Chapter 12
MADARS
When I woke up the next morning, I swore I was still dizzy from Connor’s kiss. I wanted him so damn bad, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through this tournament without being naked with him again.
And I was also having some second thoughts about committing to joining my teammates to watch a seven o’clock game.
It wouldn’t usually be a problem, but after I’d stayed out too late with Connor—and maybe had a bit too much wine with Connor—then struggled to sleep because I was thinking about Connor…
Well, it was a good thing I wasn’t playing hockey this morning.
Luckily, I’d have plenty of time between watching Connor on the ice and needing to get my head in the game, so I’d be fine. Frustrated, sure, since I wasn’t going to be able to touch him today, but there I’d at least get to see him.
Despite being tired and maybe a little hungover, I managed to drag myself out of bed, go to practice, and then join my teammates in the stands.
Though Latvia played Germany in the second game of the morning, we were there bright and early to watch the first. After all, that was Estonia against Czechia.
One of my teammates was here to cheer on his sister, who was Latvia’s starting goaltender, and her wife, who played on Estonia’s blue line.
Two of my other teammates were here to cheer on their wives—both forwards for Latvia.
Some of the others guys were coming because it was hockey and we were rink rats.
Me? Well, I was a rink rat, and I fucking loved watching the women’s teams—holy shit, they were fast—but I was here this morning for one reason and one reason only.
As we took our seats, I sent up a silent request to anyone who was listening that Connor would be officiating one of these games.
I’d cheer on my country’s team and my teammates’ wives and sisters, but no one had to know I was also drooling over one of the refs.
Shortly after we sat down, things got moving. The officials skated out and sped around the rink before stopping to check the nets on the goals. All male, which was interesting, though we’d had three female officials and one male linesman, so maybe the Games had mixed things up a bit.
Either way, in this game, there were two linesmen, and the refs were a blond man and—
There. Oh, yes. There was Connor.
My heart slammed into my ribs beneath my carmine red jacket. Inside my gloves, my fingers itched with the need to be on that long, lean body.
Refs didn’t wear a ton of gear—not as much as we did—but they did have padding, which made Connor look slightly bulkier than he actually was.
I got a strange thrill out of that—out of knowing the real shape of him beneath his black pants and striped jersey.
My fingertips tingled at the memory of tracing over every inch of his body in his bed the other night.
I want you again, I thought as I watched him glide around the ice. Jesus, Connor. I want you so bad.
I did, and I was so distracted by him, I barely even followed the action of the game. Sometimes the play would pull my focus, like when Estonia got a breakaway and surged toward our end. I was shouting alongside everyone else, cheering on the puck carrier as she closed in on the net, and then—
A whistle blew. There were shouts and boos all around us.
The lineswoman’s arm went up, and everyone groaned.
Offside. Fuck. The players argued animatedly with the officials, including Connor, but they were met with headshakes and gestures I recognized as “either set up for the faceoff or go to your bench unless you want a penalty.”
The players wisely didn’t push the issue, but they weren’t happy.
Whether at themselves or the officials, it was hard to say.
Offside happened, and every player—especially at this level—had long ago learned to brush it off and move on.
Still, there were moments when it could be that little bit of aggravation that another team took advantage of.
When the offside call derailed a scoring chance?
That could definitely be one of those times, and I could tell Estonia was pissed.
Hopefully they could keep their heads together, reclaim that scoring chance, and see it through.
Unlike, say, the opposing team we’d played the other night.
Team USA had had a three-on-one breakaway that could’ve been disastrous had it not been offside.
During the subsequent faceoff, their center had been flustered just enough to blow it, and we’d ended up with possession and—seconds later—a goal.
As Estonia set up for the faceoff, they looked focused and cool. They were probably smart enough to not let their opponents capitalize.
They were, too. In no time, they were back in the offensive zone and the puck was in the back of Czechia’s net.
