Chapter 6
Luca
I texted him the address an hour before practice ended. I spent the next sixty minutes regretting it.
By the time I got home, I had reorganized my living room twice in my head.
I had considered canceling four separate times.
My apartment was too bare—just functional furniture and no personal touches because I had never let anyone close enough to need them.
The kitchen was clean because I barely used it.
The bedroom was worse: king bed, grey sheets, nothing on the walls.
It looked exactly what it was. A place to sleep between games. A holding cell.
I stood in the middle of the living room with my phone in my hand. My thumb hovered over his contact. I could still text him. I could tell him I'd made a mistake. That this was too risky, too complicated, too—
The buzzer rang.
My heart kicked hard. I crossed to the intercom and pressed the button. "Yeah?"
"It is me." Theo’s voice was slightly tinny through the speaker. Still warm. Still him.
I buzzed him up without answering. I opened my door and waited in the hallway. I listened to the elevator climb. I heard the doors slide open.
And then there he was. He walked toward me in jeans and a Storm hoodie, his hair still damp from the shower, looking like every dangerous thing I had ever wanted.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey."
I stepped back to let him in. I closed the door behind us and locked it. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home felt too loud in the quiet.
Theo looked around. He took in the space. I waited for judgment. I waited for questions about why it was so empty.
He just nodded. "Nice place."
"It's nothing."
"It's yours." He turned to face me. The distance between us felt electric. "That's something."
I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't know how to explain that nothing in my life felt like mine. Not my apartment. Not my career. Not even my body when I stepped onto the ice. Everything was a performance. Everything was calculated.
Except this. Except him.
"You want something to drink?" I asked, because I needed something to do with my hands.
"Sure."
I went to the kitchen and pulled two beers from the fridge. When I turned back, Theo was standing right there, closer than I had expected.
I handed him a bottle. Our fingers brushed.
"Luca." He said my name like a question.
"I don't know how to do this," I admitted. The words came out rough. "I've never—with anyone—"
"I know." Theo set his beer down on the counter without opening it. He stepped closer. "We don't have to do anything. We can just talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need."
What I needed was impossible. I needed to rewind ten years. I needed to come out when I was twenty instead of building this elaborate cage around myself. I needed to be someone who could hold his hand in public, who could kiss him after a win, who could introduce him as—as what? My boyfriend? My—
"Stop thinking so hard." Theo’s hand came up. His fingers were gentle against my jaw. "I can hear you spiraling from here."
"I'm risking everything." The confession escaped before I could stop it. "My captaincy. My contract. My career. If anyone finds out—"
"Then we make sure no one finds out." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "I meant what I said. I'm not asking for forever. I'm just asking for honest. And right now, honestly? I want to kiss you again."
I set my beer down next to his and closed the distance between us.
I kissed him like I'd been dying to since the moment he walked through my door.
It was slower this time. Less desperate.
More intentional. His mouth opened under mine and I tasted mint toothpaste and something sweet.
His hands slid under my shirt, palms warm against my ribs, and I made a sound I didn't recognize.
"Bedroom?" he asked against my lips.
"Yeah. Okay."
We barely made it down the hall. I kept stopping to kiss him. To press him against the wall. To feel his pulse racing under my mouth when I kissed his throat. He laughed breathlessly and pulled me forward.
We were in my room. I closed the door even though we were alone. Even though there was no one to hide from here.
Old habits.
Theo pulled his hoodie off in one smooth motion, then his shirt. I stood there staring at the bruises spreading across his ribs—purple and yellow and angry.
My fault. He'd taken that hit for me.
"Don't." He caught my wrist when I reached toward the damage. "I'm fine."
"You're hurt."
"I'm fine," he repeated, firmer. Then he tugged my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside. His hands mapped my chest, my shoulders, my stomach. "You're beautiful."
No one had ever called me that. Hot, maybe. Intense. Built. But never beautiful.
I kissed him again because I didn't know what else to do with the feeling rising in my chest. I wanted to learn his body. The tattoo on his hip. The scar on his shoulder. The way he shivered when I kissed behind his ear.
