46 - Nathan
Nathan
Grayson’s house smells like pizza grease and stale beer. Normally, he has a girlfriend, but he’s on some sort of dating hiatus, and the smell shows it.
I’m sunk into the far end of the couch, my right arm locked in its sling, useless and heavy against my chest. Every time I shift, my collarbone reminds me that I am very much not healed.
Instead of moping, I’m watching game replays on ESPN while we all tear into a second box of pizza like last night’s loss didn’t kick everyone in the teeth.
“Tell me again why you couldn’t play last night?” Wyatt flops into the armchair across from me.
“Because science,” I say. “And bones.”
Liam snorts from the floor. “Selfish. Truly.”
Our game from last night flickers across the TV. The game I should have been playing in. I look away right as we miss a clean chance in the second period, the kind of play I know exactly how to finish. I grit my teeth and flinch at another awful attempt on goal.
Grayson kills the replay and turns to face us, arms crossed, captain mode fully engaged even in sweatpants. “We shouldn’t have lost that fucking game.”
Wyatt takes a swig of his beer. “It was a mess.”
“We had chances,” Liam adds, “but nothing flowed.”
Grayson nods once. “No rhythm.”
I stay quiet because there’s a line between reality and enjoying it too much, and I’m dangerously close to it.
Wyatt nods at me. “Without Wilder on the ice, we didn’t click. The power play stalled, the transitions were slow, and practice this morning wasn’t any better.”
“Even practice?” I ask.
Liam nods. “Yeah. Drills were clunky. Everyone was thinking too hard.”
Grayson exhales through his nose, looking at me. “I might be captain, but you set the pace. When you’re not there, we hesitate.”
The words settle in my chest. A tiny, selfish part of me feels good hearing it. I hate that it does, but I won’t pretend otherwise. It means I matter. It means my absence is loud. It means that even injured and stuck on the bench with my arm strapped to my body, my value to this team is obvious.
That’s important considering my contract is up. As far as I know, they are still planning to resign me, but a little extra evidence of my value to the team doesn’t hurt since I can’t prove it on the ice myself.
I flex my fingers in the sling, testing sensation. “Did Coach say anything?” My mouth closes around another slice of pizza. Wesley has ruined pizza for me, apparently, because I can’t eat it without thinking about her in my shirt, on my couch, eating it with me.
I shake it off.
Grayson studies me for a beat. “He asked how you’re doing.”
“And?”
“And he said the locker room feels it when you’re not there,” he replies. “Didn’t sound like someone planning to cut you loose.”
Relief slides through me. Good.
I knew it, rationally. I knew getting a relatively minor injury after they’d already decided to renew my contract shouldn’t change the plan. But hockey is a brutal business, and nothing is guaranteed until ink hits paper.
Wyatt grabs another slice. “Honestly, if you were worried about your contract, last night probably helped.”
I laugh. “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”
“Yeah, but you’re already thinking it.”
He’s not wrong. A slow smirk crosses my face, drawing curses from all three of them.
Liam nods to the sling. “So, what’s the timeline?”
“Two months minimum,” I say. “More if they’re being cautious.”
Grayson grimaces. “You’re going to lose your mind.”
“I already am.”
Wyatt grins. “At least you get to watch us suffer.”
“I’d rather be suffering with you.”
And I mean it. The ice is where my thoughts shut up. My body knows exactly what to do without asking permission. Sitting still feels wrong.
Grayson leans against the counter, arms folded. “You’ll be back. Until then, we will adjust.”
“You better,” I say. “I don’t want to come back to a dumpster fire.”
The guys drift into easier conversation after that, trash talk, upcoming road games, and which rookie needs to stop overthinking everything. I half listen, my thoughts circling elsewhere, whether I want them to or not.
Wesley. Always back to Wesley.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I know it’s her, but I don’t move to check it right away. I’ve been waiting a few minutes before responding, not to play games, but to make sure I’m not rushing things.
Last time I was all in, she wasn’t. This time, I want to give her time to figure out if it’s really me that she wants.
Wyatt notices. “Are you going to answer that or stare into space?”
“Shut up,” I say, but I pull my phone out.
It’s her.
Wesley: How’s the shoulder today?
There’s a familiar pull in my chest that hasn’t gone away since the hospital, since she walked in and lit my parents on fire with nothing but calm conviction.
Me: Sore, but still attached to my body.
Wesley: Hang in there.
Me: I will. Good luck tomorrow.
