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“All right, all right,” Logan laughs. “Enough with that cute shit. Some of us single people can’t take it.”
“What happened to Serah?”
Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t work out.”
“Aw.” I frown with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” he sighs.
“Yo! Logan! Ian!”
There’s a small crowd moving toward us from the entrance area, my brother and a few other of their old college buddies making their way inside toward the ice. I see at least two players who they didn’t meet until later when they were drafted, but no one that Ian doesn’t know, I think, thankfully.
Which reminds me that I’m still holding his hand.
I let go without making a thing of it, not quite sure that this moment is the right one to unload everything on my brother, but when I meet Ian’s gaze, I don’t miss the flash of displeasure there. It’s definitely a discussion we need to have. Soon.
“About time you showed up,” Ian greets my brother, letting the moment roll off his back. “I wasn’t sure who was going to lead the cheerleading squad.”
Jack snorts. “I was out getting my bloomers resized. They didn’t have any big enough to fit my dick.”
“Gross,” I groan.
Oscar guffaws. “That’s not what Lyle’s mom said.”
The player in question punches Oscar on the shoulder, and I feel myself smiling. These guys are idiots, but I sort of love them.
One a bit more than the others…
Ian looks almost nervous again—so minuscule in his features that someone might miss it, but I don’t. It’s in the slight tic in his jaw, the wary set of his eyes, the press of his mouth. It makes me wish I were still holding his hand. I watch the way he eyes the other players, guys he hasn’t seen in years off the rink, not since everything went down with him and Mei, and I know that he worries about how they see him. What they might think of him now. I know it because it’s all we talked about last night, cuddled in my bed while I ran my fingers through his hair. I’m willing to beat down any man who has something negative to say about him—regardless of how much bigger and stronger than me they are—but, as it turns out, these big dummies have a way of surprising me. In a good way.
Oscar’s eyes light up. “Ian!”
I watch a repeat hug performance like the one Ian and Logan had a few minutes ago, and it takes no time at all for the other guys to follow suit—each one embracing their old friend like no time at all has passed. I can see the way each interaction melts more and more of the stress he’s been carrying, his entire body becoming more relaxed with each Dude, how have you been? and clap on the back.
I linger at the edge of the tiny crowd, content to watch him, but I catch his eye amid the conversation, noticing the glint there, the hint of solidarity that only exists between the two of us. It makes me feel a bit surer about my blurted acknowledgment of what we are. Makes me realize how good it felt for someone else to know, someone who had no stake in what we are other than being happy that we are. It makes me want to feel that a hundred times over, to let the entire world know.
“All right,” Jack interrupts, checking his watch. “Everyone needs to head back to the locker room and suit up so we can get out on the ice.”
“Oh,” Lyle snickers. “Should we call you Coach Jack today?”
“If it will make you move a bit faster,” Jack answers sweetly. My brother aims a finger in my direction. “Ava is looking for you.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “She went around the other way. Somewhere back there.”
“I’ll find her,” I tell him.
Jack squeezes Ian’s shoulder even as the other guys start to file into the double doors that lead to the hall where the locker rooms are. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Ian says, looking like he means it. “I am, actually.”
“Good.” Jack nods. “Coming?”
Ian eyes me briefly. “I’ll catch up.”
I don’t miss the way my brother’s gaze flits between us, a wrinkle forming at his brow, but he seems to dismiss it for now, following after the other guys through the doors.
Ian immediately blows out a breath when they’re gone. “Fuck.”
“I told you,” I say, “that it would be fine.”
