Chapter 6 Cracks in the Ice
Something Different
The Thunderhawks won again.
The locker room afterward was louder than usual, filled with music, laughter, and the satisfying exhaustion that followed sixty hard minutes of hockey.
Equipment clattered against the floor while players relived big plays, exaggerated hits, and Tyler’s impossible glove save late in the third period.
Mason should have been focused on his own game.
He had scored once, assisted another goal, and won nearly every important faceoff. Coach Morrison had praised his leadership during the postgame meeting, and reporters had once again crowded around his locker asking about the team’s impressive start to the season.
Instead, his attention drifted somewhere entirely unexpected.
Across the room, Noah was laughing.
One of the rookie defensemen had attempted to imitate Coach Morrison’s pregame speech with such dramatic seriousness that several veterans nearly fell off the benches.
Noah wasn’t laughing loudly like Tyler or Liam.
His amusement was quieter, his shoulders shaking slightly as an easy smile spread across his face.
Mason had seen Noah smile hundreds of times.
So why did it suddenly seem different?
He frowned to himself before pulling his jersey over his head.
You’re tired.
That’s all.
Long road trips.
Extra practices.
Too much hockey.
His brain accepted the explanation.
For about thirty seconds.
While changing into clean clothes, he looked up again.
Noah was helping one of the equipment managers gather scattered sticks after several players rushed toward the showers. He thanked the older man with the same quiet politeness he used with everyone, whether they were coaches, arena staff, or children asking for autographs.
Mason realized something.
Noah always said thank you.
Every single time.
The observation was oddly specific.
Why had he never noticed that before?
“You planning to stare all night?”
Mason blinked.
Tyler stood beside him tying his shoes.
“What?”
“You’ve been looking in Hayes’s direction for the last minute.”
“I was looking at the sticks.”
Tyler glanced toward Noah.
“The sticks that are currently moving because Hayes is carrying them?”
“Exactly.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes suspiciously before grinning.
“I’ve always said he’s prettier than you.”
Mason grabbed a towel and threw it toward him.
“Go home.”
“I live in the hotel tonight.”
“Go there.”
Tyler laughed as he walked away.
Mason shook his head before forcing himself to look elsewhere.
It didn’t matter.
Noah was his teammate.
His roommate.
One of his closest friends.
Maybe that was why he noticed things now.
Living together naturally made people pay more attention to each other.
That had to be it.
The explanation sounded perfectly reasonable.
At least until the next morning.
They had a scheduled recovery workout instead of full practice, giving everyone a lighter day after several demanding games.
Noah had already finished making breakfast by the time Mason wandered into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
“It would be if someone had invented eight o’clock coffee refills.”
“There are refills.”
“I love modern technology.”
Noah slid a fresh mug across the counter.
“You looked exhausted when you came in.”
“I dreamed Coach Morrison made us skate suicides uphill.”
“I don’t think ice has hills.”
“My dream disagreed.”
Noah laughed.
There it was again.
That laugh.
Quiet.
Warm.
Completely genuine.
Mason found himself smiling before he even realized he was doing it.
“So,” Noah said while buttering toast, “what’s funny?”
Mason blinked.
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am?”
“You’ve been smiling for about ten seconds.”
Mason quickly reached for his coffee.
“I was thinking about Tyler.”
“What did he do now?”
“He somehow managed to convince the rookies that Coach checks their lockers for candy wrappers.”
Noah chuckled.
“They believed him?”
“Every one of them.”
“Poor guys.”
Mason nodded.
“They spent twenty minutes cleaning yesterday.”
That explanation worked well enough.
Even if it wasn’t entirely true.
The truth was far more confusing.
He simply liked hearing Noah laugh.
The realization lingered with him through breakfast and into the gym later that morning.
While Noah spotted him during a heavy bench press set, Mason became unexpectedly aware of Noah’s hands gripping the barbell.
Strong.
Steady.
Confident.
Years of hockey had left faint calluses across his palms.
His forearms flexed naturally as he guided the weight back toward the rack.
“One more?”
Noah asked.
“I’ve got it.”
“You definitely do.”
Mason pushed through the final repetition before sitting up.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
As Noah stepped away, Mason caught himself watching him adjust the weights on the rack.
When had Noah always been this...capable?