I don’t add anything else, even though all I want to do is talk to her. I want to tell her that watching my team play without me was worse than the pain. I want to tell her that my contract is still solid. I want to tell her that this injury didn’t take anything from me the way I feared.
Mostly, I want to tell her that I still want her. That I still love her.
But I don’t.
Because that’s not what we talked about. When I mentioned starting things back up slowly, she jumped at the chance. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have me worried she’d change her mind again.
Despite the increase in flirting the past week, we’re still going slow. We need to choose each other because we want to, not because we’re sad, or lonely, or because I’m hurt and she’s scared.
Grayson clears his throat. “You good?”
I look up. “Yeah.”
He nods, satisfied.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket and lean into the couch, just in time to see Liam step out of Grayson’s bathroom with a black lace bra pinched between two fingers.
The room goes dead silent.
Wyatt is the first to recover. “Oh shit.”
Grayson closes his eyes slowly, pretending that if he doesn’t look at us, we’ll disappear.
Liam smirks. “Found it hanging on the towel rack.”
I snort before I can stop myself, which sends a sharp reminder through my shoulder. Worth it.
Grayson opens one eye. “Can we not?”
“No,” Wyatt and Liam say in unison.
Wyatt leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Okay, but like whose is it?”
Grayson exhales. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Nice try,” Liam says smugly.
“Grayson has a secret girlfriend,” Wyatt sings. “Grayson has a secret girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Grayson stands, slapping Wyatt in the back of the head and grabbing the bra from Liam. “And she’s not a secret.”
Wyatt blinks. “Then why don’t we know about her?”
“Because this isn’t a group project,” Grayson replies evenly while tossing the bra into the closest closet.
I shake my head, smiling. He’s always been like this. Loyal. Private. A terrible liar, but incredible at redirecting.
Which is exactly what he does next.
“Speaking of girlfriends.” He turns to me. “How’s Wesley?”
The air shifts instantly.
Liam drops into the chair beside me, while Wyatt shifts his entire body toward me, widening his eyes like a teenage girl gossiping.
“You’ve been suspiciously quiet about that,” Liam says.
I sigh. “She’s fine.”
Grayson tilts his head, studying me. “You’re keeping her at arm’s length.”
I stiffen. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Liam says. “And it’s stupid.”
I run my left hand through my hair. “I’m being careful.”
Wyatt scoffs. “Careful how?”
“She didn’t pick me. Sure, she might want to now, but what’s stopping her from running again?” The words sound more insecure out loud. “I don’t want to rush back into something just because I got injured and everything went sideways.”
There’s a beat.
Then Liam groans. “God, you’re being stupid.”
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Wyatt points at me. “She left her game, from what I heard, to sit next to your dramatic ass in a hospital bed.”
“That was a scrimmage,” I argue weakly.
“She had National Team coaches in the stands,” Grayson adds.
I freeze. “You knew that?”
He shrugs. “People talk.”
Wyatt leans back, incredulous. “So, let me get this straight. She chose you over the biggest opportunity of her career, defended you to your parents like she was ready to throw hands, and you’re… what? Testing her?”
“I’m not testing her,” I snap. “I’m giving us space.”
“For what?” Liam asks. “To overthink yourselves back into misery?”
My jaw works. God, they are fucking persistent.
“She didn’t pick me at first.”
“And she owned it,” Wyatt says. “Then showed up anyway.”
Grayson’s voice is quieter now. “Nathan, you’re going to blow it playing scared.”
If it were Liam, I could shake it off, but despite his current single status, Grayson knows more about stable relationships than anyone else in this room. His last one lasted two years before they called it off.
I look down at the sling and the way my fingers flex uselessly against the fabric. “She has her first game of the season tomorrow. It’s like a cup game for last year's top two teams.”
Wyatt’s head whips up. “Are you going?”
“No.”
“You’re so fucking dumb,” Liam says through his mouthful of pizza.
Grayson frowns. “You’re seriously not planning to be there?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
Wyatt throws his hands up. “Unbelievable. You want her to prove she won’t run, but you won’t even show up when it actually matters.”
“That’s different,” I argue.
“How?” Liam presses. “Wesley doesn’t seem like the type to wait around forever. She chose you. Choose her back or be done with it.”
Grayson crosses his arms. “Do the damn thing, Wilder.”
Silence stretches.
They’re all looking at me like they already know the answer and are waiting for me to catch up.
I swallow, then slowly lift my head.
“Fuck, okay.” I sit up, sliding the plate off my lap. “I have an idea.”