Kate Sherwood Home Ice

Home Ice

When they were young men playing on the same hockey team, the heat between

Jason and Mike had been almost enough to melt the ice they were skating on. But Mike
went off to be a star in the NHL and Jason stayed behind to start his life as the
dedicated, deeply closeted coach of the town’s junior hockey team.

Now Mike is back in town and Jason finds that their passion burns as hot as ever.

But they’re both still in the closet, and when Jason is threatened with exposure, he
freezes. The flames of desire can’t melt Jason’s fears but maybe, just maybe, the warmth
of love will thaw the ice.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Home Ice

ISBN 9781419937156

Edited by Briana St. James

Cover design by Dar Albert

Photography: FXQuadro/Shutterstock.com

Electronic book publication November 2011

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OME

Kate Sherwood

Home Ice

Chapter One

“Did you see him in that last game against Pittsburgh? I mean—how can he say he

needs to retire when he’s still got speed like that?” Robby’s face was alight with

excitement, and Jason, listening from across the room, tried not to smile. Teenage boys

tried so hard to be cool, but they couldn’t always manage it.

“Maybe he wanted to go out on top.” Connor was usually quiet, but when he

spoke, the other players listened. It was part of what made him such an effective leader,

on and off the ice. “There’s no way the Leafs are getting near the Cup anytime soon, so

it’s not like he was going to hang around for another shot at that.”

“They could do it. The Leafs. If they just…” Robby trailed off, the enormity of the

required changes apparently too much to vocalize.

“If they traded all the players but three, and all of the coaches and the

management,” Devon suggested.

Scott looked up from the goalie pads he was fiddling with. Jason reminded himself

to get the kid some new laces. “And maybe moved cities, to somewhere that wouldn’t

keep giving them sell-out crowds no matter what.”

Alex scowled. He was a Russian import and didn’t always follow the team’s

conversations, but he seemed clear on the current topic. “Leafs suck,” he said, and the

simple truth apparently settled the issue and returned the conversation to its original

focus.

“And they’ll be even worse without Whitby,” Robby said. He was a winger, like

Whitby, and Jason knew the kid was dreaming of following the same path to the NHL.

“Who’ve they got now with any real experience on offense?”

Jason let himself tune out the conversation. The kids could, and did, go on for hours

like this. They were all spouting the same opinions they’d contributed the day before,

all probably repeating whatever their dads had told them over the summer break or

what they’d picked up from the countless sports shows they followed on radio, TV and

the internet. The ideas were rarely original, but that didn’t lessen the passion with

which they were held.

Usually, Jason liked listening to them. And he liked joining in, sometimes, usually

to play devil’s advocate, trying to get the little turkeys to actually think instead of just

parrot. But he had bigger things to think about today. Well, the same thing they were

thinking about, but from a different perspective.

Mike Whitby. He’d been back in town for almost six months, as far as Jason knew,

but he hadn’t been by the rink yet. Which was strange, Jason was pretty sure. And he

had an idea about the reason for the absence, but he was trying to ignore it. It was

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stupid to think that a famous National Hockey League player would stay away from

the local shrine to his sport just because of a slightly awkward past with a lowly Ontario

Hockey League coach. Self-centered paranoia was what it was. And what did Jason

know about transitioning from the Big League to retired life? Maybe players liked to do

a cold turkey phase, getting the yearning out of their system.

“He’s the best player the Wolverines ever had, right, Coach?” Robby was still

excited and Jason let himself smile now.

“Probably, yeah. He’s got the best NHL record, at least.”
“And you used to play with him, right?”
Jason didn’t want to give in to the prompts. He knew the kids loved to hear the

stories, but that didn’t mean he wanted to tell them. He’d had his own struggle when

he’d been forced to leave his playing days behind, and he still felt a pang when he

thought about it all. But that wasn’t the kids’ fault and they weren’t asking him for

much. “Yeah. He was left wing, I was right. Played together right up to Midget.”

“And he was the best player you ever played with?” Robby was the one asking the

questions, but the whole room was listening to the exchange.

Jason wished he could answer differently, but he nodded his head. “Yeah,

probably. There were some good guys at college too, but nobody as good as Mike.”

“My dad says if you’d played in the OHL, you could have made the NHL before

you got hurt.” Jason was all too aware of Robby’s dad’s opinion on the matter. He’d

heard many times from many people just how stupid it had been to choose college over

pro hockey, even if it was just junior. The OHL was the best way to the NHL, and only

an idiot would even consider any other goals.

“But if I’d gotten injured in the OHL, that would have been it. No NHL and no

education. At least this way I got a degree out of it all.” Jason was fighting an uphill

battle even suggesting that school was important, even hinting that not every kid in the

room was on his way to becoming an NHL star, but he figured it was his duty to keep

trying. Keep playing devil’s advocate, even if he was currently coaching in the very

league he was arguing against.

“And a lot of good players come out of the college system,” a new voice said from

the locker room door, and Jason didn’t even have to turn his head to know who had

spoken. It had been almost fifteen years since the last time he’d heard Mike Whitby’s

voice, at least in person, but there was no mistaking it. Thankfully, the kids’ attention

was diverted immediately and Jason had a chance to collect himself before turning

around.

Damn. Mike looked good. A little older, sure, but Jason had seen the guy on TV

enough to expect that. And he wore his age well. Still fit, of course, and the light crinkle

of lines around his eyes just made him look like he spent a lot of time smiling. No trace

of gray in his light brown hair, no hint of jowls on his square jawline. The wire-rimmed

glasses were new, and Jason wondered if they were really needed or if Mike was just

trying to set himself apart from his playing days.

Home Ice

He remembered how he and Mike had always been compared to each other, and

told how alike they looked, and wondered whether he’d held up to the years as well as

his old friend. But there was no time for further speculation, because Mike was walking

forward, his hand outstretched, and Jason needed to get himself in gear. “Jason. Or

Coach, I guess.” A quick, easy smile. “It’s good to see you.” They shook hands and

Mike raised his free hand to grasp Jason’s shoulder. It was a standard manly greeting,

but Jason really didn’t want the additional contact. He made himself smile and stepped

backward as soon as he could justify it.

“Good to see you too.” He turned to Walt Kowalchuk, the team’s general manager,

who had accompanied Mike into the room. “Walt.” A nod in acknowledgment, and

Jason continued. “You’ve still got time to meet after practice?”

“I’ve got all the time you need, Coach. But that’s not what you’re going to ask me

for, is it?” Walt was an old pro, having bounced around half the hockey world before

settling in Pine River for the last few years of his career, and he was good at his job. But

not good enough to always have money for Jason’s projects. He didn’t wait for an

answer. “But let’s focus on the positive.” He clapped his hand on Mike’s shoulder and

turned toward the anxiously hushed team. “Guys, let me introduce you to Mike

Whitby. I think you may have heard of him.”

The tension eased a bit as the boys laughed, and then Walt continued. “He’s got

some time to talk to you all today, and if we’re lucky… I notice he brought his skates

with him. You guys want to practice with an NHLer?”

Just before the boys erupted into a puppy-like frenzy of enthusiasm, Kelly spoke

up. He was an “over age” player, kept around not for his skill but for his sheer

toughness. “Did he bring his pads and a helmet too?” Kelly’s voice was cool, showing

that he refused to be impressed by the visitor, and there was just enough of a challenge

in it to make Jason have to hide a grin. Kelly was good for the team.

The Wolverines were the up-and-coming players, and they should be respectful to

someone who’d already made it, but not subservient. If Mike was really going to

practice with them, he should be ready to work and, yeah, ready to take a few hits. If he

wasn’t, if he was just there to skate around a little, well, the team should see that for

what it was.

But apparently Walt didn’t share Jason’s attitude, and he was frowning at Kelly

before Mike spoke up. “I didn’t. I retired for a reason, you know.” He grinned, making

it clear that this wasn’t a tragedy. “I’m about done taking hits from guys as tough as

Kelly Dunlop.”

Damn, that was impressive. Mike knew the kid’s name, and Kelly was just a

grinder, not a star. Jason remembered the shy, introverted kid he’d known and

wondered when Mike had gotten so smooth. Wherever the skill had come from, it was

certainly being used to good effect here. The team was grinning again and Kelly looked

completely won over.

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Jason needed to get the team in gear before they turned into a bunch of little girls

swooning over a matinee idol. “Okay, guys, enough chat, let’s get on the ice. You can

talk to Mr. Whitby after the practice.” But even with visitors in the locker room, they

still had their ritual, and the boys were clearly waiting for it.

Jason grinned and nodded. Okay. “Where’s the game, boys?” he asked, his voice

loud and ringing.

The answer was even louder. The boys moved as one, tapping their temples twice,

then thudding a fist over their chests. “HEAD, HEAD, HEART!” they yelled in unison,

and then they sprang into action. They grabbed their gear, headed out the door and

Mike stood and watched them go.

When the last player trailed out of the locker room, Mike turned toward Jason.

“‘Mr. Whitby’?” he said quietly, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “I like that. About

time I got a little respect out of you.”

But Jason couldn’t do it, couldn’t fall back into the old rapport that easily. They’d

been teammates and they’d been friends. And then, briefly, they’d been more, before it

had all fallen apart. Sure, it had been a long time, but that didn’t mean Jason was over

it. No, wait. He was over it, he just wasn’t… whatever. He wasn’t ready to pretend it

hadn’t happened. That sounded better.

He sat down and pulled his own skates out of his gear bag. He just needed to focus

on hockey. The game made sense and he understood it. The best thing about being on

the ice had always been the way it let him leave the confusion on the other side of the

glass.

He felt the bench move a little as someone sat next to him, and without looking up

from the skate he was lacing, Jason knew it was Mike. Jesus, his voice, and now his

smell. The guy must have changed colognes at some point in the last fifteen years. Jason

couldn’t remember young Mike having ever worn any, actually, and now there was a

faint spiciness that probably cost more than Jason made in a month. But underneath it,

somehow, was Mike. Mike, who Jason was completely over, he reminded himself.

Fifteen years. He was not that pathetic.

Mike was lacing up his own skates, but he was also clearly waiting for Jason to say

something. “Welcome home,” he managed. It was stupid, of course. Mike had been

back in town since the summer and it was well past Christmas now. He’d already been

welcomed back by everyone who meant anything. Jason was just babbling.

But Mike didn’t seem to think so. He bounced a little on the old wooden bench,

looked down at their skate-clad feet and grinned. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “It’s good to

be back.”

Home Ice

Chapter Two

“HUSTLE!” Jason yelled. And then, just because he was the coach and he could, he

yelled, “Hurry Hard!” The kids on the bench laughed and Jason scowled at them before

grinning. The team had been snow-stuck in a cheap motel on their last trip and had all

become briefly obsessed with televised curling. It had been the Tournament of Hearts,

after all.

“Nice,” he called as Alex came up with the puck. “Keep your head up!” he added,

seeing Kelly coming in for the kill. Kelly knew better than to hit a teammate with full

force, but even his half-strength hits could be bone-jarring, especially for a lightweight

like Alex. Or brain-jarring, as Jason found himself worrying about almost obsessively.

Each new study he read about concussions made him that much more afraid of the

effects on his players. The players were just boys, fifteen to twenty years old, and they

didn’t have the sense to be afraid for themselves. And their parents, while older, were

generally just as hockey-focused.

Last season Jason had almost come to blows with Bill James, Connor’s dad, when

Bill had objected to his son being benched with just a possible concussion. Apparently if

the kid could still skate, he should be on the ice, according to his father. But not

according to his coach, and thankfully, the team management had backed Jason up. He

suspected they were more worried about lawsuits than the kid’s long-term well-being,

but he’d take support any way he could get it.

“Nice hit,” Walt said, loud enough for Jason to hear him. Walt was by the bench

and Jason was on the ice, so the words were pretty loud. Loud enough for Kelly to

catch, which was nice. Jason had met GMs who wouldn’t say a word of praise in a

player’s hearing, but Walt definitely wasn’t one of those. Jason skated closer to the

boards before Walt said softly, “Too bad he can’t shoot.”

“Can’t handle the puck at all,” Jason admitted with a wry grin. “But he’s scrappy.

He’s a grinder. He deserves this year, at least.”

Walt didn’t argue. The two of them stood there beside each other, one on either side

of the boards, and watched the kids skate. They were having an end-of-practice

scrimmage and Jason’s assistant coaches were handling things. All Jason had to do was

watch, taking note of what worked and what didn’t. Until Walt started talking again.

“Listen, Jason. Is there an actual problem between you and Mike Whitby?”
The question was unwelcome, but it wasn’t exactly out of the blue. Mike had been

by the rink several times in the weeks since his first visit, and the team’s owners had

clearly been thrilled. The team was owned by a consortium of small-time businessmen

and they were all in it because they were hockey fans, not because they ever hoped to

see a profit. Having Mike Whitby around made their little OHL team seem that much

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closer to the Big League, and they were almost giddy about it all. Other players had

passed through the team on their way up, but none had returned after making it. Not

for more than a brief visit.

“An actual problem?” Jason tried to stall. “Uh—what do you mean, exactly?”
“I mean, it seems like you avoid him. He comes by, you say hi, and then you’re

gone. All of a sudden the skates need sharpening, or whatever.”

“The skates do need sharpening, Walt. The machine is just about done—I don’t

know if it needs repairs or replacement, but…”

“No, kid, don’t change the subject.” Walt looked serious. “You know the owners are

happy with your work—you’ve taken a small-market team and made it into a real force

in the league. Before you came along, how long had it been since this town got

anywhere near the Cup?”

“How long’s it been since Whitby left?” But that wasn’t a path Jason wanted to

follow. “But you need to take a lot of the credit for the team too, Walt. You’ve done a

great job.”

“We’ve worked well together, Coach. But…” Walt ran a rough hand through his

gray hair. “That’s about to change.” He shook his head and turned so he was looking at

Jason instead of facing the players. “This is my last season. Martha can’t handle another

winter up here, not with her arthritis. And truth be told—I’m not sorry. I’m tired, kid.

It’s time to find someone else to take care of things around here.”

“I’m—damn, Walt, I’m really sorry to hear that.” Jason really wasn’t sure he

wanted to know the answer, but he asked the question anyway. “But what’s this got to

do with Mike Whitby?”

Walt shrugged. “Maybe nothing. The owners haven’t talked to him yet. I made

them promise not to, not until I got things cleared up with you. So he may not be

interested in the job. But they want to offer it to him.”

Jason took a moment to digest that. He tried to look at it from a logical perspective.

“He can’t need the money. Why would he be interested? What’s he even doing back in

Pine Bay?”

“Sara and the kid.” Walt looked as if it was obvious. Jason realized that his

avoidance of all conversations related to Mike Whitby had left him without some

important background knowledge, and apparently, Walt realized it too. He snorted

impatiently before prompting, “Sara Daniels? His wife?”

“Yeah…” Jason knew that much. Sara had gone to school with them, back in the

day, and she and Mike had met up again sometime after they both left town. They’d

gotten married, had a kid… “What does that have to do with Pine Bay? Couldn’t she

live with him wherever he goes?”

“Jesus, Jason, pay attention. She doesn’t live with him now. They’re divorced. And

she wanted to move up here with the kid. Little girl’s cute as a button, but she’s not

quite right. Autism, or Aspergers, or something. I don’t know. But Sara wanted to raise

her near family and in a small town. Figured it would be easier for her to fit in if

Home Ice

everybody already knew her. So Sara’s staying in Pine Bay and Mike’s staying near the

kid. Hannah.”

That was a lot to digest and Jason needed a little time. He turned back toward the

ice, watched for a moment, then yelled, “Harris, stop cherry-picking! Get in the damn

play!” It was such a common instruction that Jason barely needed to think about it; he’d

just needed to be sure that Harris was actually on the ice at the time. He waited long

enough to see that the kid was finally moving and tried to form his ideas. Obviously he

would never say anything that would get in the way of a father being near his daughter.

Not that Whitby needed a job in order to stay in Pine Bay; the man had made

millions in the NHL, after all. So Jason really had no influence over Whitby’s choice of

residence. No, it was something else entirely that made Jason worry about further

contact. But there was no way to explain his reticence without exposing too much about

himself, so he was stuck regardless. “I don’t have a problem with him,” he said.

Jason could tell that Walt was looking at him, trying to read the truth behind the

words, but Jason kept his face turned resolutely toward the ice. Let Walt try to read the

expression on the back of his head. Finally Walt sighed and clapped Jason on the

shoulder. “All right then. The dinner tonight—they want to invite him. See how it

goes.”

Jason frowned and swiveled his head to take his turn at reading the truth. “We

have that dinner once a month. They’re scheduled way in advance. You’re telling me

they’re just inviting Whitby now? After you clear it with me?”

Walt didn’t seem worried. “No. They invited him last week. And they were

probably going to offer him the job regardless. But I thought it was an important

courtesy to speak to you about it first.”

“And if I’d said ‘no’?”
“I knew you wouldn’t.” Walt eased back, took a long look at the players, then

looked back at Jason. “You’re a good man, Coach. It makes you predictable.” Another

clap on the shoulder, this time with a firm squeeze from Walt’s fingers. “You try to

please the owners, and that’s great. But maybe one of these days you should push them

a little and make them do a little something to please you.” He grinned and pulled his

hand back. “Not that I would ever suggest that. No, that would be a betrayal of the faith

they put in me.”

And then Walt was gone, leaving Jason staring out at the ice. The players swerved

and darted, gliding over the ice with power and speed. The pattern of their movements

was indiscernible to the untrained eye, but to Jason, it was all part of an intricate dance.

He and Mike had been masters of the rhythm, intimate partners so close they had

played as one; they’d known where the other was because they knew each other, and

the dance itself, so well.

And first Jason had lost the magical partnership, and then he had lost the dance

altogether, consigned now to watching from the boards. Oh he could still skate well

enough, as long as he didn’t overdo it, but the ease was gone. Where once he’d

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swooped and soared, now he tiptoed, afraid that each stride might be the one that

buckled his damaged knee.

It wasn’t a tragedy, he reminded himself. He’d had a good run, more than most

players ever got. He’d had fun, and something more than that, a fierce joy at using his

body to its fullest, straining and pushing and struggling alongside and against other

players who shared the same passion. He grinned a little. When he thought of it like

that, it was no wonder he’d ended up preferring the company of men in his bed as well

as on the ice. His grin faded. It wasn’t surprising, but it certainly wasn’t acceptable. Not

in the hockey world.

