Chapter 2
MADARS
“Move over, Mads.” Michel Giubellini, one of my teammates in Genève, tapped my shoulder and gestured at the empty window seat beside me.
I didn’t move. “Fuck off. There’s plenty of seats left.”
Mish rolled his eyes. “Move over.”
I sighed theatrically, got up, and dropped my ass into the other seat. “There. Happy?”
He smiled and flipped me off, then put his bag in the overhead bin before taking the seat I’d vacated. As he fastened his seat belt, he glanced at me. “Some of the boys and I are going to check out the Bone Church tomorrow. You want to come with us?”
I cocked a brow. “That’s why you needed this seat? To ask me if I want to come to church?” I snorted haughtily. “This meeting could’ve been a text.”
“Shut up.” He elbowed me. “Do you want to go or not?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Once we land, hanging out with you guys kind of means consorting with the enemy, doesn’t it?”
Another eyeroll. “Collberg and Carstensen are coming.”
“Well, then I’ll be sure to report them to Sweden and Denmark for treason.”
Mish mumbled at me in Italian. My Italian wasn’t great, but I was pretty sure he’d said something colorful.
I elbowed him. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
That earned me a punch to the arm, and I laughed. He chuckled too.
Truth was, we always sat together on flights, and whoever sat down first always gave the other one grief before moving over.
Though he wasn’t quite as stubborn about it as I was, mostly because he knew I was not even a little bit above climbing over him to get to the window seat if he didn’t move.
I’d even sit in his lap, which would have him howling with mock fury before he tossed me into the other seat and we both collapsed into laughter.
It was going to be weird playing against each other this week. In fact, I’d be playing against all of my teammates who were headed to Prague. We had two guys on Team Sweden, two on Team Denmark, and six on Team Switzerland. I was the sole representative of Team Latvia on this plane.
Admittedly, I was a little nervous. I’d grown up in Canada, had only lived in Latvia off and on as a child, and had never played professionally in Latvia.
Though I knew most of the guys on this team, we didn’t play together often.
A lot of the Swedes, Canadians, and Americans at least played against each other enough to have a feel for each other.
The last time I’d played with or against a Latvian outside of an international competition was when Ratnieks had done a two-year stint on HC Genève.
He’d left for the UK three years ago and played there ever since.
I knew we could work together as a team even with a tight window to practice and get our timing. I’d been to the Olympics twice with my fellow countrymen, and we’d been solid contenders. I even had a bronze from the Games we were heading to right now.
It was just an adjustment every time, jumping into high-stakes competition after only practicing with my team for a few days.
Mish elbowed me again. “So. Bone Church or not?”
Grateful for the distraction from my overthinking, I eyed him. “What the fuck is a bone church?”
“It’s a church that they decorated with bones.”
I blinked. “Like… bones? Human bones?”
“No, fish bones.” He scoffed. “Yes, human bones.”
I inclined my head. “I’m not falling for that.”
Mish tsked, took out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, then shoved it in my face.
Still skeptical, I took it. Sedlec Ossuary, the title read. Beneath that were photos, and I’d be damned—it was a church decorated in human bones. Like actual skulls and femurs and—
I squinted as I pulled the phone closer. “Is that a fucking bone chandelier?”
“Well, yeah. They have to light the place somehow.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. What was I thinking?” I kept scrolling. There was a pile of bones. Like a pyramid made out of long bones. And… a coat of arms? What the fuck? Handing back the phone, I asked, “Who the hell makes a church out of bones?”
“I guess it was inspired by a church or something back in Rome. Like people wanted to be made part of the church or whatever. I don’t know.” He pocketed his phone. “But Collberg said he went last time he was in Prague, and it was worth visiting, so…” He trailed off into a half-shrug.
I was a bit weirded out by the idea, but admittedly curious too. And when was I going to get another chance to tour a bone church? “Eh, why not? Sign me up.”
He grinned, then twisted around and called back to one of our teammates in German, “Put Mads on the list for tomorrow.”
There was a response I didn’t catch, and it was apparently settled.
Good thing it was a fairly short flight and we wouldn’t have to worry about jetlag.
The Games were played in Toronto last time, which was where I’d grown up and where my parents lived.
It was great, but the time change was no picnic.
Though my team had gone to Japan one year while I was playing in North America; I was pretty sure my internal clock was still recovering from that. Stupid International Date Line.
This trip would be easy. Today, we’d settle into our hotel. Tomorrow, we’d do some sightseeing. The following day was the first official practice. Not too bad.
The plane taxied and took off, and once we were in the air, I took out my phone and logged into the WiFi. I could live without my phone for an hour and a half, but my mom usually sent me messages this time of day, and I didn’t like to leave her hanging.
Sure enough, she’d sent one, but that wasn’t the only message that had come through.
When I saw who’d sent the other, my breath hitched.
Connor Ellis.