He was all golden skin and lean muscle and those bright eyes watching me like I was worth looking at.
"You're so good at this," I said without thinking. My voice came out low, almost reverent. "So good for me."
Theo made a sound—half gasp, half moan—and arched into my touch. His reaction was immediate. Visceral.
He liked being told, liked being praised.
"Yeah?" I tested it, lips against his collarbone. "You like that? Being good for me?"
"Luca..." My name broke apart in his mouth. "Tell me what you want."
He reached for my belt, fingers steady despite the heat in his eyes. The clink of metal made my breath catch.
"Wait."
I covered his hand with mine, stilling his movements. Not stopping him because I didn't want him, but stopping him because I wanted him too much.
"Theo." His name came out rough. "I need... I need to go slow."
His eyes met mine, pupils blown wide. He didn't pull away, but his hand stilled completely. "Okay. We can stop. We don't have to—"
"Not stop," I corrected, my thumb brushing the pulse point at his wrist. "Just... not yet."
Theo searched my face, his expression softening into something devastatingly tender. "Okay."
We climbed onto the bed. I didn't pull the covers back; we just lay on top of the grey sheets, half-dressed and tangled together. I was hyper-aware of every point of contact—his bare chest against my arm, his knee knocking against my thigh, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
It was terrifying. Sex was a distraction. This—lying here with nothing to do but exist in the same space—was raw.
I ran my hand down his arm, watching goosebumps rise in my wake. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah." Theo shifted, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He let out a long, shaky breath. "More than okay."
I held him. I memorized the weight of him beside me, the smell of him, the fact that for the first time in years I wasn't alone in this apartment.
"You're good," I whispered against his hair, needing him to know it. "You're doing so good, Theo."
He shivered against me, pressing closer, trusting me with his rest.
Later, the city lights filtering through the blinds, cast stripes across us. I traced them on his skin with one finger, sleep heavy on my own eyelids.
"This stays between us," I murmured, the old fear creeping back in even as my body relaxed. "No one can know."
"I know." His voice was thick with sleep.
"I mean it, Theo. Not your friends, not your family, not—"
"I said I know." He didn't move away, but I felt a subtle tension enter his frame. "I heard you the first time. We're a secret. I get it."
The flatness in his voice made my chest ache. But I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know how to explain that the alternative was losing everything I'd spent years building. So I just pulled him tighter, closed my eyes, and let myself have this one night.
The secret started small.
A brush of fingers in the equipment room when no one was looking. A text message during film review—just a word, maybe two, nothing incriminating. His hand on my lower back in the tunnel before a game, so brief I could pretend it was accidental.
We developed a language. A code. Good practice meant I want to see you tonight. Need extra film review meant come over. I had never been creative before, never needed to be, but necessity turned me into a liar. I got good at it. Too good.
Three weeks in, we had stolen more moments than I could count.
Quick kisses in the video room after everyone else left.
His mouth on mine in my car in the parking garage, windows fogged, both of us breathless.
Once—reckless, dangerous—I had pulled him into the equipment closet between periods and kissed him until we both had to bite back sounds that would have given us away.
The thrill of it was intoxicating. Every secret touch felt electric. Every coded text made my pulse race. I had spent ten years in careful control, and now I was high on risk.
But there was a cost.
I couldn't sit next to him at team dinners. I couldn't laugh too hard at his jokes. I couldn't let my eyes linger when he stepped out of the shower. In public, I had to be Captain Moretti—distant, professional, maybe a little harder on him than necessary to prove there was nothing between us.
And Theo played along. He smiled and nodded and called me "Cap" like it didn't hurt. Like we were just mentor and rookie, nothing more. Like he hadn't been in my bed the night before, learning what made me come apart.
I told myself he understood. That he'd agreed to this. That he knew what he was signing up for.
I told myself a lot of things.
The breaking point came after we beat Dallas 4-2, securing our spot at the top of the division.
The team was flying high, energy crackling through the locker room. Someone suggested hitting Rush Street, and suddenly everyone was in—drinks, dancing, celebrating like we had won the Cup instead of just another regular season game.
