Chapter 16AsherTheoAsher
Asher
It was Saturday, and we stood on the ice, waiting for the Head Coach to speak.
No matter how many years I’d played hockey, I could never shake the first-practice jitters.
Combine that with being on a new team, and my stomach was inside out.
You’d think I would have been used to it.
I’d already played for two different teams: the Vipers in high school, and the Bobcats at Callahan University.
But this was different. I was in the PCSHL now, playing with the Westchester Warriors.
The PCSHL was one of the premier NCAA Summer Hockey Leagues and had the potential to open some serious doors—opportunities that could help a guy like me go from a piece of crap in a rundown apartment in New Rochelle to playing in the NHL.
You had to be at least a Division II player to get a spot, and the league had a reputation for sculpting players into powerhouse athletes.
Division I coaches would be coming to our games, hoping to spot someone worth poaching with big scholarships. Scouts would be there too. Forget Division I college—this league was the real dream: the possibility of being recruited for farm leagues or even going pro.
There were twenty-four other players around me, and we all shared the same goal: to be the best.
The stakes were high, and we were all sizing each other up, sussing out the competition. I knew better than to think I’d make a bunch of bosom buddies here. We might be on the same team, but we were all each other’s competition.
So, yeah, this was a level of anxiety I’d never experienced before in a first practice. A lot was on the line.
I usually looked to my emotional support himbo for reassurance during moments like this, but Theo had been awkward around me for days.
He was quiet, which was very unlike him.
Theo could make conversation with a toaster oven; the dude never shut up.
I looked over to see him digging his skates into the ice, very pointedly not looking in my direction.
He was nervous too—I could feel it from where I was standing. That made it even more heartbreaking that he wasn’t speaking to me. We’d always supported each other, since day one.
What did I do?
His silence only made my nerves worse. Everything was happening so fast. My whole life had changed in just five days—no mom, a new house, high-stakes hockey, and weird, distant Theo.
Can I get a break?
The coach blew his whistle and made a speech welcoming everyone. “I’m Head Coach Mike Wilson, and to my right we have Assistant Coach Myers, and to my left is Assistant Coach McHenry.” Practice began with the standard drills: laps around the ice, passing drills, target shooting, and so on .
Then, Coach blew his whistle and we all huddled around him.
“We’re gonna do a scrimmage.” He called out.
There was an audible gasp from the players around me.
We all knew what that meant. With new teams like this, Coaches usually had a scrimmage to determine who would make the starting line.
It would be a high-intensity game to suss out who had the skill and the emotional stamina to play under pressure.
“I took note of your skills as you practiced, and I’m dividing you into four teams of six based on what I saw out there.
Each of you will get a shot to show your stuff.
” His eyes scanned over the players, and a stern look spread across his face.
“Yes, this is to see who the starting line will be, but I coach fairly. I want you all to get a shot on the ice. Some of you might play more than others, but each time you skate onto the ice is an opportunity to showcase what you’ve got.
Don’t ever waste an opportunity, and don’t ever forget that you’re a team.
Yes, you are all competing, but nobody watching you is going to want to see you sacrifice the team’s success for a shot at being a star.
Especially not me. It takes all of you to win. ”
With that, he blew his whistle and started calling out numbers, assembling us into our teams. He called mine and Theo’s number one after the other. We were on the same team.
I looked over to find his gaze on me. He skated closer and held out his gloved hand for a fist bump. “Let’s show them why we belong on the starting line,” he said.
Coach called out the match pairings and the order. We were in the second set, so we took a seat on the bench.
A guy with dark hair and a gleaming smile reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Quincy Forrester. You’re Asher Lachlan, right?”
I was almost positive I’d never met Quincy before, so I was puzzled how he knew me. Had he seen a Vipers game or something? I shook his hand and said, “Yeah, I am. How did you know that?”
Quincy smiled. Damn, he had a nice smile. He leaned in so closely that I could feel the heat of his breath and whispered, “This is gonna sound creepy, but I actually recognize you from a picture that a mutual friend of ours showed me. Do you remember Ross Giles?”
A cold chill ran down my back. Ross? As in the Ross I was kind of seeing in high school?
I looked over at Theo, who was busy watching the game.
Which was something I should have been doing, but I was on the verge of spontaneous combustion with Qincy’s little revelation.
“Oh,” I said hesitantly. “You know Ross?”
Quincy’s smile turned into a devilish grin. “Yeah, you could say I know him,” he whispered. Then he waggled his brows. Oh fuck, this is awkward. He leaned in even closer and spoke directly into my ear. “I think you and I know Ross for the same reasons if you catch my drift.”
Oh, I caught it. I caught it big time. “Seems like Ross has a big mouth.” My face was four million degrees. Damn Ross for yapping about me! He knew I wasn’t out, and why was he showing my picture to people?
“He’s got a lot of big things,” Quincy replied.
Okay, that one was pretty good. And true . I barked out a laugh, and Coach looked over at me, shutting me up in a hurry. I couldn’t piss him off before I’d even gotten a chance to play.
Quincy and I looked at each other, then covered our mouths to muffle our snickering. We were giggling like schoolgirls over our mutual knowledge of Ross’s very impressive dick.
