Chapter 21
NOAH
Three weeks after Danny’s probation ends, I start to think maybe we’re going to be okay.
Which should’ve been my first clue that everything was about to fall apart.
It’s a Tuesday night game against Boston, and we’re up three to two with five minutes left in the third period. The arena’s loud, fans are on their feet, screaming, so ready for the win.
I stand in the tunnel near the bench, working with the media team on post-game interviews. It’s standard stuff.
Danny’s on the ice, playing solid hockey. Zero penalties. Completely clean.
Then Boston pulls their goalie with two minutes left so it’s six on five. They’re desperate.
Danny’s on the ice for defensive coverage and he blocks a shot that would’ve tied the game.
The buzzer sounds. The Raptors take the win.
The team celebrates on the ice, and I set up for post-game media when I see Alex standing near the press box entrance, watching me instead of the mayhem on ice.
When our eyes meet, he smiles.
My stomach drops.
After the game, Alex finds me in the media room.
“Hey, Noah. Good win tonight.”
“Thanks. Interviews start in ten minutes if you need access.”
“Actually, I wanted to run something by you.” He casually leans back against the wall. “I’ve been working on a piece about what happens after probation. How players maintain their progress.”
“Masterson’s doing fine. You can interview him yourself.”
“I plan to. But I’m also interested in your role.
The oversight, the dedication.” He pulls out a small notebook and flips through it.
“I’ve been tracking some interesting patterns.
On October fifteenth, you left the arena at eleven PM.
Masterson left fifteen minutes later. The same thing happened on October twenty-second and November third. ”
My pulse spikes. “You’re tracking when we leave the arena?”
“I just notice things. It’s what I do.” He looks up. “Here’s where it gets interesting. You two are very careful not to leave together. There’s always a gap, like you’re coordinating.”
“Or we have different schedules,” I snap.
“Maybe. But then there’s the way you never look at him during games. Most PR directors check on players periodically. You avoid Masterson like it’s deliberate.”
“Do you have any real questions to ask? Or any valid observations to mention?” I roll my eyes. “I’m working and I don’t have time for your bullshit hypotheses.”
“You went three hours without one glance at a player you spent weeks personally supervising,” Alex says, ignoring my comment. “That’s not normal oversight, Noah. That’s conscious avoidance. And people only avoid looking when they’re trying to hide something.”
“You’re reading into coincidences.”
He closes his notebook. “I think there’s a story here. Something beyond professional rehabilitation. And I’m very good at finding stories, as you well know.”
He heads for the door, then pauses before leaving.
“You know what’s interesting about patterns? Once you see them, they’re everywhere. Makes me wonder what else I might find if I keep looking. And I will.” The threat in his voice makes my spine stiffen.
He leaves, and I stand there with my heart pounding.
He doesn’t have proof. But he’s watching. And he never rests without getting his story.
Over the next few days, Danny and I barely communicate. We exchange a few work emails, nothing personal. We don’t make eye contact at practice and leave about forty-five minutes in between our departures from the facility.
It’s torture.
By Friday, I’m exhausted from the constant vigilance.
But I can’t even relax because there’s a sponsor event being held tonight. It’s a mandatory team dinner at a downtown hotel. Players and key staff are required.
Which means Danny and I will be in the same room, pretending we’re nothing to each other.
I arrive at the hotel early and walk into the ballroom. Two hundred people in suits and cocktail dresses mingle with drinks. I exchange greetings with people I know, making small talk to distract myself from seeing Danny.
The players start to arrive a few minutes later. Carter and Jack walk in, followed by Tate and a guy who looks to be his boyfriend judging by the way they move together. Then Danny steps inside, his hair slicked back, wearing a navy suit that makes his eyes pop. Every head turns.
Including mine.
I somehow manage to tear my eyes away.
Thankfully, dinner starts soon afterward. I sit with the media staff. Danny’s three tables over with the players.
During speeches, I sneak glances at him because fuck my life, I just can’t stop.
Once, I catch him looking back.
After the formal program, people move back toward the bar. Music starts and the event shifts to cocktail party.
