Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty Three
Finn
The next day, the ice rink was like a circus.
Nash and Leo found me at my locker, both playing it too cool. Nash stared into his protein shake as though he could read the future in the foam. Leo fiddled with the laces on his skates, not looking up.
“You hear about the meeting?” Nash asked, low.
“Yeah,” I said. “Coach wants the whole team. No exceptions.”
Leo finally looked at me, eyes ringed with tiredness. “It’s gonna be bad, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Probably.”
He patted my shoulder. “We got you, man. Just—don’t do anything dumb.”
I managed a smile. “Not my style.”
Nash snorted. “Since when?”
Team meetings were usually a joke: Coach reading off the schedule, Nash cracking wise, half the guys checked out or hungover. But today, everyone sat at attention. Even Dylan showed up on time.
Coach stood at the front, arms crossed. The first thing he said was, “Phones off, all of you.”
The room went dead quiet.
He started with hockey. “We’re in a three-way tie for the last playoff spot. Every game counts. If you want to piss it away, tell me now, and I’ll cut your ice time to nothing.”
A couple of the rookies flinched. Dylan rolled his shoulders, like he couldn’t stand to be still.
Coach kept going. “There’s noise out there. I don’t care about the noise. I care about what happens between the boards.”
He looked straight at me. “Some of you are dealing with more than your share. It’s not fair, but that’s the deal. So, you can handle it, or you can sit.”
I nodded, methodically.
He scanned the room, making sure everyone got it. “You got a problem, you bring it to me. Not the press. Not the fucking internet. Me.”
He clapped once. “That’s all.”
Everyone filed out, but he stopped me at the door.
“Koskinen. Two minutes.”
I waited until the room cleared.
He dropped his voice. “I know they’re coming after you. And after Brody.”
My jaw clenched. “It’s not just us. They’ll go after anyone.”
He nodded. “You want to sit out a game, I’ll bench you and blame your wrist.”
“No,” I said, fast. “I want to play.”
He looked at me, really looked, and I saw the weird, lopsided affection he had for all his players. Even the fucked-up ones.
“All right,” he said. “But you mess up, I will not save you from yourself.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.”
He grunted, almost a laugh. “Go.”
The tunnel to the ice was lined with more media than players. I got mobbed before I even made it to the boards.
“Finn! Is it true you’re in a relationship with the team’s trainer?”
“Are you worried about the league’s response?”
“Have you spoken to the commissioner?”
“Is Brody your boyfriend?”
Every question got stacked, one over the next, like they were building a wall I’d have to climb or break.
I tried to deflect, but the crowd pressed in. Finally, I stopped, put down my bag, and faced them.
I took a breath. “You want a quote? Fine. I’m seeing someone. It’s not anyone’s business who, but yeah. I’m happy. I’m playing the best hockey of my life. That’s all you need.”
The noise doubled, but I held up a hand. “That’s all.”
I pushed through, skated out onto the ice. The cold hit me,crisp and clean. For the first time all week, I could breathe.
Practice was hell, but I played mean. I hit every corner, chased every puck, blocked a slapshot with my forearm, and didn’t even flinch. Nash watched me with a mix of pride and concern, like he couldn’t decide if I’d lost my mind or just leveled up.
After, in the trainers’ room, Brody fixed my arm. He worked silently, hands gentle.
“You did good,” he said, voice low.
I shrugged. “Didn’t have a choice.”
He finished the wrap, then looked at me—really looked.
“You know they’re going to figure it out,” he said.
I nodded. “Let them.”
He shook his head, pain written in the set of his mouth. “You don’t have to do this. You could just say—”
“What? That it’s not you? That I’m just hooking up with someone random?”
He flinched. “If it keeps you safe—”
I cut him off, softer this time. “I don’t want safe. I want something real.”
For a second, I thought he’d bolt. But he stayed. He reached for my hand, squeezing tight.
“Okay,” he said. “But if this blows up, it’s my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” I said. “It’s just the world.”
He smiled, tired. “Do you really think it’ll get easier?”
I considered it. “No. But I think it’ll get better.”
He let go, but not before brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “You’re a dumbass.”
“I know.”
He grinned, the first real smile in days.
***
That night, the photos went live.
Brody and I are at a restaurant with a rooftop bar. Out by the river walk. Our hands, not touching, but close enough. Images from the last few months were plastered all over social media with wild tags, hashtags, and headlines like: “Is Hockey’s Golden Boy Breaking All the Rules?”
The comments were a mess—some supportive, most not. The team chat blew up. Nash sent a string of fire emojis.
Leo: Still line-mates, right?
Me: Always.
When Brody called, I answered on the first ring.
“You okay?” he asked.
I stared at the ceiling, the weight gone.
“I am,” I said. “Are you?”
A long pause. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
The next morning, I walked into the rink like nothing was different. The team was already there, Nash chirping at the rookies, Leo making coffee, even Dylan silent for once.
Coach watched me walk in. He gave a nod, the smallest in the world, but it was enough.
I took my spot in the locker room. Taped up. Laced my skates. I was ready.
We hit the ice as a unit, every line snapping into place.
The world could burn, for all I cared.
We were still a team.