I won’t lie, it was kind of freaking awesome. I’d never had someone I could do that with. Even Cody and I were pretty tight-lipped about everything.
“I hope I didn’t freak you out. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know that I’m family. There aren’t many of us in the sports world. We have to stick together.”
That moment was monumental for me. A warm feeling enveloped my entire body like a lovely blanket. I looked at Quincy, who stared back at me with that thousand-watt smile.
“I’m glad we’re on the same team, and that Ross has a hockey fetish,” I said. “I guess we have him to thank for this introduction.”
Quincy nodded, then leaned in to nudge my shoulder. “I hope we make the starting line.”
“Me too,” I said.
Theo
I couldn’t hear a word Asher and that big-toothed bastard were saying, but I can tell you I wasn’t pleased.
Asher was over there, giggling and fist-bumping some dude, while I was having an internal freak out over how much I wanted to kiss him every night!
I didn’t even like guys! Or so I thought.
I was so confused, and I wanted to talk to Asher.
But I just couldn’t find the right words.
Why couldn’t I just be a man and talk to him?
We were still best friends. I should talk to him like I always did, but everything seemed different.
It was easy to talk to Asher when he was my best friend, but now he was…
something else. How would the old Theo even broach the conversation?
“Hey, bro! No homo, but I’d love it if you sat on my face. ”
Yeah, that was definitely very homosexual and not going to work. I couldn’t think like old Theo anymore. This was new Theo. Theo who liked guys apparently. Well, one guy at least.
Which was fine! It’s 2025, and it wasn’t a big deal to be gay. I was into a dude, and that was okay. It just so happened to be the one dude who meant more to me than anyone else, and the thought of making things weird between us made me paralyzed with fear.
I can’t lose Asher.
It had been days of my trying to say something, and each time I just froze.
It was so hard because I didn’t know how he’d respond.
Even if he was gay, was he into me? Would it be totally awkward if I told him only to find out the feeling wasn’t mutual?
Then where would we be? The boy was now living with me.
Would we just try to navigate around that little fact while living in the same house and sleeping in the same bed?
Fuck, I hate how complicated this is!
Coach’s whistle shook me back to reality. “Next two teams,” he called out.
What? Already?
I had watched the entire first game and didn’t register a single moment.
My mind was on Asher the entire time. We all skated to center ice.
We indicated our primary positions on the new player registration forms, so I wasn’t surprised when Coach told us to get in our usual positions for the scrimmage.
Asher was our center, and his new best friend was right winger. I was familiar with some of the other players through college and youth leagues, but hadn’t played with most of them.
Asher lowered into position, bracing himself for the puck drop .
I wanted Asher to do well. He’d worked so hard for his moment.
The whistle blew as the puck came into contact with the ice. Even from behind, I could see Asher snatching the puck with breakneck speed. That was his gift in hockey; he had reflexes like a fucking cat.
The puck was a dark blur on the ice as it soared to the left winger, but the opposing forward was on him. So, he returned it back to Asher, who pushed forward once he had it.
Asher
My limbs thrummed with adrenaline. Every cell in my body was hyperaware as I raced down the ice with the puck clutched tight on my stick.
The sensation of it bouncing against the blade sent tingles through me.
Colors seemed brighter, and the sound of skates against ice echoed loudly in my ears.
I wasn’t just playing hockey—I was hockey.
Their defense formed a wall just outside the crease, so I passed it to Quincy, playing right wing.
He snapped off a quick shot, but it ricocheted off the crossbar, bouncing along the end boards toward the corner.
Both teams charged after it, an all-out scrum breaking out in the corner.
Their defenseman trapped the puck along the boards, then circled behind the net.
Our left winger met him as he skated out, and they fought for possession.
The other defenseman and I jumped into the scramble, and I managed to poke the puck loose.
I picked it up and skated wide, looking for an opening.
I tried to dish it to Quincy, but their center reached out and poke-checked my stick.
The puck skidded across the ice, right to their winger, who snatched it up and sped away on a breakaway.
I backchecked like my life depended on it, blazing down the ice after him.
Theo was out there in defense—his strides quick—but their center deked left, then cut back in the opposite direction.
Theo overcommitted, lost his edge, and stumbled to the ice.
The rest of our forwards scrambled back in the defensive zone.
Their center, now in a shootout position, attempted a cross-ice pass to their right wing, but Quincy picked it off.
He got trapped in the corner, their left winger throwing a body check into the boards.
Our left defenseman and Theo, back on his skates, joined in the scrap for the puck.
The defenseman broke free with control and sent a crisp outlet pass to our left winger.
He spotted me at the blue line and flicked the puck my way.
The puck connected with my stick, and I was off, my sights set on the goal.
I curved left, then swooped in, faking a shot to the blocker side—the goalie bit it.
I snapped the puck low to the far corner.
Goal!
I pumped my fist once, then Quincy pulled me into a quick hug. The scrimmage wasn’t over, but I already felt like I’d won. No matter what, I was doing my job — proving to the coaches that I was a force to be reckoned with and deserving of a starting line spot.