Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
JONAH
W hat the hell did that asshole do to Coach Gibson? I stomped my way to Owen, standing at the door to the club. Grabbing his shoulder, I twisted him around. “Hey, what the fuck, man? Why did he run off like that?”
He glared at me, his chest heaving with deep breaths. “Hell if I know. I didn’t do anything. He just freaked out on me.” His gaze darted around the bar. “Fuck, I better text him and get him back here.” He ripped his phone out of his pocket and stabbed the screen.
I stared at him. This guy was off. Why was Coach Gibson with him anyway?
“What’s going on?” Ace stepped beside me, puffing out his already wide chest. His gaze swept between me and Owen.
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on.” Owen peered into his phone. “He’s not even reading my text messages.”
“What did you do to him?” I poked him in the shoulder.
Fixing a glare at me, he said, “I told you, I didn’t do anything.” He faced Ace. “And you can call off your guard dog.”
“Dude, you don’t want to fuck with me.” Ace’s gaze turned hard. “And if we find out you did do something fucked up to our coach, we will find you and it won’t be pretty.” He stood closer to Owen, hovering over him.
Slumping, Owen tutted. “Oh, really. Whatever.” With a flick of his wrist, he sauntered off into the bar.
Furrowing my brow, I watched Owen leave, then turned to Ace. “What do you make of that?”
With a shake of his head, he threw his arms up and let them fall. “Fuck if I know. Guess we can ask Coach Gibson about it on Monday.”
“Yeah.” A pit formed in my stomach. What if Owen got to Coach Gibson before then? What if the guy was some kind of stalker? It was pretty obvious they weren’t really boyfriends.
“Come on, let’s go party. There are men and booze aplenty in this place.” Ace slapped my shoulder and headed for the rest of the guys, studying us from a table at the far wall.
Wednesday rolled around and Coach Gibson had successfully found ways to be too busy at practice to talk to, and I sure as hell was not going to bring up what had happened at the gay bar in front of anyone. The number of times I’d almost messaged him on Instagram had to have been in the thousands by now. He’d seemed in good spirits, though, so I guessed it all worked out.
As I passed the Five Guys on Mill Avenue between my classes, my stomach rumbled. A juicy burger sounded fantastic. I popped the door open on the brick building and stepped out of the sunshine and into the burger joint.
I scanned around me. A few students stood at the counter ordering, then my gaze snagged on Coach Gibson. My heart about stopped. Holy shit, this was my chance.
He sat at a table by the window, his back to me, pulling fries out of his white paper bag.
I hurried to the counter and ordered the first thing on the menu, then paid and poured iced tea into a cup. I didn’t want Coach leaving before I got to him. I was dying to know what had happened.
My order came up at the counter and I grabbed it, then beelined for Coach Gibson’s table. “Hey, can I sit with you?” My gaze raked over his maroon-and-gold athletic gear, hugging his lean and muscular body. How could a person look good in everything they wore?
He startled and looked up at me. “Oh, Boehm, sure.” He waved his hand across the table. “The seat’s yours.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin, then sipped his drink.
I fell into the chair across from him and glanced out the window at the cars driving by and students walking, cycling, or skateboarding down the sidewalk. Slipping off my backpack, I said, “So, I wanted to talk to you.”
With a long exhale, he leaned back in his chair. “About?”
I peeked at his half-eaten burger. I had time. He wasn’t close to being done eating yet. Knitting my brows, I said, “About what happened the other night. About…Owen.” I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t like the guy when I’d met him and I liked him even less as time had gone on.
With a soft chuckle, he waved me off. “Oh, it was a misunderstanding. It’s all good now.” His face grew slack and the hint of a frown crept over him.
“You sure about that?” My eyes narrowed as I pulled my hamburger out and unwrapped it. “Is he your boyfriend?” My chest clenched. God, I hoped he wasn’t. But why, because I was going to be his boyfriend? Fuck.
He shifted in his seat and set his forearms on the table. “No, he’s not. He’s…he was a hookup that got a little too pushy, but it’s over. I’m not going to see him again.” Rolling his lips, he snuck a peek at me from under his brows. “He didn’t, uh, start anything after I left, did he?” He bit the corner of his lip. “He said he left all of you alone.”
With a huff, I said, “Yeah, he left us alone.” I chuckled, my heart lightening. He’s not seeing him again! “After Ace threatened him.” Ace was good like that. Always had our backs and was built like a fucking house, so people usually backed off when he got involved.
“Ace threatened him?” His eyes lit up.
Nodding, I said, “Yeah. So Owen won’t be fucking with you again. If you do see him again.” I picked up my burger and bit into it. Warmth slithered down my chin. “Shit.” I slid my tongue out and licked it off.
