Chapter 15
CONNOR
I can come to you. You don’t have to come here.
Madars
You don’t have a roommate. I do.
Connor: Still…
I’ll be fine.
Be there soon.
I’d taken him at his word, and as soon as I opened the door to my hotel room, I regretted not pushing the issue.
Madars looked utterly miserable and exhausted hunched over his crutches.
As he hobbled into my room, pain was etched all over his face along with sadness and disappointment.
But it was still impossible to miss the way his tired eyes lit up when he saw me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I closed the door. “I should’ve come to you instead of—”
“No. No. It’s fine.” He shook his head and turned a gorgeous smile on me. “My hotel is crawling with players. We would have been noticed for sure.”
“But you’re in pain and—”
“I don’t care,” he whispered, and he took one hand off his crutches to reach for me. “I needed to see you.”
“But—”
His kiss shut me up. “I’m fine.” He ran his thumb along my cheekbone and offered a weak smile. “Besides, we’d have to share the room with my roommate.”
“Still, you had to walk this far…”
“And I made it. We’re good.”
“Okay. Well.” I gestured at the bed. “Why don’t you take a load off? You’re sweating.”
From the way his face fell, I’d read the sweat right—he was hurting.
It only took a moment to get him situated. He sat against the headboard, and I carefully put a pillow under his braced leg.
“This comfortable?” I asked.
Frowning, he shrugged. “There isn’t really ‘comfortable’ right now.” He must’ve seen the worry on my face, because he smiled and added, “I’m fine. Thank you.”
He was probably as good as he was going to get, which made me feel even guiltier that he’d come all this way.
Yeah, he had a roommate, but it wasn’t like we’d be doing anything.
Though, okay, maybe it would look a little strange to have a referee going into a room with players on a team that would be in tomorrow’s gold medal game.
Didn’t even matter that I wasn’t officiating their division. The appearance would be—
“Connor.” Madars patted the bed beside him. “Stop overthinking it and join me.”
I blinked. “I’m not…” Except I was. We both knew I was.
From the way he chuckled softly as my face heated, he saw right through me.
So, I just laughed, rolled my eyes, and carefully got into bed beside him.
His injured leg was opposite me, so I wasn’t worried about bumping it, but I still left some space between us.
I didn’t want to jostle him now that he was finally comfortable.
Once I’d settled, Madars sighed. “I’m sorry about this. I was hoping we’d get to spend our last night…”
“I know. But injuries happen.” I laced our fingers together between us on the bed. “How bad is it, anyway? What did the MRI show?”
“Second degree MCL tear.” He grimaced. “Almost third degree.”
“Shit. Do you need surgery?”
“Hopefully not. Nothing immediately, anyway. When I get back to Switzerland…” He waved a hand as he trailed off. “Surgery or not, I won’t be playing for the rest of the season. Not even for the playoffs.”
“Damn. I’m sorry. But you can rehab by next season, can’t you?”
Sighing, Madars nodded, and he ran his hand through his dark hair. “You know what really sucks?”
I raised my eyebrows. “More than a torn MCL?”
With a scowl, he nodded again. “I didn’t say anything before, but…” He gave a near soundless laugh. “I was afraid to jinx it, I guess.”
I managed soft chuckle and squeezed his hand. Hockey players were nothing if not superstitious. “What didn’t you want to jinx?”
Madars swallowed, and he stared down at our hands as he whispered, “I was approached by a scout the other day. From an NAL team.”
I straightened. “That’s great! I… I mean…” I tilted my head. “Isn’t it?”
“It was great.” He met my gaze, brown eyes full of fatigue, sadness, and dejection. “But after…” He gestured at his injured leg.
The pieces connected. “You don’t think they’ll want you now? Because of an injury?”
“Not any time soon.”
“But they’ve been sniffing around for you,” I insisted. “The fact that they’re coming up and talking to you—they must be seriously considering you, you know?”
“They were, yeah. But now…” He closed his eyes and pressed back against the headboard.
