Chapter 9 Internal Storm
Running From Myself
The midnight skate should have made everything easier.
Instead, it made everything impossible.
Mason lay awake staring at the ceiling long after they returned to the condo. His body felt pleasantly exhausted from skating, but his mind refused to slow down. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself back at center ice beneath the dim arena lights.
The silence.
The look they had shared.
The strange certainty that something had almost happened.
He rolled onto his side with a frustrated groan.
“What is wrong with me?”
No answer came.
Only the steady ticking of the clock on his nightstand.
He reached for his phone.
3:17 a.m.
Sleep was no longer an option.
Without thinking too much about it, he opened his internet browser.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard.
Then he typed the first question that came into his mind.
Can a straight man develop feelings for another man?
Hundreds of results appeared.
Articles.
Forums.
Psychology websites.
Personal stories.
He clicked one.
Then another.
An hour disappeared.
Every article seemed to describe sexuality differently.
Some talked about labels.
Others talked about attraction existing on a spectrum.
Several mentioned that discovering something new about yourself later in life wasn’t unusual.
Mason frowned.
That couldn’t be right.
Could it?
He closed one page and opened another.
How do you know if you’re bisexual?
He immediately regretted typing it.
His finger hovered over the back button.
Instead, he kept reading.
One article described emotional attraction.
Another discussed physical attraction.
Someone wrote about realizing they’d always admired certain people for reasons they hadn’t understood until much later.
Mason dropped the phone onto the mattress.
“No.”
He sat upright and rubbed both hands across his face.
“This is ridiculous.”
He wasn’t bisexual.
He’d dated women.
Loved women.
He’d spent five years building a future with Emily.
People didn’t suddenly wake up and become someone else.
Did they?
His thoughts drifted back to Noah.
To the fireplace.
To the hotel room.
To the way his chest tightened every time Noah smiled lately.
He immediately pushed the memories away.
You’re just confused.
You’ve spent too much time together.
That’s all.
He repeated the explanation until sunrise.
Unfortunately, it convinced him less each time.
The following morning, breakfast felt unusually quiet.
Noah moved naturally around the kitchen, scrambling eggs while coffee brewed in the background.
Mason barely looked up from his cereal.
“You okay?”
Noah asked gently.
“Didn’t sleep well.”
“Tough night?”
“Something like that.”
Noah nodded.
“I’ll drive.”
Mason shook his head too quickly.
“I’ll take my truck.”
Noah looked surprised.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“I need to stop by the pharmacy afterward.”
That wasn’t true.
He simply couldn’t survive another silent drive sitting beside Noah while pretending nothing had changed.
Noah didn’t argue.
“Okay.”
The disappointment in his voice was almost impossible to hear.
Almost.
Practice offered no relief.
Coach Morrison immediately noticed the change.
“Carter.”
Mason looked up.
“You’re hesitating.”
“No, Coach.”
“You are.”
Coach skated closer.
“Trust your instincts.”
Mason wanted to laugh.
If only it were that simple.
His instincts had become the entire problem.
Every drill felt harder than usual.
Every pass required conscious thought.
Every time Noah called for the puck, Mason found himself overthinking instead of reacting naturally.
The effortless chemistry they’d built over months seemed to disappear overnight.
Coach Morrison finally blew the whistle.
“Again.”
The players reset.
Tyler quietly skated beside Mason.
“You sick?”
“No.”
“You look miserable.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“You should fix that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Tyler shrugged before skating away.
If only sleep were the issue.
After practice, Mason deliberately stayed behind in the gym.
He lifted weights until his shoulders burned.
Ran intervals until his lungs ached.
Anything to stop thinking.
It didn’t work.
His mind wandered anyway.
Back to Emily.
He hadn’t thought about their relationship this much in months.
Now every memory returned with uncomfortable clarity.
He remembered meeting her at a charity event during his second professional season.
She had been funny.
Beautiful.
Easy to talk to.
Dating her had felt natural.
Expected.
Everyone around them had immediately assumed they were perfect together.
Eventually Mason had believed it too.
They moved in together after a year.
Adopted a dog.
Talked about marriage.
Looked at houses during the offseason.
His parents adored her.
Her family welcomed him completely.
From the outside, everything looked ideal.
So why had he always felt like something was missing?
Not unhappiness.
Never that.
He genuinely cared about Emily.
He respected her.
He wanted her to be happy.
But every conversation about forever had left an uncomfortable weight in his chest that he never understood.