Canada might be pretty liberal about gay rights in general and Canada might love

its hockey, but there was not a lot of support for blending the two interests. So telling

Walt and the owners that he didn’t want to work with Mike Whitby because of a bad

breakup—that really wasn’t going to fly. Especially since “breakup” probably wasn’t

the right word to use, anyway. Hard to break something that had never really existed.

He shook his head and looked back at the ice. The swooping ribbons turned back

into players, the intricate dance returned to carefully orchestrated plays and, damn it,

“Harris! Get in the goddamn play or go sit on the bench!” Jason’s assistant coaches

tended to be tougher than he was and he was generally happy to let them take care of

team discipline; he liked being the good cop. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t deal with

a cherry-picking player if he needed to.

A whistle blew, players banged the boards as they switched lines and Jason got

back to his life. It might not be the full truth, but it wasn’t a full lie either.

* * * * * *

Dinner was awkward, at least for Jason. Too many suggestive looks, the middle-

aged owners almost flirtatious with Whitby—Jason was glad the wives hadn’t been

invited. As it was, Whitby was surrounded and fawned over almost constantly and he

seemed perfectly comfortable with the attention. Jason wondered if he could use the

situation to his advantage, somehow—would Whitby be inclined to accept a job offer

from an organization that couldn’t even afford a functioning skate sharpening machine?

Probably not. So if Jason mentioned the problem now, maybe it would be addressed…

But Jason kept quiet and the dinner finally ended. Apparently Whitby was thinking

about the job offer, and the owners were thinking about Whitby, and there wasn’t a lot

of room left for anyone to give a good goddamn about Jason, which was just about the

way he liked it. Everything seemed fine until he headed to the men’s room after the

meal and came back to find Walt and the owners gone, with just Whitby left at the table.

It would be easiest to just wave and head out, but the table was between the bathroom

and the door and Whitby stood up as Jason approached.

“You got time for a drink, Coach?” Whitby asked, and nodded at the door. “I told

the guys I needed to talk to you first before I even thought about taking the job.”

Home Ice

“You really don’t. The GM job has distinct responsibilities, but you’d be my boss,

not the other way around. You don’t need my approval to take it.” Jason felt like an

idiot for saying something so obvious. Whitby had been around hockey long enough to

know who reported to whom.

“Jason.” Whitby frowned. “Come on, man. Can we just—can we have a drink? Just

talk a bit?”

There was really no way to turn that down. “Yeah, okay.” So he couldn’t turn the

offer down, but he could manage to accept it churlishly. That was pretty weak and

Jason resolved to do better. “You want to stay at the table or go over to the bar part?”

“Bar, definitely.” Whitby grinned and Jason had to fight to keep the smile off his

own face. When had shy little Mike turned into such a charmer? Or was it just the

remnants of old feelings that were making Jason such a sucker?

He followed Whitby’s broad shoulders into the wood-lined bar and they found two

armchairs near the gas fireplace. It was almost cozy, and on a Tuesday night, fairly

quiet. Private, almost. Which maybe wasn’t a good thing.

“I was sorry to hear about your daughter,” Jason started. “I didn’t know.”
Whitby just shrugged. “It’ll be a challenge, I guess, but she’s a pretty happy kid. It’s

not a tragedy.”

Whitby leaned back into his chair and the server came over and took their orders. It

was clear that she recognized Whitby and she called Jason “Coach”, although he

couldn’t remember ever having seen her before. Hockey fans were everywhere,

especially in a town as small as Pine Bay.

They didn’t say much until the server returned with their drinks and reluctantly

faded away. Then Whitby took a swallow of his beer, looked over at Jason and said,

“I’m seriously considering the job. I’m bored up here, Jase. And I miss the game.”

He smiled almost sadly. “I thought I was sick of it, but I think it was just the travel,

and the reporters, and all the extra crap. The game itself—it’s in my blood, man.” He

seemed self-conscious as he added, “But I guess I don’t have to tell you that. You found

a way to stick with it.”

“It’s not the same.” Jason hadn’t known he was going to say that and regretted it

almost as soon as he spoke. He wasn’t there for a heart-to-heart. But he had started, so

he tried to finish. “If that’s what you’re expecting, you’re going to be disappointed.”

He took a swallow of his beer and hoped that Whitby would chime in. But he

didn’t, so Jason continued. “The game—it’s for the players. We’ve got all these old guys

hanging onto it and trying to make it about them. About money, or trades, or ice time,

or whatever it is that we can control. But that’s all the stuff that you don’t miss, right?”

Another swallow of his beer, and still Whitby didn’t speak, but he did nod

thoughtfully. Jason said, “You put two Canadian kids in a basement with two brooms

and a roll of duct tape and they’re gonna play hockey. You give ’em a little more, an

actual stick and a puck, and they’ll play road hockey. Add skates and they’ll find a

frozen pond for shinny. That’s the game. Our game. The pads and the arenas and the

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dressing rooms,” he paused, looked at Whitby and said, “and the coaches and the GMs

and the TV broadcasts and every other damn thing—that’s not the game. That’s just the

coating that we put around the game so there’s somewhere for all of us who can’t play

to hang out.”

Another swallow and his beer was almost gone. He wasn’t used to making

speeches, not to adults, at least, and he forced himself to stay silent now.

Whitby was quiet for quite a while, then said, “So you don’t think I should take the

job?”

“I don’t know.” Jason tried to pull himself back to his role of dispassionate

observer. “I don’t know you, I don’t know your family situation, I don’t know a lot of

stuff. I’m just saying how it was for me.”

Another silence, and then Whitby said, “I’m sorry about your knee, man. I mean—

I’m sorry it happened and I’m sorry I didn’t…” he trailed off, then started again. “I

don’t know. Sorry I didn’t get in touch at the time.”

“To do what, offer medical advice?” Jason shrugged it off. He wasn’t going to get

dragged into this. “Like you said, not a tragedy. It was almost ten years ago and it had

been five years since we’d—” Jesus, since they’d what? “Been friends,” he finished

lamely.

Whitby didn’t respond right away. Then he said quietly, “If I took the job—we

could work together? That’d be okay with you? You got here first, man, I’m not looking

to push in where I’m not wanted.”

Jason let himself think about it. Of course it wasn’t his place to say no, but he had

the feeling that if he did, Whitby would respect his decision. Whitby. Mike. Whatever.

They’d been good friends before everything had changed, and maybe it wouldn’t be

bad to resurrect that memory. Not the friendship itself, of course. But it would be nice

to be able to look back on the good old days without having to see them through the fog

of everything that had gone after. He finished his beer and nodded. “Yeah. We could

work together.”

Mike smiled and Jason finally let himself smile back. It felt good. Natural, and that

was a problem. Jason wondered whether agreeing to work with Mike was going to be a

huge mistake.

Home Ice

Chapter Three

“Could you tell the other guys not to pass to him?” Mike was standing on the ice,

resting his chin on his stick, watching Harris as he stood around in the other team’s

zone. “Or—you know, is he a good enough shot to justify it?”

Jason shook his head. “He’s a good shot, but I don’t give a damn. I want him

working for the damn puck, just like the rest of the team.” He raised his whistle and

blew it sharply. “Connor! In for Harris! Harris, get over here.”

Connor looked a little startled, but he jumped obediently off the bench and went to

take Harris’ spot. Connor usually played center and Harris was a winger, but Jason

knew there wouldn’t be a problem. Connor was versatile and he was hard-working and

eager to please. If it wasn’t for his dry sense of humor, he would have been like a

Stepford Player. No, Connor was not Jason’s current problem.

“Harris. You want to play tomorrow?” Jason raised a gloved hand. “No, wait. You

want to earn the right to ride on the bus with us tomorrow?” He glowered. He hated

being the heavy, and it was this kid’s fault that he was driven to it. “You want to earn

that right, you need to start playing as part of a team. And on this team, we all grind it

out. You make it to the show, maybe you’ll get a coach who will put up with this crap.

But here and now? You don’t work, you don’t play.”

Harris looked miserable and he glanced over to the stands. Pine River was too far

north to get many scout visits; they preferred to catch the team when it went south to

the bigger cities for games. But there were still always people in the stands, watching

and judging, and today Jason followed the kid’s gaze and found two men sitting

together, staring at the drama on the ice. “Your dad and your agent,” he said, his voice

less harsh than it had been.

Harris nodded reluctantly. “They say I need to use my shot. They don’t want me

getting hurt and they say that grinding’s where that could happen.” He looked at Jason

as if begging for understanding. “They say I need to play it smart and stay out of

things.”

Jason was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “What do you think about that,

Harris? Is that how you want to play? Jesus, kid, is that how you want to live your life?”

He shook his head and glanced over to Mike. He was about to start on another speech,

and in the few weeks since Mike had agreed to take the GM job, he’d heard quite a few

of them already. But Jason felt like he needed to give at least one more. “This time

you’ve got right now, this game—it’s a gift. It’s something that a lot of people never

find. You’ve got the chance to play intensely, to put your whole body and brain and

soul into this game and this team. You can work harder than you ever have and look

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over and see the guy next to you working just as hard, and you can challenge each other

to give even more.”

He leaned back and looked up at the stands. “Or you can try to play it smart. You

can remove yourself from the intensity and you can watch from the goddamn opposite

end of the ice while your teammates fight four on five trying to get the puck without

any help from you.” Jason shook his head. “Well, no. You can’t do that anymore. Not

on this team. ‘Cause I’ve tried the soft-sell and it isn’t working. So from now on, you

cherry-pick, you sit on the bench. It’s that simple. And I’ll talk to your dad and your

agent and I’ll explain that if they’re so worried about your damn safety, then they

should be thanking me for keeping you off the ice. I mean,” Jason raised a hand to his

throat in a dramatic gesture, “you could get hurt out there.”

Harris’s eyes were wide and he looked from Jason to the stands, and then back

again. “You’ll talk to them? Seriously, Coach, I want to play. I want to do it like you

said, with intensity and everything. I just…” he trailed off and Jason felt for him. These

players—they had the bodies of young men, but they were still just boys. And they’d

been listening to their fathers’ instructions for their whole lives.

“I’ll talk to them. But, Harris—right now, I’m talking to you. If you don’t work on

the ice, you’ll be sitting on the bench. You understand?” Jason waited for Harris’ nod,

then slapped him on the pads with his hockey stick. “Okay. Forty and forty, then sit on

the bench, but go out with your line on the next change. You need to show me

something, Harris.”

Harris nodded and skated off to find a spot for his forty push-ups and forty sit-ups,

and Jason and Mike both hopped up onto the boards as the puck came toward them.

The players followed, crashing and swearing and working, and Jason envied them. A

million laps a week at the town’s only indoor pool might keep him fit, but it just wasn’t

the same as playing hockey.

The play moved down the rink and Jason and Mike eased themselves back onto the

ice. Jason knew Mike was looking at him and finally turned to meet his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing. I just—I was thinking about watching a movie later. I was torn between

Any Given Sunday and Dead Poet’s Society. You know, because I was craving an

inspirational speech. But I just don’t really feel the need anymore, you know?” Mike’s

eyes were dancing.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got something you can seize and you can suck the marrow out of

it too.” Jason was shocked by his own words. It wasn’t the crude reinterpretation of the

Dead Poet’s mantras that alarmed him, it was the sexual reference. He hadn’t grabbed

himself, at least, and the words were certainly nothing he would be at all embarrassed

about saying to any of his other hockey buddies. But he and Mike had been really

careful with each other in that area. No innuendos, no discussions of past or present

relationships, nothing in any way related to anything sexual.

And now Jason had blown that rule out of the water. It was especially mortifying

when he remembered the enthusiasm with which he had been seized, all those years

Home Ice

ago. And for an uncomfortable moment, Jason wondered whether that was what Mike

was remembering too.

Then Mike snickered. “Damn, you’re a classy guy, Coach. Really an upstanding

example for today’s young people.” And that was it. They went back to watching the

game.

When Jason finally blew the whistle to end the practice, Mike was still right there.

He hadn’t officially taken over the GM’s job yet; Walt was going to finish the season

and Mike was just hanging around, getting the feel of things. The amount of time he

spent on the ice made it clear that he either really, really missed playing, or maybe that

he was actually shooting for a coaching job, rather than management.

Jason tried to ignore that possibility as he sent the players to the dressing room.

“The bus leaves at six tomorrow morning,” he reminded them, “so get to bed early

tonight. Bring your homework. Especially you, Cuddy—you fail English, you’re

benched. If you need help, let me know. Otherwise, do the damn work.”

He watched the kids skate off the ice, watched the assistant coaches trail off after

them and looked up to the stands. The parents were up there, clustered together like

they were after every practice. Most of the boys were from out of town, billeted with a

core group of Pine Bay hockey supporters during the season, but that didn’t mean their

parents couldn’t come for frequent visits. Jason was pretty sure that Harris’ dad was

unemployed and he might very well be sleeping in his van.

The family needed the money that would come if Harris made it to the Big League,

but Jason needed to find a way to make it clear that the NHL coaches valued a strong

work ethic just as much as OHL coaches did. He needed to speak to the agent too,

probably, and tell him that if he wanted to try to get his client traded, that was fine, but

until it happened, he needed to let the kid play the Wolverine way.

He had to do all of that, just as soon as he got off the ice. He looked over to Mike.

“Want to skate for a bit?”

Mike nodded slowly, then grinned and sprang into top gear. Maybe not quite as

much jump as he’d had at nineteen, but still explosive, sprinting down the ice toward a

cluster of loose pucks that somebody had neglected to collect. He selected one, and by

the time he had looped around and started back for the far net, Jason was on the move,

skating backward, his stick out and ready. He’d never been a defenseman and he’d

never made the NHL, but that didn’t mean he was going to let this clown put the puck

in the net without a fight. Mike saw him and grinned, and it was on.

Mike charged, Jason countered, and he surprised himself by managing to get his

stick on the puck. Not enough to take it over, but he ruined Mike’s shot and that was

enough for now. They followed the puck, crashing into the boards with a force that both

of them would surely feel the next day, and they fought for possession.

They were careful, to an extent. Neither of them was wearing full pads, and Jason,

at least, had to make sure his knee didn’t get strained, but their upper bodies were fair

game, surely. The puck squirted free and Jason was the first one after it. He got control

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and headed for the net and he knew Mike was behind him, coming up quick, but he

also knew he’d always been faster than Mike. He was willing to risk his knee to prove

that it was still true.

He made it to a good spot to shoot, wound up… and eased the puck back onto his

stick, bringing it with him as he swooped around the net. He could have shot, should

have shot, but he didn’t know what would happen when he scored a goal. Maybe the

game would be over then, and he really wasn’t ready for that to happen. So he started

down the ice to the other end, and it was like stepping back in time. He didn’t need to

even glance over his shoulder to know where Mike was and he abandoned their

adversarial relationship with a beautiful no-look pass. Mike had the puck now, and he

charged for the net, wound up and didn’t shoot. Instead, he shaved the ice in a quick

stop and turned to look at Jason, who was waiting five strides away.

Mike’s grin was wide now and Jason felt the same kinship they’d shared so many

years ago, both of them staying late after practice for more ice time, more hockey. Mike

passed the puck back and forth in front of himself, teasing, faking, and Jason knew they

weren’t on the same imaginary team anymore. They were back to being opponents, and

that was just fine. The whole point of the game was to be challenged, after all. As he so

often told his team, opponents weren’t enemies, they were fellow players.

Mike started, deked quickly to one side, deked back, and Jason knew his knee

couldn’t keep up. He turned easily as Mike charged by, and it was so beautiful to watch

that he barely felt bad about not being able to participate. But Mike didn’t even head for

the net, just circled around until he was beside Jason again.

He slapped the back of Jason’s calves, quick and sharp, and the conditioned

response had Jason sprinting down the ice before he knew what he was doing. This was

their drill, Mike right beside him, quick passes back and forth, tight and precise as they

curved around the rink, Mike swerving to keep pace with Jason, then Jason easing off

and letting Mike take the lead.

They didn’t stop until they were both breathing heavily. Jason could feel the sweat

starting to soak his shirt and it felt perfect. The whole thing felt perfect. Too perfect, and

Jason remembered how so many of those earlier late practices had ended, him and Mike

in the locker room, their bodies sweaty and breathless for a whole different reason, or

maybe it was somehow the same reason, but played out in a totally different way. But

Jason couldn’t afford to get philosophical about it, not now, with the parents and agents

still there, with the kids in the locker room and with fifteen damn years separating them

from the boys they had been.

Jason pulled himself off the boards he’d been leaning on. “That was fun,” he said.

“Now back to work for me.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just started across the ice and

then down the corridor toward the change rooms and his thankfully private office. It

wasn’t until he was at the door that he realized Mike was still right behind him. “I need

to get back to work,” he repeated, and he pulled the door open, but Mike wasn’t going

anywhere.

“Your knee?” Mike asked. “Did you hurt it?”

Home Ice

Probably, Jason thought, but he really wasn’t feeling it yet. “No, it’s fine,” he said,

and he tried to shut the door but Mike was right there, and if Jason didn’t retreat he

would be so close, too close to Mike’s hard, sweating body. He stepped back and Mike

stepped in. Then he closed the door.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Mike said.
“I’m fine,” Jason said, but he couldn’t turn around, couldn’t let Mike see his face,

and apparently if he didn’t turn around, Mike wasn’t going to believe him.

“Jase,” Mike said softly, and his hand on Jason’s shoulder was just too much.
Jason whirled. He’d probably done something stupider than this at some point in

his life, but he couldn’t think of just what it would have been and he really couldn’t

make himself care. His hand slid to the back of Mike’s neck like it was the most natural

thing in the world. He was moving fast, but it didn’t feel frenzied, didn’t feel out of

control. It felt like just another step in their hockey dance, another ribbon woven

through the pattern they’d been following for so long.

Jason pulled and Mike didn’t resist. Their lips met, firm and strong and hungry.

Jason pushed forward, his free hand snaking around Mike’s back, pulling their chests

together. Jason needed more and he ran his hand down to just above Mike’s ass,

holding him still as Jason pressed forward. Their abs lined up, long ripples of muscle

ridged deeply enough to be felt through two layers of clothing.

