Page 40 of For Pucking Ever

The car that pulled up at Arrivals was a matte black Audi R8, sleek and way too fast-looking for the man driving it. It purred against the curb like an expensive cat, demanding attention from everyone except its owner. How many cars does he own?

Sebastian didn't say anything at first. He just smiled, reached over, popped the trunk, and waited while I climbed in. His fingers tapped once, twice against the steering wheel, that tiny tell of his that most people missed. I'd learned to read those micro-expressions like my own personal dictionary.

When our eyes met, I saw everything. Anger. Concern. Relief. All of it buried beneath that calm, unreadable expression he wore so well, and just beneath that, something softer. Something only for me.

He reached over and squeezed my hand. His palm was warm against mine, calloused in all the same places. "Home," he said simply, the word carrying more weight than any motivational speech or platitude could have.

Home. Was it my home? The question nagged at me as Bast’s Audi glided through Seattle's rain-dampened streets. We hadn't spoken in depth about our relationship, if that's even what this was between us. Sure, we fucked. Sure, we cohabitated while I rehabilitated. But what happens after that?

It was the elephant in the room neither one of us wanted to address. So much had happened in such a short period of time: my injury, getting waived, and now moving back across the country and sharing the same ice. Bast was flighty, a vault of secrets he had yet to share with me. Honestly, with the way I was feeling about us, this undefined thing between us, he might just cut his losses and tell me to find my own place. Especially now that we were on the same team. Well, I was the lowest of the lowest, but at least I was still playing hockey.

His fingers laced with mine, a casual intimacy that contradicted all my doubts. I watched his profile against the passing streetlights, the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrated on the road. For someone I'd seen naked more times than I could count, he remained frustratingly unreadable.

Or was I thinking too hard about all of this? Overthinking had become my new hobby since the accident. Before, I'd been action, impulse, forward motion. Now I was doubts and questions and what-ifs circling like vultures.

I squeezed his hand back anyway, because whatever this was, temporary shelter or something more, right now, it felt like the closest thing to safety I had.

Now, curled up on the couch in Bast’s oversized hoodie, phone in hand, I stare at the whirlwind unraveling on social media.

The news broke an hour ago. The NHL posted the official release.

“Toronto Stars and goaltender, Derek Shaw, agree to mutual contract termination. Shaw to become an unrestricted free agent immediately.”

Clean. Clinical. No heart.

Then came the real bomb: HockeyHomeGurlHattie’s newest video.

HOCKEY HOTTIES & HEADLINES: YOUTUBE EPISODE 256

Welcome back, shawties! It’s your girl HockeyHomeGurlHattie coming at you live from the comfort of my hockey-shrine bedroom where I am LITERALLY shaking right now! If you missed the weeks of bombshell episodes about Baby Shaw’s contract buyout, catch up because this tea just got SCALDING!”

CONFIRMED NEWS

Derek Shaw has officially signed with the Seattle Vipers on a two-year deal with performance incentives! That’s right, babes, the fresh-faced newbie and the Veteran are now TEAMMATES!

My airport spy snapped this blurry but UNMISTAKABLE photo of Sebastian actually SMILING as Derrick got into his car!

Let’s be real: The Vipers didn’t just sign Shaw because they needed goalie depth. They signed him because SOMEONE pushed for it. And when Sebastian Bergeron, along with his starting line besties, wants something, management listens.

Also, Shaw is currently living in Sebastian’s house. The same house that no one on the team has EVER been invited to. The one with the private dock and fortress-level security. You know the one.

Two gay goalies. One mansion. The comeback story of the season. This isn’t just a hockey headline anymore. . .this is a romance novel waiting to be written!

Stay messy, hockey bitches!

I groan and flop back onto the couch, arm dramatically thrown over my eyes to block out the world. "I cannot believe I'm her new obsession. Of all the hockey players in the league, why me?"

From across the room, Bast chuckles, that rare deep sound that still makes my stomach flip. "You'll get used to it. HockeyHomeGurlHattie latches onto someone new every season. Last year it was Ridley's drama with Brea."

"She called them Shawties, Bast. She made a pun with my name. There are hashtags now." My face heats up under my arm.

"I heard." He sounds far too pleased with my misery, the traitor. There's something suspiciously like amusement dancing in those eyes when I peek at him.

I lower my arm completely and squint at him, sitting up slightly. "You knew this would happen when you picked me up at the airport, didn't you? You were smiling on purpose."

He shrugs, those broad shoulders moving casually as he walks over with two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which he sets on the side table beside me. The rich aroma fills my nostrils, momentarily distracting me from my social media crisis.

"You're news, baby. Deal with it." His voice is matter-of-fact but gentle. "First openly gay rookie sensation gets injured, traded, then signs with his childhood hero's team? That's headline material."