Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
MATT
“Your hair looks fucking awesome,” Jesse exclaimed, reaching out to touch it. “That must have taken a heap of work.”
“Just an expensive visit to the hairdresser,” I replied, standing still and letting him run his hands through it.
“I wasn’t about to try to do it myself. I never would’ve gotten it right.
You think it came out well? I was a bit worried they wouldn’t get it how I wanted it, but I’m pretty pleased with it. ”
“I doubt it could’ve been better.” Jesse clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. It looks great and it actually kinda suits you. Maybe you could keep it like this.”
I laughed. “Don’t count on it. I don’t have the patience to maintain something like this.”
“Hey, guys.”
We both turned to Nick.
He eyed me, obviously impressed by my hair too. I really had gone all out. “Amir is about to start his speech. Want to listen in?”
“Oh, yeah. Good idea.” I slipped my helmet on because I didn’t want to detract attention from Amir, and the three of us went to the doorway, where the other members of the team who were participating in the day’s charity game were clustered, all silent as we used the height advantage our skates gave us to get a clear view of Gadot.
By some miracle, the event hadn’t been smeared by a public exposé about Delacrue’s comments during that interview.
Instead, the article—which spanned several pages—had been factual and positive.
I couldn’t help wondering if Chelsey had cornered the reporter afterward and bribed her with wine or pleaded for mercy.
Hopefully, that hadn’t been necessary.
A bright pink spotlight illuminated Gadot, who stood in the center of the ice with a microphone in his hand.
He was giving the opening speech, talking about being a gay little boy who loved hockey but got pushed around by the other members of his youth league for being different.
He described how that escalated to bullying as he got older and only stopped when they realized that he was responsible for many of their wins.
My heart ached. I’d always known that Amir was gay and that he probably hadn’t had an easy time, but there was something gut-wrenching about hearing the details. It was sickening that people could be treated so differently because of who they loved.
Fortunately, he moved on to easier topics, discussing the charity, their work, and how the funds raised today could help young people flourish in the competitive world of professional sport.
He explained how viewers could contribute and, when he finished, he passed the microphone to the charity’s president.
I clapped heartily and my teammates did the same.
We crowded back into the changing rooms to continue getting ready for the game. I was fully dressed, so I wound rainbow tape around my hockey stick and stuck a “love is love” sticker on the outside of my helmet.
Eventually, Coach Dunn called us out onto the ice, and Chappell Roan played over the loudspeakers as we skated a couple laps around the rink.
The vibe inside the stadium was different from usual.
There were rainbow banners strung around the interior, and the spectators were bedecked in every shade imaginable rather than team colors.
There was no atmosphere of tension, only excitement. It was almost…festive.
I liked it.
The youth players from the alliance were gathered in the center of the ice where we joined them. Coach Dunn greeted the newcomers and announced how the teams were going to be divided.
That done, he moved down one end of the ice with half of us and the rest—my team—turned to the coach we’d been assigned. She was a tall, athletic woman who usually coached college hockey and who had volunteered for the role because her son was participating in the game.
“Take a few minutes to get to know each other and then we’ll run some drills before we get started,” she said, then motioned for us to get to it.
“Hi.”
I turned and drew back when I realized the person who’d spoken was right beside me. He was olive-skinned, with a little dark hair visible through his helmet and wide, excited eyes.
“You’re Matt Matthews,” he said, as if I might not know that.
“I am.” I grinned and offered him a gloved hand. “What’s your name?”
“Nico.” He shook my hand and his smile grew. “I’m a defenseman too.”
“Awesome! How long have you played?”
“Since I was six. I’m going to college next year on a hockey scholarship. I want to be in the NHL.”
My heart lifted. I could relate to that. “Do you know I went to college on a hockey scholarship too?”
He nodded vigorously. “I did.”
“Well, hopefully, your luck turns out as good as mine did. If you’ve got a scholarship, then I’m sure you’ve got the skills and determination to go all the way. They don’t just hand those things out.”