I should have said no. I should have made an excuse, gone home, and kept my distance.
But I didn't.
The bar was packed with Storm fans who cheered when we walked in. My teammates spread out, buying rounds, taking selfies, and soaking up the attention. I found a corner booth and nursed a beer, watching Theo across the room.
He was in his element. He was laughing with the rookies, doing shots with Martinez, completely at ease in his own skin.
He glowed. That was the only word for it. People gravitated toward him like he was the sun and they were desperate for warmth.
A girl approached him. Pretty, confident, hand on his arm. She said something and he laughed, shook his head, and gestured toward the bar. Not interested, but kind about it. She persisted. He stayed polite.
My jaw ached from clenching.
"You good, Cap?" Hayes slid into the booth across from me, drink in hand.
"Fine."
"You look like you want to hit something."
"Just tired." I took a sip of beer and forced my shoulders to relax. "Long week."
"Yeah." Jamie followed my gaze across the room. "The rookie's fitting in well."
"He's doing his job."
"He's doing more than that. The kid has heart." Jamie grinned. "And he has half the bar trying to take him home. Good for him."
Something ugly twisted in my chest. I stood abruptly. "I'm heading out."
"Already? We just got here."
"Early practice tomorrow."
I didn't wait for a response. I headed for the door. Outside, the October air was cold. I sucked in a breath, trying to calm the irrational anger burning through my veins.
I had no right to be jealous. No claim on him in public. This was the deal we'd made.
But watching him smile at strangers, watching people touch him freely when I couldn't—when I had to pretend he was just another rookie, just another responsibility—it felt like swallowing glass.
I was halfway to my car when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Luca. Wait."
I stopped. I didn't turn around. "Go back inside, Theo."
"No." He circled around to face me, his eyes bright under the parking lot lights. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"You left without saying anything. You looked..." He gestured helplessly. "I don't know. Angry? Upset?"
"I'm tired."
"Bullshit." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Talk to me."
"Not here." I glanced toward the bar entrance. Anyone could walk out. Anyone could see us standing too close, having a conversation that clearly wasn't professional. "This isn't the place."
"Then where?" Frustration edged his words. "Your place? My place? The equipment room? Where am I allowed to actually exist with you, Luca?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I had no answer that wouldn't sound like an excuse.
"That's what I thought." Theo’s laugh was hollow. "I knew what I was getting into. I did. But watching you look through me in there—pretending I'm nothing to you—" He shook his head. "It's harder than I expected."
Guilt crashed through me, cold and sharp. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want sorry." His voice cracked. "I want you to look at me like you do when we're alone. Just once. Just so I know it's real and not just..." He stopped and swallowed hard. "I'm going home. You should too."
He turned and walked toward his car.
I watched him go. I stood frozen, every instinct screaming at me to follow. To call his name. To close the distance and kiss him right here under the streetlights where anyone could see.
But I couldn't move.
Captain Moretti didn't chase rookies through parking lots. He didn't risk everything for a feeling. He didn't break.
I got in my car and drove home alone.
I sat in my empty apartment with all the lights off. I stared at my phone and the text thread with Theo—dozens of coded messages, carefully worded invitations, nothing that could be used as evidence.
Nothing that was honest.
I had built this closet so carefully. I had reinforced every wall. I had made it comfortable, even. Safe.
But sitting there in the dark, I realized what I had actually built.
A tomb.
And I was dragging Theo into it with me.
My phone buzzed with a text from Theo.
Theo: I'm home. I'm okay. Just needed space.
I typed back: I'm sorry for hurting you.
His response came after a long pause.
Theo: I know you are. I just wish you would stop.
I stared at those words until my eyes burned. He was right. Being sorry wasn't enough. Apologies didn't fix anything when I kept making the same choices. When I kept asking him to be invisible. When I kept treating him like a secret shame instead of...
Instead of what he actually was. The best thing that had happened to me in years. Maybe ever.
I needed to do better. Be better. Find a way to give him something real, even if I couldn't give him everything.
I just had no idea how.