I’m talking to some corporate partners when I feel someone slide in next to me.
My gut twists. Jesus Christ.
Alex.
“I didn’t know you were invited,” I say.
“I know people.” He gestures across the room. “Pretty nice event. Good turnout.”
“Yeah,” I say shortly. “I’ll let you get back to your networking.”
“You know,” he says. “I’ve been watching you tonight.” His voice is casual. “You looked at Masterson six times during dinner. Very quick glances. Like you didn’t want anyone to notice.”
My jaw tightens. “There are two hundred people here.”
“But you kept coming back to him.” Alex sips his drink.
“It was subtle. The way you positioned yourself so you could see his table. The way you tensed when someone talked to him. The way you both worked very hard not to acknowledge each other.” He pauses.
“That kind of effort suggests something worth hiding.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe. But I’m very good at reading people, Noah. And you two are trying too hard to look normal.” He sets down his drink. “Makes me curious what happens when the cameras aren’t watching.”
He walks away, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
It wraps around my neck and chokes me.
I need air. I need to get out before I do something stupid.
I head outside, my temples throbbing. I stop on the sidewalk and lean against the side of the hotel.
Footsteps click on the ground behind me.
I swear to God, if that asshole followed me out here—
“Noah.”
I jump at the sound of Danny’s voice.
“You shouldn’t have followed me.” My eyes dart back to the entrance.
“You left in the middle of the event. What did Alex say to you?”
“He’s tracking us. Watching how we avoid each other. Counting how many times I looked at you during dinner.”
“Fuck.”
“We need to be more careful.”
“We’re already being careful. How much more careful can we be?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s always your answer.” Danny’s voice is tight with frustration. “How long do we keep doing this?”
“Until it’s safe.”
“When is that? When Alex stops watching? When people stop noticing?” He steps closer. “I’m tired of hiding and acting like you mean nothing when you’re everything to me.”
“Danny—”
“I’m in love with you.”
Everything stops.
“What?” I rasp.
“I’m in love with you,” he repeats. “And I can’t keep pretending I’m not.”
I press my hand to my forehead. “This is the worst possible time—”
“I know. But I had to say it.”
I should tell him to go back inside, to maintain distance.
I should do a lot of things.
Instead, I do the one thing I know I absolutely shouldn’t.
And I kiss him.
Right there. On the street. Where anyone could see.
When we break apart, he’s looking at me with hope flickering in his heated green gaze.
“I love you too,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We’re standing there, foreheads pressed together, when I hear it.
“Holy shit.”
We turn.
A drunk, staggering guy in his thirties with a phone pointed at us.
“That was some kiss. You guys know you’re in public, right?”
My blood goes cold.
“Delete that,” Danny says.
“Why? It’s-s just two dudes-s making out. No big deal, right?” The guy grins. “Unless-s there’s-s a reason you don’t want it posted.”
“Delete it.”
“Or what?”
Danny moves toward him, and I grab his arm.
“Don’t.”
But the guy’s still talking. “What’s-s the problem? You ashamed or something? Fucking que—“
Danny lunges for him before he can get the word out.
He grabs for the phone. The guy yanks it back and yells “assault” loud enough to draw attention of people passing by.
Danny doesn’t hit him. He just tries to get the phone.
But the guy’s friends appear. Now there are four of them, one drunker than the next and very fucking aggressive.
One shoves Danny hard. “Back off. We don’t wanna see that shit. And nobody else does, either.”
Danny goes still. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, queers. It’s disgusting, two guys making out in public where families can see—”
Danny’s fist connects with his jaw.
Then it erupts into chaos. Yelling, phones recording, the guy’s friends grabbing Danny, me trying to pull him back, someone calling security.
By the time hotel security arrives, at least six phones are recording this shit show.
The guy Danny hit is on the ground. His friends are yelling assault. Danny’s bleeding from his lip.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. It buzzes again. And again.
I finally pull it out. Three missed calls from my father. Two texts.
Where are you?
Noah, answer your phone.
I shove the phone back in my pocket.
And I’m standing there knowing that everything just got caught on camera.
We’re so fucking done.