Chapter 6
Rhys
The entire team is out tonight and honestly, thank god.
We need this. After the loss, after the emergency practice, after being benched in the tunnel like a kid sent to his room — we all need to remember we’re still in college and college occasionally involves something other than suffering.
I’m already feeling looser just walking in.
The music is thumping, the air smells like stale beer and bad decisions, and half the team is already deep into both.
One of our defensemen, Cooper, throws these ragers every week at his off campus place and he’s good at it.
The kind of party that makes you forget what day it is.
I grab a beer from the kitchen, say my hellos, and find Bennett by the speaker setup in the corner.
Our goalie is built like a small building and has somehow ended up in charge of the aux cable, which explains the pop music currently assaulting everyone’s ears.
How he looks is a vast contradiction to how he acts and that’s hilarious to me.
Most people find him wildly intimidating, but he’s really a teddy bear once you get to know him.
“Yo, Ben. Hand it over, buddy.”
He grins and tosses me the cable. I connect my phone and scroll until I find something with actual weight to it — heavy rock, loud and relentless — and the room shifts immediately. Better. Now maybe I can get out of my own head for five minutes.
I pat Ben on the back and take a long pull of my beer.
I shouldn’t have snapped at Jamie the way I did at the tunnel. I know I was late — I’m late a lot, that part’s fair. The chem lab swallowed me whole today and I’m trying to catch up on everything, but that’s not exactly a new excuse. I get it.
But the way he looked at me. Like I was just something he was tired of having to deal with. Like I wasn’t even worth the effort.
I take another sip and decide to let it go. At least for tonight.
Besides — word got around that Fitch pulled Jamie into his office after practice. I don’t know exactly what was said but the fact that it happened at all does lift my spirits. I hope he got a good, long talking to.
I smile to myself and head back toward the crowd.
The vibe is exactly what I needed.
Bodies moving, music loud enough to drown out thinking, like everyone left their stress at the door.
I should do the same. Some of us carry this hockey stuff so deep into ourselves we forget there’s anything else.
Forget we’re twenty-one years old and supposed to occasionally do something stupid and reckless.
I’m mid-thought when someone shoulders hard into me from the left.
“Fucking watch it—”
I turn around and of course. Of course.
Jamie Nash. At a team party. In the wild.
I didn’t think he knew these existed. Talks constantly about team unity and then never actually shows up to anything that isn’t mandatory.
Maybe that’s the disconnect right there — maybe the real reason we can’t play for shit together is because our captain only knows us in the context of drills and lectures.
He’s staring at the beer now soaking into my pants with an expression that isn’t quite an apology. More of a shrug.
I look down. Look back up. And pour the rest of my beer directly onto his shirt. Not much was left, but enough to make a point.
“Oops.” I smile at him. “Looks like we’re even, Captain.”
The look on his face is worth everything. Those green eyes go absolutely feral with rage and I feel it like a small personal victory. I lean into it. “What? Nothing to say? No lecture this time?” I whisper.
I let myself look at him for a second — really look.
Blond hair always perfectly in place, jaw defined with all the right angles, beer dripping down what is certainly a very nice chest underneath that grey henley shirt.
Clean and golden and wound so tight he practically vibrates.
All-American Jamie Nash, standing in the middle of a college party looking furious and stupidly attractive.
Not my problem.
I blow him a small kiss just to watch the vein appear.
His expression shifts then. The rage recalibrates.
I can see the exact moment he decides to do something other than combust. Shoves it down somewhere I can’t reach.
“I need to talk to you,” he says. Surprisingly calm, despite the anger I know I still see flickering in his eyes.
That’s unexpected. I was hoping for more of a fight.
“Lead the way, Captain.”
He grabs a fistful of my shirt and starts pulling me through the party — through the crowd of bodies and red cups and our teammates either playing beer pong or deeply occupied with chicks who definitely want something more than just a conversation.
Jamie moves through it all like he has a clear destination in mind and the rest of the world is just in the way.
And the manhandling does something to me that I’m choosing not to examine right now.
He finds an empty guest room upstairs, pushes me inside, and closes the door behind us with a thud.
The music becomes muffled. The space between us feels too small and too tight for all this silence.
It’s so dark I can barely see Jamie’s silhouette, only illuminated by the sliver of light glowing under the door.
I drop onto the edge of the bed and spread my hands.
“Alright, give it to me. What did I do now? Make it quick so I can get back to the party.”
“Can you just — stop. For one second.” He drags a hand through his hair. “No bullshit. Just listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good.” He crosses his arms. “I talked to Coach after practice. We both think it would help if you and I spent some one-on-one time together. Work on things separately from the team.”
I stare at him. “That wasn’t your idea.”
“Does it matter whose—”
“It was Fitch’s idea and you hate me and you can barely stand to be in the same room as me, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”
The pinched nose. The vein. I’ve learned to read them as much as I‘ve come to crave them.
“You know what would also help,” I continue, “is if you tell Coach to let me play center. I’ve been a center my whole life and you’ve got me on the wing just to—”
“That’s not why—”
“Just to establish dominance or whatever it is captains do. I get it. I do. Very alpha of you.” I applaud.
“Callahan.”
“I’m listening, I’m listening.” I throw my hands up in mock defeat then lean back on my hands and give him my most cooperative expression; the side of my mouth lifting into a smile.
“So you want to spend some quality time together. Just the two of us. That’s very sweet, Jamie, but I have to be honest with you—” I press a hand to my chest, “I’m just not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment. ”
The red creeping up his neck is one of my favorite things.
“Stop. Making everything weird and sexual.”
“I’m not making anything—, you’re the one that brought me into a bedroom. If anything you’re giving me mixed signals.”
“I needed somewhere quiet—”
“No role playing though, right? Just to set expectations. I’m more of a—”
“Oh my god.” He turns away from me, shoulders tight, and I can hear him actively choosing not to say something he’d regret.
I wish he would. I like ragey Jamie more than composed Captain Jamie.
Feels like something more tangible, like I actually get a glimpse of the real him for one moment.
When he turns back his expression has been forced into something controlled and neutral. Barely.
“Are you done?”
“As you were,” I say graciously, with a small bow.
He stares at me for a long moment. Something in his eyes that isn’t quite anger — something more complicated than that, something I don’t have a name for yet. Something he saves just for me.
“Fine,” he says finally. “Tomorrow. Six AM. Don’t be late. I mean it. Coach asked for us to work together. We should both give it a real try. For the team.”
He moves toward the door and I stand up, stepping into his path enough that he has to angle past me.
His shoulder almost grazes mine as he moves past. Warmth radiates off him and I feel it before any actual contact.
His arm brushes mine — sleeve against sleeve, barely anything — and I catch the hitch in his breath. The slight break in his stride.
He doesn't quite look at me. But his pulse. Right there at his wrist where it passes close to my hand. Quick and hard and completely at odds with the measured way he's holding the rest of himself together. I smile at him again, cruelly this time. He’s just too easy of a mark.
“Listen. I’m flattered. But I’m really just not interested in you like that.”
He yanks the door open, flooding the room with noise again. I follow him out into the party, spread my arms wide, and let the night swallow me back up.
“Let’s go boys!”
The cheer that answers me is immediate and loud and exactly what I needed.