Chapter 31
Jacks
“Ican’t believe he bought you a jersey,” Finn said.
“I can’t either,” I admitted.
The package had been waiting on my doorstep when I’d gotten home from work. There’d been no return address, only my name and a Tampa Bay Lightning logo on the shipping label. Inside, folded with the kind of care reserved for wedding dresses, had been the jersey.
And a note in Skyler’s unmistakable handwriting:
Gotta look like a real fan if you’re gonna sit in my seats. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Bring me luck. -Sky
I’d read that damn note forty-seven times and still felt my chest tighten every time I thought about it.
“He planned this, Jacks,” Mia said as we approached the arena entrance.
“Like, really planned it. He ordered your size and wrote a note. He even had it couriered over here. Look at the label. It’s not UPS or FedEx.
That’s a private courier service and must’ve cost a fortune in itself. I think I might swoon right here.”
“I know,” I said, grinning while shaking my head in wonder.
“That’s a ‘you matter to me’ gesture,” she said.
“That’s an ‘I want everyone to see you wearing my name’ invitation,” Finn added.
“Okay, okay. I get it,” I said, but I was still smiling.
The gift had been so thoughtful, so Skyler. It was practical but romantic, confident but sweet.
“It’s quite adorable,” Finn observed from beside me, and coming from Finn, that was practically a sonnet.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said.
“I’m not surprised he’s thoughtful. I’m surprised he’s this . . .” Finn paused, choosing his words. “Intentional. He’s making sure everyone knows you’re connected to him.”
There was something odd in his tone that had nothing to do with his Irish lilt.
It wasn’t quite disapproval, not exactly.
It sounded more like the careful caution of someone who’d seen relationships move too fast and crash too hard.
“It’s a jersey, Finn.”
“No, it’s his jersey with his name . . . His jersey that he bought for you to wear to his game.” Finn’s expression was unreadable. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m just saying it’s significant.”
“Good significant or bad significant?”
“We’ll see.” Finn shrugged.
“You’re such an optimist, Finnigan,” Benji said, bouncing as we joined the flow of fans. “I think it’s romantic as hell. I mean, imagine being so sure about someone that you want them wearing your name in public.”
“He’s not that sure,” I said. “We’re still figuring things out.”
“Jacks.” Mia’s voice was gentle but firm. “The man bought you a jersey. He’s not figuring anything out. He’s decided.”
The words hit me somewhere vulnerable.
Because she was right, wasn’t she?
A professional athlete didn’t buy someone a jersey—his jersey—unless he was pretty damn certain about what it meant.
But what if I wasn’t ready for what that meant?
In all the rush to take care of Skyler and his coming out or bi-awakening or whatever the fuck journey he was on, I hadn’t considered my own.
What if I was still the guy who’d gotten his heart broken by someone who’d thought he wanted this but couldn’t handle the reality of it?
What if I needed more time to be young and single and free?
What if I made a terrible partner? Snored? Shit the bed?
Okay, gross. I wouldn’t do that. Still, what if—
“Stop,” Finn said quietly, reading my expression with the accuracy of an online psychic. “Whatever you’re spiraling about, stop.”
“I’m not spiraling,” came out far too pouty for a grown-ass man.
“You absolutely are. Hell, you’re gripping those bloody tickets so hard you’re going to tear them in half.”
I looked down at my fingers, which were indeed white-knuckled around the four tickets Skyler had left at will-call.
Section 108. Row M. Seats 5 through 8.
“What if someone recognizes me?” I said. “What if someone puts two and two together? What if—”
“What if you stop borrowing trouble and enjoy this?” Mia interrupted. “Jacks, look around. Do you see anyone here who cares about the romantic life of a former FSU linebacker who most people forgot existed five minutes after his injury?”
She had a point. It hurt like a bitch, but it was fair.
The crowd flowing around us was focused on one thing: hockey.
Okay, a few were more focused on getting drunk and eating their weight in fried food, but most of the fans were chatting and laughing and talking shit about one team or the other.
The Lightning fans were ready to watch their team play, wearing jerseys and carrying foam fingers and talking about line combinations and power play strategies.
I was just another face in the crowd, another human speed bump to go around on their way to their seats.
A face wearing number 91, but still . . .
“He wants you here, dummy,” Benji added. “He wants you here, wearing his jersey, in his seats. That’s not an accident, Jacks. That’s a choice. Accept it and be happy.”
“It’s a choice that could blow up in both our faces if the wrong person notices.”
“Or,” Finn said, “a choice that means he’s ready to start being honest about what you mean to him.”
I looked at Finn, stunned. Had the ultimate skeptic tossed me a lifeline of romantic hope? “That’s very . . . optimistic. For you.”
“I’m protective, not pessimistic. There’s a difference.” He paused. “And despite my reservations about the pace of all this, I can see how he looks at you and how you look at him. That’s not nothing.”
“But?”
“No buts. Just be careful. The higher profile this gets, the more there is to lose.”
We reached the ticket scanner. The attendant, a teenager with Lightning face paint and boundless enthusiasm, scanned our tickets and waved us through.
“Section 108’s that way,” she said, pointing down a wide concourse. “Enjoy the game.”
The arena was louder inside, the sound of conversation and music and vendors bouncing off concrete walls. We followed the signs toward our section, and despite my jangling nerves, I felt anticipation building, too.
I was about to watch Skyler play professional hockey.
In person.
Wearing his jersey.
