CHAPTER 5. SILVER AND COLD
What happens over the next two months completely changes my opinion of Sawyer Moon.
After his breakdown in my arms on the porch outside Nick’s apartment, I was careful not to assume he’d changed.
I was ready to be disappointed. Ready to never hear from him again—until we met next season on the field.
But in November and December, all the way up to Christmas, every headline has Moon’s name in it. Because he actually pressed charges.
There was video evidence of the whole thing. Once the Joker guy from the club got arrested, it couldn’t be kept quiet. The place was packed, and as it turned out, a lot of people had recorded what happened—me holding Moon’s limp body, shielding him from the guy who drugged him.
The footage spread fast. The fans went crazy.
So yeah, I ended up in the news too. But since I was already out, it turned into solid PR for me—Mark Woods, the unlikely hero, protecting his sworn enemy. What a guy. And after everything Moon had done to him, too.
He got all the backlash. For bullying me all those years—suddenly everyone remembered just how bad it used to be. For being a hypocrite. Even for being gay and looking too feminine, at least in the eyes of the louder, straighter side of his fanbase.
For a while, no one knew if Moon was going to stay with the Dragons. But by mid-November, the team made an official statement: they supported him—both as a club and individually.
Their publicity campaign was actually pretty impressive. Honestly, I didn’t see it coming. Didn’t think they had it in them. The way every single one of them stood by him through the shitstorm.
Thanks to the team, the hate storm had mostly died down by the first week of December. Though Moon was still in the headlines almost daily.
He gave four interviews, opening up about some surprisingly heavy stuff—his own internalized homophobia, how therapy helped him start accepting who he is.
Of course, every interviewer asked about me.
Whether we were more than just friends. How I saved him at the club.
If we’ve talked since. If things between us have changed.
“He saved me,” Moon said simply, dodging the rest. “Twice now.”
I’ve got to admit, most of my team spent a solid week gloating about it—especially since they knew how awful Moon had been to me before. Even Eric, who was there that night, said it was karma. That Moon had it coming.
I still haven’t told anyone what Moon said that night, when I walked him to the taxi. Mostly because I still don’t know what to make of it myself.
I’ve thought about it more times than I care to admit, and the only thing I’m sure of is this dumb, persistent need to see him again. Every interview, every article about him—about us—keeps making me wonder why he hasn’t reached out.
Because after everything, I really thought he might. Hoped, if I’m being honest. But I hear nothing. Not until the Christmas Eve party at my place.
***
It’s a quarter to ten, and everyone’s already here.
Nick and Samia showed up early to help decorate and set out the food.
Eric came after that, then Dylan, his wife Holly, and Rachel—my high school friends who live in Chicago.
Some of my teammates who stayed in town for the holidays made it too: Joe and Andy came with their girlfriends—Maya and Tasha—just before seven.
Ten minutes later, Derek and Jo?o arrived.
Patrick, Charlie, and Louis showed up around half past, with Louis’s girlfriend, Nina.
Instead of a sit-down dinner, we’re doing a buffet.
I’m not much of a cook, so I ordered everything from the Centaurs’ team chef, Jelena Jovanovi?.
She and her team put together a custom menu for the party—and it’s incredible: mini roast beef sliders with cranberry chutney, rosemary-Parmesan potato stacks, truffle mac and cheese bites, roasted Brussels sprouts with a pomegranate-balsamic glaze, ginger-and-honey glazed turkey skewers, and little puff pastry parcels filled with brie and fig jam.
For dessert, there are mulled wine cupcakes, peppermint bark, cinnamon rolls, and some kind of spiced chocolate mousse that everyone’s obsessed with. And that’s just the stuff I tried.
We’ve got red wine and champagne flowing, and Eric and Nick are mixing up gin and tonics with rosemary, using their favorite Japanese gin—Roku.
I’m on my third glass of gin and tonic, watching Jo?o and Andy play wine pong in the living room. They used red wine to fill the plastic cups since we don’t have any beer—I figured it was better not to throw that into the mix, with wine, Champagne, and gin and tonics already going around.
It’s messy, though—every time someone fishes out the ball, it splashes and stains, but nobody seems to care. Half the Centaurs are already drunk as hell, taking turns trying to beat Jo?o—but the guy’s somehow a wine pong master, even though he swears this is his first time playing.
“Shit, how are you so good at this?” Andy groans when Jo?o’s ball lands cleanly in his last cup.