“This is exactly what happened when I played in the NAL before. My agent told me like half a dozen teams were interested in me as a free agent.” He opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling. “Then I hurt my knee, and…”
Fuck, I’d never seen him this miserable. Not even after his major junior team was knocked out of the playoffs in the semifinals.
I squeezed his hand. “You recovered from that one, though. You’ve been killing it in Switzerland, so they know you can bounce back from an injury.”
“They know I recovered from the last one. But this time… I mean, nobody will know until I play again, right? And until I’ve played long enough to show that I’m not just gritting my teeth through the pain?
So no one’s going to be interested in me until at least next season, assuming Genève re-signs me. ”
“You don’t think they will?”
“They wanted to. But they’ve got plenty of young forwards.
They don’t need a liability whose knee may or may not fall apart.
” He wiped a hand over his face. “And the more time goes on, the less interested they’ll be in taking a chance on me.
I’m in my prime. I’m… I’m about to be a free agent.
” He stared up at the ceiling again and seemed to deflate even more.
“They’re not going to want me until they’ve seen for themselves that I’ve recovered without losing a step, and by then I won’t be a free agent anymore. ”
I winced. I wanted to tell him that wasn’t true—that they knew what a talent he was and wouldn’t let an injury scare them away from him.
One of my dad’s teammates had signed in free agency while he was still recovering from double hip surgery.
I knew a goalie who’d signed a multi-year extension while he was still on LTIR from a head injury.
It wasn’t unusual at all for a player who’d had a rough year post-injury to sign with another team and then kick ass and take names.
It was just how the sport worked sometimes.
But teams could also be extremely cautious.
One of the top defensemen on my brother’s team had fully expected to sign an extension with a year remaining on his contract, but his club had held out while he recovered from shoulder surgery.
In the end, he did sign the extension, but it was almost literally minutes before he went into free agency.
The guy was part of the team’s veteran core, and they’d still hesitated to extend him until they were absolutely sure he’d recovered completely.
If the team sniffing around for Madars waited until he’d recovered to make an offer, it was likely to come after he’d already re-signed with Genève instead of while he was a free agent. Poaching a player from a European team was hardly unheard of, but there were extra steps and expenses.
For a generational talent, they’d do it without hesitation.
For a solid player like Madars…
Well…
I exhaled and ran my hand up and down his arm. “There’s still time.”
He just sighed again and said nothing.
“If they were watching you at the Games,” I insisted, “then they’ve seen something in you. Especially if someone actually approached you. Don’t give up on yourself.”
“I’m not,” he whispered. “But it’s hard to imagine they won’t, you know?
Like even if I recover, they’re not going to keep tabs on me.
They send scouts to international competitions, but it’s not like NAL scouts pack the stands at regular season games in Switzerland, you know?
” Closing his eyes again, he pushed out a long breath.
“This really feels like the ship is sailing.”
Fuck. What was I even supposed to say to that? I knew the League too well to even be cautiously optimistic about things like this; I just really, really wanted to keep his spirits up. I didn’t want to lie to him, though.
After a moment, Madars opened his eyes, and when he looked at me this time, his focus had sharpened. Though the fatigue, pain, and sadness were still there, so was determination and even… was that a plea in his gaze?
Squeezing my hand, he whispered, “I want to see you again. I want to go to Spain like we planned.” He swallowed. “And I don’t mean I want to see you as just friends. I mean like… Like we were going to see each other before I fucked up my knee.”
My breath hitched. Fucking hell. Even with all the emotions and pain clouding his expression, the heat and hunger were definitely still there beneath the surface.
The trip to Spain had absolutely been a not-just-friends situation—the way he’d looked at me when he’d brought it up, I was sure he’d already been imagining everything we’d do once we were there.
But now he seemed even more earnest about it.
As if he thought I’d suddenly back away because… because he’d injured his knee?
Not a chance of that.
I couldn’t help shivering. “Well. You’d better rehab the hell out of that knee, then.”
When he laughed, all the sadness and exhaustion seemed to flee, and that gorgeous smile had me ready to break out my phone and start booking flights.
“After we leave Prague,” I said, “we’ll stay in touch. And this summer, I’m all yours.”