His cheeks flushed slightly. “I hope so.”
Another player approached, and I turned and introduced myself.
By the time we were called for drills, I’d at least met everyone I’d be playing with, even if I wasn’t sure I’d be able to remember all their names.
We started drills—primarily ones designed to get the goalie warmed up and us working better together with our new teammates. I found myself partnered with Nico on one of them and the kid was good. Really good.
Kelly, who was also on my team, skated over to me. “I thought we were going to have to take it easy, but these guys might give us a run for our money.”
“They’re incredible,” I agreed.
Eventually, the game started. I was paired with Nico to begin with—a fact he seemed delighted by. It was strange facing off against Harris and Young, who were both in the opposing forward line, and stranger still protecting a goalie I hadn’t worked with before.
It was fun, though. The teens playing with us were obviously thrilled to be there and brought a new sense of energy to the ice that I reveled in. Sometimes, we got so caught up in winning that it was easy to forget we’d started playing out of a love for the sport.
I could tell some of my Chaos teammates were holding back, reluctant to get too physical, but they all seemed to be having a blast, and the kids we were playing with were damn good. The goalie behind me—Kobe—was pulling off saves that even Davenport would be pleased with.
When the game ended—with the other team winning, thanks in part to the goal-scoring power of Austin Harris—the charity’s president took to the ice again to announce the winners of the silent auctions that had been going on during the game.
We all kept moving as they made their way down the list, not wanting to cool off too much before we were able to shower. A few players had donated either autographed items or services, and they took turns joining the president to present the winnings to those who had purchased them.
I’d donated a two-hour personal coaching session for an up-and-coming defenseman and, when it was time to announce the winner, I skated over to the president and removed my helmet to reveal my head of bright, rainbow-colored hair. A cheer rang through the stadium, and I raised my hand and waved.
The president arched their eyebrows. “That’s quite something.”
I grinned. “It seemed fitting.”
They read out the person’s name and how much they’d donated and my mouth dropped open. Wow, I hadn’t realized my time was worth quite so many zeroes.
The winner was a young woman with short hair and a pierced eyebrow. I shook her hand. “Thanks so much for bidding. My phone number and email address are on the certificate, so you can call later to arrange a time.”
She beamed at me. “Thanks! I’m so excited! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.”
“More than meeting. We’re going to carve up some ice.”
She accepted the certificate from the president, and we posed for a photo together before being ushered away for the next winner to be called forth.
When the auction winners had all been announced, the spectators began to disperse, although some lingered around the edges of the rink, hoping for autographs.
Kobe, the goalie, skated over to me. He’d taken his helmet off and his eyes were wide and blue, his sweaty hair tied at the nape of his neck. “Your hair looks so cool.”
“Thanks.” I ran my hand over it, grimacing at the cold dampness from how sweaty I’d become during the game. It probably didn’t look quite as impressive as it had been earlier now that it was flattened to my head.
“Love it,” another kid said, skating a circle around me to check it out before stopping beside Kobe. “Is it permanent?”
I shrugged. “The hairdresser said it’d last a couple weeks.”
“And you’re…okay with that?” he asked, shifting his stick from one hand to the other. “Even though you’ll have to play other games like that and be seen in public and stuff?”
I smiled gently. “Yeah, I’m okay with it.”
He cocked his head. “People might think you’re gay…”
“And?” I didn’t care what people thought. Once upon a time, I’d cared too much, and I’d learned that lesson. Now, I only cared about what mattered to me and the people I wanted in my life.
“Huh.”
Drew joined us, eyeing my hair as if he didn’t know what to make of it. I’d been a little surprised when he’d volunteered for the charity game, but I supposed the fact he had a chip on his shoulder didn’t mean he was a homophobe like Delacrue.
He grunted. “It suits you.”
The kid’s eyes widened with a combination of wariness and something akin to hero worship. He’d seemed confident enough with me, but his mouth worked silently and he clearly had no idea what to say to Drew.
“You guys played well,” Drew said and skated away.