It was too much. The passion they’d shared fifteen years earlier was back, and it

had apparently only gotten stronger in the years apart. Jason surged forward, driving

Mike back into the door, and he refused to think about whether there was anyone on

the other side to hear the thud of their bodies against the solid wood. His lips left

Mike’s and traveled down over his neck, tasting the salty sweat from their exertions on

the ice. Mike moaned and tilted his head back, giving Jason more room, and Jason

absolutely took advantage of the offer. But he couldn’t stay there for long, couldn’t

explore and enjoy, not with the driving need that was coursing through his body.

Jason leaned forward, pressing in even harder against Mike, but he couldn’t get the

contact he needed. They were both wearing protective cups and Jason remembered the

mad shedding of their pads when they were younger, grabbing and struggling and

fighting with straps, almost mindless in their need to get rid of the barriers between

them.

He felt almost the same frenzy now and he fumbled with the elastic waistband of

Mike’s warm-up pants, shoved his hand inside while pushing the elastic down, and

then, Jesus Christ, underwear, a protective cup, too much crap between them! Jason

needed skin. He jerked Mike’s pants down and out of the way, was only a little more

gentle with easing the cup out and down, and then, finally, his fingers wrapped around

Mike’s hard, hot cock. Mike moaned again and his hand gripped the back of Jason’s

head, pulling their mouths together for a hard, almost desperate kiss.

It was easier for Jason to deal with his own clothes and he didn’t worry about

finesse; he got the fabric the hell out of the way and worked his cock into the groove of

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Mike’s hip. Then he caught it in the same hand that held Mike’s shaft and started

working them together, the soft skin of their cocks, the rougher, calloused palm of his

hand, friction and pressure and heat. Mike was breathing hard, almost gasping, and

Jason could hear his own breath as they strained together. Their bodies moved in time

with Jason’s hand, and it wasn’t long before they’d stopped even trying to kiss. Jason

bent his neck and found a tender spot on Mike’s shoulder. He latched on with his

mouth, sucking and biting almost unconsciously, like an animal.

Mike came first, his whole body arching into Jason’s, straining and clawing. Jason

was close behind, the wet gasps of Mike’s recovery giving him the soundtrack for his

own climax. He felt his hips grind forward, his hand forgotten as his body gave in to its

urge to rut. He turned his face into Mike’s neck and almost sobbed through his release.

He stayed there, probably for longer than he should have, and he let himself enjoy the

smells of Mike’s exertions, arousal and completion.

He managed to pull himself up a little and tilted his head to find Mike’s mouth.

When he realized just how far he was having to stretch his neck, he pulled himself a

little straighter. He realized just how stiff Mike’s body was and stepped backward so

quickly he almost lost his balance. What the hell had he just done?

They both stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide, bodies tense. Mike was the first to

move. He shook his head almost dazedly, and said, “Jesus Christ, Jase. This isn’t… this

isn’t part of the plan.” He tried to look Jason in the eye, but Jason was having none of

that, preferring to stare somewhere over Mike’s left shoulder. “This isn’t who I am,”

Mike said. “Not anymore.”

Jason had no idea what to say to that. He stuffed his softening cock back inside his

pants, trying to ignore the disgusting combination of drying sweat and still-warm

come, and tried to organize his thoughts as he straightened his clothing.

But apparently no clear thoughts were needed, because Mike had re-dressed even

more quickly than Jason had and was shifting awkwardly. “This was… it wasn’t

supposed to happen.” He turned quickly, opened the door and shut it behind him, and

just like that, he was gone.

Jason stood where he was for a long time. He wondered how bad he’d just screwed

everything up.

Home Ice

Chapter Four

Jason was a stress-cleaner. He’d used to be a stress-runner, powering his way

through the streets, working until his body was exhausted, until his brain was so busy

ordering his legs to stretch for one more step, his lungs to gasp in one more breath, that

there was no energy left for his worries. Since his injury, he cleaned. It wasn’t the same,

but it was better than nothing.

And now his house was spotless. It was only a two-bedroom, and it had been in

pretty good shape to start with, so it hadn’t taken long. Not long enough, really. He was

still stressed, and he wondered what his neighbors would think if he popped over for a

visit and just happened to be carrying a bucket and a mop. Given that he’d only

exchanged a few words with them in the five years he’d owned the house, probably

they’d think it was a little strange. His parents had moved out to Vancouver to be near

his sister when she’d had her first kid eight years earlier. He had friends, but they were

all part of the hockey world, and he wouldn’t be able to give them the answer they

would demand if he showed up at any of their houses with a need to de-stress.

He was just wondering whether he should re-shovel the snow on his driveway

when the doorbell rang. He checked his watch. Eight o’clock at night. Not late, but an

odd time for someone to just drop by. He pulled the door open. “Oh,” he said. He

probably should have been able to come up with something better, but it had been three

days since his disastrous decision in his office, and he hadn’t seen Mike since. It was a

bit startling to suddenly find the man on his doorstep.

“Hi,” Mike said, and his smile looked more like a grimace. “Can I come in?”
There was really only one answer to that and Jason stepped aside. As Mike moved

past him, Jason noticed the smell. “Chinese?” he asked, looking at the plastic bag

dangling from Mike’s fingers.

Mike looked sheepish. “I know. It’s pretty pushy. I was just at the place, and I

ordered too much, and I thought, you know—I’d check if you wanted any.”

Jason had no idea what to say. “You want a beer to go with it?”
Mike nodded gratefully. “That’d be great, man.”
The whole situation was a little surreal. At least Jason didn’t have to worry about

his house being presentable. He pulled two bottles of Keith’s out of the fridge and

twisted the tops loose, then returned to the front room. Mike had pulled his shoes off

and was standing uncertainly. It was kind of nice for Jason to feel in control of at least

part of the scenario. “Table or couch?” he asked.

“Uh, table, I guess? There’s quite a few dishes.”

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So Jason led the way into his dining room, found plates and forks and sat down.

Mike took the chair across the table and they didn’t talk much, just opened the various

dishes, scooped food onto their plates and ate. Jason had already had dinner, but he’d

been swimming extra laps lately and was always ready for food. And it was definitely

easier to fill his mouth than to use it to talk about whatever the hell had brought Mike

to Jason’s dining room.

But eventually, the silence became more awkward than the conversation, and Mike

took a swallow of beer and said, “I, uh—I need to apologize.”

Jason wasn’t too clear on that. “What for? I mean, probably I should be the one

apologizing but, you know—you weren’t around and I didn’t want to hunt you down.”

“Yeah, and that’s thing one that I should be apologizing for. Taking off like that. I

mean—I was a bit off-balance. But that was no way to treat a friend. I’m sorry.”

This was a bit much. “No, it’s fine. You freaked out. I get it. I don’t know what I

was thinking. Well, obviously I wasn’t thinking, in the strictest sense.” Jason needed to

stop talking. He lifted his bottle to his lips, but it was empty. Excellent! An excuse to

escape. He stood up and managed to not knock his chair over, then lifted his bottle in

explanation. “You want another?” He honestly didn’t know how he wanted Mike to

answer the question.

“Sure, yeah.” Mike was still sitting there, his eyebrows knitted together as if this

conversation wasn’t going in quite the direction he had anticipated. Which was fair,

really, because Jason hadn’t anticipated the conversation at all. So they were both a bit

surprised. Whatever came next, they’d be facing it on more or less equal footing, at least

in terms of expectations.

Jason twisted the caps off the beers and left them on the counter. They’d be

something to clean up, later. Then he took a deep breath and returned to the dining

room.

He handed the beer to Mike, ignoring how their fingertips brushed. He wasn’t a

little schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn’t going to get all worked up about that. But,

damn it, Mike’s fingers had been so warm compared to the cold of the beer bottle.

“That’s not all I’m sorry for,” Mike said in a low voice, and Jason had to call himself

back to the conversation.

“What?” Apparently he wasn’t calling himself back too effectively.
“I’m sorry I avoided you. That was a shitty thing to do. But…” Mike ran his hand

over his jaw, and Jason noticed a couple days’ worth of stubble there. He did not

wonder what it would feel like beneath his fingers, against his cheek or rubbed along

any other part of his body. He was not thinking that way. No. “Fuck!” Mike said

explosively, and finally Jason’s attention was caught. Especially when Mike stood up

and started moving around the room like a caged tiger. He stopped a few times to take

big swigs of beer, and Jason wasn’t sure if Mike was looking for liquid courage or just a

way to slow himself down.

Home Ice

“What’s going on, Mike?” Jason tried to sound calm and friendly. Easygoing,

maybe. That was worth shooting for.

Mike turned to stare at him, then shook his head. “You’re not the only one,” he said

quietly.

“The only one who…?”
“The only guy I’ve… fooled around with. Whatever.”
“Okay.” Jason wasn’t at all sure where this was going. “You’re not the only guy I’ve

fooled around with either.”

Mike snorted. “Yeah, I get that. I mean—are you just… are you full-on gay then?”
It was funny how much the word still made Jason’s skin crawl. He wasn’t ashamed

of who he was. He refused to be. But he’d kept it secret for so long, and if he was the

only one who knew about it, there was no need to use a word. He knew what he was,

without a label. But apparently Mike didn’t. “Yeah. Full-on.” Jason forced himself to

look Mike in the eyes as he said it, and Mike didn’t look away. Instead, he nodded.

“So maybe it’s easier for you.” Then he shook his head and started pacing again.

“Sorry, that’s bullshit. Maybe you just had the guts to admit to it earlier than I did. I

just—how do you do it? I mean…” He shook his head impatiently and took another

swallow of his beer. “Around the guys. Your teammates, and everybody…”

“Jesus, Mike, I’m not out.” Jason almost shivered as the chill crept down his spine

and over his body. What if that hadn’t been clear? What if Mike had left Jason’s house

and casually said something to somebody, thinking everyone knew? Now it was Jason’s

turn to take a deep swallow of his drink. He wondered if it was time to switch to

something stronger. “Nobody knows. Not even my parents, because my dad has a big

mouth and still has lots of friends in Pine Bay. My sister knows. And, you know… some

guys… out of town, always…”

“And people don’t ask questions? They don’t wonder why you’re still single?”

Mike seemed genuinely concerned.

That was a little tricky. “I think some of them do. Walt, maybe. Some of the locals,

who’ve known me forever. But we’ve got a kind of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell thing going

on. You know—as long as the team keeps winning, they want to keep me as the coach.

So they aren’t going to go snooping around, looking for reasons to get rid of me.”

“You think they’d actually do that? I mean, they couldn’t fire you for being gay.

There are laws.”

“Yeah. They couldn’t do it technically. But if we were losing, and they had to decide

whether to give me another chance or not—I don’t think being gay would help my

case.” Jason didn’t understand where this conversation was going. None of this was all

that important, at least not to Mike. But then, what was important? Maybe nothing. “So,

yeah, don’t worry about it. I mean, that’s what I’m doing—keeping things quiet—but

obviously I don’t need to be dragging you into it. At the rink, even. That was…well, like

I said, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

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“Could you stop apologizing, Jase? Seriously. In case you didn’t notice, I was there.

I was part of it, you know?”

“You didn’t start it, and you did stop it…”
“And in between, I was part of it. I…” He shook his head. “I was pretty fucking into

it, Jase.”

“But it’s not a good idea.” Jason tried to anticipate where this was going, but

apparently he wasn’t doing too well, because Mike’s eyebrows knotted together even

more tightly than before.

“Are you telling me that or asking me? I mean… do you want me to leave? Is this

over?”

“What? Is what over?” Now it was Jason’s turn to frown. “What are we talking

about?”

“Fuck,” Mike said again, but this time he was half-laughing. He paced a few more

steps, then turned back, and Jason saw the empty bottle in his hand.

Jason sprang to his feet and reached for the bottle. “You want another?” he asked,

but when he tried to take the bottle away, Mike didn’t surrender it. Instead, he raised it

slowly, bringing Jason’s hand along with him.

“No. I don’t want another.” Mike’s voice was low, almost husky, and Jason felt the

chill run down his spine again, but for a totally different reason this time.

Jason could end this, whatever it was. He could let go of the damn bottle, step back

and away from the whole damn thing. He could keep things safe, keep things sane. He

knew what the smart thing was, but somehow his fingers wouldn’t agree. He couldn’t

make himself let go of the cool brown glass. He also couldn’t make himself raise his

eyes to look directly at Mike.

“Jase?” Mike almost whispered. “I bought too much Chinese on purpose. I bought

too much last night too. And the night before. My fridge is full of little tinfoil pie plates.

I—Jase, I don’t know what I want, but it’s not more beer, and it sure as hell isn’t more

Chinese. I just—I’m sorry I avoided you for the last few days, but mostly, I’m really

fucking sorry I left your office in the first place. You know?”

Mike had shuffled a little closer as he spoke, and now the bottle was pressed

between them, the knuckles of Jason’s hand pressed into Mike’s stomach. Jason was still

looking down at the bottle. “Do you want me to go?” Mike asked softly.

And that, Jason realized, was out of the fucking question. He made his fingers let go

of the bottle by promising them that they’d soon have something much better to wrap

around, and then gave them a short-term reward by letting them grip the soft fabric of

Mike’s shirt.

Mike noticed the shift. “Yeah?” he asked, and Jason finally made eye contact.
“Fuck yeah.” And then they were kissing. One gentle, almost curious touch of their

lips, and then deep and wet, hands roaming, bodies pressing together at all possible

angles and the beer bottle dropping forgotten to the carpeted floor.

Home Ice

It became essential that Jason see Mike’s body. All of it, not just the parts he’d

managed to expose in the office. He’d known the boy, but he wanted to know the man.

Needed to. And Mike’s arms were up over his head as soon as Jason’s hands found

their way under his shirt, so obviously he wasn’t feeling too shy about anything. One

smooth lift and the fabric was gone, dropping onto the floor somewhere near the beer

bottle. They were going to have some tripping hazards soon if they weren’t careful, but

a fast way to get horizontal really just seemed like a bonus at this point.

There was no way Jason was going slow. Not unless Mike absolutely insisted, and

he didn’t seem so inclined. They fumbled with their clothes, both too hurried, too

frenzied for any kind of precision, and as they undressed, Jason steered them toward

the bedroom. The trail of clothes would be totally incriminating were anyone to see it,

but Jason’s blinds were closed and the door was locked. He was safe and he was going

to do whatever the hell he wanted.

By the time they were naked, they were in the bedroom. “Stay,” Jason instructed,

one hand flat on Mike’s chest for just a moment before Jason turned and pulled open

the drawer of his nightstand. “I want to fuck you. Okay?” They’d never done that

before. Hurried groping, rushed hand jobs and the occasional sloppy blowjob with

more enthusiasm than technique, that was what had gotten them off as kids. And it

would still absolutely be enough, but Jason wanted more. As much more as he could

get, and he hadn’t known how much he wanted it until the relief he felt at Mike’s nod.

“Yeah.” Mike turned as Jason returned, bracing his hands on the wall. “Like this?”

He sounded like it was a mix of a suggestion and a genuine question.

“Fuck yeah,” Jason agreed, but he slid around between Mike and the wall for

another deep kiss and his fingers found their home wrapped tight around Mike’s hard,

leaking cock. “Soon,” he decided, and pulled Mike into him, letting himself be pressed

up against the wall by the full stretch of Mike’s strong, lean body. He wrapped his hand

around both of their cocks, let Mike grind in and set a rhythm, and it would be so easy,

so perfect, to just finish it like that. Just like in the office, but without the frenzy. Slow

and easy and friendly. That would be good.

But Jason had no idea whether this was the start of something or just a one-time

thing, and if it was the latter, he wanted to be sure he’d taken full advantage of the

situation. It almost hurt to pull his skin away from Mike’s, but he forced himself to do

it, sliding around under Mike’s muscular arm with as little loss of contact as possible.

He opened the condom package with one hand and his teeth, and had to wrap his

fingers tight around himself for a moment when he felt Mike arch his back and cant his

ass out in readiness. “Fuck, Mikey,” he groaned. Mike turned his head and Jason leaned

in for a kiss. The angle was terrible, and the kiss was still perfect; Jason was pretty sure

he was in way over his head, but he didn’t seem to care.

A little lube, a gentle finger and then Jason eased his way into the tight warmth. He

forced himself to go as slowly as he could, but he could feel Mike tightening around

him, then relaxing, then tightening again as Mike’s body fought the intrusion and his

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mind fought his body. When he was all the way in, Jason leaned forward and wrapped

an arm around Mike’s chest, and whispered in his ear, “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” Mike replied, and he curled his hips a little, easing Jason part

way out before jerking back, slamming Jason’s cock home. “Let’s go, Jase,” he ordered.

Jason was happy to comply. They fell into a fast, hard rhythm that was still

somehow graceful and beautiful. Their bodies worked together, strained together, and

it felt like they were two parts of the same powerful animal. Jason could feel his climax

building, but he refused to let it overcome him. He wanted to keep moving like this

forever, his strength and speed met and matched by Mike’s, their bodies fused together

to create something perfect.

It wasn’t until Mike gasped out his own surrender that Jason finally let go, and the

crest of ecstasy turned his loss of control into a true victory. He rode it as far as he could

go and he could feel Mike right beside him the whole time.

Home Ice

Chapter Five

“Connor, step it up!” Jason yelled. He had no idea what was going on. Connor

usually had more enthusiasm than a busload of drunken fans, more focus than a crowd

of armchair athletes making their picks for the hockey pool. But the kid had been

dragging his ass for over a week. Jason resolved to talk to him about it after the practice.

They were in the playoffs now, and there was no room for a star player to have a bad

shift, let alone a bad game. Certainly not a bad week, although Jason really didn’t think

the kid had let whatever was bothering him affect his game play too much. Yet.

He tried to keep his focus on the ice. It wasn’t easy, not when he knew damn well

that Mike was up in the bleachers. It might not be professional, but he hoped Mike was

having as much trouble keeping his mind on his job as Jason was.

In the few weeks since that first night, things had fallen into place more smoothly

than Jason had ever thought possible. From something that might have been a one-

night stand, they’d somehow built a real relationship, without even seeming to try. It

was nerve-racking, trying to make sure they didn’t give themselves away, but they both

had a lot of practice at keeping things on the down-low.