Not that he hadn’t noticed before.
He obviously knew Noah was an excellent defenseman.
He trusted him on the ice more than almost anyone else.
But now he found himself noticing things beyond hockey.
The way Noah rolled his sleeves neatly after washing dishes.
How he always held doors open without making a big deal about it.
The patient way he explained drills to younger teammates.
The quiet confidence that never needed attention.
None of it was new.
Mason was only seeing it now.
“You good?”
Noah’s voice pulled him back.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at the dumbbells.”
Mason looked down.
Apparently he had.
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
“So I’ve been told.”
They finished their workout before heading toward the arena for an afternoon film session.
Coach Morrison spent nearly an hour reviewing defensive positioning and neutral-zone transitions.
Most players watched attentively.
Tyler somehow managed to fall asleep without anyone noticing until Coach tossed a dry-erase marker directly at him.
The room erupted with laughter.
After the meeting ended, players slowly wandered toward the locker room.
Mason and Noah walked beside each other.
“You hungry?”
Noah asked.
“I’m always hungry.”
“I figured.”
“We’ve got chicken left.”
“And vegetables.”
“I knew there was bad news.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I keep hearing that.”
“You always do.”
Back at the condo, they settled naturally into another familiar evening.
Mason changed into comfortable clothes before tossing a load of laundry into the washing machine.
It struck him halfway through measuring detergent that he actually knew Noah’s preferred setting on the machine.
Cold wash.
Extra rinse.
Medium spin.
He stopped.
How did I know that?
He stared at the control panel for a second before shaking his head.
Living together.
That’s all.
People picked up habits.
Nothing unusual.
He started the cycle and wandered toward the kitchen.
Noah stood at the counter chopping fresh parsley.
Without asking, Mason opened the refrigerator and handed him the grated parmesan cheese.
“Thanks.”
“You were about to ask.”
“I was.”
Mason smiled.
“I know.”
Noah looked over curiously.
“You know?”
“You always reach for it after the herbs.”
“I do?”
“Every pasta night.”
Noah considered that for a moment.
“I never noticed.”
“I guess I did.”
The realization surprised both of them.
Somewhere along the way, Mason had begun memorizing Noah’s habits without even trying.
Dinner passed comfortably.
Conversation wandered from hockey statistics to favorite movies before somehow ending with a debate over whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
“It absolutely doesn’t,” Noah insisted.
“It absolutely does.”
“No.”
“You’re objectively wrong.”
“There are no objective pizza facts.”
“There should be.”
After dinner they watched highlights from another league game.
At one point Noah disappeared down the hallway to answer a phone call from his sister.
The condo suddenly felt...quieter.
Mason frowned.
It wasn’t silent.
The television was still playing.
The washing machine hummed steadily in the laundry room.
Cars passed outside.
Yet something felt missing.
A few minutes later Noah returned carrying two bottles of water.
“My sister says hi.”
Mason looked up.
Without thinking, he smiled.
“There you are.”
The words slipped out naturally.
Noah paused for only a second before smiling back.
“Didn’t know I was gone that long.”
“Guess not.”
He handed Mason one of the bottles before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa.
The conversation continued as though nothing unusual had happened.
Only later, after Noah disappeared into the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes, did Mason replay those few seconds in his mind.
He had smiled the moment Noah walked back into the room.
Not because of anything Noah had said.
Not because something funny had happened.
Simply because Noah had come back.
Mason stared absently at the muted television.
A slow frown replaced the smile still lingering on his face.
Why had that happened?
Why was he suddenly noticing Noah’s laugh...
His hands...
His smile...
His quiet confidence...
And why, without even realizing it, had he started smiling every time Noah walked into a room?
The questions followed him long after the evening ended, refusing to leave even after the lights were turned off.
For the first time in years, Mason found himself unable to explain his own thoughts.
Green-Eyed Monster
Noah had never believed every relationship needed to begin with fireworks.
Some started with instant attraction. Others grew slowly over months of conversation and shared experiences.
At this point in his life, he wasn’t looking for dramatic romance.
Hockey already supplied enough emotional highs and crushing lows.
If he met someone kind, patient, and capable of understanding the demands of professional sports, that was more than enough.
That was why he’d continued exchanging messages with Daniel.