”

Tommy giggled into his pillow and rolled a little closer. “You don’t even realize how dirty that sounds, do you?”

Noah stared, then kneed him gently. “Fuck off. I’ve been speaking English longer than you.”

“Yeah, robot English,” Tommy said, pushing up onto his elbow. “Beep bop. Must get puck. Must make goal.” Noah knew he was trying to sound robotic, but he just sounded a bit like a forest animal.

Noah slapped him lightly on the ass, and Tommy’s cheeks pinked again. “You, ah,” he said, fumbling for words, realizing he really was a fucking hockey drone, “you played a good game tonight.”

“My game was shit,” Tommy admitted, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes. “Like some sort of jackass, I was worried about Zed instead of paying attention.”

Noah felt something twist in his gut. “Well, he was fine. No thanks to…”

“Me, yeah,” Tommy said from behind a tired sigh. “I’m aware, since you can’t go ten minutes without reminding me.”

Guilt hit him hard, and he swallowed thickly. “It’s not…I was worried about him too. But he did all right.”

Tommy softened just a fraction, making a noncommittal noise, though he didn’t give Noah a real response.

“What, ah…” he said after a beat of silence, “what are all those books on your coffee table? I’m assuming it’s not trash since you’re too damn rich to not have someone come in and deal with this place at least once a week.”

Tommy pursed his lips and shrugged. A small smile played at his mouth as he tucked his arms behind his head. “It’s just schoolwork. I have a project due next week.”

Noah blinked at him. “School? Like university?”

Tommy turned and offered him a half-hearted glower. “Yeah, asshole. I go to school. I’m not useless.”

“I didn’t think…” Noah said, then shook his head. “I would have never thought that. And I don’t think anyone is, even if they didn’t make it that far. I just didn’t realize you were going.”

Tommy licked his lips, then shrugged. “I wanted to be a marine biologist when I was a kid. My mom paid for this camp once when I was twelve. We got to stay at this preserve in BC and spend an entire week working with a sea animal rescue.”

Noah wasn’t sure why that surprised him. Maybe it was because it was easier to see Tommy as a rival. As just a part of this world—wins and losses, like just another thing to count toward his score. And this was so…human.

“Anyway, my mom pointed out that hockey isn’t going to last forever, and, like, I want to think I’ll be some old fart on the ice with a stick and a cane, but I wanted something to look forward to when it’s all over, you know?” Tommy rolled onto his side and, almost like he wasn’t thinking about it, traced a finger down the center of Noah’s chest. “What’s your plan? For, like, after?”

Noah swallowed thickly because he didn’t have one. Logically, he could survive without it. He could invest in a team, he could become a coach, he could retire on the money he’d saved. He could go back home and admit defeat.

Because Tommy’s vision was cruel, but it was right.

They burned bright and fizzled out young. And then it was over.

For just a second, he thought about Takuya. How he’d been a rising start and a first-round draft pick. Then he’d celebrated too hard, gotten on a friend’s motorcycle, and it was over. He still tore it up on the ice when he did sledge hockey, and as the team doc, he stayed on the periphery of the game.

But he’d never have this.

And that could be Noah at any time. That could be Tommy at any time.

“I should probably go,” Noah said. He figured he’d stayed long enough, and he just didn’t have it in him to stay and risk Tommy seeing just how weak he really was, how pathetic he was without the game.

Tommy’s face fell, but he nodded and started to push himself up. “Yeah. It’s getting late, and we’re playing the Blades tomorrow. Been watching their tape, and”—he let out a low whistle, and Noah knew what he meant.

The Toronto team was tearing it up in ways they hadn’t in years, which meant they were a serious contender for kicking both their asses this season if they weren’t careful.

Gathering his clothes, Noah began to slide into his jeans, and he let himself feel just how deliciously sore his muscles were. His fingers struggled with the buttons on his shirt a little, but mostly because he was distracted by Tommy in his periphery, his bare ass bent over as he pulled sweats out of his dresser.

“Is it difficult?” he asked without really thinking. Tommy gave him a look, and Noah shrugged. “School and all this?”

“Sometimes,” Tommy admitted. He offered a sheepish smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I used to be a really shitty student, but then I took this wildlife bio class, and…I don’t know. It just made all this fuckin’ sense. Like, I was doing this paper on sea turtles, and they’re just…survivors, you know? They have hundreds of babies in their clutch, and only a fraction make it past the shore. Which means every single one that lived long enough to have their own clutch was a survivor. And you should see the fuckin’ carnage on the beach, eh. It’s…” He shook his head, then blushed. “Sorry.”

Noah swallowed, then walked forward until he was close enough to touch him and laid a hand on Tommy’s side. “It’s important to you.”

Tommy shrugged and glanced away. “I guess.”

“It’s allowed to be. You’re…It’s good. You’re good,” he said, the words so foreign they tripped off his tongue.

But he watched the way Tommy preened, even if he looked vaguely humiliated and uncomfortable. “Fuck off,” he said softly. “I don’t need you chirping me for this.”

Noah wanted to defend himself, but he realized Tommy was making it easier for them both. Only…it wasn’t easier. Because now he wanted to lean in and kiss him before he left. He wanted to lay just one single tender touch on him.

But he wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t want this to end. Not yet.

Bowing his head, he took a breath. “I’ll see you later.”

Tommy said nothing, but as Noah reached the door, he heard the man call his name, and Noah turned his head to look over his shoulder. Tommy stood there in his sweats, shirtless, arms over his chest. His face was scrunched up, almost like he was afraid or maybe constipated. “So I have this…thing. This charity thing at the Bayside Rescue Center. I try to give back and volunteer when I can. You, um…I mean, if you’re not doing anything this weekend, you should come.”

“I…” Noah started, not sure what the hell to say.

“It’ll be nice to get outside and get some sun, you fucking robot,” Tommy chirped, then he took a step forward and dropped his arms before shrugging. “You can invite the guys. Zed and the boys, eh? They might want to come.” He cleared his throat. “It could be fun.”

Too many answers danced on the tip of Noah’s tongue, but only one of them made sense. “I think, uh…yes. Probably. Just text me the details. Since you know…it’s for charity.”

There was a glint in Tommy’s eye, and his lips softened, not quite into a smile but close. “All right, fucker. See yourself out.”

Noah felt his gut heat up, but he shoved it down and turned away, doing exactly that.