“This is so cool,” Benji said. “I’ve never been to a professional hockey game. Are they always this loud before it even starts? It’s like Barbacks, only a hundred times louder.”
“Wait until the game starts,” Finn said. “This is nothing.”
We found our seats, and sweet baby Jesus, they were perfect seats, close enough to see everything.
The warmups were already underway, with both teams skating in wide loops until some unseen signal had them peeling off to start drills that looked a little like choreographed dance moves. We had similar warmups in football, minus the skates and the dancing.
The ritual was mesmerizing, all fluid grace and precision.
And there, in the middle of it all, was Skyler.
We settled in to watch. I found myself relaxing despite my earlier fears.
This was hockey. It was just a game.
Finn pulled out his phone for the third time since we’d sat down, checking the screen with the focused intensity of someone expecting an SOS from the crew of the Titanic.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Checking to see if Mark’s called for backup yet,” Finn muttered, scrolling through his messages with growing anxiety. “It’s a Lightning game night, the place is probably packed to the walls, and he’s behind the bar alone. I’ve never left him alone without Benji to help.”
“Oh my sweet, neurotic mother hen,” Benji said, twisting in his seat to face Finn with that manic grin that meant he was about to be unhelpful.
“Are you seriously having anxiety attacks about Mark right now? While we’re sitting in prime hockey seats about to watch our sweet baby Jacks’s boyfriend play professional sports? ”
“Benji, it’s game night. You do understand what that means, don’t you?
” Finn’s voice was getting higher. “Every Lightning fan in Tampa is going to descend on our bar like very thirsty locusts, and Mark is going to be alone behind that bar trying to make mojitos and pour beer and handle the register and—”
“And learning what the rest of us peasants deal with every single shift,” Benji interrupted.
“Let His Royal Grumpy-ass swim in the deep end for once. Maybe tonight he’ll finally understand why we deserve hazard pay for dealing with drunk gay hockey fans who think a ‘complicated’ drink order is asking for a beer that isn’t Bud Light. ”
“Mark’s going to have a heart attack,” Finn said, checking his phone again.
“Mark’s going to have a character-building experience,” Benji corrected.
“There’s a difference. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?
He runs out of clean glasses? He has to interact with customers instead of hiding in his office doing paperwork?
He discovers that making cocktails is harder than complaining about the cost of ingredients? ”
“The worst that could happen is he closes early because he can’t handle the volume and we lose an entire night of revenue during our busiest time of the week,” Finn said.
“Or,” Benji said with the serene confidence of someone who had clearly not thought this through, “he discovers hidden reserves of bartending competence and realizes he’s been taking us for granted this whole time.
It’s character development or plot advancement in a hero’s journey, but with more tequila! ”
Mia was laughing now. “Benji, you’re terrible. But I like the authorial reference. That was very . . . literary of you.”
“I’m smart, damn it!” Benji waved his hand dismissively.
“Besides, Finn, even if Mark melts down, what are you going to do about it from here? Teleport back to the bar? Abandon Jacks on his first undefined hockey game date thing? Miss the opportunity to watch our boy get serenaded by professional athletes?”
“There will be no serenading!” I protested.
“That would be so dreamy,” Mia crooned.
Finn looked torn between responsibility and friendship.
“Finn.” I turned toward Finn and said, “Benji’s right. There’s nothing you can do from here, and I want you to stay. This means a lot to me.”
Finn sighed and put his phone away. “Fine, but if Mark burns the place down, I’m blaming all of you.”
“Deal,” Benji chirped. “Now stop fretting and help us figure out which hockey player is which. I need to know who to cheer for when they get in fights.”
Even among a host of other professional athletes, Skyler stood out.
From the C on his jersey to the way other players seemed to orbit around him to the casual authority in his every movement, this was his world, his element, and watching him own it with such complete confidence made my chest swell with pride.
“Which one is he?” Benji asked.
“Number 91,” I said. “The one with the captain’s C.”
I’d pointed to Skyler when a flash of blue drew my eye. Tyler was skating toward the glass in front of our section. I watched in horror as he raised his stick in a clear salute, grinned up at us, winked, and then—
Dear God—
Blew me a kiss.
Mia and Benji erupted in laughter and finger clapping. Finn gaped, his jaw slack.
I felt my soul leave my body.
“Did that hockey player blow you a kiss?” Benji demanded.
“That’s Tyler,” I managed. “Skyler’s best friend.”
“His best friend who blew you a kiss in front of thousands of people?” Finn asked, apparently having forgotten all about his Mark-related anxieties.
But before I could process that, Erik Lindqvist was skating toward us with his own stick salute. He was more restrained but equally deliberate.
“They’re not very subtle,” I said weakly.
“Why would they be subtle?” Benji asked. “This is amazing!”
And then Skyler himself was skating in our direction.
Holy fucking shit on a stick.
He was far less obvious, just a normal warmup lap that brought him near our section; but as he glided past, his eyes found mine. The smile that spread across his face when our gazes connected made every nervous thought disappear.
He really did want me here.
Jersey and all.
And despite everything, I wanted to be here, too.
“Our Lady of the Boy Lake, you’re glowing,” Mia observed.
“I’m not . . . oh shut up,” I hissed.
She giggled and bumped shoulders with Benji.
“You’re definitely glowing,” Benji agreed. “It’s very cute . . . and bright. Can you turn that down a bit before my retinas fry?”
I groaned and settled back in my seat, fingering the hem of the jersey, his jersey, and braced myself. Whatever happened, this was going to be a night I would never forget.