11. Thane
ELEVEN
THANE
I hated my phone. The damn thing hadn’t stopped vibrating since yesterday’s press conference.
I settled onto a bench near the back of the players' lounge and rubbed a hand across my face. The arena had finally started to quiet down. Most of the team had already left, and the remaining staff moved through the halls with the weary efficiency that followed every home game.
For the first time all day, nobody seemed to need anything from me. I unlocked my phone again and continued scrolling. It wasn’t long before a familiar name caught my eye.
noah_jensen1709.
My thumb stopped moving. For a moment, I simply stared at the screen.
Months ago, his message had arrived on a random Tuesday evening. At the time, it had looked like hundreds of other messages sent by hockey fans. Then I had opened it and spent the next week thinking about it.
And the next week.
And the week after that.
I opened the conversation.
The original message was still there.
A seventeen-year-old hockey player. A defenseman from Minnesota. He loved the game. He dreamed about college hockey and maybe, if everything broke right, something beyond that. Mixed in with all that hope had been a fear he clearly hadn't known where else to put.
He'd written that he was gay.
He'd written that he wasn't sure there would ever be a place for someone like him in professional hockey. The final line hit me just as hard now as it had the first time.
You seem like the kind of player who'd understand.
For months, I had carried those words around with me. Now there was a new message waiting beneath them.
noah_jensen1709: Thank you.
That was all it said at first. Two words. I read the rest of the messages.
noah_jensen1709: Thank you for doing what you did.
noah1709: I honestly thought I'd said something wrong when you never answered. After a while, I figured you probably didn't know what to say. Then I figured maybe I shouldn't have sent the message at all.
Noah_jensen1709: I just wanted you to know that seeing you up there yesterday meant a lot.
The words blurred slightly before I realized I hadn't blinked in several seconds. The kid thought I'd ignored him. The kid thought he'd done something wrong.
Meanwhile, I had been sitting in hotel rooms and airport terminals carrying his message around like a stone in my pocket because I couldn't stop thinking about it.
A humorless laugh escaped me. "Nice work, Hale."
I opened the keyboard.
Halestorm: Sorry it took me so long to answer.
The response appeared almost immediately.
noah_jensen1709: You don't have to apologize.
noah_jensen1709: Actually, I kind of think you do.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
The exchange felt strangely normal compared to everything else that had happened over the last two days.
Eventually, Noah started talking about what he wanted his future to look like.
He talked about hockey camps, scouts, college recruiters, and locker rooms. He talked about wondering whether being himself would cost him opportunities before he'd even had a chance to earn them.
Mostly, though, he talked like a teenager.
Funny.
Awkward.
Hopeful.
The longer we messaged each other, the more obvious it became that he wasn't looking for a hero.
He was looking for proof.
Proof that somebody like him could exist in the sport he loved. Proof that a future was possible. I hoped he found it.
When the conversation finally slowed, I leaned back against the wall and stared at the screen. For the last twenty-four hours, people had asked whether I regretted coming out. Whether it had been worth it. Whether I was afraid of the consequences.
Noah's messages gave me the answer more clearly than any interview ever could.
Whatever headaches, headlines, and complications came next, I knew one thing with complete certainty.
If I'd done nothing else right yesterday, I had answered one kid's question.
The thought stayed with me for a few moments after the conversation ended.
Eventually, I went back to the rest of my notifications. Most of them blurred together. Then one handle caught my eye.
kieran.oc.
My thumb froze.
I opened the notification.
The profile picture loaded first.
Then the display name beneath it.
Kieran O'Connor.
Out of the thousands of notifications crowding my screen, that was the one name capable of stealing all the air from my lungs.
Two days earlier, I'd walked away from his hotel room convinced I'd missed my chance.
I'd told myself it was the sensible thing to do.
My life was already complicated before the press conference.
Afterward, it had become a circus. I'd convinced myself that whatever existed between us was better left as one perfect night than risk wanting something I couldn't have.
None of that had stopped me from thinking about him. The memory of that night had followed me everywhere.
The worst part was that I'd done it to myself. I hadn't asked for his number. I hadn't given him mine. I'd left before he woke up because it seemed easier than facing the possibility that I wanted more than one night from someone I barely knew.
Under different circumstances, maybe I would have gone looking for him. Instead, I'd spent the last two days living with the consequences of my own decisions.
And now his name was on my screen.
I opened the message.
kieran.oc: Hey. It's Kieran.
kieran.oc: I just saw the press conference.
kieran.oc: I don't really know what today has been like for you, but I wanted to say I hope you're doing okay.
I hadn’t expected those four short sentences to affect me so much.
I read the message again. Then a third time.
The internet had spent the last twenty-four hours demanding things from me. Kieran wanted nothing. He wasn't asking for clarification about my sexuality or why I'd left before he woke up. He wasn't even asking whether we would see each other again. He was checking on me.
The simplicity of that should not have affected me as much as it did.
I stared at the message for another few seconds before common sense had a chance to interfere. Then I pressed the video call button. The moment it started ringing, I questioned my own sanity. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
Part of me expected him to decline it. Kieran had no particular reason to answer a video call from a man he'd spent one night with and hadn't heard from since. The call connected. Kieran appeared on the screen. For a second, he just stared at me. Then his eyes widened. "Thane?"
The surprise in his voice made me smile. "Last time I checked."
A laugh escaped him. Genuine, warm, and immediately familiar. The sound settled something restless inside me.
"I honestly wasn't expecting you to call," he admitted.
"I'm starting to get that impression."
His smile deepened.
For a moment, neither of us seemed entirely sure what came next. The awkwardness should have felt uncomfortable. Instead, it felt strangely easy.
Kieran shook his head. "I send one message, and suddenly I'm getting video calls from famous hockey players."
"Hey, I appreciate the message," I replied. "Most people spent the last twenty-four hours just asking me a bunch of random questions."
"But?"
"But you actually asked if I was okay."
For some reason, that made Kieran smile. "Well... are you?"
"Better now," I said, holding Kieran's gaze through the screen. "Especially since I'm talking to you."
A grin spread across his face.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "Right now?"
"That's usually how that question works."
A laugh escaped him. "I was trying to decide whether ordering takeout counts as cooking."
"It doesn't."
"That's what I thought."
The easy smile lingered on his face, and I understood why I’d spent the last two days thinking about him.
Two days.
I'd spent two days telling myself that whatever had happened between us belonged to one extraordinary night. Seeing him again was making that theory harder to defend.
Kieran shifted slightly on the couch. "Honestly? Not much. I was trying to convince myself to do something productive."
"How's that going?"
"Nowhere."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means I haven't interrupted anything important."
His smile returned. That smile was becoming a problem. The realization arrived quietly but firmly. I wanted to see him. Not tomorrow or next week. But now. The thought should have given me pause. Instead, it felt obvious.
Before I could talk myself out of it, the next question was already out of my mouth. "Where are you?" I asked.
This time, he hesitated.
His expression changed slightly. It wasn’t discomfort… more like surprise. "Home."
"I figured that much."
Another laugh.
God, I liked making him laugh. I found myself smiling right back. "Where's home?"
The hesitation lasted a little longer this time. Then Kieran exhaled softly. "You planning to stalk me, Hale?"
"Depends.
His eyes narrowed. "On what?"
"On whether you'd be annoyed if I showed up."
For a second, he just stared at me. A few seconds later, he gave it to me. I committed it to memory immediately. The moment he finished speaking, I was already reaching for my keys.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
I stood. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"I'll tell you when I get there."