Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Leo fanned on a one-timer during the second drill of practice, and the puck skidded harmlessly into the corner.
He reset. Carter fed him again from the boards, same angle, same timing, and Leo’s stick was a split-second late, the blade catching nothing but air while the puck bounced off the boards behind him.
“Vargas.” Deluca didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “You’re drifting to the middle. Stay on your wing.”
Leo circled back to the line. Jonesy slid past him and bumped his shoulder, not hard, just enough to register, and didn’t say anything. Jonesy always had something. The silence was its own commentary about his shitty performance today.
He got through the rest of practice on muscle memory and stubbornness. His edges were fine. His hands were fine. Everything between his ears was somewhere on a county road four miles outside town, replaying that night.
In the locker room after practice, Leo pulled off his gear and let the noise wash over him.
“Vargas.” Jonesy pointed at him from across the room. “You, me, Novo. Steakhouse tonight.”
“I’m good. I think I’ll just—”
“Wasn’t a question.” Jonesy grinned. “Eight o’clock. You’re buying because you played like shit last night and you owe us.”
Leo almost said no. But Jonesy was already turning away, already assuming he was in, and that assumption was the thing that got him. In Orlando, invitations had been polite. Here, they were nonnegotiable.
“Fine,” Leo said. “But I’m not buying Novo’s steak. He eats like he’s storing for winter.”
Novo, three stalls down, didn’t look up. “I heard that.”
“You were supposed to.”
Ford caught his eye from across the room. No question in his gaze, no demand. Just Ford letting him know he was seen.
After the room thinned out, Ford dropped onto the bench next to him, hair damp, smelling like the generic shampoo the team bought in bulk.
“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Ford said. “Whatever it is.”
Leo’s jaw worked. He pulled at a thread on his towel. “I appreciate that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. That’s the problem.” He wasn’t used to having teammates who actually gave a damn. Leo pulled a shirt over his head. The fabric caught on his ear, and he tugged it free with more force than necessary. “I’m just off. It happens.”
Ford watched him for a beat. Then he nodded, stood, and put his hand on Leo’s shoulder—firm, brief, carrying more than the words around it. He walked back to his stall and started packing his bag.
Leo finished dressing. Laced his shoes. Packed his bag, zipped it, and sat there with it on his lap in an empty locker room.
He missed Dawson with a weight that sat on his lungs every time he breathed. But he wasn’t going to let that be the reason he left.
The bus left for Cleveland after practice. Ten hours, give or take. A four-game swing—two in Cleveland, then two in Hershey—and Leo wouldn’t see Port Haven for a week.
He took a window seat near the middle, put his headphones in, and watched Wisconsin scroll past. Fields gone white under a thin layer of snow, bare trees lining the highway, the sky a flat gray that went on forever.
Pretty, if you ignored the part where it was trying to freeze you to death.
Guys played cards. Jonesy had the speaker going, some country song that Ski was singing along to and getting the words wrong.
Novo slept with his hood up and his mouth open.
Every road trip Leo had taken in Orlando, leaving had felt like the easy part.
The bus pulled out, the city fell away, and whatever was complicated about his life stayed behind at the exit ramp.
He’d sleep, or he’d talk, or he’d scroll his phone and let the miles blank him out.
But Port Haven didn’t fall away. It sat in him—the lake, the bar, the apartment, the man—and ten hours of highway didn’t do a thing to loosen it.
Riggs was on the phone with his kids across the aisle, asking about their school day with a grin Leo could hear from two rows back. Sully was asleep, taking up a seat and a half. Carter had his tablet out because he never stopped working. Leo could name every detail. These were his guys.
Leo pulled out his phone, scrolled past the group chat, past his mother’s last text that he still hadn’t answered, past the email from his agent that sat unopened.
He opened his contacts. Scrolled to O.
Phil Orsini. The name sat there with the green phone icon beside it and Leo’s thumb hung over it, close enough to feel the pull.
He could see the whole thing. The call. Phil’s measured voice, already calculating, already framing it as an opportunity.
There’s been some interest. Nothing formal, but if you’re open to it, I can start a conversation.
He closed the contact. Locked the screen. Put the phone in his jacket pocket and left his hand there, pressing it flat against his thigh like he was holding something down.
The hotel in Cleveland was a Holiday Inn Express off I-90. Leo dropped his bag on the bed closest to the window. Novo took the other one without comment, plugged his phone in, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Leo sat on the bed and pulled out his phone.
It was getting harder by the day to keep from reaching out to Dawson. He read through the exchanges they’d had since he left Dawson’s place and wondered why he was being so damned stubborn. He knew there was nothing he could say that would make Dawson feel any worse than he likely already did.
He typed I miss you and stared at it. Deleted it. Typed I’m still and couldn’t finish the sentence.