His gaze locked onto my mouth and his eyes darkened, then he cleared his throat and adjusted himself. “Uh, so…” Dipping his head, he skimmed his finger along the edge of his paper bag. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I sipped my iced tea. “Though it would be nice to shoot the shit a little.” I snuck a glance at him. Would he let me in at all? He was still such a mystery. Maybe if I found out more, the allure of him would wear off. Fuck, who was I kidding?
“Okay. What are your thoughts on the away game against Colorado College?” He bit into his burger.
“Oh, I think we need to watch out for their center. Dickerson is, well, a dick.” I chortled. The name fit the guy perfectly. He was known more for his chirping than his ability to make a play.
“Has he ever come after you?” He set his burger down, slipping his tongue out and licking juice off his index finger before sucking it between his lips.
Jesus fuck. My cock tingled and swelled. That was some tongue the guy had. And his lips… I swallowed hard as the head of my dick pinched into a seam. I needed to adjust. But he’d see. I shifted my hips, angling back. Nope. I palmed my cock out of the way.
His gaze grew wide and chased the movement of my hand, then he wet his mouth.
Yeah, he knew what I was doing. “Yes, he’s come after me. I suspect he’ll try again this weekend.” I quirked one side of my lips. “But I have a good comeback for him.”
“What’s that?” He plucked a fry from his bag, pursed his lips, and ate it.
“Do better.” I freed a soft snort. I’d heard of a player in the NHL using that tactic and I’d wanted to try it. “Every time he comes at me, I just say, Can’t you do better than that? Or, What’s holding you back? ” I sipped my tea.
He picked up another fry, turned it in his fingers while twitching his lips, then set it back down.
“Something wrong with the fries?” I arched a brow at him. Along with the burgers, this place had the best damn fries. Okay, McDonald’s was a close second when they were piping hot, but damn.
“No gravy around here. I haven’t found one place that serves gravy with fries.” His gaze met mine and a smirk teased his plump lips.
“Gravy?” I scoffed a laugh. “Shit, now you sound like Myles. He likes his fries that way too.” Though Myles was raised in Vancouver. I rested my elbow on the table and wagged my fingers at his food. “Myles actually bought some gravy for the house that he heats up when he brings fries home to eat.”
“Yeah, good idea. I’ll get some for my apartment and start taking food home.” He ate the last of his burger.
“Where do you live?” I squeezed some ketchup into my bag and dunked some fries into it. Speaking of things to put on fries…
“Those new apartments down the street. The Apollo?” He crumpled up his bag.
“Yeah? That’s a nice place.” I drank my tea, then ate a bite of my burger. He was obviously done eating. Would he stay longer to chat?
“I’m liking it there. I like being close to everything. I grew up in a rural area.” He perused the restaurant, then focused on me and set his elbows on the table, tenting his hands over his crinkled bag. “How about you? Are you a city boy or from the suburbs?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I said, “I grew up in the suburbs, but it was only a quick bus ride to downtown Minneapolis.” My heart swelled with warmth. He was sticking around to talk to me.
He tilted his head. “You ever been to the Gay Nineties down there on what was it…?”
“Hennepin Avenue?” I lifted the corner of my mouth. “I think every queer person in the state has been there at some point.” I shoved some fries into my mouth. The club was one of the oldest gay bars in the Twin Cities and had to have been the largest. “I take it you’ve been?”
Nodding, he said, “Yeah, whenever we played a game in the area, that’s where I’d head.” He chuckled. “Mind you, I didn’t hook up with anyone. I had a boyfriend waiting at home.” His grin faded.
“Yeah?” Finally, I was going to get some answers. I drank my tea. “How long were you together?” I took a bite of my burger.
“About six years, give or take.” He furrowed his brows. “We still talk. He’s a good friend now.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?” I was pretty sure he was talking about the guy named Laurent on his Instagram account. Not that I’d stalked both of them…yeah, I had. I wiped my fingers on a napkin and dropped some fries into my ketchup.
“Laurent.” He poked a wrinkle in his bag. “He helped me out of a really bad place.” His brows snapped together. “After my knee injury, I was pretty lost.” His gaze rose to mine.
The spark had gone from his eyes. “I bet. It was a career-ending injury, right?” I thought back to what Myles had said about it. “Does it still hurt to talk about?” It sure as hell looked to me like it did.
“Naw.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I like what I’m doing now.” He gave a short laugh. “I probably would have ended up coaching even if I had gone to the NHL.”
I nodded slowly. Should I bring up what I already knew about him? I ran my fingers up and down my iced tea glass. “So, what happened exactly?”
Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat. “I tore my ACL in a juniors’ game. This guy, Chad Baker was his name, came out of nowhere and checked me.” He dipped his brows. “I can’t remember exactly what happened, but my skate caught on something and torqued my knee. It hurt like a motherfucker.” He shook his head, blowing out a breath, his gaze affixed to the table. “I had surgery, and while it was healing, like a dumbass, I wasn’t wearing my brace, and I slipped on some ice in a stairway and fell. I tore it all over again.” He scowled. “It was so stupid, but you know, at eighteen, you think you’re invincible.” His gaze locked on mine and he bit his lower lip.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. That sucks.” As my chest ached for him, I reached my hand out to cover his, resting on the table, then drew it back. What are you doing, Jonah?
He dropped his hands to his lap and brushed his palms over his thighs. “Anyway, it’s done, and I’ve accepted things.” He scanned around us, then his attention drew to me. “How’s your career been? Any injuries?”
“No, not really. I tweaked a hammy at practice a week or so ago, but that’s feeling better.” I’d been fucking lucky so far. I twisted my lips. Or maybe too careful? “I mean, sure, I get bruised up like all the guys but nothing major so far.” I knocked on the table. “Knock on wood.” I ate the last bite of my burger. I wanted to ask more about his boyfriend. Was it too personal?
He chuckled. “Yeah, you don’t want to jinx yourself.”
“So, uh, what happened with Laurent?” Shit, I’d just blurted that out. I held my palm up to him. “Y-you don’t have to tell me. I’m just, uh, curious.”
Chewing his lower lip, he eyed me. “We grew apart. The relationship sort of came to a natural and probably inevitable end.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t because he didn’t want to move down here with you…?” With a wince, I drank my tea, making a crackling so und through the straw as I sucked the rest of it up. Shit, we were both done eating. My time with him was almost done.
He huffed a laugh. “No, it ended a good six months before I moved.” He stood and plucked his crumpled bag off the table. “I suppose I should be going.”
My gaze chased him, and I rose from the table. “Yeah, guess so.” I glanced outside into the sunny afternoon. I had my final class of the day to go to, but if he offered to go for a drink, I’d take it.
“See you at practice later.” He patted my shoulder.
“Sure, see you later.” I watched him walk toward the door, then slung my backpack over my shoulder, a ragged ache filling my chest. I’d learned a lot about him today. And the more I learned, the more I liked him. He’d been in a long-term relationship, which, in my book, said he was a relationship guy. Just the sort of man I wanted in my life.
The next weekend, we were in Colorado Springs, taking on Colorado College’s Tigers. We’d only been in the game less than ten minutes and Hopkins had already scored. I skated down the ice, juggling the puck on my stick while Dickerson followed close beside me.
“Drop it, Boehm. Drop the fucker.” He smacked me with his shoulder.
“That all you got?” With a chuckle, I corrected and eyed Richards, our other winger, then shot the puck at him.
Richards lunged for it and collided hard with Dickerson, knocking both of them to the ice and leaving a yard sale of helmets and sticks. The puck flew into the board and was picked off by the Tigers’ right D-man.
Carlson swung around and flew toward him, then checked him against the board and stole the puck.
“Here, I’m open.” I slapped my stick to the ice .
Carlson tossed the puck my way.
Slipping in front of me, Dickerson snatched it and cackled. “You’re such a hoser, Boehm.” He worked it down the ice toward Ace. “Or are you a hose-sucker?”
“Fucker.” I powered toward him. So much for my comebacks. “Come on, Dick -erson, you can do better than homophobic chirps.”
He cut in front of me.
Lifting my stick, it caught his leg and yanked him down. Fuck, now I’d done it.
He fell forward and slid down the ice.
A ref blew a whistle and skated in to pick up the puck for a faceoff.
“Goddammit.” That was a rookie mistake. My gaze caught on Carlson’s, and he shook his head.
“Don’t worry, I got this.” Hopkins skated by me and up-nodded with a wide smirk.
I threw a glance toward the bench. Was Coach Finley going to pull me in?
Coach signaled to me.
“Fuck.” Hanging my head, I skated toward the gate in the boards, then took my seat on the bench while Bransky hopped out onto the ice.
“Watch your stick, Boehm.” Coach Finley patted my shoulder.
“Yeah, I know.” It was so fucking basic. I snuck a peek at Coach Gibson, as usual looking slick in his gray suit.
With lifted brows, his gaze met mine and he crossed his arms over his chest.
I’d let him down. I had to do better. I scowled and shook my head. I was more concerned about what he thought of my playing than my own coach. This was all sorts of fucked up. I had to get my head on straight.
After the game, where we’d barely squeaked out a win in an overtime shoot-out, we were bused to an Italian restaurant for a team dinner to fill up on pasta.