Jason had assumed that he’d get used to seeing Mike, maybe even get bored at

some point, but the opposite seemed to be happening. The more Mike he got, the more

he wanted, and the feeling seemed to be reciprocated. They were both getting by on

minimal sleep. Their days were busy, Jason at the rink, Mike splitting his time between

hockey and his daughter; their nights were totally taken up with each other. They’d

meet at Jason’s for dinner because his house had more privacy. Mike was always careful

to park down the street, and he’d found a path through the woods at the back of Jason’s

house that brought him right to Jason’s heavily treed yard without anyone being able to

see. It was stealthy, but necessary.

They’d usually have at least one round of sex before dinner, falling on each other

greedily, re-learning the body that each had memorized the night before. Then a meal

and conversation, catching up on the years apart, reminiscing about the times before.

And it wasn’t all living in the past. They didn’t get into the future much, but they had

the present pretty well covered, talking about the team and their families and even

world events. Then more sex, slower this time, more relaxed. More like making love,

Jason figured, but he was trying to avoid all thoughts of that word, even in euphemism

form. He was trying, but he was finding it increasingly difficult.

He was pretty sure what was happening, pretty clear about just what he was falling

in, and refusing to call it by its name was only a stalling tactic. At some point, given

how unbelievably far gone he was, he was going to have to break down and start using

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the real words. But he didn’t feel like there was any real hurry. He and Mike had all the

time in the world.

He blew the whistle to end the practice and sent the kids off the ice. “Connor,” he

said softly as his captain skated by, head hanging low. “My office after you’re dressed,

okay?”

Jason wouldn’t have thought the kid could look any more miserable, but apparently

there was a way. Damn. There was definitely something going on. He resisted the urge

to look up to find Mike in the stands and followed the team off the ice and down the

long corridor.

One of his assistant coaches came in to discuss some line changes for the next game,

and there were tapes to watch and analyze, but Jason let it all go when Connor came in.

The assistant took the cue and gave Connor a friendly slap on the shoulder as they

traded places, Connor taking the chair across from Jason, the assistant heading out into

the hall and shutting the door behind him.

“Hi, Connor,” Jason started. He was always a little lost with this stuff. Things on the

ice made sense, but everything was trickier in the real world. “Look, Connor…you

know why you’re here. You’re not yourself lately. You’re dragging. And I don’t like

what that’s doing to the team.” Connor nodded quickly, accepting full responsibility as

usual, but Jason wasn’t done yet. “But what I really don’t like is worrying about what’s

causing it. Worrying about you.” He leaned back in his chair. The kid still wasn’t really

looking at him.

“Hey, Connor?” Jason waited, but there was no eye contact. “Connor,” he said

more firmly, and finally the kid looked up. Jason held his eyes, waited a moment, then

said, “Screw hockey, Connor.” Jason almost smiled at the shock in the kid’s eyes. He

supposed his words were something like a priest telling a parishioner to turn his back

on God. “I mean it. It’s just a game. It’s a great game and I love it, but it’s not all there is.

There’s more to life than just hockey, Connor.”

Connor looked almost afraid, and Jason wasn’t sure how to continue. He decided to

go for full honesty. “I say that because I don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with

your game, but there’s obviously still something wrong. So maybe it’s not something I

can help you with, but maybe I can find someone who can help you, if you need help.

Or maybe you just need to talk something out. I don’t know. This isn’t my strong suit,

Connor, but I want you to know I care and that I’d really like to help.”

Connor shook his head. “Not with this. You don’t want to help with this.”
“I’m pretty sure I do, kid.”
“No. You’ll hate me.” He wasn’t defiant, just defeated, and it almost broke Jason’s

heart.

“Jesus, Connor. I can honestly say that there’s not a thing I can think of that would

make me hate you. I mean, even if, I don’t know… even if you killed somebody. I’d

have a serious problem with it and I’d be pretty damn concerned and disappointed, but

I wouldn’t hate you, kid. So… have you killed somebody?”

Home Ice

Connor waited too long, but finally shook his head. “No.”
Jason let the pause go for quite a while before saying, “So here’s what I know.

About a week ago, you were normal. And then something happened, I guess, and now

you’re sad. Seriously, kid—are you talking to anybody about whatever this is? Parents?

Teachers or counselors or whatever? Girlfriend?” And there it was, that tiny jerk of

Connor’s head on the last word and Jason’s gut tightened. “Boyfriend?” he asked, his

voice quiet.

Connor’s head shot up, his eyes wide, and Jason raised his hands quickly, holding

them up as if to show that he was unarmed. “It’s okay, kid. Jesus. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Connor hissed.
Jason was, again or still, totally lost. But he couldn’t walk away now. “Why not?

What’s wrong?”

Connor looked up with a near-snarl on his face. “What are you talking about? You

said ‘boyfriend’. You know what I am.”

“Gay?” It was apparently easier to use the word in reference to somebody else. “If

you are, that’s fine. And if you aren’t, or you maybe are, or you’re trying something out

just to see… that’s all fine too. Seriously, kid.” Jason tried a smile. “Remember when I

said that there’s more to life than hockey? Well, here’s the real secret, Connor. There’s

more to life than sex too. There’s more to life than every damn thing, because life is

huge. And pretty damn great.”

He caught himself before he let his own happiness become obnoxious. “And pretty

damn terrible sometimes too.” Connor was at least looking at him, at least listening, and

Jason wished he had something better to say. “But this didn’t just all occur to you

overnight. What happened last week? What set this off?”

Connor looked away from Jason and down toward his own hands. There were tears

in his eyes when he looked back up and whispered, “My dad caught us.”

“Fuck.” Jason didn’t usually drop the F-bomb in front of the players, but this one

seemed justified. Connor’s dad was one of the most hockey-driven, crazily ambitious

hockey parents on the team. He was completely supportive of anything that seemed

likely to improve Connor’s chances of getting to the NHL and completely hostile

toward anything that might become a distraction, or that broke the expected pattern of

behavior. Jason tried to focus his reaction into something useful. “What’d he say?”

Connor took a deep breath. “He kicked Andrew—the guy—my boyfriend or

whatever—my dad kicked him out of the house. Like, almost threw him out. I don’t

think he was going to give him a chance to get dressed, until he realized that the

neighbors might see. Might start wondering why there was a naked teenage boy on our

front lawn.” Jason wasn’t used to hearing this bitter tone from Connor and he really

wanted to never hear it again.

But he felt like he needed a few more details. “And what did he say to you?”
Connor shrugged, and looked back down at his hands. “He swore at me. And he

broke some of my stuff. My cell phone, my computer. But then the next day he said I

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couldn’t be, I was just fucking stupid. I was too useless to know when someone was

taking advantage of me and too weak to stand up to someone who was—he said

‘molesting’—too weak to keep someone from molesting me.” The words came out in a

rush, as if Connor wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish if he spoke more slowly.

That was a troubling twist. “How old is Andrew?” Jason asked softly, but Connor

shook his head impatiently.

“He’s seventeen, same as me. It was—it wasn’t forced or anything. We were just

fooling around. We both wanted to.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Jason sighed. He had no idea where to go with this. “Look, Connor.

Lots of people are gay. And lots of people your age are struggling with this crap. It

sucks that your dad’s being that way about it, but… it’s not about you, okay? It’s about

him.”

“But what about the team? Andrew’s really pissed at my dad, and my dad won’t let

me see him, so I can’t calm him down. What if he says something? What if it gets out?”

Connor’s eyes were wide again, his body moving jerkily.

“That’d suck.” Jason really hoped honesty was the best policy. “A lot. I mean, there

are homophobic assholes out there and it’s not Andrew or anyone else’s right to expose

you to their shit.” How many times had he made that argument to himself? “But in

terms of the team? There had better not be a goddamn change about anything on the

team, and if this gets out, which it probably won’t, but if it does, I will fully expect your

teammates to stand by you.”

Jason could officially expect it, at least, but his mind was racing, wondering which

of the kids would be openly hostile and which would be polite but distant. He

wondered if there was a single player who wouldn’t change his attitude at least a little.

“And I will guaran-fucking-tee that your coach doesn’t give a shit.” That part at least he

was sure of.

There was another pause while Connor looked at his hands and Jason wildly

searched his mind for something more to say. Something better. But when Connor

finally looked up, the wild eyes were gone. His voice was still subdued, but his usual

quick smile was back as he said, “Damn, Coach, you’re swearing a lot today. You

feeling okay?”

Jason snorted a quick, relieved laugh. “I’m a little tense, maybe. A really great kid

just came to me with a problem, and I honestly don’t know if I did a damn thing to help

him with it.”

“You did,” Connor said, then shifted a little. “You really mean it? About not giving

a shit?”

Jason nodded firmly. “Absolutely, Connor. I’m your coach. I’m in charge of your

hockey development. Who you’re attracted to, who you have sex with, who you fall in

love with—that’s not hockey. It’s none of my business. And even if it were my business,

I wouldn’t have a problem with it. At all.”

Home Ice

“And the guys? You really think they wouldn’t mind? I mean—what if I told them?

What if I came out?” His young face was alight with a new hope.

Jason felt bad about it, but he needed to put that light out pretty damn quickly. “I

don’t think it’s a good idea, Connor. I can keep them from openly being assholes, but I

can’t control them completely. I can’t make them be relaxed around you or feel the

same way toward you. I’m not saying it’s right, but I don’t want to lie to you.” And the

next part was even harder to say, because boys would be boys, but the adults were

likely to be just as bad, if not worse.

“And I can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t affect your career. You might have noticed

that there’s not a lot of out players in the NHL. Like—none. Maybe you’d be fine as the

first, or maybe it’d make things harder. I don’t know. It’s a gamble though, and the

thing is—you’re seventeen. Once you’re out, you can’t get back in, right? I wouldn’t

rush into anything.”

It seemed cowardly. But how could Jason sit back and let the kid take a chance that

Jason himself was unwilling to take? And Connor seemed to get the message, his brief

moment of optimism fading away as quickly as it had developed. “Yeah,” he said

quietly. “Okay.”

It didn’t seem like there was too much more to say, but Jason wasn’t sure how they

were leaving things. “So—are you okay? I mean—you and your dad? Is that okay?”

“I should talk to him again, right?” Connor seemed to be asking Jason for

something more than just what was apparent in the question, but Jason couldn’t figure

out just what was needed. “I should—I mean, he saw us. And I’m seventeen. Most of

the guys on the team, they’re away from their parents already. It’s just because I had the

bad luck to get drafted by a local team…”

“You think this would be easier if you were living in a billet somewhere? Maybe,

maybe not.” Most of the billeting families Jason knew were at least as hockey-crazy as

the players living with them, but that didn’t automatically mean they were intolerant.

“Look, Connor. You’ve got another year or two, and then you’re gone. Hopefully the

NHL, maybe Europe. You’re a great player, Connor; if you want to play hockey, there’s

going to be a team somewhere that wants you. And once you’re out of the house, out of

Pine Bay, you can… I mean, not go crazy, but you can live your life, you know?”

“But still in secret,” Connor said. “The guys talk about girls, pretty much

constantly. You’ve heard some of it…”

“I heard it in my own day too, Connor. Things haven’t changed that much.”
“I keep quiet, but if somebody pushes—I just lie. They’re my teammates. They’re

supposed to be like brothers. And I lie to them.” He shook his head violently. “I don’t

want to lie to them. To everybody.”

Jason wished he had a drink. The coach before him had kept a bottle in his desk

drawer, but the coach before him had been fired for being constantly tipsy. Jason

sighed. “Connor. I can’t tell you what you need to do. I’ve warned you about what

might happen if you come out, but I can’t tell you what will happen inside you if you

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don’t. You’ve got to figure that out on your own.” Connor was frowning, the intense

look he wore when he was watching game tapes. “The only thing I can tell you, for

absolute sure—I’ve got your back, kid. Any way I can, any way you decide to go. Okay?

This isn’t you, alone. You’ve got people on your side.”

Connor nodded slowly, and Jason let him take a moment to let the words sink in.

When the kid stood up, Jason stood up too and walked around the desk. “You’re

okay?” Jason asked once more, and Connor shook his head, but he smiled weakly as he

did it.

“Not entirely. But I will be, right?”
Jason wrapped an arm around the kid’s back and gave him a rough squeeze that

turned into a full hug as Connor turned, quick and almost furtive, and buried his head

in Jason’s shoulder. “You’re going to be great, Connor. Just give it time.”

And then Connor pulled away, opening the door of the office before he was even

fully extricated from Jason’s arms. There was a crowd waiting outside, Connor’s dad

and some of the assistant coaches, Mike and Walt, and they all turned as the door

opened. Jason felt bad for sending the kid out into that, but Connor charged on, looking

at his dad and saying, “I’m sorry. Coach needed to talk to me. I can go now.”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal; Jason talked to players one-on-one all the time; it

was kinder to criticize them in private than in public and it was pretty obvious that

Connor had been due for a strict talking-to. But Jason felt too many eyes on him, and he

had to force himself not to look at Mike for comfort. He’d deal with whatever he needed

to, and then he’d get himself home and Mike would be there. Once he got to Mike,

everything would be good again.

Home Ice

Chapter Six

“I felt like a total fraud,” Jason said, his voice a little muffled by Mike’s hard

shoulder. It wasn’t the most efficient way to have a conversation, wrapped around each

other in the tangled sheets of Jason’s king-size bed, but it was pretty damn pleasant.

As were Mike’s fingers, soothingly running through Jason’s hair. “You didn’t lie to

him.” They’d already covered the whole conversation the night before, but Jason was

having trouble getting it out of his head and Mike was a patient sounding board. He

was also a lot more, Jason remembered, as the hand wrapped around his cock squeezed

a little tighter.

Jason tried to keep his mind on the conversation. This was their morning routine,

these days. Conversation mixed with sex so languorous it was barely sex at all. Right up

to the point where one of them gave in and made it into something more. But Jason

wasn’t at that point yet. “I didn’t tell him the whole truth either. I mean—when I was

his age, dealing with all this crap… How much easier would it have been for me if there

was somebody there who’d already been through it?”

He had his hand on Mike’s cock, returning the favor, but now he gave in to

temptation and started sliding down Mike’s body, kissing his way along the collarbone

to the hair on his chest. It would mean that Mike’s hand wouldn’t reach Jason’s groin

anymore, but Jason would take that sacrifice.

“You’re his coach, not his counselor. Sure, it would have been nice for him to know

he wasn’t alone, but that doesn’t mean it’s your job to give that to him.” Mike gasped

and involuntarily arched his back as Jason nipped and then sucked on his nipple. He

managed to regain his composure fairly quickly though. Jason was impressed. “It

would have been a bonus, but it’s not an obligation you have. And given your—oh

damn.”

Jason had reached his target and he sucked the head of Mike’s dick just a little

harder as a reward for the positive feedback. “Jesus, Jason,” Mike said, his voice barely

audible. Then he collected himself, somehow, as Jason slid his lips, tight and wet,

slowly down Mike’s shaft. “Given your position on the team and in the community—it

would be a hell of a risk for you.”

Jason knew all this. He’d told it to himself and he’d listened to Mike remind him of

it the night before. He concentrated on his technique for a bit, then lifted his mouth free

for long enough to say, “I still feel like shit though.”

“Yeah,” Mike said softly, and he pulled gently on Jason’s hair until Jason took the

cue and slid his way back up until their mouths met. “That’s because you’re a good

guy,” Mike murmured, and they rolled over onto their sides, facing each other, and

their mouths were too busy for talking for a while.

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Their hands were joined, wrapped around their matched cocks and setting a slow,

easy rhythm, and when they weren’t kissing, Jason let himself stare. He could spend

hours looking at Mike’s eyes, but they were closed now, the slight crease between them

the only clue that Mike wasn’t asleep. But even without the eyes, the man was a visual

treat. There was a tiny scar on his cheekbone, almost lost in the hairline, and Jason

kissed it softly. There were seven faint freckles on the outer rim of his ear, and they got

a kiss as well, but then Jason had to go back to Mike’s strong mouth, his lips soft, but

firm, and always waiting for Jason’s. Their tongues joined, twisted and withdrew, then

repeated the process, and Jason was close to losing his cool, but he was pretty sure that

Mike was closer.

And that was good, because Jason had been the one to break first for the last three

days, and his pride demanded that he demonstrate at least a little self-control. But he

wasn’t sure he was going to make it, not with Mike breathing like that, quick little gasps

with an almost musical note to them, so it was time for desperate measures. He bent his

head and nuzzled in until he found the sensitive skin just above Mike’s collarbone, the

spot that practically brought Mike to his knees even when he wasn’t already on the

brink of orgasm. He tightened his grip on Mike’s cock just as he nipped the skin and

then flattened his lips into a deep, wet, sucking kiss, and he could feel Mike’s body

shudder beside him.

“Oh Jase, fuck,” Mike managed, and Jason showed no mercy. He ramped it up,

instead, a full-body onslaught of wrapping legs and gripping fingers and writhing

chests, and his mouth never left its chosen spot.

He didn’t relent until Mike finally stilled, and even then, he kept his mouth busy.

They hadn’t done this before, both of them too worried about discovery to leave any

signs behind, but damn it, Mike belonged to Jason and Jason wanted to mark him. Mike

could cover it with a shirt, easily.

Mike apparently didn’t mind, lacing his fingers through the hair on the back of

Jason’s head and gently encouraging him. When Jason finally pulled away, there was a

purplish bruise where his mouth had been, and he gave it a quick lick and then a gentle

kiss. Mike used his hand to bring their mouths together for a kiss, and then kept

guiding Jason farther up.

Damn. Yeah. This was perfect. Mike flat on his back, Jason hovering over him,

hands braced on the headboard, cock slipping easily between Mike’s wet, kiss-swollen

lips. It would be too easy to lose control, but Mike’s hand on Jason’s hip was gentle and

encouraging, not restrictive. When Mike tilted his head enough to find a better angle,

Jason slid deeper and Mike hummed in satisfaction. It was beautiful and Jason lowered

one hand to let his fingers play along the side of Mike’s mouth, feeling the skin stretch

and tighten, and then release as Jason slid out.

