Him (Him #1)(77)

My first practice is brutal, but that’s how I like it. Coach Harvey starts us off with a crossover drill designed to strengthen our ability to accelerate on curves, and it only takes five seconds for me to fully grasp that I’m in the big leagues now. Nope, you’re not in college anymore, Dorothy.

This is a whole new level of intensity, and I’m sweating my balls off as I weave in and out of traffic, changing directions on Coach’s whim. Pushing myself to keep up with players who’ve trained together for much longer than the five minutes I’ve been with them.

And it just picks up in intensity from there, but I’m cool with that. This is all I have. This is the choice I’ve made. Playing the best hockey I can will be the focus of my life for the next several years.

By the time we’re done, I’m so sweaty there’s steam rising from the inside of my helmet when I finally pull it off. My legs are like jelly as I walk down the chute into the locker room.

“Good hustle out there? man. You’re gonna make a good addition,” my teammate Tomkins says. He’s three seasons in and doing well, so I’m pleased to hear him say it.

“Thanks. I’m happy to be here.”

And I am. Mostly.

After a shower, I get dressed and leave the rink. I’m tired, and I don’t need to be social anyway, because there’s a team dinner starting in two hours.

I check my phone for calls, but there aren’t any. The Brandr app has a new notification, though. That’s weird, because I haven’t messaged a soul since I came to Toronto. I’ve been a good boy. In fact, I should really just delete the f*cking app. Lead me not into temptation, and all that.

But I read the notification anyway, just in case it’s from someone I actually know. There’s a message from a brand new profile, with a thumbnail picture I don’t recognize. My thumb hovers over the delete button when the sender’s name sinks in.

The message is from PurpleSkittle. And when I open it, his location is clocked at 3.3 km away.

There’s an instant shimmy in my chest. Jamie Canning is in Toronto.

I steel myself as I open the message, because he’s got to be so angry at me. But it’s for the best.



Wes—I need fifteen minutes of your time. I’m going to take this coaching job, and there’s something I want to say. We’re going to share a city. It’s a big one, but still. Tell me where we can meet. I don’t care where—Starbucks or whatever the Canadian equivalent is.

Do me this favor.

J.



I am responding before I even think it through. I tell him yes. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because I’m powerless to say no. A coffee shop isn’t the best idea, though. Too public. So I ask him to meet me at the empty apartment I’ve agreed to rent.

The real estate agent had asked me if I wanted to get in there to take measurements. That’s a thing, apparently. I’d told her yes, and she’d left me a key at the front desk.

Now I’m racing there.

The concierge gives me the key and I tell him I’m expecting someone to look at the place with me. He promises to send him right up.

I ride the elevator with a hammering heart, and when I open the door to the apartment, I look at it with new eyes. It’s too much space for one guy. I should have looked for a one-bedroom. Jamie is going to look at this place and think I walked away from him so that I could have a big NHL lifestyle. As if I give a f*ck about the perks.

But the granite countertop and the cherry wood floors laugh at me. This is what you wanted.

I’m supposed to be here taking measurements, but I haven’t even brought a measuring tape. And it’s not the apartment I need to measure—it’s the size of my balls. Jamie is on his way here to tell me I’m a fearful *, and I really can’t argue the point.

When the knock comes, I’m not ready.

But I man up and open the door, and he walks through in a f*cking suit and tie, looking hot enough to scorch me. I back up instinctively, because I cannot touch him. I’ve never had any willpower where Jamie Canning is concerned. And I’m done sending him mixed signals. I can’t do that to him anymore.

“Hi,” he says cautiously. “Nice place.”

I shrug because my mouth is too dry to speak. His big brown eyes take in the room, which gives me a minute to admire this man I love, maybe for the last time. His face is tan, and his hair has been trimmed. I know exactly how soft it feels sifting through my fingers. And I know it’s really a million different colors up close.

My ass hits the kitchen counter, and I almost stumble.

“You okay there?” he asks.

I nod, helpless. This is so hard. But I brought it on myself. I rest a hand on the granite countertop, and its cool temperature steadies me.

“Well, there’s something I came here to say, even though I know you don’t want to hear it.”

Jamie’s eyes search me, but I don’t know for what. I’m done being a jerk to him, and I can’t show him how I really feel. That leaves me mute. That’s the best I can do.

“I don’t know what you think happened this summer,” he continues, fitting his hands into his trouser pockets. If this coaching thing doesn’t work out, he should try becoming the CEO of a company somewhere. Because he really rocks the look. “In fact, I’m sure you’ve invented a lot of bullshit in that stubborn head of yours. You think you’ve corrupted me, or manipulated me, or some shit.”