Chapter fourteen
High-Sticking - Illegal contact made with a stick above shoulder height.
Dante
I watched Kincaid walk out of the restaurant, and my stomach dropped somewhere around my feet.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Friend of yours?” Odin asked, following my gaze to where Kincaid had disappeared through the door.
“That’s my coach.” The words came out flat. “Theron Kincaid.”
“Ah.” Odin leaned back in his chair, and something in his expression shifted—not quite satisfaction, but close. “Of course, I should have recognized him from the game. He looked... intense.”
“He always looks like that.” I picked up my water glass just to have something to do with my hands. “It’s fine. He probably just came to pick up food.”
“Probably,” Odin agreed, but his tone suggested he thought it was something else entirely. “Must be strange, running into your coach outside of work.”
Strange didn’t begin to cover it. I’d spent the entire day trying not to think about this morning’s training session, about how professional Kincaid had been, how thoroughly he’d reinforced that there was nothing between us except hockey.
And now he’d seen me having dinner with another man, and the expression on his face when our eyes met—
I didn’t know what that expression meant.
“You okay?” Odin asked, and when I looked at him, there was genuine concern in his eyes. “You went somewhere else for a minute there.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Just—it’s been a long day.”
“Training went well, though? You mentioned you were getting back on the ice.”
I latched onto the subject change gratefully. “It did. Better than I expected, actually. My shot’s coming back, and we have another two days before the next game, traveling and all.”
“That’s great.” He smiled, and it was warm, uncomplicated. “Nicky’s been worried about you. He doesn’t say it directly, but I can tell. He talks about you a lot.”
Something in my chest loosened slightly. “He’s a good brother. They both are. I’m lucky.”
“You are,” Odin agreed. “Family like that is rare.”
The server came by to refill our water glasses and ask if we wanted dessert. I shook my head—my appetite had vanished the moment I’d seen Kincaid in the doorway.
“So,” he said once the server had left. “Tell me about Denver. You’ve been here what, two months, three? What do you think of it so far?”
I forced myself to focus on the conversation, on the man sitting across from me who’d asked me to dinner and was making an effort to get to know me. “It’s different from Chicago. Cleaner, maybe? The mountains are incredible. I’m still not used to how dry it is.”
“The altitude takes some adjustment too,” Odin said. “I’ve been coming out here for work for about a year, and I still notice it when I first arrive. Does it affect your skating?”
“A little. You get winded faster until you acclimate.” I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the part of my brain that was still tracking the door, wondering if Theron was sitting in his truck in the parking lot or if he’d already left.
“But most of the team has been here long enough that it’s not an issue. ”
“Nicky mentioned you got traded mid-season. That must have been rough.”
Rough was one word for it. Devastating was another. Life-altering was probably most accurate.
“It was complicated,” I said carefully. “But I’m glad I ended up here. The team’s been good to me.”
“Your coach seems invested in your recovery.” Odin’s tone was casual, but something about the way he was looking at me suggested he was paying closer attention than he let on. “That training session you mentioned you had this morning—was that one-on-one?”
“Yeah. He wanted to work with me directly, get me back up to speed.”
“That’s impressive. I would guess most coaches don’t have that kind of time for individual players, especially during playoffs.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Theron had made time for me, had cleared his schedule for early-morning sessions when he could have been doing a dozen other things.
I’d told myself it was because he wanted me ready for game five, because the team needed bodies after Max and Julian went down. Professional reasons.
But the way he’d looked at me in this restaurant—that hadn’t felt professional, but then he’d made it clear how he felt at my apartment.
“He’s a good coach,” I said finally. “He cares about his players.”
“Clearly.” Odin’s eyes were still on me, assessing in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable. “You’re lucky to have that kind of support.”
Coffee arrived, and we spent the next ten minutes idly chatting, and Odin told me about the Denver office he was setting up, the clients he was trying to land, the challenges of expanding into a new market.
He told me both his parents had died in an accident some years past, and he didn’t have any other family.