Jason felt his body tensing, felt the warmth beginning to spread, but as usual with

Mike, he fought to hold it off. He didn’t want this to end, not ever. But as it always did,

Jason’s orgasm finally came, and as always happened, nothing really ended. He pulled

out of Mike’s welcoming mouth as he spasmed and aimed as well as he could for the

Home Ice

spot on Mike’s chest. When he regained some control, he slid down, lying on his side

next to Mike. As they kissed, Jason combed his fingers up through Mike’s chest hair, up

to the mark he’d left by Mike’s collarbone. His aim had been good and he rubbed his

cum into the bruise he’d left, like soothing cream after a tattoo.

“Mine,” he said softly.
“Yeah, it’s yours, Jase. It’s also fucking gross.” But there was laughter in Mike’s

voice and his kiss was warm.

Jason was pretty sure he should let it go at that, but everything felt safe and sure,

wrapped up in this bed with this man. “I meant you,” he said, his eyes still on the mark

he had left. “I meant that you’re mine.” He pulled back from Mike’s face, far enough

that he could look for any signs of alarm or confusion.

He saw neither. Mike just nodded. “Yeah. Yours.” Then he grinned. “And if we’re

getting all territorial…” He ran his fingers down Jason’s body as if selecting a spot.

That was when the doorbell rang. “Fuck,” Mike said. “Don’t answer it.”
“My car’s out front—it’s pretty obvious I’m at home.” Jason frowned and looked at

his watch. “Maybe they’ll think I’m in the shower.”

The doorbell rang again and Jason’s stomach tightened. Maybe this was something

more than just an inconvenience. He thought of his family out in BC and wondered if

the cops still did that, came by in person to spread bad news. The doorbell rang again

and Jason pulled himself away from Mike. “You can stay in here. If it sounds like it’s

going to go long, you could head out through the back.” He nodded to the patio doors

that led from his bedroom to the deck and then the backyard. “Your clothes are all in

here? Your keys?”

“They’re in my coat pocket,” Mike said. He’d come in the back way the day before,

so all of his outdoor clothes were piled by the patio doors. But his voice sounded

lifeless, totally removed from the situation.

There was heavy knocking on the door now. Whoever was there wasn’t going

away. Jason wanted to stay and sort this out with Mike, but he had to get the door. He

couldn’t just hide in his bed cocoon forever. “Hopefully it’s just a really, really devout

Jehovah’s Witness,” he said, and he gave Mike a quick kiss, which was returned with a

barely civil formality. Fuck. But he had to go.

He pulled on the pajama pants that he’d never managed to get into the night before,

found a T-shirt on the floor and pulled the bedroom door three-quarters shut before

heading down the hall. He braced himself, pulled the door open and found Walt

standing on his doorstep.

His relief lasted until he saw the look on the man’s face. “Walt. What the hell?”
“I need to come in, kid,” the older man said, and Jason stepped aside. Walt didn’t

take his coat off, but he closed the door behind him. “There’s trouble with Connor

James.”

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Jason’s stomach tightened. He’d heard the suicide stats for gay kids. He’d thought

things were okay, but what if they hadn’t been? Or if it was just an accident, but maybe

something caused by recklessness… “What happened?” he managed.

“I only have sketchy details. His dad called last night, left messages on my machine

at the rink. I listened to them this morning, after the cops called.”

“The cops?” Jesus. So it was something big. “Is Connor—is he okay? Was it an

accident?”

“An accident?” Walt looked confused. “No. What they’re saying—it’s a hell of a

mess, but none of it sounds accidental.”

“Jesus, Walt, is Connor okay or not?”
Walt took a moment, then nodded. “He’s at home with his parents.”
Jason hadn’t realized how far through his body the tension had spread until it

finally began to relax. “Okay. Damn, you had me scared there. So—what’s going on?

Why are the cops involved?”

Walt looked searchingly into Jason’s face, and was apparently satisfied by what he

saw, because he unzipped his coat and nodded toward the couch. “Sit down, Jason.”

“What? Walt?”
“Jason.” Walt’s age and authority exerted themselves and Jason walked meekly

over to the couch and sat down. Walt apparently reserved the privilege of walking

around the room for himself. “Jason. They’re saying you…saying you interfered with

the kid somehow.”

“Interference?” It made no sense at all.
Walt snorted. “Not the penalty, Jason. Jesus. They’re saying—I don’t know. They’re

saying you were involved with him somehow. Like—like you molested him or

something.”

“What?” Jason’s first response was confusion, but then the panic set in. “They’re

saying what?” And Walt’s orders be damned, Jason needed to move. He stood up and

strode over to where Walt was standing by the window. “What the fuck are they saying

I did? Who’s saying it? Connor is?”

Walt shook his head. “I don’t know yet, kid. I called the dad back this morning, but

he wouldn’t talk to me. Said his lawyers have told him to have no contact with the

team. So all I have to go on is the messages from last night. And they were pretty

incoherent.” Another head shake. “I’ve called the league and the owners…” He saw

Jason’s expression and grimaced. “I know, kid, but I had to. I have to play this by the

book. You’ve got nothing to hide, right?” He stepped a little closer. “I think I actually

need to hear you say that. I know I shouldn’t, but in this day and age, with things the

way they are… I need to hear you say you’ve got nothing to hide.”

Well, that was the kicker, ’cause Jason had plenty to hide, and he was pretty sure

Walt knew or at least suspected quite a bit of it. He chose his words carefully. “I have

never touched that kid, or any other kid, in a sexual way. I haven’t… Jesus, I don’t

Home Ice

know what they’re accusing me of, but I haven’t done anything wrong. Connor’s

having some trouble, I talked to him about it and I thought things were… well, not fine,

but I thought things were better. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

“Yeah.” Walt sounded satisfied, but not exactly happy. “We need more facts. But

we also need to get in front of this thing. Just the accusation is bad and the team needs

to cover their ass. You understand that, right?”

“I don’t—what does that mean, ‘cover their ass’? What are you saying? What’s

going to happen?” Jason could hear the panic in his voice and he thought of Mike,

fifteen feet away, listening at the door. He tried to draw strength from the thought, but

he could only think of how crazy it was that Mike had to stay hidden.

“I don’t know, kid. We need to hear what Connor’s saying. He’s seventeen, right?

So it wouldn’t be statutory rape, I don’t think. Except that you’re in a position of

authority, so that might change things. Look, Jason—you need a lawyer.”

“A lawyer.” Jason had been to a lawyer once, when he bought his house. That was

it. He was pretty sure the real estate guy wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to about this.

He looked out the window and saw the police cruiser pull into his driveway. Two OPP

officers got out and he recognized both of them. He’d gone to school with Steve and

Sean played a lot of hockey at the rink. And now they were here. For this. Jason thought

he might be sick. “The police,” he said loudly. He was pretty sure it was time for Mike

to get the hell out of the house. “In my driveway.”

Walt looked as if he wasn’t sure about Jason’s sanity, but he crossed to the window

and looked out. “Yeah. Shit. Things are happening fast.” He looked at Jason. “A lawyer,

kid. I’m serious. You can’t play around with this.”

“Jesus, Walt, I am in no way playing around. Do you know a lawyer? Somebody

who handles stuff like this?”

“No. But somebody will. Look, Jason, like I said—the team can’t support you, not

openly. They can’t take the bad PR from something like that. But you need to know that

I believe in you. I’ll help, if I can.”

“But you can’t, so I should fuck off.” Jason didn’t mean to take this out on Walt, but

he had no one else to aim his negativity at and there were cops climbing the front steps

of his house. “Are they going to arrest me?” He looked down at his thrown-on clothes.

He was not even wearing underwear, for Christ’s sake.

The doorbell rang as Walt said, “I don’t know,” and Jason was getting pretty damn

sick of hearing that. It was almost a relief to cross the floor and yank the door open,

letting him look at the faces of two people who might have some better idea of what the

hell was about to happen to Jason.

Kate Sherwood

Chapter Seven

“Steve. Sean.” Jason tried to keep his tone businesslike, but he didn’t have quite the

same degree of control over his words. “What the fuck is going on?”

Steve took the lead. “Can we come in, Jason?” He didn’t sound friendly, exactly, but

he was warmer than Jason would have been if he were speaking to a suspected child

molester. Or whatever it was, when the kid in question was seventeen.

“Yeah,” Jason said. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he needed to be getting a

lawyer and pleading the fifth, even though he knew that was only from American cop

shows and really didn’t apply in Canada. But he could be pleading something, surely.

Instead, he was just pleading for information. He stepped aside, and as the men

entered, he said, “Seriously. What the fuck is going on?”

The police glanced around the room and Steve looked from Walt back to Jason. “We

need to ask you some questions. Would you prefer to do it in private?”

Jason’s first instinct was to say no. Walt was a friend and it was nice to have some

support in the room. And surely it was best to have everything out in the open, with

Walt knowing as much as Jason did. But then he remembered Walt’s earlier words and

a bubble of righteous indignation rose up in his chest. “Yeah. I would.” He turned to

the GM. “You represent the team, Walt, and you just told me that I was on my own and

the team couldn’t support me. So you know what? You and the team can get the fuck

out of my living room, Walt.”

Walt looked sad and Jason had to smother a quick flare of guilt. Jason was being

accused of something that could end his career and send him to jail; he didn’t have time

to worry about Walt’s hurt feelings. “Stay in touch,” Walt said softly, and he gripped

Jason’s elbow as he passed by him on the way to the door. It shouldn’t have made Jason

feel like crying.

When the heavy door closed behind Walt, Steve gestured to the couch. “Do you

want to sit down?” he asked. “And is it okay if we do?”

“Yeah.” Jason wondered if he should be offering coffee or something, but the rituals

of civility were beyond him. “So—Walt told me a bit. But I still don’t understand.

What’s going on?”

Steve opened a notebook. “What we’d like to do is take a statement from you,

Jason. It’s all pretty informal so far, but I should warn you that you’ll be asked to sign

your statement as being a true representation of the facts of the case, and as such, the

statement could be used against you in court if charges are ever brought. Are you okay

with this?”

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“No.” Jason tried to fight back the panic. “Jesus. I need a lawyer, right? Steve? Sean?

I mean—a lawyer. That’d be useful.”

Steve nodded impartially. “You certainly have a right to legal representation, and if

you can’t afford your own, there are Legal Aid lawyers available to help.” He frowned,

and for the first time there was an acknowledgment that he and Jason weren’t total

strangers. “But I think you probably make too much money to qualify.”

“No, I can pay. I just—Jesus. I don’t want to drag this out. I mean, there must be

some misunderstanding or something, right?” He decided to try the same line that had

worked on Walt. “I have never touched a kid inappropriately or done anything at all

sexual with any kid. Not since I was a kid myself. Seriously. So I just want this to go

away. Getting a lawyer—that’s going to take time…”

Sean spoke for the first time, and he was the first of the two to look directly at Jason.

“Get a lawyer, man.” His voice was low and steady, and after exchanging a quick look

with Steve, he said, “Bill James is making some pretty strong accusations. Shit that

could put you in jail, if it comes out to be true.”

“Yeah, okay, but it’s totally not true.” Jason felt like maybe he had a chance here.

Steve and Sean knew him. They’d known him for years. “Does a lawyer just make me

look guilty? Or—can I hear the questions you were going to ask and then maybe I can

answer them, just to clear things up?”

Another look exchanged between the two, and then Steve said, “We’re still at the

preliminary stages until we get a statement from Connor. But the big question we have

for you today is just—can you tell us what went on in your office yesterday between

you and Connor?”

“Wait.” There was too much there. “Connor hasn’t made a statement? This is all

coming from his dad? Just from Bill?” But then Jason was stuck. What could he say?

That Bill James was a homophobic asshole who was accusing everyone of everything he

could think of to get around the fact that his precious hockey star son just happened to

be gay? Jason couldn’t say that without giving away the very secret that he’d advised

Connor to keep. Jason couldn’t even give a full account of the conversation in his office

without giving away the secret.

He was tempted to do it. He hadn’t even promised Connor that he’d keep it quiet.

There was no real confidence to betray, was there? Hell, Connor seemed to be half-

considering coming out all on his own, so why should Jason risk his career and his

freedom just to protect a secret that the kid maybe didn’t even value?

He took a deep breath, thought of Connor’s tense, miserable face and said,

“Connor’s been playing poorly. Not really bad, but not as good as he usually is. I called

him to my office to discuss the problem. We talked about… some stuff. He’d been

fighting with his dad, shit like that. I guess he felt better, because on the way out he

gave me a hug. Bill saw that, I think. But that’s all there was. There was nothing sexual,

nothing inappropriate, nothing.” He took a deep breath. “What does Bill say

happened?”

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But Steve was back to being professional. “Do you have anything you’d like to add

or change about that statement? We can have it typed up and you’ll have a chance to

review it and make any necessary changes before you sign it.”

“Sign it?” Jason shook his head. “Okay, that’s what happened, but I’m not signing

shit until I have a lawyer look it over.”

Sean nodded, as if satisfied that Jason was taking a smart path. Steve, on the other

hand, was frowning. “If it’s the truth, why don’t you want to sign it?”

Sean’s voice was sharp. “Jesus, Steve, it’s Jason. Let it go.”
And if there was a breach in their united front, maybe Jason could capitalize on it.

He addressed himself to Sean. “What does Bill say happened?”

Sean glanced at Steve, then back to Jason. “It doesn’t matter what Bill says. He

wasn’t there, not for any of the shit he’s talking about. It matters what Connor says, and

we haven’t talked to him yet. So don’t worry about Bill.”

Jason wished it was that easy. “When are you talking to Connor?”
Sean shrugged. “We were supposed to see him this morning, but his dad called and

postponed until this afternoon.”

That didn’t sound good. “Listen, Sean…” Jason wasn’t sure how much he could

say. “Bill—from what Connor was saying, things haven’t been too good between them

lately. Like, pretty explosive. When you see Connor, can you check and be sure that he’s

okay?”

Sean nodded, but then Steve cut in. “But you need to be sure that you have no

contact with the minor. We can get a restrictive order from the court if we need to, but

for now…” He shrugged and went back to “friendly Steve” mode. “Keep away from

him, Jason. No phone calls, no e-mails or texts or anything else electronic and absolutely

no in-person contact.”

“I don’t—yeah. I don’t text my players. But how can I coach him if I can’t talk to

him?”

Steve looked surprised. “I assume the team is going to find someone else to coach

until this is cleared up. I mean—you can’t be anywhere near that kid, Jason, and the

team’s playing with fire if they let you near any underage player.”

It was obvious now that he heard it, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to Jason

before. “It’s the playoffs,” he said lamely.

“That’s the least of your worries,” Steve said, and he didn’t sound cruel so much as

matter-of-fact. “Stay at home. Talk to your lawyer. Stay away from teenage boys.”

Jesus. That was Jason’s whole career, gone. He’d dreamed of going to the Big

League, someday, sure. He hadn’t made it as a player, but maybe he could make it as a

coach. But that wasn’t going to happen with a cloud of accusations hanging over him.

And short of the NHL, what hockey didn’t involve teenagers? The younger kids, he

supposed, but he wasn’t naive enough to think he had a chance of getting anywhere

Home Ice

near them. This needed to go away. He felt sick again and wanted to sit down. But first

he wanted the cops the hell out of his house.

“What’s next?” he asked weakly.
We’ll be in touch. We’ll want another statement, based on what we hear from

Connor. But in the meantime—yeah. Stay away from the rink. Stay away from the

players.” Steve sounded almost, but not quite, sympathetic.

“Get a lawyer,” Sean repeated on his way to the door. “Lawyers are good at

gathering information, guiding you through the whole mess. They’re useful. You need

one.”

“Guiding me through,” Jason repeated. It sounded like exactly what he needed.

Now he just needed to figure out how to get the right lawyer. Jesus. Half an hour earlier

he’d been curled up in bed, wondering if it was possible to OD on happiness. Now…

He was shutting the door behind the cops when Sean stuck his head back in. He

jerked his head toward his partner, proceeding down the steps. “He’s got an eight-year-

old son,” Sean said, and Jason realized that Sean was explaining his partner’s attitude.

But it made no sense.

“But Connor’s seventeen. And I didn’t do anything…” It was his honest response,

but as soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself. He should have asserted his

innocence first.

But Sean didn’t seem too fazed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But being a dad makes you

crazy.”

Jason shut the door behind them and resisted the urge to slide down it and collapse

into a ball on the floor. He couldn’t give in to the shock. He needed to keep going. He

needed to trust in Connor, he realized. The scared, miserable kid from his office. Jason

had done his best for the kid, and now he needed to hope the kid would have the guts

to return the favor. Connor had seemed like he was working himself back to strength

the day before, but his father hadn’t been around in Jason’s office.

He stumbled back into the bedroom. As soon as he pushed the door open, Mike

stood up from where he’d been crouched on the edge of the big leather armchair. He

looked anxious, and maybe a little freaked out. “Jesus, Jase,” he said, and he stepped

forward.

Jason stepped back. He hadn’t known he was going to do it. A few moments earlier,

all he’d wanted was to crawl back into his warm bed with Mike, snuggle in and hide.

But now he took another step backward and Mike stopped moving.

“You okay?” Mike’s voice was low and soft, like he was speaking to a frightened

animal.

Jason shook his head violently. Of course he wasn’t okay. “You heard it all?”
“Most of it. Look, Jase, they said they hadn’t even spoken to Connor yet. He’s a

stand-up kid. He won’t lie. His dad’s just out of control, blaming everybody he can

think of. This is going to blow over, Jase.”

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“Yeah.” Jason kept his hand on the door. “But you should go. Until things calm

down. This isn’t something you need to get mixed up in.”

“What?” Mike frowned. “No, man, I can—I don’t know. But I can do something. I

mean…”

“What can you do? Seriously, Mike. What can you fucking do?” Jason didn’t want

to start feeling sorry for himself, but the situation was totally unworkable. “There’s

going to be a lot of eyes on me now. And a lot of the people who went with the Don’t

Ask, Don’t Tell… they’re going to start asking, Mike.” He leaned against the door jamb

as the horrific consequences played out before him. “You need to walk away from this.

For both of us. If you’re around, you’re the boyfriend. So that’s you, outed. And for

me—if people know I’m gay—fuck. For some of these assholes, it’s a pretty small step

between ‘gay’ and ‘pedophile’. Or whatever it would be if I was fucking around with a

seventeen-year-old player. Just sexually out of control, maybe.”