Jo?o just laughs and does a goofy little dance, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He’s still got four full cups left in front of him.
“Who’s up?” Jo?o calls, while Charlie and Derek start filling cups for the next round.
That’s when the doorbell rings.
“Who the hell is that?” Eric asks, throwing me a look.
I shrug and head to the hallway, trying to remember if we’re missing anyone.
“I’ll get it!” Nick shouts behind me—then rushes past before I even reach the door.
“Who is it?” I ask, but he just opens it.
And there he is. Sawyer Moon, standing on my porch.
My heart stops. Then starts again—loud in my ears. He’s in a navy parka, dusted with snow. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his hair and lashes frosted over.
“You came!” Nick says, hugging him over the threshold like he’s been expecting him this whole time.
“Hi,” Moon says, a little startled, but then smiles and hugs him back. His eyes meet mine over Nick’s shoulder. “Hi,” he says again, this time to me.
“Hi,” I say back, barely getting it out. My pulse is hammering. I feel it in my throat, my temples, everywhere.
Nick steps back and turns to me. “I invited Sawyer to the party,” he says, like it’s no big deal.
Moon’s eyes flick to him, a flash of panic there. “He didn’t know?”
“Trust me, it’s better this way,” Nick whispers, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I won’t stay long,” Moon mumbles, looking a little sheepish.
“No—no, I’m glad you came,” I say quickly, my face going hot. “Come in.”
He steps over the threshold, a little hesitant, then pulls a heavy tote bag off his shoulder. From it, he takes out a big glass container and hands it to me. It’s warm, filled with glass noodles, beef, and vegetables. I can already smell the sesame and soy.
“I brought japchae,” he says, handing it to me. “It’s a Korean dish my mom always makes for Christmas.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say, thrown for a second. “And tell your mom thanks from me, too.”
Moon nods, and I wait while he takes off his boots and unzips his coat. Nick helps him shrug it off and hangs it in the wardrobe—shooting me a meaningful little smile behind Moon’s back.
I keep my expression neutral, even though I’ve got a million questions.
Like how Nick even got in touch with him, what made him think secretly inviting Moon to my Christmas party was a good idea—and why Moon actually said yes.
I’m confused as hell, and my body suddenly feels halfway drunk, even though I haven’t even finished my third gin and tonic.
And underneath it all, there’s this ridiculous, quiet part of me that’s… stupidly happy he came.
It’s only when the three of us walk back into the living room that it hits me—Moon showing up is going to throw everyone else off, too. And I’m right, because the second we step into the room, every head turns, and the place goes dead quiet.
“Guys, this is Sawyer,” I say, hoping the lamplight doesn’t make it obvious how red my face is. I don’t look at anyone in particular, but I can practically feel the Centaurs staring, stunned.
“Hi,” Moon says, and there’s a ripple of quiet hi’s in response.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask, trying to ignore all the eyes on us. “We’ve got wine, Champagne, and gin and tonics.”
“Wine, please,” Moon says—and that’s when the room finally exhales. Conversations pick up again, the game of wine pong resumes, and it’s like someone hit play after a long pause.
I head to the bar and grab the wine bottle. “Do you drink red and dry?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He nods, arms folded across his chest. I can tell he’s uncomfortable with all the attention—even though most people have gone back to minding their business.
“Hey, man,” Eric says, walking over and holding out a hand. “You alright?”
“Hey,” Moon says, shaking it. “Yeah. You?”
“Great as always,” Eric replies—and I can practically feel the tension humming between them. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.”
I glance up at the two of them just in time to catch the way Moon’s expression shifts. Technically, what Eric said was a compliment—but the tone made it land more like a dig.
I know he’s just being protective. He always has my back, but sometimes he holds onto grudges like it’s his job—and acts more like a big brother than my actual one ever has.
Moon does look good, though. He’s wearing a simple but clearly expensive black button-down, stretched just enough across his chest and arms to make it obvious he’s been hitting the gym in the off-season.
Black pants, a belt with a gold buckle. His blond hair’s pulled into a loose half-up tie, the rest falling straight over his shoulders.
“Here’s your wine,” I say, handing him the glass—and shooting Eric a blank warning look. Anyone else would miss it, but Eric knows me too well not to catch the meaning. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head like, What? I look away, making it clear I’m not about to spell it out for him right now.