Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ready to Blow
ELI
Our head coach, Julian, stood in front of the room, pointing at the video projected on the screen and talking about how weak our defense was last night.
The assistant coach sat on the table, nodding and whispering something to the video coach before the video from last night’s game started playing again.
Normally, these team video sessions were helpful in getting me to pick up on mistakes I may not have even realized I was making.
On my last team, the coaches were brutal about pointing out each and every little misstep.
It trained me to always pay attention because you never knew when the focus was going to shift to you.
“Eli? Hello?” Dylan whispered next to me, nudging me with an elbow.
I looked to see Coach Julian staring me down.
Shit.
“Like I said, we have three guys here below the goal line. Who’s covering the slot, Eli?”
“Sorry, should have been me.”
“Should have.”
My cheeks burned a cherry red. I hated being put on the spot like this, but I also deserved it.
I hadn’t been paying a lick of attention since this video session started this morning.
Hell, I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything over these last couple of weeks.
Not since finding out that nearly half of the men inside this very room could shift into wolves at will and rip our throats out if they wanted to.
Coach continued the video, shifting his attention to Soren, who had let a puck through his legs and into the goal behind him. Twice.
We sat in a media room with tiered, semicircular seating.
It reminded me of a small college classroom.
The walls were painted black with baby blue and white stripes, our “Bobcats” name scrawled on the side of the walls.
Gabe sat two rows below me. I wasn’t sure if it was part of this whole “fated mates” thing, but even if I closed my eyes, I could still sense pretty much exactly where he was in the room.
Fated mates… what the fuck.
The entire thing sent me for a damned loop. It didn’t make sense, and yet somehow, I understood exactly what was happening.
I was losing my mind.
That obviously had to be what was happening. Because the alternative was that it was all true, and I was really meant to tie my entire future together with a man I’d met a few months ago.
A man who made my heart skip multiple beats just by looking in my direction. A man who was kind and protective and funny. A man who fucked me in a way that made me a trembling, melted mess of a human, begging for more.
No, not a man. A shifter.
My mate?
Gabe stretched his arms over his head before he turned in his seat, stretching his lower back. He looked at me for a brief moment and smiled before turning back to the video.
I swallowed. God, he was so handsome. But also, did anyone else in the room notice? That was another dynamic to this situation that I couldn’t fully wrap my head around. If we really were wrapped up together by fate, then how the hell was it going to work with Gabe still being in the closet?
And his reason—after learning about the secret society of shifters living right underneath my nose—made sense.
I understood why he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention his way, but that didn’t mean I was okay with it, either.
I didn’t want to be pushed back into the closet with someone.
I didn’t want to hide a relationship, especially not with someone who made me feel this good.
I wasn’t huge on PDA and didn’t want to blast my social media with an endless stream of corny posts and kissing photos, but goddamn, I at least wanted to be able to hold his hand or rub his back in public without feeling like I was going to expose him and the rest of the shifters, kicking off some kind of ruthless and vicious war.
I nervously bit at my thumbnail, tasting a drop of blood on my tongue.
He mentioned the ceremony needing to take place to make things “official,” but what the fuck did that entail?
And what happened when it was over? I’d experienced the start of a great relationship and the death of its rotted form years later.
What if history repeated itself? Would there be a way to break the bond?
A waning moon divorce? A waxing moon prenup?
It was a shitty thought, but I was scarred from my last relationship, and that led me down many different anxiety-laced outcomes.
I’d been working on reframing those, recognizing that they didn’t have the weight I thought they did and that I did not, in fact, own any sort of crystal ball, regardless of what my fight-or-flight instinct was telling me, but that kind of inner work was difficult.
And it wasn’t like I had the wavelength now to even focus on myself.
The screen paused before it blinked off.
The video coach (one of the true stars of the team, responsible for cutting together all the footage after the game and having it ready for the next morning) got up from his seat and went over to the computer, turning it all off.
The energy in the room shifted. Guys started grabbing their bags, stretching and moving in their seats, starting to warm up their bodies before practice today.
As Coach wrapped up the session, our GM walked into the room.
He was dressed down in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, and he looked stressed as fuck.
The guys who were getting up to go all sat back down. Harrison didn’t usually come to our video sessions unless it was a big game or he had a message to give us.
Today, it seemed to be the latter. “Guys, sit down, we have to talk about something.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it still commanded the room. The team sat their asses back in their chairs. Coach looked at him with a confused look but gave him the floor, moving to sit down in the front row.
“Listen, I’m going to be up-front with you all: an anonymous threat was called in this morning, threatening to bomb the arena on game night this Friday.”
A chill spread through the room, followed by a current of worried whispers.
“I have police investigating the situation and am working to get federal agents involved as well. I want you all to know that your safety is my number one priority. That’s why we’re postponing the game next week, along with every other game we have scheduled with the Sharks.”
“Do you think it’s them?” Dylan asked.