He was easy to talk to—asked good questions, seemed genuinely interested in my answers, made me feel like what I was saying actually mattered.
It should have been nice. It was nice. He was attractive, successful, clearly interested in me, and sitting right here instead of another man who was someone I couldn’t have. Theron was right in what he said, absolutely right, and I agreed with him.
So why did I keep thinking about the way Theron’s hands had corrected my grip on my stick this morning? The roughness of his voice when he’d said “there it is” after I’d finally started shooting well? The copper in his eyes that I’d only seen a few times but couldn’t stop cataloging?
“You’re doing it again,” Odin said, amusement in his voice.
“Sorry. I’m terrible company tonight.”
“You’re fine. Just distracted.” He set his spoon down and leaned forward slightly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said, though something in my gut twisted with anticipation I didn’t entirely want.
“Are you seeing someone?”
The question hit harder than it should have. “No. I’m not.”
“But there’s someone you want to be seeing.”
It wasn’t really a question, and I didn’t know how to answer it without either lying or admitting something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself. So I just looked at him, and apparently that was answer enough.
“I get it,” Odin said, his voice gentle.
“And I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.
I should probably tell you—I’m gay. Have been my whole life.
And when I met you at the game, I thought—well, I thought maybe there was potential there.
But if my gaydar is for shit or you’re hung up on someone else, or if you just want a friend while you figure things out, that’s okay too. ”
The honesty in his voice made something in my chest ease. “I’m gay,” I heard myself say. “And I’m—yeah, I’m kind of a mess right now. Someone I thought I had a shot with made it clear I didn’t, and I’m still processing that.”
“The coach,” Odin said, and it wasn’t a question.
I stared at him. “How did you—”
“The way you talked about him. The way you looked when you saw him in the doorway.” He smiled, but there was something sad in it. “I’ve been where you are. Wanting someone who can’t or won’t want you back. It’s a special kind of hell.”
“It really is,” I admitted.
“So here’s what I’m offering,” Odin said.
“Friendship. No expectations beyond that. I’m new in Denver, you’re still settling in, we’re neighbors—it makes sense.
And if somewhere down the line you figure out you want something different, we can talk about it then.
But for now, just... someone to grab dinner with occasionally.
Someone who gets what it’s like to be the new person in a city where everyone else has established lives. ”
The relief that went through me was almost physical. “That sounds really good, actually. Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course.” He signaled for the check. “And for what it’s worth? Your coach is an idiot if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just helped him split the bill after I insisted on it, and followed him out to the parking lot.
The drive back to our building was quiet, comfortable in a way the dinner hadn’t quite been.
When we got to our floor and walked down the hallway together, I felt like maybe I’d made the right choice after all.
Maybe this was exactly what I needed—a friend who understood, who didn’t expect anything I couldn’t give, who was just... there.
We stopped between our doors, and Odin turned to face me.
“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Me too. And thanks for being cool about—everything.”
“Always.” He hesitated for just a moment, then leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to my lips. It was soft, chaste, over almost before it began. “Just so you know what’s on the table,” he said quietly. “When you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. No pressure either way.”
Then he unlocked his door and disappeared inside before I could formulate a response.
I stood in the hallway for a long moment, my fingers touching my lips, trying to figure out how I felt about what had just happened.
The kiss hadn’t been unpleasant. It just hadn’t been...
anything, really. No spark, no electricity, none of the things I’d felt when I’d leaned toward Kincaid a week ago.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe what I needed wasn’t sparks and electricity. Maybe I needed steady and uncomplicated and available.
I let myself into my apartment and closed the door, leaning against it in the dark.
My phone buzzed—a text from Marco asking how my day went.
I sent back a thumbs-up because I didn’t have the energy to explain that I’d had a perfectly nice dinner with a perfectly nice man who’d kissed me and I’d felt absolutely nothing.
My ribs ached from the morning’s training session. My head was starting to hurt in that way that suggested I’d spent too much time overthinking things. And somewhere across the city, Kincaid was probably in his house in the foothills, eating Thai food alone, not thinking about me at all.