I was on my feet and cheering with the other fans, but truth be told… I couldn’t have explained how the play went down to save my life. One second, I was watching the faceoff. The next, we were all celebrating a goal. In between?
Well, in between, my gaze had landed on Connor, and everything else had ceased to exist. I’d always loved watching him in his element, even back when he’d still been officiating youth games. There was just something mesmerizing about him when he was this focused.
He just…
He had no business looking that good. No one had any business looking that good in referee stripes. But goddamn, there he was.
I saw attractive men skating every damn day of my life. Why was it so hypnotic to watch Connor do the same exact thing?
And how did I ever let myself lose touch with you?
That thought didn’t have time to get off the ground, because Estonia had scored and I was jolted out of my distraction.
I cheered and clapped, and I tried to tell myself my heart was pounding with excitement and adrenaline over the game…
not because I was a complete idiot about one of the men in black and white.
As the crowd started to settle, my teammate Petrovs cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted in what I was pretty sure was Estonian. Whether or not his sister-in-law heard him, I had no idea, but several fans wearing blue, black, and white Estonia jerseys cheered.
I just chuckled as we all sat back down.
And then my gaze drifted to Connor. Again.
And I forgot all about the hockey happening around him.
Again.
Something happened—I had no idea what—and a whistle stopped play again. I furrowed my brow, trying to figure out what was going on until Connor emphatically grabbed his forearm, then gestured at the penalty box. Ah—someone was getting called for holding.
She didn’t argue. She just rolled her eyes and shook her head as she skated toward the box. Connor glided up to the line and halted, back straight and shoulders back, and he switched on his microphone.
“Estonia. Number sixty-two.” He grabbed his forearm again. “Two-minute minor for holding.”
Estonia’s fans booed. Czechia’s fans roared.
And my stupid heart…
God, I was just locked in on that smoking hot ref. Estonia’s captain had some words for him, as did the player in the box, but he stayed stoic and calm. His expression was neutral and firm—he held his position without being a dick about it.
Eventually, the captain skated away, probably after being threatened with a delay of game or unsportsmanlike penalty, and the power play and penalty kill set up. While fans around me voiced their support for their respective teams, my gaze kept drifting away from the action and on to him.
I saw refs and linesmen every damn time I played, and I never thought twice about them. Seeing Connor in that role, though? His confidence? His competence? His effortless skating and laser focus? It all did something to my head that I couldn’t explain or ignore.
Or maybe my distraction was just left over from everything he’d done to me in his hotel room and from the way we’d kissed in that alley.
I shivered, squirming in my seat.
I always savored tournaments and big competitions like this, but I couldn’t lie—I couldn’t wait for the Games to end because then I could hook up with Connor again.
I wanted to spend my entire flight back to Genève feeling everything we’d done together.
I shivered.
Were these damn Games over yet?
Hours later, my legs were shaking a little as I stepped into the showers.
Thank God I was done for the day, because if I even tried to put on my skates again, my body would just give up.
The game had been a grind that went into double overtime.
Another five minutes and our poor goalie probably would’ve needed medical attention.
We’d won, though. Germany put up a hell of a fight, and their goalie—a star NAL player—had been a brick wall. After almost fifty shots on goal, we’d ultimately won 2-1. What a fucking grind.
The next game promised to be tough too. Though Switzerland wasn’t favored to win the entire tournament, everyone was betting on them at least making it to the quarterfinals.
And I regularly played either with or against half the men on that team; I knew exactly what we were up against, and it was going to be a battle.
Did I think we were going to lose? No. I was sure we could win. It was just going to be a much harder game than today’s.
At least if we got eliminated, it wouldn’t be after zero wins. Somebody always had to be eliminated first in a tournament, and somebody always went down without a single win. I’d been there. It fucking stung.
Not this time, though. We’d won multiple games already against strong contenders. If Latvia went down, we’d go down swinging.
By the time I’d finished in the shower, I was steadier on my feet, though I could definitely feel the extra thirty-seven minutes of play. I’d spent almost twenty of that on the ice, and I could feel every second of it.