The door opened. Novo came out in a button-down and dark jeans, hair still damp, and stopped when he saw the bathroom counter.
“How many of those are new?” Novo asked. “You had four last time.”
“You counted my skincare products?”
“There wasn’t much else to do in Grand Rapids.” Novo picked up the toner bottle and read the label as if it were written in another language. Set it back down. “Jonesy says the steakhouse is ten minutes away. You ready, or do you need to do your makeup first?”
Leo locked his phone. The cursor disappeared. Whatever he was going to say to Dawson, he wasn’t going to find it tonight.
“You’re just pissed that I’m prettier than you are,” Leo quipped. He made a point of checking himself out in the mirror while Novo waited by the door. “Let’s go.”
The steakhouse tucked between a dry cleaner and a nail salon. Jonesy had already commandeered a corner booth by the time they got there. Novo slid in next to Ski. Leo took the end, across from Ford, who was studying the beer list with the focus of a man making his one off-day drink count.
“Twelve-ounce ribeye,” Jonesy announced to no one in particular. “Loaded baked potato. Extra sour cream. Don’t judge me.”
“No one’s judging you,” Ski said. “We’re worried about your heart giving out while you’re on the ice.”
“Worry about your own cholesterol.”
Leo ordered a strip and a beer and sat back. Jonesy and Ski argued about steak temps. Ford asked the server three questions about the brussels sprouts and then ordered them anyway. Novo ate like he hadn’t seen food in days, which wasn’t anything new.
Hanging out with his teammates here was easy.
That was what caught Leo off guard every time.
The ease of sitting in a booth in a city that wasn’t theirs, talking about nothing in particular.
In Orlando, the team dinners had been scheduled, organized, a group text with a reservation and an unspoken dress code.
Here, Jonesy found a place on his phone, pointed, and everyone showed up.
“So.” Jonesy leaned back with his beer. “You gonna tell us what’s been up with you this week, or are we just pretending you haven’t been skating like a guy whose dog died?”
“I don’t even have a dog.”
“Something died. Your vibe has been tragic.”
Ford gave Jonesy a look. Jonesy ignored it.
“I’m fine,” Leo said.
“You keep saying that.” Ski pointed his fork at him. “You’ve said I’m fine more this week than the entire rest of the season. Which means you’re not fine.”
“He probably needs to get laid,” Jonesy said, like he was diagnosing a mechanical problem.
“Gee, I didn’t know you paid that much attention to my sex life.” Leo took a drink. “Is there something you want to tell me? Are you offering to take care of that problem? Because I have to say, you’re not my type.”
“I’m serious. When’s the last time you went out? You’ve been going home after games like somebody’s grandpa. Even Ford and Riggs come out with us, and they have kids at home waiting for them.”
Leo took a drink and didn’t answer, and Jonesy’s eyebrows shot up.
“That long? Okay. We’re fixing this tonight.”
“We’re not fixing anything tonight.”
“We’re at least going somewhere with a pulse after this. Ski, what’s near the hotel?”
“There’s a place two blocks up,” Ski said, already on his phone. “Sports bar. Reviews say it’s queer-friendly, so even Leo has a shot at finding a piece of ass.”
“I’m touched that you Googled that for me.”
“Jonesy made me Google it.”
“I planned ahead,” Jonesy said. “That’s called leadership.”
Jonesy wanted to go out, so they went. Leo ended up at a high-top in a Cleveland bar with a drink he hadn't ordered, watching Jonesy scan the room like he was hunting for something.
“What about him?” Jonesy nodded toward the bar. Tall guy, dark hair, nice arms. “He’s been looking over here.”
“He’s looking at the TV behind us.”
“He’s looking at you. Ford, tell him.”
Ford glanced over. “He’s looking at the TV.”
“You’re both blind.” Jonesy turned to Novo. “Back me up.”
“I’m not getting involved.” Novo took a drink. “But he is kind of looking over here.”
Leo laughed. It came out before he could stop it, real and surprised, and Jonesy grinned like he’d won something.
“There it is. That’s the first time you’ve laughed all week.” Jonesy clinked his glass against Leo’s. “We don’t know what’s going on with you, and we’re not asking, but you’re not allowed to be sad on a road trip. House rules.”
“Since when do we have house rules?”
“Since right now. Rule one: no moping in Cleveland.” Jonesy stood up. “I’m getting another round. And I’m telling that guy you think he’s cute.”
“Do not—”
Jonesy was already gone, weaving toward the bar. Ski shook his head. Ford took a slow drink and caught Leo's eye across the table with the smallest smile. Leo sat there with the laugh still on his face. The text to Dawson was still in his pocket, unsent.
He wasn't okay. He was a long way from it. But Jonesy was loud at the bar, making good on his threat to embarrass him, and Ski was still grinning into his drink. The team had closed in around Leo without him asking for it. The friendships he was forming were enough to get him through the night.