Wow. That name was a blast from the past. There were a lot of pleasant memories tied to it, too.
Even now, years later, remembering that first kiss—my first kiss with anyone—still gave me goose bumps.
It had been so sweet, so innocent; everything we’d done had been, honestly.
I’d done my more intense experimenting later—first blowjob, first time topping, first time bottoming, all of that.
With him, it had been the shy first touches and explorations of two queer kids who were afraid to come out to anyone else.
I cherished those memories.
Maybe that was why seeing his name after all this time threw me off-balance. The nostalgia was strong, and I suddenly realized I regretted all the years we’d gone without talking.
That was just how life went sometimes in this sport.
Those of us who played had to focus ninety-nine percent of our energy on hockey.
Friendships and even relationships could and did easily fall away.
If Connor had played, we might’ve seen more of each other, but he didn’t.
He was the son of a generational talent and the brother of a superstar, but hockey had never been in the cards for him.
Not playing it, anyway. He’d played well enough—he’d often joined me and his dad and brother on the ice for informal practices—but he’d never had any illusions that he’d do it professionally.
And he’d been completely fine with that because playing hockey hadn’t been his dream.
I had never known anyone else who was so determined to become a referee.
Even when I’d first met him at sixteen, he’d had his sights firmly set on black and white stripes.
He’d made it, too. Unlike me, he had a place in the North American League. Apparently he was officiating here in Prague, too. Good for him.
And now he was contacting me?
Well, hell. Now I was curious.
I sent my mom a quick reply, letting her know I was on my way to Prague and that I’d text the Games’ broadcast schedule as soon as I had it. Then I opened Connor’s message.
Hey, not sure you remember me. I’ll be in Prague this week. Would love to meet up and say hi if you have time. Good luck in the Games!
Why did the thought of meeting up with him make my heart flutter like that? I mean, it had been a long time, and I was always thrilled to see an old friend again. But something about seeing Connor had me wishing the pilot would fly a little faster.
Still, I kept my cool when I wrote back.
Of course I remember you! We should get a drink. Are you reffing the Games?
I felt weird asking. But I mean, why else would he be there? And if he was, then maybe we would wait until after the Games. Just to keep things from getting messy.
I bit back a laugh. Ugh. People could be so stupid.
We chatted with refs on the ice all the time and fans acted like that led to favoritism.
This sport was tiny—we all fucking knew each other.
And just running into each other and saying hello didn’t mean I was sucking his dick in exchange for him ignoring penalties against my team or fabricating them against my opponent.
I got it. I really did. Refs had done some shady shit over the years, and especially after some of the recent scandals, people were twitchy about it.
Hell, the whole reason Connor had decided to be a ref was the brazenly lopsided officiating that had cost his dad the Cup in his final season.
Connor had been eleven, and he’d vowed that day to not only become a ref, but to be the best and most rule-abiding ref the League had ever seen.
I had a feeling he’d succeeded.
So, yeah, he probably wouldn’t want to meet up before the Games if he was officiating. Except… he’d reached out. So, maybe?
While I waited for a response, I went to his profile and thumbed through his photos. Some were on the ice, some were off. I had to smile at the sight of him in black and white stripes with the League logo emblazoned on his chest. He really had made it, hadn’t he?
But also…
He’d grown up.
Like… really grown up.
That charming smile hadn’t changed and neither had his blue-gray eyes or the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks.
The rest of him, though? Whoa. Glow-up didn’t even begin to describe it.
Back when we were kids, he’d kept his red hair long.
Now it was short and neat—almost to the skin on the sides, a little longer on top.
I’d always preferred short hair on men, and it looked so damn good on Connor.
When we were kids, he’d officiated youth games, and I’d always thought he was hilariously serious in that role. Of course he needed to take it seriously, but he just always seemed so earnest, it was kind of funny and really endearing.
Adult Connor playing Adult Referee in the top hockey league in the world—oh, fuck me. I wondered if he looked at his partner like that in bed. I wondered how long I’d last if he looked at me like that in bed. Probably not long. Holy shit.
Not that it mattered because we weren’t sleeping together. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Probably a combination of seeing my adolescent sort-of-boyfriend looking this smoking hot while I was in the middle of a dry spell.
Right then, a push notification came through, rescuing me from my own thoughts. It was from Connor, and I couldn’t switch to my DMs fast enough.
I’m officiating the women’s division.
Oh! Cool.
So we could get drinks or dinner or whatever and it won’t be an issue.
Not at all. When do you get in?
On the plane now. We land in like 45 min.
Great! Text me when you’re settled in at your hotel. We’ll figure something out.
Will do.
Looking forward to it.
Then I put my phone aside and gazed out the window at the snow-dusted landscape below. I couldn’t help smiling to myself. For weeks, I’d been excited to come to Prague and represent Latvia in the Games.
But suddenly I was even more excited to see my old friend.