“So we’ll be more careful,” Mike started, but Jason couldn’t let himself think that

way.

He needed this to be as clean as possible. He needed to keep this disaster contained

to his life and not let it spread to Mike’s. It was the least he could do. “No. This has…

it’s been good, Mike. But it wasn’t like we were going to get married or something. It

was never going to last forever, right?” Maybe in Jason’s dreams, but not in reality.

“This is a messy way to do it, but it’ll get a hell of a lot messier if anybody finds out.”

He straightened up and tried to look strong and determined. “You need to go. I

appreciate the good wishes, but I need to do this on my own.”

“Do what? Do you have a plan? A lawyer? I’ve got a guy in Toronto—not criminal,

but it’s a big, high-power firm. They’ll have somebody. I’ll give them a call…”

“No. Fuck, Mike, you need to stay the hell out of it.” Jason was starting to feel a bit

crazy again. He wanted so much to give in, to let Mike take care of him and let the chips

fall where they might. But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t let himself be that weak. He

loved Mike. He’d suspected before, but the pain of letting him go made it crystal clear

now. He loved Mike and he wouldn’t let himself destroy someone he loved. “It’s done.

We’re over. Go.”

“Jase, come on.” Mike looked like he was out of words, but he didn’t really need

any. His broad shoulders, his strong hands, stretched out pleadingly… they were as

compelling an argument as Jason could imagine. It would feel so good to walk into that

embrace, to let all of this go away.

“Please go,” he said. He tried to keep his voice steady. “I need you to leave.”
Mike shook his head, but he reluctantly stepped toward the door, picking up his

jacket on the way. “I’ll go for now, okay? But I’ll call you tonight.”

“I won’t answer.”
“Jason, what the fuck?”

Home Ice

Jason couldn’t stand up to much more of this. It was time for drastic measures.

“Jesus, Mike, how much clearer can I make it? You were a good time, okay? Seriously, I

enjoyed it. But it’s no longer convenient. I’ve got some shit to deal with now, and by the

time it’s wrapped up, I’ll be ready for somebody new. So let’s just keep things tidy. Off

you go.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands, hoping that it would distract from

the way his voice was tight and almost trembling.

“Jase…” Mike said. His hand was under his jacket, his fingers gently rubbing just

above his collarbone. He was pressing the bruise Jason had left on him. The claim Jason

had made and was now rejecting. He shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this,

Jason.”

“I’ll see you around, Mike,” Jason said, and he raised his eyebrows and looked

expectantly toward the door. Jesus, he was a bastard, but he couldn’t think of any other

way to get Mike the hell out of this mess.

Mike stepped toward the door. He turned and looked back at Jason before he

opened it, but Jason kept his face impassive, and Mike turned back and stepped

outside. He slid the door shut and stepped away from the house, and Jason forced

himself to stand still. Every part of him wanted to run to the door, yank it open and

scream for Mike to return, but he wouldn’t let himself give in. When he was sure that

Mike must be gone, he walked over to the doorway and stood looking out at the

footprints Mike had left in the knee-deep snow. There was more snow coming down

and it was filling in the marks Mike had left. Soon, there would be no sign left to show

that he had been there at all.

Jason stood at the doorway for a long time, watching the snow fall.

Kate Sherwood

Chapter Eight

Jason kept himself busy that afternoon. He found a lawyer by calling one of the

biggest firms in Toronto and asking for their criminal law department. He had no idea

if that was a good way, but the woman he spoke to seemed confident and competent.

She promised to get in touch with the Pine River OPP and told him not to discuss

anything with them until she was present.

And Walt called. He confirmed that Jason was suspended from his job indefinitely,

and added that the team didn’t want him in the arena at all, not even as a spectator,

until everything was dealt with one way or another. Jason had no idea if they had the

authority to enforce that rule, but he didn’t see himself challenging it.

The team had a practice that afternoon and a game the next night. A home game,

against a strong team, and before all this had happened, Jason had spoken to several

NHL scouts who were planning to make the trip up to Pine Bay for the event. God, he

wanted to be there. Wanted to see his kids doing well and wanted to help them play to

the best of their abilities.

Instead, he sent e-mails. He put together his notes and strategies, the lines he’d

wanted to try, everything he could think of, and sent it all to Walt. Jason assumed that

Walt would ask one of the assistant coaches to step up for the game, but Jason wasn’t

sure which one and he really didn’t want to open those lines of communication. He

didn’t want his coworkers asking questions that it would break his heart to answer.

So he did what he could for the team, then drank half a bottle of rye and put himself

to bed.

He woke up hung over and depressed, but at least the worst of the panic was gone.

A shower and a coffee helped the hangover, but didn’t do much for the depression. He

called his lawyer, but she was apparently in court all day, so he spoke to some junior

lawyer who’d been assigned to help out. He seemed calm and said that there was some

sort of hold-up on the police end—Jason’s lawyers still hadn’t gotten a clear idea of

exactly what the alleged behavior was and they certainly had no idea what charges, if

any, would be laid. For the lawyer, four hundred kilometers away in a tall office

building, the whole thing apparently seemed unimportant, a tiny blip barely worth his

attention.

Jason hung up the phone and wished that he could feel the same way. By noon, the

house was spotless. He shoveled the driveway, his walkway, and then went to the

backyard and started shoveling back there. There was no reason for it. He’d made a

basic effort to keep a path cleared for Mike, but there was no need for that anymore.

The footprints from the day before were almost gone, indistinct hollows in the smooth

white expanse. Jason launched himself at them with the shovel. He didn’t want any

Home Ice

reminders, no hints that for a brief moment he’d actually managed to have something

more in his life. It had felt strong, but it hadn’t been. Jason and Mike on a desert

island—they’d be happy. But in the world they lived in, they had been doomed from

the start. Jason might not have anticipated such a dramatic reason for their demise, but

he should never have let himself believe that the end was anything but guaranteed.

He went inside when it started to get dark. His arms were so tired they were

shaking and he had several blisters on his palms and fingers, even though he’d been

wearing thick gloves. The backyard looked like someone was trying to build the

world’s largest fort, all the snow piled up into a rough pyramid in the middle of the

lawn. It was pointless, but it had kept him busy.

He took a long, hot shower, pulled on jeans and a henley and resolutely refused to

even look at the bottle of rye. That had been stupid and self-indulgent. He should have

known better.

The game was scheduled for seven o’clock, and at six thirty the local radio station

would start broadcasting its pre-game show. Jason had no idea what they’d say about

the coaching change and dreaded hearing any version of the accusations broadcast for

everyone to hear. He looked at his watch. Quarter past six. He didn’t want to listen, but

he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away.

That was when the doorbell rang. He froze. He didn’t want to answer it. There was

no way it could be good news and he wasn’t sure how much more bad he could handle.

But he walked to the front room anyway, took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

He couldn’t make sense of what he saw. His front yard was blue and green.

Wolverine home-game jerseys, dozens of them, and all worn by his players. His players,

on his lawn, staring at him, when they should have been at the arena getting ready for

the game.

“What? Guys? What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” Robby asked. He was the one who’d rung the doorbell,

from the looks of things. “We have a game, Coach.”

Surely somebody had given the kids some version of an excuse. Of course, Jason

had no idea what that excuse might be. “I can’t make it, guys. Not tonight.”

“Then we can’t make it.” Kelly Dunlop’s playoff beard was dark and thick, and it

made him look like a thirty-year-old man. The deepness of his voice maintained the

illusion. “We’re a team, Coach. We play as a team.”

Well, this was getting out of hand. Jason had no idea what to say, and then he saw a

familiar SUV pull up at the curb. Walt climbed out of the driver’s side and three owners

piled out of the other doors. Perfect. “Guys, you’re the team. You don’t need me. You

need to get down to the rink and play.”

“Not without our coach.” It was dark out, and Jason couldn’t be sure who said it,

but he recognized the next voice, speaking clearly from not too far away.

“I told the cops the truth, Coach. The whole truth. They’re kind of pissed at my dad,

but they’re not going to make any trouble for you.” Connor stepped forward, tall and

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proud under the light from Jason’s porch light. “I’m sorry you got dragged into it,

Coach, but it’s okay now.”

And that would be comforting to believe, but Jason didn’t think it could be quite

that simple. He looked over at Walt for more details, and that was when he saw the line

of cars coming up his street. It was more traffic than he usually saw in a whole day and

all the vehicles were pulling to a stop right in front of his place. Jesus, there was a news

van. The Barrie station often sent the cameras over for game highlights, so maybe

they’d decided to follow this story as well. Whatever the hell this story was.

And then Jason saw Bill James. He was one of the people who’d pulled up in the

convoy of cars, and when Jason looked at the others, he recognized most of them.

Parents, agents, a few more owners. Jason wondered how ugly this was going to get.

But Bill James, at least, seemed to be focusing his anger on his son. “Connor! What

the fuck are you doing here! You’ve got a game to get ready for.” He strode closer, and

Jason could see Connor bracing himself. Bracing, but not backing down. “There are

scouts there tonight, Connor! From six or seven NHL teams. You will not ruin this

opportunity. I will not allow that.”

“We’re a team,” Connor said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. “Including the

coach. We play as a team.” He paused, then glanced over to where the owners were

standing, huddled around Walt. “Or we don’t play at all.”

There was an explosion of activity then, adults scurrying all over the lawn, finding

the player they were attached to and scolding, persuading, remonstrating with them.

But then Jason noticed that not all the groupings were like that. He saw several families

that were just standing there. He saw Paul Cuddy’s father with his hand gripping

Paul’s shoulder, the two of them standing quietly. Firmly. And Scott Brandt, the goalie,

with his mother and three little sisters. They’d lost their father two years ago, Jason

knew, but apparently they hadn’t lost any family solidarity. Jesus. Scott was nineteen.

This was his last year in the OHL, the year that he needed to shine if he wanted to get

drafted. And he was standing there, stoic and waiting. Waiting for his coach.

The din subsided as the crowd saw the flashing lights of the police cruiser

approaching and they cleared a bit of a path for Sean and Steve to make their way up to

the porch. Walt broke away from his crowd and joined them and nobody objected.

“What did we say about keeping away from the players?” Steve asked, and Jason

was about to sputter a reply when he saw the way the man’s eyes were dancing.

“Yeah, sorry.”
Steve nodded. He was speaking quietly enough so that the crowd couldn’t hear.

“Look, Jason. We got the kid’s statement. No signs of any problem. But the dad’s still

pushing it. I think you’re going to be in the clear, eventually. But for tonight’s game—

there’s still an ongoing investigation.”

“So I still can’t be near the kids.”
Steve shrugged. “We don’t have a court order. And we wouldn’t be in a huge hurry

to enforce it if we did. But…” he looked over at Walt.

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“The team’s lawyers say no. They say that until the investigation is totally closed,

we can’t take the chance.” Walt sounded regretful, but he didn’t sound flexible.

Jason needed to get control of this situation. Whether it was his job or not, he was

still responsible for these kids. He stepped forward to the edge of his stoop and the

crowd immediately silenced.

“Guys. Thank you. I mean that. Thank you for coming out. But this is a big game.

For the team, but also for a lot of individual players who are going to be seen by NHL

scouts tonight. You need to be smart about this.”

“Is that how you want us to play? Smart, instead of intense?” It was Harris, his thin

face dark and serious. He stepped forward, shrugging his shoulder out of his father’s

grasp, and said, “Is that how you want us to live?” Jason was pretty sure he recognized

the words, but he really didn’t think he’d meant for them to be applied to this situation.

But Harris wasn’t done. “Or do you want us to play as part of a team?”

“Yeah, okay, Harris, but…”
“There’s more to life than hockey, Coach.” This time it was Connor, his eyes lit from

within. “This isn’t you, alone. You’ve got people on your side.”

And those words had a somewhat familiar sound as well. “Jesus, how do you guys

remember all this?” Jason asked.

It was a stupid question, but apparently Connor had an easy answer. He tapped his

temple twice. “Head, head,” he said quietly, then smiled and brought his hand down to

his chest. “Heart.”

There were actual tears in Jason’s eyes, but he fought to control them. This was

enough of a mess already.

He was distracted from the emotion as Bill James strode forward. He addressed

himself not to Jason, but to Steve and Sean. “Okay, fuck. Whatever. If that’s what it

takes to get the kid on the ice… drop the charges. Okay? Let it go.”

“Mr. James,” Steve started, but Jason cut him off.
“That’s bullshit,” he said. This was not smart, he was pretty sure, but he really

didn’t care. “He’s your son, not a hockey machine. If you really think I did something

wrong… if you think I did something to hurt him, then fuck you for letting it go just to

get him on the goddamn ice. He deserves better than that. He deserves to be seen as a

person.” Jason stopped himself before he got into how Connor deserved to be accepted

for who he was, even if he was gay. He still wasn’t clear on exactly who knew what

about this whole thing.

Bill looked like he had several angry retorts he’d like to make, but instead he looked

at Steve and growled, “It was a misunderstanding. The coach never touched Connor.” It

sounded like it hurt him to say it, but it sure felt good for Jason to hear it.

Steve raised his eyebrows, then turned to Walt. “I don’t have the authority to close

the investigation. Not formally.” He looked back to Jason for a minute, then nodded

slowly. “But I’m willing to go on the record saying that I’m satisfied that, based on the

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evidence available, there is no sign of any illegal or even improper behavior here.” Then

he frowned in Bill James’ direction. “At least not on the part of the coach.”

Walt sighed deeply and turned to look at the cluster of owners. Then he muttered,

“Fuck it.” He grinned quickly. “It’s my last year. What are they going to do, fire me?”

He faced the crowd and raised his voice. “The charges are dropped. The problem is

gone.” He smiled. “The coach is back!”

There was an eruption of joy, but Jason looked at his watch. They were cutting it

very close for time. “You guys need to get back to the rink!” he yelled. He turned to

Walt. “Can you get them organized, get them carpooled back to the ice in time for a

warm-up? I need to get changed.”

“Under control, Coach,” Walt said, and he clapped Jason on the shoulder and then

dove into the crowd, directing and organizing as only he could.

The news camera didn’t seem to know which direction to go in and Jason ducked

inside the house to make sure it didn’t choose him. He felt overwhelmed. The

accusations were gone, the kids… God, the kids had actually been listening to him all

this time and they’d shown more character than he’d ever thought possible.

It hurt to realize that he’d been underestimating them. They had more heart than

he’d known. More heart than he had, he realized with a sickening feeling in his

stomach. When the going got tough, they’d fought through it. He’d quit.

But he couldn’t think about that now. He owed those kids so much and he could

only repay them by being the best coach he could be. He looked down at his ragged

jeans. The first step was getting dressed. He’d just have to hope the following steps

would be as clear.

Home Ice

Chapter Nine

It was late and Jason was tired. The team had won the game, but it had been close.

Closer than it should have been, really. They’d given away two goals in the first period

before loosening up their play and tightening up their game. Three unanswered goals in

the next two periods had brought the capacity crowd to their feet, and Jason could still

almost hear the echoes of their cheers bouncing off the now-empty seats.

Almost empty. Jason liked to wind down after a game, sitting alone in the stands,

replaying the highlights and lowlights in his mind. But tonight when he finally said

goodbye to the players, finished dealing with the owners and the fans and the media…

tonight, he came and found one seat in the bleachers already taken.

Mike wasn’t sitting anywhere near their usual location. Jason wasn’t sure if Mike

was trying to not intrude on Jason’s privacy or if he was just making a point that Jason

had to take at least a few steps if he wanted whatever this was to go any further. Jason

didn’t think he deserved the generosity of the first option and was overwhelmed by

even the possibility offered by the second.

Tired as he was, he wasn’t sure he was in any position to help his case, but there

was no way he was going to walk away from the opportunity. He walked over and

sank into the seat next to Mike. His body wanted to slump and relax, but his mind was

too tense to allow it. He wanted to talk, but couldn’t think of what the hell to say.

Finally, he went with the simple truth. “I’m sorry.”
Mike didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said, “You were scared.”
“I was fucking petrified.” But that didn’t make it right. “I was trying to protect

you.”

“Yeah. That was part of it.” Mike didn’t sound angry, but he sounded like he’d

done some thinking and come to some firm conclusions.

Jason sighed deeply. “Yeah.” They sat quietly for a while, then Jason added,

“Thanks for being there tonight. Earlier, at the house. I saw you, over by the birches.”

“I didn’t want to get too far inside the quarantine zone.”
Jason deserved that. “I panicked and I was an asshole about it, but do you really

think I was wrong? I mean—did you see the media there tonight? Half the town too, all

staring at me, wondering what was going on. Did you want to be a part of that? I mean,

as… as whatever we are?”

“Were,” Mike said quietly. “Whatever we were. You dumped my ass, remember?”
“Yeah. I remember.” He really wasn’t sure how far he should push this. “Any

chance of a Mulligan on that?”

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The pause lasted a lot longer than Jason was comfortable with. Long enough that he

wasn’t totally surprised when Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not… not unless

we clear some stuff up.”

Okay. There was a ray of hope there. “What stuff?”
Mike sighed and leaned back, bracing his elbows on the top of the bleacher seat.

Jason tried to ignore the way the stretch shifted and pulled at Mike’s shirt, tried not to

imagine the way the skin and muscle was moving beneath the fabric. “There’s gay

players in the NHL, you know. Like, guys with long-term boyfriends, real

relationships.”

Jason wasn’t sure where this was going. “Well, yeah. I mean, I couldn’t give you

any names, but statistically—it seems pretty likely.”

“But I could give you names. Probably not all of them. But there’s quite a few guys

who are pretty open about it. They just don’t advertise, you know? And if the players

don’t make a big deal, the press is really pretty good. I don’t know if they’re afraid of

lawsuits or if they’re actually being decent human beings, but if you’re not a superstar

and you’re not fucking up completely, the press leaves your private life pretty well

alone.”

“So… what are you saying?”
“Look, I know I was the one who was shying away at the start of all this. But that

was stupid. Bad. Whatever. I’m not…” He looked over at Jason for the first time, and it

was almost as if he was the one pleading for understanding. “I’m not going to sneak

around. It’s nobody else’s business, but it’s not anyone’s business how often I go see my

daughter either, and I don’t hide my car and climb in through the backyard over there.”