Harrison kept still. “I don’t know, but I have strong suspicions someone on their side is involved. I’m going to be upping security around the arena and will be sending armed security with you all on your away games.”
Holy shit. He didn’t even know the half of it. Would armed guards be useful against shifters? Possibly, but they’d be taken by surprise when they were shooting at a man and were lunged at by a wolf instead.
“I want everyone here to keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior.” Harrison scanned the room with a penetrating set of frigid blue eyes. “Report anything directly to me. Even if it’s something odd with one of your teammates.”
That statement sent a different kind of chill through the room. I tensed.
“What’s that mean?” The question had come from Emmy.
“I’m not here to instill paranoia, especially among my own team, but I think there’s some kind of information being passed over to them.”
Coach Julian stood up. “Now, Harrison, I respect you and understand you’re doing everything to keep these guys safe, but I don’t like that implication.
” He seemed offended by even the thought that one of his players would be feeding that kind of information to the rival team.
I’d seen him red in the face plenty of times before, but this moment was different.
There was a quiet anger, a silent threat in the way his jaw set and his fists loosely balled at his side. He was clearly defensive about this.
Harrison seemed to get the message, even though the general manager outranked the coach.
He took a small step back. “Just keep an eye open,” he said to the room.
“And don’t let this affect you—on or off the ice.
It’s what they want. To get into your heads.
Don’t let them.” With that, Harrison left the room.
The door closed, and the space erupted with voices.
Coach couldn’t regain control. He shouted at us to get to the locker rooms and meet on the ice for practice in five. Anyone late got bagged with extra conditioning skates after practice.
Chris walked next to me on the way back to the locker rooms. He dropped his voice low. “You doing good?”
It was a simple question, but I understood he wasn’t just talking about getting chewed up in the video session or learning about the freshly made bomb threats. “I think so.”
“This isn’t easy, learning everything, especially the way you learned it.
” He kept everything vague since words tended to echo in these wide hallways, and there were other teammates around us who weren’t in on the whole “shifter” thing.
“Do you want to hang out this weekend? I can answer any other questions you got. Or we can just chill, hang, watch some games.”
I glanced at my side, smiling. Making new friends wasn’t ever easy for me.
I tended to latch on to one person and neglect all my other connections.
I also sometimes had a difficult time clicking with the hypermasculine culture that permeated the sports world.
I was an out gay man who could sink a puck as easily as I could recite the lines to “Lady Marmalade.” So it was nice to have Chris express an interest in just being friends.
I could use a good friend. And maybe I could ask him more about this whole fated mates situation too. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”
“Alright, good. I’ll text you then. Maybe we can have dinner at a new spot my father’s opening up in town.”
“Perfect.” We reached the locker room. Chris clapped me on the shoulder and smiled again. He was one of those guys who had some premature grays popping up on his black beard. He was around my age but already rocking that salt-and-pepper look. And he wore it well.
“Hey, Eli, hold up.” I would recognize that voice anywhere.
I waited outside as the rest of the guys filtered into the locker room.
Gabe had been talking to Emmy. They gave each other a look before separating, Emmy going into the locker room and Gabe standing in front of me.
He wasn’t all that much taller than me, but I still found myself having to tip my head back a bit to look into his eyes.
“I just wanted to ask if you’re okay after all that? ”
“After hearing that our team’s being threatened with bombs? Not exactly, no. And…” I looked around, making sure the hall was empty. “Does it have to do with the shifters? What if it’s the same shifter that keeps coming after me? Viktor?”
Gabe gave me a solemn nod. A silver chain glittered around his neck. “It might have something to do with it. But I spoke with Emmy. We’re going to figure out what’s going on. And I’m going to keep you safe.”
Gabe surprised me in that moment by reaching out and grabbing my hand. I tensed. If anyone walked out and saw…
“I won’t let anyone ever hurt you, ever.” His hand squeezed mine and let go, leaving me instantly yearning to have that firm, warm grip again.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “Now, let’s get ready before we get bagged by Coach.”
“Wait, one more thing.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me a little closer to him.
I could feel his breath on my face. Count the beauty marks that dotted his cheeks and forehead.
Two, three, six, eight. “Would you go on a date with me? I want to take you to my favorite spot over in Shipman Hill. Have a picnic. Tomorrow after practice?”
I felt like he’d not just grabbed my wrist but had scooped me up and swept me off my feet. But before I could answer, we heard the loud voices of our teammates walking toward the door.
Gabe and I separated as if an invisible wall had been inflated between us.
What a fucking whiplash of emotions. I’d felt like a swoony, lovestruck puppy getting asked on a date one second and then relegated to a dirty secret the next.
I didn’t like doing this. I was hit with the bitter reminder of why closeted relationships sucked major fucking donkey balls in the first place.
Still, whatever was happening between us, whether determined by fate or by chance, deserved a real shot.
“Yes,” I said to him as we entered the locker room. “Let’s do it.”