I strolled next to Archer and behind Coach Gibson, watching the sway of his fine ass in his slacks under his suit coat. The cold weather didn’t seem to bother him. I was all bundled up in sweats with the rest of the team, but he was only wearing his suit jacket.
Archer opened the door and waved me inside. “You look worried.”
“I do?” I gnawed the side of my lower lip. He was right. I’d wanted to be sure to snag a seat close to his coach because I couldn’t help myself.
“Yeah.” He leaned in. “What’s going on? Coach Hot Stuff got you all riled up?” He snickered.
“Stop it.” With a head shake, I scoffed, then came in close to him. “Yeah.” I spied said coach, dropping into a red vinyl chair at the end of a long table. “I’m going in.” I tagged Archer’s shoulder, strode to a seat next to Gibson’s, and plopped down in it. Was I obvious? Probably. But fuck if I cared. I had to be close to him.
“Hey, Boehm.” He offered me a warm smile and rubbed his hands over the table.
Archer slid in next to me and gave me a sly smile.
He knew what was up. I couldn’t hide anything from my best friend. “Hi, Coach Gibson. Good game, huh?” I set my forearms on the table.
Players and coaches took up the remaining seats around us, with Coach Finley at the other end. Most of the other forwards gathered around him.
My gaze flicked to my coach’s, and he sent me a glare. I was not moving. I could always say I wanted to sit with Archer.
“The game was okay. I would have liked to see you pull off the win without going into overtime. It was too close for my liking.” He leaned back as a waitress set filled water glasses on the table. “That means it could have gone either way, and I expected this to be a relatively easy win, eh.”
“I agree.” Archer picked up a plastic menu centered in front of him.
“Guess so.” I pursed my lips. My shoddy playing with Dickerson hounding me all night hadn’t helped. “I’m sure tomorrow will be better.” I scrutinized my menu, then leaned into Archer’s side. “What are you getting?”
“Lasagna.” He pointed to it on the menu.
Nodding, I said, “Looks good. Maybe I’ll get the same.” My gaze swept to Coach Gibson’s light-blue eyes, his hair still slicked back on his head. My breath caught and my heart thumped. God, his good looks had a way of catching me off guard sometimes. I took a hard swallow, fixating on him.
His gaze dipped to my mouth, then he cleared his throat. “Lasagna does sound good. I think I’ll join you both.” He pushed his menu to the corner of the table.
Tyler, sitting across from me, narrowed his eyes. “I’m going with the ravioli.” He glanced at his coach, then set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Why aren’t you down there with your line?”
With a peek at Coach Gibson, I said, “I wanted to sit by Archer.” I wasn’t expecting that out of Tyler, the fucker. Was he trying to out me? I wound an arm around Archer’s shoulders. “We don’t get to hang out much anymore now that he’s always with Leo.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Archer’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not really true.” He unrolled his silverware from his paper napkin. “I see you guys all the time.”
“Besides, it’s nice to mix it up, don’t you think, Coach?” I hooked a brow at Tyler while swiping my gaze to Coach Gibson’s.
Giving me a warm grin, he said, “Do what you want, Boehm.”
The waitress stopped at the table, and we all ordered our food, then talk of the game wound through us all as we strategized what to change for tomorrow night.
After several servers showed up with our food and dropped it off, I cut into my lasagna. I was feeling pretty comfortable with Coach Gibson at this point, and I wanted more answers. “So, what kept you from starting the season with us?” I slid some cheese-filled pasta into my mouth.
“My mom was sick with cancer. Breast cancer.” He ate a bite of his food.
Everyone at our end of the table stopped talking and eating, focusing on him.
He scanned the table and swallowed his pasta, then set his silverware on his plate. “I stayed with her through chemo, and once she tested cancer-free, I made plans to join you all.”
An ache crept through my heart, and I parted my lips. Goddamn, he was a stand-up guy. I rubbed my chest. I was falling for him. No doubt about it now. My attention drew to his lips. I wanted to kiss him so fucking badly. He deserved so much, and I wanted to give it to him. He had to be hurting inside, between his injury, the loss of his boyfriend, and almost losing his mother to cancer? Fuck, I couldn’t imagine. “Um, so she’s cancer-free?”
“Yeah, for now.” He shrugged a shoulder and cut a bite of lasagna. “It could come back, but she’s taking medication that should hopefully stop that from happening.”
Coach Patterson turned toward us. “It was up to him to tell you all.” He looked at each of us around the table. “I think we can all say we’re glad he was able to join us. I think with Coach Gibson’s help, we’ll make it to the Frozen Four and maybe even win the championship this year.” He held up his glass filled with soda.
We all lifted our glasses and tapped them together, then sipped our drinks.