He leaned forward now and twisted around so he was partly facing Jason. “I’m not

going to do that. It’s nobody’s business, and if anyone but a friend asks me about it,

that’s what I’ll tell them. But I’m not going to hide it. I’ve done that for too long.”

“Mike…” Jason started, but he had no idea how to finish.
After a few breaths, Mike turned away and looked back out at the ice. “Yeah. I

know. It’s the right time for me, but maybe not for you. I’m retired. I made enough

money to live off for the rest of my life, as long as I don’t go totally crazy. You’re still

working. There’s still stuff you want to do and this could get in the way of that. I get it.”

He shrugged, and Jason hoped the nonchalance was artificial. “Like you said, we had

an excellent time. It was good while it lasted.”

“No.” Jesus, Jason had thought the panicked tightness in his gut was gone, but it

was back full force now. “Wait. Just—I need to think about it, okay? I need to… I don’t

know. I just need a bit of time.”

Mike didn’t take his eyes off the ice, but he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.” His

smile only seemed a little forced. “I’m not going anywhere. No time soon, at least.” He

stood up, and after a moment, looked down at Jason. “Good game tonight, Coach. You

really pulled them together.”

“After I almost tore them apart.”

Home Ice

But Mike shook his head. “You should stop doing that. Stop taking responsibility

for other people’s shit. Stop worrying about it, even.”

“Easier said than done,” Jason sighed.
“Yeah. But I think it’s worth the effort, Jase.” He looked out at the ice, then back to

Jason. “I think the whole thing would be worth the effort.” Then he turned and headed

for the exit. He moved slowly, and Jason could have caught up to him easily, but that

wouldn’t have been fair. Not to either one of them. Jason needed to think this over, and

then he needed to do things right. He wasn’t sure what those things were, not yet, but

he hoped he’d be able to figure it out.

But he didn’t have all that long to think about it, because when he looked down

toward the ice again, he saw Connor James climbing the stairs toward him. Jesus.

Connor. Alone with Jason, again. This had gone so poorly the last time—did the kid

have no damn sense? Was he so unaware of the situation that he didn’t realize how

close this had been to disaster for Jason? Even if his career wasn’t over, his relationship

had definitely taken a hit. For the first time, Jason felt a surge of irritation toward the

boy. Why did he have to drag Jason into his issues?

Then Connor got a little closer and Jason’s annoyance was gone as suddenly as it

had arrived. The kid looked tentative, and his face was drawn and tense. He stopped

three rows away and said quietly, “Is this okay? I just wanted to talk to you a bit…”

Do things smart or do them right? Jason was relieved to find that he didn’t have to

wrestle too hard with the decision. “Yeah, kid. It’s fine. You okay?”

Connor nodded slowly. “I’m really sorry, Coach. About my dad.”
And apparently borrowing words was the theme of the night. Apparently it was

easier to give good advice than to take it. “You shouldn’t worry about other people’s

shit, Connor. You and me—we’re fine.”

Connor’s face relaxed, at least a little, but he didn’t go anywhere. “I told the guys,”

he blurted out. “After the game. Not all of them, just—you know. My friends.”

“And how’d that go?” Jason tried to sound calm, as if it wasn’t a huge deal.
“I don’t know. I think… maybe it went okay.” He grinned. “They didn’t beat me up

or anything. I just… they were trying to figure out why my dad went off the rails. And I

just couldn’t lie to them anymore. You know?”

Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know.” He stood up and stretched out his right

hand. “Congratulations, Connor.” The kid took his hand, but seemed unsure. “I’m

serious. That took guts. I don’t know how other people are going to react to it, but for

what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

“Yeah?”
Connor’s innocent, hopeful look was oppressive. Jason pulled his hand back. He

had no damn idea if the kid had done the right thing. He was just trying to be

supportive. But he’d started down the path, so he might as well keep going. “Yeah.

Absolutely. And if you get any trouble about it, I want to hear, okay? We can play it

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your way; like, if you don’t want me to make a big deal, I’ll try not to. But I at least want

to know.”

Connor nodded slowly. “I asked the guys not to say anything. But I guess they

might.”

“Yeah. They might. And if they do, we’ll deal with it.” Jason looked at the kid’s face

and felt a flush of shame. Seventeen years old and being more of a man about it than

Jason ever had been. Damn. “Hey, Connor?” Jason knew he could stop himself if he

wanted to. Connor wouldn’t push. Hell, he might not even wonder. But that wasn’t

good enough, not for Jason. Not anymore. So when the kid looked at him quizzically,

Jason said, “You’re not the only one who’s gone through this. At all.” He took a deep

breath, but in the end it was surprisingly easy to say, “I’m gay too.”

And then Connor froze and Jason felt the terror sweep through his body, hot and

cold and dizzying. What the hell had he just done? And why had he thought it was

appropriate to talk about his sexuality with a teenage boy, one whom he had just been

accused of molesting? Jesus, did Connor think Jason was coming on to him? Why had

Jason made things so, so much worse?

But Connor finally nodded, and it seemed like maybe he’d just needed a bit of time

to think it through. “That’s what Kelly said. Well, he just hinted at it. Back in the fall.”

He frowned. “And the guys said no way. They said you couldn’t be.” He’d been

looking at the bleacher seats, but now he looked up toward Jason. “Pete Doer said… he

said something…and Kelly told him he was an idiot. They almost fought.”

Jason would have been more touched except that Kelly had almost had fights with

pretty much every teammate at some point. Still, at least there was some level of

support. But Jason wondered what it had felt like for Connor to hear that conversation,

and he could tell that Connor was thinking about it too. “I’m sorry. I mean—I’m sorry

you had to hear that.”

Connor nodded slowly. He was clearly still thinking. “You don’t tell people. You’re

old—you’ve been hiding it for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Jason wanted to trot out all the standard arguments. Straight people didn’t

feel the need to advertise their preferences; his private life was private; the world was

homophobic and the laws couldn’t protect him, not really. He still didn’t disagree with

any of it, but it didn’t seem like enough anymore. “Are you okay?” Jason really hoped

he got the answer he was looking for, and the kid nodded, still frowning thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I mean—thanks for telling me. And, you know… if it’s going to

make it hard for you to keep it quiet, then don’t worry about it. All that stuff you said

about standing by me, I mean. If you doing that is going to make people ask questions

about you, then it’s okay. I’m okay on my own.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jason believed that. He believed that this kid was strong enough to

make it, with or without help. “But you aren’t on your own. You’re part of a team.” He

thought of the boys standing on his lawn earlier, remembered the sea of blue and green

Home Ice

jerseys covering the snowy ground. And he believed in his players. “And we’ll be there

for you. All of us. Including me.”

Connor didn’t say anything, and after a moment Jason realized that it was because

he was choked up. Then another face appeared from the entrance lower in the

bleachers. Harris. “Hey, Connor! You coming? We’re going to hit the strip before

curfew.”

Connor looked almost shocked at the invitation, and Jason knew that Harris was

one of the boys who was in on the secret. Connor turned and said, “You’re sure? Is

everybody okay with it?”

Harris rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Connor! Less competition—that’s a

good thing, right? Let’s go!” But Connor still hesitated, and Harris climbed a few steps

before saying more quietly, “It’s cool. Seriously. We were a bit surprised, but we’re

okay. It’s not a big deal.” And then he turned his head, and his voice was heavy with

meaning as he said, “Right, Coach? It’s not a big deal. The boys are fine with it.”

Connor’s eyes widened almost comically as he swiveled his head to stare at Jason.

Jason tried not to stare back. Had one of his players just invited him to come out of the

closet? Or was he reading too much into it? And it shouldn’t matter, he reminded

himself. This decision was about what he wanted; he didn’t need anyone else’s

permission or approval. Still, it felt good, and he smiled back at Connor. “You better go,

kid. Curfew’s in just over an hour and you guys have a big practice tomorrow.” He

widened his gaze to include Harris in the conversation. “That first period was sloppy—

we have some work to do.”

Connor and Harris both nodded, and Connor took a tentative step down the stairs,

then sped up. By the time he reached Harris, he was practically running. Jason watched

them go, then stood up. He had somewhere to be himself.

Kate Sherwood

Chapter Ten

Jason parked in Mike’s driveway. Just that was almost enough to make him want to

run, but he didn’t. His car was there for anyone to see, and if he had any luck, it’d be

there all night for them to see in the morning too. That was what he was hoping for, he

reminded himself.

He rang the doorbell and waited anxiously. When Mike came to the door, Jason

could see his eyes look over Jason’s shoulder to the driveway, then back to Jason. Jason

raised the bag in his hand. “I bought too much Chinese,” he said.

There was only a short pause before Mike nodded and stepped aside, giving room

for Jason to enter the house. “Do you want a beer with it?”

“No.” Jason set the bag down on the table in the entry foyer. To be honest, he was

starving, but that was the least of his needs at the moment. “I want you with it.” But he

needed to say a bit more. “On any terms.”

So why the fuck was Mike shaking his head? “No, Jase, I thought about it, and it’s

not fair. It’s your life, your career, and I shouldn’t be pushing you into something

you’re not ready for. We can make it work. The old way. You know, until you’re

ready.”

“Well, this is a bit awkward, Mikey.” Jason stepped forward. His boots were

covered with slush and Mike’s hardwood floors were brand new and pristine, but Jason

didn’t give a damn. He unzipped his coat on the way, and reached his cold hands up to

rest on the warmth of Mike’s neck. “’Cause I already told a player about it and he

seemed okay.” Jason leaned in for a sweet, short kiss and Mike didn’t resist. Jason felt

like cheering, but he didn’t totally relax. “I think I’ve kind of got the taste for it now.”

Another kiss, a little deeper this time.

Mike’s hands moved up to Jason’s belt, fingers curling in behind it to press on

Jason’s belly, and it felt too perfect to be able to imagine it ever being taken away from

him. “My car’s in your driveway. My players seem to already know. I don’t plan on

making any big announcements, but you’re right; I don’t want to sneak around any

more.”

But then Jason pulled away. “Unless you’ve changed your mind. Is that it? I get it…

I know it’s scary. But…”

Jason stopped talking when Mike kissed him, hard. Mike’s arms reached up to

brace on either side of Jason’s head as Mike pushed them against the wall. Jason was

pretty sure he had the answer to his question, but it was nice to hear the words all the

same. “It’s scary,” Mike murmured, his mouth working down Jason’s throat. “But

there’s no way I’m backing out.” Mike’s hands were working at the buttons of Jason’s

shirt, and then that was peeled off. Jason wasn’t even a little bit surprised when Mike’s

Home Ice

mouth moved over to just above Jason’s collarbone. As Mike kissed and sucked on the

skin, Jason tilted his head back to give more room. His fingers eased up to find the mark

he’d left on Mike and he smiled as Mike nipped at the skin.

Mike pulled away just long enough to say, “Mine,” and then his mouth was back on

Jason’s skin.

“Yours,” Jason agreed. It was so obvious, so perfect; he knew it, and he didn’t care

if the whole world knew it too.

“I want you naked,” Mike said, his voice muffled by Jason’s neck, but still

authoritative. “Now.”

“Yessir.” But Jason wasn’t going to move, not while Mike’s mouth was still sending

shivers all over his body. He let himself give in to the sensations. The warm, soothing

kisses lulled him into relaxation, the sharp nips woke him back up and the moist,

insistent suction meant that he was being marked. Claimed. Owned.

Finally, Mike seemed satisfied and he pulled away far enough for his voice to be

clearer. “You’re still dressed. I think I made my instructions pretty clear. Do you want

forty and forty?” He grinned, silly and happy and relaxed, and Jason wasn’t sure he’d

be able to stand it. Wasn’t sure that the wave of affection he felt wasn’t going to wash

him right off his feet and sweep him out to sea.

“I don’t want forty and forty,” he said. “I want you.”
“Well, you’re in luck with that one.” Mike reached both hands out for Jason’s

shoulders and dragged his fingers forward across Jason’s chest, down his stomach.

Then he crouched down, slow and steady, letting his face brush gently along the front

of Jason’s body as he went. He untied Jason’s boots and lifted each foot to pull the boot

and then the sock off. Then he looked up at Jason, his jaw leaning softly against the

bulge in Jason’s pants, and smiled. “You’ve had a bad couple days. I’m going to take

care of you now. Okay?”

It was more than okay, but Jason was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d break

down, so he just nodded instead. Mike seemed to understand, and he straightened up

slowly and looked Jason in the eyes. “That’s my job now. I take care of you. And you let

me; that’s your job.”

“I like my job.”
“I like mine too.” Mike looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. “I think you

need a bath. I was going to say a shower, but I think you should relax a little.”

“I was thinking maybe we’d have a bit of sex,” Jason said with a grin. “You know…

to help me relax.”

“Oh we’re going to have more than a bit of sex,” Mike reassured him. “And you’re

going to be totally relaxed.”

Jason felt like he should probably be taking a more active role, but Mike was right;

it had been a bad couple days and he’d apparently used up all his energy just trying to

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keep himself together. He was ready for someone else to take over, and Mike was

perfect for the job. More than perfect.

Mike gave him a deep, wet kiss, and he was absolutely ready to let his knees

buckle, ready to get horizontal right there and then, but Mike was still in charge and he

obviously had other plans. “Come here,” he said gently as he pulled away, and he

hooked his fingers into the waistband of Jason’s pants and tugged. Jason shuffled

toward him, and Mike kept moving, slow and steady. He stopped for kisses, he ran his

hands all over Jason’s bare torso, but he kept them moving. Down the hall they went,

and some tiny part of Jason’s mind noticed that the house was almost exactly as he’d

pictured it; lots of wood, lots of leather and then…

“Jesus Christ,” Jason exclaimed. “This bathroom’s bigger than my whole house.”
Mike looked around him as if seeing the room for the first time. “Not quite. But

yeah, it’s a good size. Steam shower and whirlpool tub… it’s good shit.”

“The skylight’s a nice touch.” Jason swiveled his head around. “The TV’s bigger

than mine. And there’s a fireplace? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Mike grinned, then hit a switch on the wall and watched as the fireplace fired up.

“It’s just gas. Convenient, but not as romantic.” He leaned in for a kiss and Jason felt his

body slipping back into its trance of arousal. In only a few seconds, he didn’t care

whether he was in Mike’s luxury bathroom or a wooden outhouse in the woods. He

was with Mike, and that was all that mattered.

But Mike pulled away again, crossing the room to the huge tub, set up as the

centerpiece of the room. His pants pulled tight across his ass as he leaned over to turn

the water on, but he straightened too quickly, catching Jason in the act of reaching for a

squeeze. “Behave yourself,” he scolded with a smile. But he leaned again to test the

water and didn’t seem exactly shocked when Jason gave in to temptation, running his

hand over Mike’s strong glutes, then down between them and forward… only to feel

his exploring fingers caught by Mike’s hand. “There’s a plan, Jase. That is not part of it.

Not yet.”

“Since when do we have a plan? You didn’t even know I was coming over.” Jason

didn’t want to be a whiner, but apparently that was out of his control. “How could

there be a plan?”

Mike just smiled. “I’ve wanted you in this tub for a long time. There’s room for two,

right?”

Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
Mike leaned his ass away from Jason, then bent over and checked the water again.

Apparently he was satisfied. “You strip down and get in. I’ll be right back.”

And then he was gone, out the door and back down the hall toward the front of the

house. Jason liked the idea of the tub, but it was harder than it should be to see Mike

walk away. Which probably didn’t say much for his mental health, he decided. He was

ready to take a big step with Mike, sure. But they weren’t going to become joined at the

hip. They could spend more time together; they could go out in public together, at least

Home Ice

once they were a bit more comfortable with it all. But they would still have to be

separated, sometimes.

“Why aren’t you naked?” Mike asked, and Jason came back to himself with a start.
“Oh.” He searched his mind for an excuse.
“You’re really going for the ‘being taken care of’ thing, huh?” Mike’s smile was

warm enough to convince Jason that he’d had that in mind all along. Mike set the bag

he was carrying down on a nearby counter, then stepped in front of Jason, close enough

to kiss but with enough room between them to start working on Jason’s fly. “I like it,”

he said, and he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Jason’s underwear and

pulled both layers off Jason’s hips together. “I like it a lot.”

Well, excellent. Jason let himself be guided into the almost-filled tub, and when he

sat down, Mike leaned over and used his hand to splash a little water up onto Jason’s

chest, then trailed his fingers almost absentmindedly down Jason’s stomach to his cock.

A few gentle strokes, and then Mike asked, “What’s the longest you’ve ever been hard

for?”

“Fuck no,” Jason said. It was too loud, but he wanted to be crystal clear. “You said

sex. You said relaxation. You did not say you were going to fucking torture me…”

Mike was grinning as he leaned away. “All right, take it easy. We can save that for

another time.”

“Or never,” Jason said, but he didn’t argue too hard, distracted as he was by the

way Mike was shedding his clothes. It was businesslike, efficient and shouldn’t have

been as exciting as it was. There was just something about it, about thinking that this

was his now. He could see this every night, hell, every morning and afternoon too,

for…for as long as he dared to imagine. Mike wasn’t undressing like this was a special

occasion, because it wasn’t a special occasion. This was just Jason’s life now, and the

thought was almost too much to absorb.

Mike stepped out of his pile of clothes and grabbed the bag he’d gone to retrieve.

Jason realized what it was and his stomach growled loudly enough that Mike heard it

and grinned. “Did you think I was going to let you starve?” he asked. He turned off the

water and pressed a button that activated the whirlpool jets, then climbed into the tub,

facing Jason, their legs twined together, their feet resting near each other’s asses.

“Comfy?” Mike asked, and Jason nodded.

He was perfect; he was pretty sure Mike wasn’t, pretty sure he was leaning forward

to stay close, and maybe Jason should have done something about that, shifted his own

body somehow, but he didn’t think he’d bother. Not tonight. After all, Mike wanted to

be in charge, so he could change things if he wanted to.

But Mike didn’t seem too worried about it. He burrowed through the bag, pulled

out the tinfoil dishes and set them out on the broad side of the tub. He grinned. “I think

this ledge is supposed to be for plants or candles or something. But I think food is a way

better use of the space.”

