Chapter 41 Wolfe
FORTY-ONE
WOLFE
Idon’t want to stop, but I’m not going to make him uncomfortable with the team for the last couple of weeks of the season. It’s something we can face after the draft.
“I’m just not used to it,” Archangel says and braces himself.
“I’m not going to get upset with you. I want you to be comfortable with anything we do.” I kiss his forehead and let him go. “Come on. We need team bonding.”
“Are you sure this won’t bother you?” He looks at me like I put the light in his eyes.
“Any part of you is enough.”
The whole team is already in the conference room, getting themselves food, when we walk in.
“Wolfe!” Savage abandons his massive plate of pasta and comes over. He holds out his fist, and I bump it. “How’s the neck?”
“Fine, actually. Looks worse than it is.”
Lovelace, Solace, and Ridgeway join us.
“Then why’d you go down?” Lovelace asks.
I tell them what the doctor told me. I’m assuming coach told them I was fine but didn’t give them details.
Savage is the only one who looks like he understood. “Well, I’m glad it’s not more serious.”
“You don’t want to play tomorrow?”
“I don’t need to disappoint all these assholes when they know they can have you.” Savage is an amazing goalie and is great when I need a break or have to come out, but after all the stuff with his hall-of-famer father, I can’t blame him for not taking hockey seriously.
The rest of the guys playfully rib him.
“I can’t believe all of you bastards fall into line the second Wolfe is here,” Archangel says with annoyance, but it’s good natured.
“We were stressed out!” Solace says, not even trying to make anyone believe it.
“Coach told all of us he was fine last night, you lying bastard,” Seaborn calls from across the room.
A bunch of the guys hold up middle fingers.
“It’s different when we can see him and feel him.” Lovelace puts both his hands on my pecs. “Your tits are so grounding, bro.”
“I like when he hugs me and I press my face between them, personally,” Solace says.
How did it never occur to me how incredibly gay hockey is before I realized I’m bisexual? And it’s like this all the time.
“Seriously?” Lovelace says, giving my pecs another squeeze. “Hug me, bro.”
I roll my eyes but wrap him up in a big hug, glancing over at Archangel to make sure he’s okay with things. He’s shaking his head but smiling.
Lovelace nods as he processes. “You’re right, that is nice.”
Most of the rest of the team comes over to get a hug to compare.
“I think it’s how tall he is. Your face just goes right between them,” Cox says right into my chest.
Coach Hawke, of course, chooses that moment to walk in. He blinks and looks around at what looks like a line of people in front of me and his boyfriend speaking into my chest.
“I wonder if it’s better when he’s shirtless,” Lovelace muses.
Hawke pinches the bridge of his nose and walks back out.
“Your man’s jealous,” I say when I release Cox.
“Little bit.”
“You might want to go talk to him,” I say, feeling a little bad.
Archangel chokes back a laugh.
Cox cracks up and shakes his head. “He knows how homosexual hockey is. I’m sure he’s done so much worse. I’ve heard some stories.”
I hold up my hands. “Just making sure.”
I get a few more hugs. “Okay, guys, I need a DP break.”
“If you want to DP, I’m sure we could get two guys between your pecs at the same time,” Savage throws out.
A few guys volunteer, and I lift my arms, but Archangel shoves them down.
“You are the killer of fun!” I mutter.
“I know.” Archangel pushes me toward the food. “Let him eat, guys.”
But I spot Ridgeway. “Bro, you didn’t get a hug.” I walk toward him with my arms open.
Archangel doesn’t even try to stop me.
Ridgeway holds up his fork. “If you hug me, I’m stabbing you.”
“Who hurt you?” I whisper while Archangel drags me away.
I love every single one of these guys. They are the reason I didn’t leave school after two or three years to go play professionally.
Archangel and I choose a quiet corner to eat in while the team settles back into their dinner.
I glance around, then lean in and whisper, “This bisexual perspective is eye opening.”
Angel stares at me for a minute before answering. “Are you telling me all of you act like that all the time, and you weren’t trying to be homoerotic?”
“No! That’s just how one man acts with another man whom he handles sticks with.”
Archangel blinks.
“Okay, I heard it that time, too.”
He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “But not any other time in the last decade?”
I close one eye and shake my head. “Nope.”
“Straight men oppress themselves.”
I stand up as everyone’s finishing and announce, “No one’s allowed to go out tonight, so I vote we all go get our blankets and bring them back here to watch movies. I’ll steal the projector.”
In no time, the room is covered in blankets, pillows, and even a few mattresses. The guys are all lying across each other, and we put on Top Gun.
Cox gets up while the team is distracted and sits on the floor in front of Coach Hawke’s chair. I smile and bump my shoulder into Archangel’s. He rubs his elbow against mine. Sometimes the smallest touches no one else notices are the best intimacy.
When the volleyball scene comes on, I feel Archangel’s stare burning into my cheek.
I glance over. “Yes, I fully see it now.”
“I had to check.” He’s fighting a smile, but I see the dimples.
I discreetly slip my arm around him since we’re in the back, and it’s dark.
He lays his head on my shoulder.
We win the first round 1-0 then head back to the city. We have nine days for midterms and to train for the semi-finals. Coach gives us Sunday, and Archangel and I spend the whole day in bed platonically—mostly—much to both our frustration.
We walk into the rink for our morning skate, and guys start congratulating and fist-bumping me.
What the fuck?
I glance over at Archangel as I toss my bag in my stall. “What’s going on?”
He shrugs and shakes his head. “We missed something.”
“Bro!” Seaborn walks over. “Did you celebrate yesterday?”
“Celebrate what?”
“You don’t know?” Seaborn grins and laughs. He spent yesterday with his dad, so I hadn’t seen him. Archangel let him take the car, and he must have driven back this morning.
“You gonna tell me?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t.” He drops his voice. “You two are too wrapped up in each other to notice.”
“Fuck off and tell me.”
“The Central Scouting rankings dropped yesterday.”
My heart jumps to my throat. The rankings show where they think all the top players are for the draft. It’s a huge resource for teams.
All the oxygen leaves the room. I don’t want to look. Between us losing conference and my injury, it could be bad.
I hear my dad’s words, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I care what he thinks and that, in my worst moments, I hear his voice.
Archangel puts a hand on the side of my neck. “Breathe. I got you.”
I close my eyes and only let myself feel his touch.
“You always have,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
It has to be good, or no one would be congratulating me.
I force myself to sit in my stall and open my phone. Bringing up the list, I scroll to find the goalie portion and nearly drop my phone.
“I’m one, and Seaborn is two, bro!” I look up at Archangel and notice the whole room has gone silent. “Holy fuck.” Everyone is looking at me. “What’s wrong?”
No one says a word.
“I’m getting real tired of plot twists. Someone tell me what happened?” I stand up, fearing the worst. Did they all see those damn Tumblr pictures?
The team rushes me like I’m a snack, and they are rabid dogs. They pile around Seaborn and I in a group hug, and we might all have been crying.
I’m flying fucking high when I walk out of practice to find my dad leaning against his unmarked SUV, which is very clearly a police car.