He’d blamed hockey.
Stress.
Travel.
Pressure.
Anything except himself.
The memory of their final conversation surfaced with painful clarity.
Emily had been sitting on the edge of their bed, tears filling her eyes.
“I love you,” she’d whispered.
“I know.”
“No.”
She had shaken her head.
“You don’t understand.”
Mason remembered every word now.
“I love you completely.”
“You only love part of me.”
At the time, he’d denied it immediately.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
She hadn’t sounded angry.
Only heartbroken.
“You’ve always cared about me.”
“But you’ve never looked at me the way people in love are supposed to.”
He hadn’t known how to answer.
Because somewhere deep inside…
He’d feared she might be right.
The memory left him standing motionless in the empty gym.
He sank slowly onto a weight bench.
Had Emily noticed something he’d spent years refusing to see?
His phone buzzed.
A text from Noah.
Made extra pasta. It’ll be ready whenever you get home.
Mason stared at the message.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He typed three different replies before deleting each one.
Finally he settled on two words.
Working late.
The lie appeared on the screen almost immediately.
Three small dots showed Noah typing.
No problem. I’ll save you some.
No questions.
No pressure.
Just understanding.
The kindness somehow made Mason feel even worse.
By the time he finally returned to the condo, the apartment was dark except for the kitchen light Noah always left on.
A plate waited inside the refrigerator with a handwritten note beside it.
Heat for two minutes.
Mason smiled despite himself.
Then immediately frowned.
He carried the plate to the microwave but never turned it on.
Instead, he sat alone at the kitchen island staring into the quiet condo.
This place had become home because of Noah.
Every routine.
Every conversation.
Every ordinary moment.
And now Mason was quietly destroying all of it.
Over the next several days, the distance between them grew.
Mason woke earlier just to avoid breakfast together.
He drove separately.
Stayed longer after practice.
Claimed meetings that didn’t exist.
At home, he disappeared into his bedroom under the excuse of watching game film.
Noah never confronted him.
Never demanded explanations.
He simply respected the boundaries Mason kept creating.
That only deepened the guilt.
The worst part came on the ice.
For months, they had trusted each other instinctively.
Now Mason second-guessed every pass.
Every glance.
Every conversation.
Coach Morrison finally pulled him aside after practice.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve coached you for four years.”
The older man folded his arms.
“I know when something’s wrong.”
Mason looked toward the ice where Noah remained helping a rookie defenseman after practice.
“I’ll figure it out.”
Coach Morrison followed his gaze briefly before looking back.
“I hope so.”
“So do I.”
That evening Mason stood alone on his apartment balcony watching snow melt beneath the setting sun.
Inside, he could hear Noah quietly preparing dinner.
The familiar sounds should have comforted him.
Instead, they only reminded him how much he was risking.
Whatever strange feelings had taken root inside him…
Whatever questions now refused to leave his mind…
He couldn’t let them destroy the best friendship he’d built in years.
If creating distance was the only way to protect both of them…
Then that’s what he would do.
Even if it hurt more than he ever expected.
Afraid to Lose Him
Noah noticed the change long before anyone else did.
It wasn’t one dramatic argument or a single cold conversation that made him realize something was wrong.
It was everything that stopped happening.
Mason no longer wandered into the kitchen rubbing sleep from his eyes while complaining about mornings.
The second cup of coffee Noah automatically brewed each day often sat untouched until it grew cold.
The easy conversations during breakfast disappeared, replaced by hurried excuses about leaving early or grabbing something on the way to the arena.
At first, Noah assumed Mason was simply exhausted.
The schedule had been demanding.
Travel.
Games.
Practices.
Media obligations.
Professional hockey had a way of draining even the most energetic players.
But after several days, the pattern became impossible to ignore.
Mason drove himself to practice.
He stayed behind after meetings.
He returned home later than usual, always with a different explanation.
When Noah cooked dinner, Mason thanked him politely before retreating to his bedroom instead of lingering at the table to talk.
Nothing Mason did was rude.
Nothing was openly hostile.
If anything, he seemed almost painfully careful.
As though he was trying not to hurt Noah while quietly building a wall between them.
That realization hurt far more than Noah expected.
One evening, after washing the dinner dishes alone, Noah stood at the kitchen sink looking toward the closed hallway door leading to Mason’s room.
For nearly a minute, he considered knocking.
He could simply ask.
Is everything okay?