Oh God, his little smile made my toes curl. I really was so stupid for the way this man looked at me. For the way I could still see the boy I’d crushed on and made out with years ago, and also the man he’d become.
“Stay with me tonight.” I caressed his cheek. “I know we can’t do anything. But stay here.”
His brow pinched. “But we can’t…”
“We’ll get to that later.” Carding my fingers through his hair, I kissed him softly. “I just want to be with you right now.”
That smile came back to life, but only for a second. “I, uh…” He swallowed. “I don’t have my things. They’re back at…”
Fuck. Right. The other hotel.
“I can go collect them for you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You—really?”
I nodded. “Even if we were just friends, I still wouldn’t want you to go hobbling all the way back there. What if you put your crutch on some ice or something?”
Madars grimaced as if he hadn’t considered that.
I squeezed his hand. “Give me your room key. You get comfortable here. I’ll go get everything you need.”
I expected him to protest some more. Instead, he took his wallet out of his pocket and tugged the key free. “Room 303.”
“303. Got it.” I pocketed the keycard, kissed his cheek, then started to get up to get my own wallet.
He snagged my arm, though, and he tugged me back in. “Connor…”
I met his gaze. “Hmm?”
He curved his hand behind my neck and drew me the rest of the way in so he could claim my mouth. It wasn’t a deep, aggressive kiss, but it was intense in its own way. Soft and gentle and all-consuming.
By the time he let me go, I was breathless and so was he.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Don’t mention it.” I dropped a light kiss on his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
The next morning was a first.
For all the times Madars and I had crept into each other’s beds during the night, we’d never dared stay there until morning.
My parents had been fine with me being gay, but I didn’t imagine it would go over well if they found out I was fooling around with the hockey player who’d billeted with our family. So we’d never taken the chance.
But today, I opened my eyes to a gray, snowy morning in Prague and the most amazing thing I’d ever seen—Madars still asleep beside me. I loved that—loved being beside him—but also?
Holy shit, this man was hot.
Stubble darkened his sharp jaw. His tattoo sleeve and the ink on his ribs were on full display. His hair was messy in a way that reminded me of when he’d just taken off his helmet.
Or when I’d been running my fingers through it in the heat of the moment.
That thought gave me goose bumps, and I squirmed beneath the sheet. Shame about his knee, because I wanted this man so damn bad. We’d hooked up one time since we’d reconnected. One perfect, scorching hot time. I wanted more, damn it.
Spain. We’d have more in Spain. That was still months away, and I’d probably lose my damn mind in the meantime, but we’d get there.
We hadn’t made any declarations about being exclusive, but I didn’t see myself touching anyone between now and then.
If he did, that was fine. If this week was anything to go by, there wasn’t a man alive who would interest me the way Madars did.
I saw incredibly attractive athletes every night while I was doing my job, but the only one who’d turned my head was the one who’d drilled me into oblivion a few nights ago.
The one who was snoring softly beside me right now.
How the hell did I get so lucky?
Well, I wasn’t looking that gift horse in the mouth. The grown up, ridiculously hot, professional athlete version of Madars wanted me. I wasn’t going to ask questions and make him reconsider.
I didn’t want to wake him, but I carefully slid closer and draped my arm across his midsection. He mumbled in his sleep, tugged his arm out from between us, and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then he pulled me close against him, and a moment later, he was out cold again.
I closed my eyes and smiled to myself. As frustrating as it was that we couldn’t have sex right now, I couldn’t complain about this part. About being close to him, warm skin against warm skin while he slept peacefully beside me.
We’d get to all the feverish, acrobatic stuff later. For now, this was perfect.
I had no idea if this would ever evolve into anything beyond friends with benefits. I didn’t even know if I wanted it to; if Madars and I just stayed friends who may or may not occasionally hook up, that was fine by me.
What I did know was that he was back in my life, and I wasn’t neglecting this connection a second time.
And this summer, we’d steal off to Spain for a few weeks.
Where things would go after that, it was impossible to say, but one thing was for sure:
I couldn’t wait to see him again.