The kid squeaked, then slapped his hand to his mouth and blushed bright pink. “Oh, fuck. That’s so embarrassing.”
I resisted the urge to chuckle. “Don’t worry. I doubt he noticed.”
He nodded, but his expression was dubious. Nico skated over and, to my surprise, kissed Kobe on the cheek. My heart warmed as Kobe smiled at him fondly. Now, that was cute.
It was nice that they were able to be authentically themselves, but it sucked that assholes like Delacrue still looked down on them.
If he’d played today, he might have realized that a good hockey player is a good hockey player whether they’re gay or straight or black or white or any color of the rainbow.
“Matthews!” I looked around. Gauthier was leaning on the barrier, chatting with a pair of women on the other side. “Get over here!”
“Duty calls,” I told my companions. “Nice to meet you all.”
I glided over to Gauthier and arched an eyebrow, silently inquiring what was up.
“These two would like autographs on their photo of us and Davenport taken during the game against Seattle.”
I flashed them both a smile. “Awesome. It’s nice to meet you guys. I’m so glad you could come today.”
The taller of the two—a brunette—handed me a photograph and a marker pen.
I signed in the top right corner, in a space above the figures on the ice.
Gauthier had already signed near the top on the other side.
I passed the photograph back and a guy shuffled over with a stick he was eager for us to sign.
I spent the next half hour autographing sticks, pucks, photos, and even a couple of shirts. One slightly drunk, very flirty man tried to get me to sign his pecs. In the end, I signed his shirt over his right pec and told him that would have to do. Thankfully, he seemed pleased enough with that.
Once the fans had all departed and the youth we’d been playing with were in the changing rooms, the rest of us finally headed to the showers.
As I entered, I noticed that Drew was already drying himself.
He must have snuck out a little earlier, perhaps overwhelmed by the attention.
He wasn’t one to enjoy that the way some others did.
“Everything good out there?” he asked, slinging the towel over his shoulder and pulling up his boxers.
I nodded. “Everyone has cleared out.”
He yanked on a pair of jeans, and for a moment, I thought he was done with the conversation, but then he said, “I’m glad it went well.”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “Me too.”
He turned away, and I sat on the bench and untied my skates.
I slid them off, stripped, and wrapped a towel around my waist as I went to the shower.
It was a strange feeling, washing off after a game that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t really matter.
Like, it did in that the fundraiser was important, but there was no need to stress over the outcome or wonder what I should have done better.
It was a nice break.
I took my time getting dressed again, oddly reluctant to leave. When I finally ventured out of the changing rooms, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, my gaze immediately landed on Chelsey, who was leaning against the side of the rink and looking toward me.
She straightened, and I noticed that she was wearing a Pride tank top rather than one of our jerseys. That was a small mercy, considering she always chose Austin’s, and every time I saw her in it, I wanted to order her to take it off and put on mine instead.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light like a field of rippling wheat on a sunny day, and my breath caught. She sauntered toward me, her hips swinging, and I fought to keep my attention from dipping to her mouthwateringly thick thighs.
I was surprised she was seeking me out, but perhaps there was something to do with the documentary that she needed to discuss.
“Hey, Chelsey.” I stayed where I was, allowing her to move as close as she wanted. My stomach fluttered when she didn’t stop until she was directly in front of me, close enough for me to rest my hands on her hips if I’d dared.
She smiled up at me, her eyes bright, and then, to my absolute astonishment, she kissed me on the cheek. “You did really well today.”
My heart leapt and my fingers twitched. I yearned to grab her and kiss her, but I couldn’t just do that because I felt like it.
Not without permission.
One of my hands cupped the side of her face and I watched it, fascinated. I didn’t recall having made any decision to move it, but it seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Can I have another kiss?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for her response.
She hesitated and it dragged on for several seconds. My heart dropped and I lowered my hand from her cheek, but she grabbed it and pressed it to her warm skin again.
“Yes,” she whispered.
My heart grew wings and soared. My pulse raced as I tipped her chin up and lowered my head.