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“Absolutely,” Jason agreed, and his stomach growled again. “Did you bring

plates?”

And Mike looked almost shy suddenly. He shook his head. “I thought…” He

reached into the bag and pulled out the cheap wooden chopsticks. He broke them apart

efficiently, rubbed a few slivers off, then used them to pick up a piece of beef from one

of the dishes. He held it out tentatively toward Jason. “Can I?”

Jason really wouldn’t have thought he’d be into this. It seemed… He wasn’t sure.

Clichéd, maybe, and sort of disturbing in terms of the balance of power. But he leaned

forward and opened his mouth, and Mike fed him almost reverently, and Jason liked it.

Not for every day. But sometimes… hell yeah. There were lots of “sometimes” in the

future and Jason was happy to experiment a little bit. Mike took his own bite of beef

while Jason chewed and was ready with some noodles after that.

They shared the food and only dropped a few bits in the tub, and Jason felt his

whole body relaxing. He was warm and fed and he felt safe. His cock was softening, but

that was okay. There was time for sex. Lots of time. He watched through half-closed

eyes as Mike pushed the leftover food farther back on the ledge. He wasn’t stuffed,

could easily have eaten more, but this was Mike’s game, and if he said it was sleepy-

time, then…

Mike’s body was in motion, almost enough to send a wave of water over the edge

of the tub, rolling himself forward, stretching out, and Jason was suddenly anything but

sleepy. Their bodies stretched together, Mike’s legs twining through Jason’s, Mike’s

mouth hungry and demanding all over Jason’s chest, his neck, his lips. “Fuck,” he

gasped, and he felt Mike nod.

“That’s the idea.” Mike’s hand was almost rough as it wrapped around Jason’s

cock, almost too tight as he ran his fingers up over the head, back down along the

rapidly hardening shaft. Jason arched his back, pushed forward into the sensation and

let his hands roam all over Mike’s body.

Mike kept kissing Jason, his tongue and lips strong and demanding, while he

fumbled with something behind Jason’s head with one hand. He pulled his hand back

and put a familiar bottle and foil wrapper on the ledge beside the food. Jason snorted a

little, distracted from the kiss. “You just have that stuff lying around in here? You’re

quite a player, huh?”

“You know I’m not,” Mike said. He kissed Jason’s neck, then said, “I told you—I’ve

had this in mind for a long time.”

And Jason was more than ready to accept that. “Yeah? So what comes next?”
“Well, I think you come next and then me. But in order to make that happen…”

Mike’s smile was wicked as he used his free hand to open the bottle of lube and

managed to squirt some out onto the fingers of the same hand. “Waterproof,” he said

happily and slid his hand under the water, down Jason’s leg and around the curve of

his ass.

Home Ice

“Oh,” Jason exhaled as Mike’s fingers found their target. Mike teased a little, tracing

the puckered opening, slipping barely inside, then pulling away and brushing lightly

over the sensitive skin. “Come on,” Jason urged, but Mike just smiled at him.

“This is my play, remember?” Another kiss, and Mike eased himself into a more

comfortable position, as if he was getting ready to spend some time. Jason squirmed,

and when that didn’t work, he tried kissing and arching his back, and then he was right

back to squirming as Mike’s fingers teased and played.

“You said no torture,” Jason whined.
But Mike was clearly enjoying himself. Jason opened eyes he couldn’t remember

having closed and saw Mike watching him, and the expression on his face was one

Jason wanted to remember forever. He tried to focus on it, but then Mike added a

finger, slipping two inside, curling them just right… “Fuck,” Jason gasped. “Come on,

Mikey, please.”

And maybe it was the “please” that did it. Something seemed to finally persuade

the man and Mike reached for the lube before shifting around, slipping his arms

underneath Jason’s raised knees and bracing his hands on the tub beside Jason’s head.

He hovered there, staring at Jason’s strained face, and then eased forward. “Guide me

in,” he instructed and Jason hurried to comply.

The stretch was perfect, and now it was Jason who wanted to go slow and savor

every sensation. That seemed to be Mike’s plan as well, and his lips found the bruise on

Jason’s shoulder as their bodies eased together. Jason stopped trying to control

anything, stopped trying to even catalogue the sensations, and just let himself go. The

jets of water played over his skin, making it hard to be sure just where Mike was

touching him. Well, one place was very clear, as Mike’s cock, hard and thick and

glorious, stretched him open and laid him bare.

Even with Mike moving slow and easy, it didn’t last long. They only sped up a little

as their climax approached, their bodies moving like waves through the water that

surrounded them. As Mike had predicted, Jason came first, gasping into Mike’s mouth,

his legs wrapped tight around Mike’s body. Jason fought back to himself faster than he

usually would have, denying himself the pleasure of savoring his orgasm in order to

give himself the sweeter treat of watching Mike as he lost control. “Come on, Mikey,”

he urged; he knew Mike didn’t need the encouragement, but he wanted to be part of

this, wanted to be able to take credit for the way Mike’s body tensed and then relaxed,

then tensed, tensed, tensed.

“You’re beautiful,” Jason whispered softly, his fingers combing through Mike’s

thick hair. He was embarrassed to have said it, but he wasn’t sure Mike had heard.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated for some reason he couldn’t begin to understand, and

this time Mike smiled and kissed him.

“You too,” Mike said. Then he pulled back, rearranged himself and frowned down

at the water in the tub. “Shower before bed, yeah?”

Kate Sherwood

“Whatever you say,” Jason agreed. He didn’t expand on it, not out loud, but he was

pretty sure that “whatever you say” was going to be his new motto, at least when he

was talking to Mike. The guy obviously had pretty good ideas. And Jason was ready to

follow him wherever he wanted to go.

Home Ice

Epilogue

“Are you going to be wearing makeup?” Mike asked. They were propped up

against the headboard together, Mike’s legs wrapped around Jason’s hips. The TV was

on and they were both faced toward it, but it was muted.

“No. Well, yeah. I guess. They said they needed powder for the shine…”
“Powder’s makeup, Jase.” Mike nuzzled in to Jason’s neck. “Sexy.”
“You’re a freak,” Jason said, and he squirmed away from the tickle of Mike’s

stubble. Then he leaned back in for more. He let his hand drift down to Mike’s thigh,

but didn’t take it any further. The season had been over for two weeks and they’d spent

most of that time in bed. There was really no urgency to their lovemaking, not after that

marathon. Besides, they were staring at the TV for a reason.

A reason Jason almost missed, he realized, as Mike’s hand flashed out to find the

remote and turn on the volume. He’d let himself get distracted by the whorls of hair on

Mike’s leg, the roughness over top of the silky skin… and he’d almost missed his

national television appearance.

“And as promised, we’re speaking today with Jason Tate, the coach of the OHL’s

Pine Bay Wolverines.” Corrine Baker looked at the cameras and smiled. She was one of

the CBC’s up-and-coming stars and had already gotten offers from the American

networks. For the time being, though, she was working for the CBC’s news magazine

program. “And usually, if we had the coach of the team that just won the Memorial

Cup in our studios, we’d be talking hockey. But we have something else to focus on

today, don’t we, Mr. Tate?” She smiled, and for the first time the camera zoomed in on

Jason’s face.

He’d given interviews before, but none like this, and he looked a little nervous.

Jason-in-bed was tempted to bury his face in Mike’s shoulder and avoid looking at

Jason-on-TV, but Mike just gave him a gentle kiss on the temple and kept their heads

turned toward the screen.

“Well, that’s one of the things I worry about with all this,” TV Jason said. “Because,

yeah, there’s something else going on, but it should in no way distract from the

achievement of this team. These players. We had a great season and we’re expecting to

have several players drafted by the NHL next week. That’s the really important stuff.

What’s going on with me—I mean, in a perfect world, it wouldn’t be noteworthy at all.”

“And I should say,” Corrine said to the camera, “that we only convinced you to

give us this interview after we also agreed to do a fairly in-depth story on the Memorial

Cup tournament, with several of your NHL-hopefuls highlighted in a way that can only

help their careers. So, Mr. Tate—you’ve decided to come out as the first openly gay

coach in the OHL. We should also note that there are no openly gay coaches in any of

Kate Sherwood

the other pro hockey leagues, including the NHL. Were you motivated by a desire to

get more attention for your players or is there something more to it than that?”

Jason hadn’t loved that question, but he’d tried to be polite. “My players don’t need

my help in getting attention. They just won the Memorial Cup. They’ve played great

hockey in front of scouts all year long. They’ve earned their spots in the NHL.”

“So what did motivate your decision?”
It was strange, because that had been the one question Jason had been sure they’d

ask, the one he’d rehearsed with Mike over and over. But he’d still almost frozen when

it had come time to explain it to the nation. “I felt like I was strong enough to do it. And

since I could, I felt like I should. There’s lots of gay guys out there, including in the

hockey world. Coaching, playing, managing—everywhere. It shouldn’t be remarkable.

And I know it seems sort of contradictory, but that’s why I decided to make a bit of a

big deal out of this. I think that the more people who come out, the less remarkable it

will be, until finally, we won’t have to do it at all. At least not in a big way.”

Jason felt Mike’s arms wrap around him a little tighter. Deciding to give the

interview had been hard. Jason’s parents were still mostly in shock about it all and it

hadn’t really seemed fair to inflict a public announcement on them so soon after the

private notification. But Jason had felt like he’d been on a roll. And it wasn’t like there

was ever going to be a good time, really. At least now, so early in the off-season, he

could hope that the fuss would die down by the time the team got back to work in

August.

“And what has the reaction been from your players?” Corrine looked as if she was

bracing herself to be sympathetic.

“The team’s been focused on hockey. I really don’t think they care what their coach

gets up to off the ice. They’ve been fine.” It hadn’t even been a lie. The kids hadn’t

worried about it at all. He was pretty sure that they’d cut back on using homophobic

insults, but that might have been as much for Connor as for him.

“And the fans?”
Jason had shaken his head. “They haven’t really heard yet. Not officially. And I’m

honestly not too worried about them.” That hadn’t been strictly true, but Jason felt like

he’d sold it. “Like I said, this really shouldn’t be a big deal for anybody. It’s not going to

affect anything about how I do my job.”

Jason had known that the show was looking for more drama, but he’d warned them

ahead of time that there wasn’t much.

“And what about your personal life? Are you seeing anybody?” Corrine leaned in

like she was inviting a girlfriend to gossip.

“Yeah, I am. It’s pretty serious. But again—it’s my personal life. I decided to come

out because I thought it was important to let other gay people know that they’re not

alone. But that’s it. I see myself giving this interview and then never talking about it

again. I’m gay. I’ve stood up to be counted and now I’m planning to sit back down and

go on with my life.” Watching from afar, Jason thought he seemed a bit aggressive, but

Home Ice

at the time, he’d felt like he was under attack. It was hard to get the balance right, and

he didn’t want to learn. Like he’d said, he wanted to get this done and never do it again.

Corrine was smiling as if she hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “And what about

professional goals? In the three years since you’ve been head coach of the Wolverines,

you’ve taken them from a small-market team that usually had to work to make the

playoffs to Memorial Cup champions. Has there been interest from the NHL for you?”

Jason shook his head and tried to sound casual. “No.”
“And how much of that do you think is related to your sexuality?”
Jason squirmed around again. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable, exactly, but

every time he moved he was reminded of Mike sitting behind him, strong and warm

and welcoming. That was what was important. TV-Jason looked like he was choosing

his words carefully. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’d like to say it has nothing to do

with it. But honestly, it doesn’t matter that much. I never made the NHL as a player—

got injured before I got there. And for a long time, I thought it was important that I go

as a coach instead. But recently, I’ve started to change my mind on that.”

He’d felt like he was making too much of a speech, but this seemed like one of the

more important points that might come out of the interview and he’d wanted to do it

justice. “I coach hockey. But there’s more to life than hockey. And at this level, I can still

realize that. I can have a life and I can help my players to develop as human beings, not

just hockey robots. I’d like the challenge of the NHL, I guess, but it’s hard for me to

imagine the job being much more rewarding than the one I’m doing now.”

The interview went on, but Jason found his attention drifting away. Those whorls of

hair on Mike’s thigh really were fascinating and he liked the way Mike’s quadriceps felt

under his fingers. His other hand reached up to tangle in Mike’s hair and bring his lips

forward for a kiss, but Mike resisted anything but the quickest peck. “I’m watching,” he

said firmly.

“It’s boring,” Jason replied. “Nobody should care.”
“I should care,” Mike said firmly, and he put his hand gently over Jason’s mouth.

That gave Jason something to do, at least, and he pulled Mike’s middle finger between

his lips and laved it gently, then sucked on it firmly. Rolling tongue, gentle kiss,

slightest brush of his teeth; it was like an audition for the role Jason’s mouth really

wanted.

The light cast by the TV brightened a little and Jason glanced over to see the footage

the news crew had taken in the arena, and then he saw Walt’s face, kind and smiling at

Corrine as she asked him questions. Jason was a little interested, but he was recording

the show. He could watch it later, some time when Mike’s body wasn’t available. His

sexual satiety had apparently been just as short-lived as it always seemed to be.

Mike was still resisting, at least mentally, but Jason’s trick with the finger had done

the job for Mike’s cock. It was pressing against Jason’s lower back, and that was close to

the goal, but not quite enough for a point.

Kate Sherwood

Jason shifted around and reached over to the nightstand and he felt Mike’s chest

rumble with laughter. “It’s not even that long of a segment,” he said. “Behave yourself.”

But he didn’t protest as Jason shifted the sheets lower and squirmed up to straddle his

legs. He just leaned over enough so he could still see the TV.

And that was just fine. That was kind of hot, even. Jason jacked Mike’s cock a

couple times, just to get it totally hard, and then couldn’t resist the urge to bend over

and give it a quick kiss. “Jase,” Mike warned, but his voice turned to a moan as Jason

sank his lips lower down the shaft. Jason felt Mike’s hand on his ass, finger slipping wet

and cool into his crease. When had Mike managed to get his hands on the lube? And

who the hell cared, Jason remembered, as Mike’s finger teased around his hole.

That was all Jason had the patience for. He pulled himself up to his knees, his ass

poised over Mike’s cock, then sank down, slow and careful, letting the stretch spread

and burn and then ease.

“I’m still watching TV,” Mike said, but his voice was strained.
“Okay.” Jason started moving, tiny, slow shifts, his lips never leaving Mike’s neck,

where he kissed and nipped and tasted. He let his mouth travel up to just beneath

Mike’s ear and could feel the goose bumps he raised when he kissed there.

Mike stayed still, his hands supportive on Jason’s ass, but his eyes still on the

television. Jason rocked his hips a little further, still slow and easy, but moving forward

enough to brush his hard cock against Mike’s stomach before rolling back, then easing

forward again. He could feel Mike fighting to keep his breathing steady. Jason let his

hands roam everywhere, slowly tickling all over Mike’s body, everywhere within reach.

But Mike didn’t respond.

Finally, Jason heard the show’s closing music and figured that he was about to get a

bit of attention. But apparently Mike had other ideas, and Jason heard the sounds from

the TV change as Mike flipped through the channels. That was unacceptable, but also

brilliant. Mike was challenging Jason, just like he always had, pushing him to work a

little harder and try a little more. Fortunately, Jason had a secret weapon in his arsenal.

He’d been thinking about it for a while and he was pretty sure this was the time to use

it.

He kept rolling his hips, kept teasing with his hands, but he also kissed his way

back to Mike’s ear and gave a quick, sharp nip on the lobe. “Mike?” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Mike was fighting to sound nonchalant, and Jason might have believed

him if it wasn’t for the hot, hard cock stretching his ass.

Jason took a moment to be sure. He wanted to say it, sure, but he wanted it to be for

real, not because he was trying to win some stupid game. He thought how good it had

felt to tell the truth on the TV show and he couldn’t think of a good reason to keep

trying to hide this other secret. “Mike,” he said again, and this time he kissed the

earlobe he had just nipped. “I love you, Mike.”

Mike’s body went from still to absolutely frozen, and after a moment of that,

everything happened really fast. The hand behind Jason’s head was gentle, but firm, the

Home Ice

hand on his lower back kept their bodies tight together as Mike shifted, then rolled,

ending with Jason on his back, legs wrapped around Mike’s ass. They were face-to-face,

the TV forgotten. Mike moved his hips as if he’d never used them before and he drove

into Jason, not fast, but hard and deep. He pulled out, slammed home, then out, then in,

a punishing, demanding rhythm that Jason strained to match, to exceed.

Their voices were just grunts, their breathing ragged and fast, and Jason had no

idea whose sweat was whose. It felt like they were melting together, each stroke driving

them further and further toward some ultimate union. Jason knew his fingers were

clawing at Mike’s back, but he didn’t even try to stop. He’d wanted this frenzy and he’d

gotten it, and he was going to surrender his own body to the same power that had

taken control of Mike’s.

It didn’t make sense that things could continue to build as they did. They should

have crested, should have climaxed, but instead they kept climbing, kept intensifying.

When Jason finally felt himself begin to let go, he forced his eyes open and looked up to

see Mike staring at him, eyes wide and amazed. Then they both cried out, both arched

their bodies together and it felt like the blinding light behind Jason’s eyes spread to

envelop and consume both of them.

Eventually, Jason felt Mike shift off him and they rolled over onto their sides, facing

each other. Mike’s kiss now was gentle and sweet. “I love you too,” he said, and Jason

just smiled and nuzzled in to Mike’s neck.

“I know,” Jason said.

About the Author

I started writing at about the same time that I got back on a horse after a twenty-

year break. I’d like to think that I’m far too young for it to be a mid-life crisis, but

apparently I was ready for a few changes!

My writing focuses on characters and relationships, people trying to find out how

much of themselves they need to keep, and how much they can afford to give away. I

try to find that careful balance between drama and humor—I want readers to have an

intense experience and feel drawn into the book, but I also want them to enjoy the time

they spend reading.

I started writing in the M/M area of Romance, but I’m now also publishing M/F

Romance. I definitely plan to continue writing in both sub-genres, and of course, I still

have a YA projects to play with. And I’m thinking about trying some women’s fiction,

too! This writing thing is fun!

Kate welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her

author bio page

www.ellorascave.com

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at

Comments@EllorasCave.com

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning

publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC

on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you

breathless.

www.ellorascave.com

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