Worth it, though. Definitely worth it.
I was on my way up from ice level, gaze on my phone as I responded to some congratulatory texts from my parents and teammates, when a voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Madars Kulda?” The man was white, probably in his late forties, wearing a baseball cap with the Kingfishers logo.
The Vancouver NAL team.
“Uh.” I shoved my phone into my jacket pocket. “Yes, that’s me.”
He extended his hand. “Todd Williams. Scout for the Vancouver Kingfishers.”
My stomach somersaulted, and I was almost instantly unable to speak just from nerves. “Oh. Uh.” I cleared my throat. “It’s… nice to meet you.” I had no idea what else to say.
“I wanted to introduce myself. Maybe we can have a chat later in the Games, but while I have you…” He inclined his head. “Would you be interested in playing in the NAL again?”
My pulse skyrocketed. “Interested? Absolutely!”
He nodded with what seemed like approval, and he clapped my shoulder. “Good. Excellent. We’ll talk more after the Games, but you looked great out there today, kid. Really great.”
My mouth had gone dry, but I nodded and croaked, “Uh, thanks! Yeah, let’s definitely talk!”
“How about I send you a message on WhatsApp?” He took out his phone. “Once things quiet down a little with”—he gestured around us—“I’ll text you.”
I fumbled with my phone and prayed he didn’t notice, and then we exchanged contact information.
He left me with a card, too, and after another handshake, he disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there for a moment, reeling from our brief interaction.
My head spun. If he was heading me off now and wanted to talk later, maybe that meant there were others sniffing around for me and he wanted to get to me first.
Or maybe it meant he wanted to let me know how high the stakes were so he could see how I played under serious pressure.
Whatever the case, I was on an NAL team’s radar.
I tried to tell myself it might not pan out.
Scouts could make all the recommendations they wanted, but the decisions came down to general managers and salary caps.
I hadn’t been able to impress a single NAL GM into signing me when I was a free agent.
Even if a scout thought I was a superstar—I wasn’t—he’d still have to persuade the people in charge to offer me a contract.
Still, the glimmer of hope was too much to ignore. If someone waved a North American League contract in my face, I’d sign it in a heartbeat.
That League was the dream, and maybe, just maybe, it was back within my reach again.
I started walking again, ready to hunt down some postgame food, but my phone pinged. I stepped back out of the flow of traffic to check it.
Connor
Heard Team Latvia won! Congrats!
I smiled to myself as I replied.
Thanks! They put up a hell of a fight but we won. (trophy emoji)
LOL I think you still have to play a few more before you get the trophy.
Ugh dammit.
LOL
As I continued walking, my thoughts drifted back to my brief conversation with the scout. And to the text exchange with Connor.
And my heart sank as my mind went back to the same place it had when ?agars had told me the scouts were looking at me.
Two things I wanted were dangling in front of my face right now—a career in the NAL, and a connection with Connor. I didn’t want to say no to either of them.
But what if I was offered an NAL contract and things looked like they might go somewhere with Connor? Because I couldn’t have both.
And maybe I was just getting way, way ahead of myself.
Yes, I wanted to stay in contact with Connor after the Games.
Maybe see him again—and do more than see him—during the off season or something.
I didn’t know where things might go with him—if we might hook up a few times and then just like each other’s posts on social media once in a while, or if we had a shot at something.
If I signed with NAL, though, we’d have no choice but to cool it. We probably couldn’t even like each other’s posts or follow each other publicly. If he’d been another player, we might’ve gotten away with it, but a referee? Not a chance.
Connor, ever the rule follower, would never go for it. He was too careful about avoiding conflicts of interest.
Again, I reminded myself it was entirely possible that I wouldn’t get a contract with the NAL and things with Connor wouldn’t end up going anywhere. More than likely, I was worrying about nothing.
All I could do was wait and see what happened.