Page 188 of Over the Line

I was mentally wrung out, too. Emotionally exhausted. All in a good way now, but still… I was tired. I was pretty sure I could play through it, though. I’d make it through today’s morning skate and tonight’s game.

And after the game, I’d be here with Garrett in my bed.

The thought made me…

Not as hot as it should’ve been. And not because I was uninterested in sex with Garrett—I wanted to absolutely destroy all my furniture with him.

No, thinking about tonight made me feel even more exhausted than I already was. Just the thought of the sex I wanted to have with him seemed to make every ache and pain flare like stadium lights, bright and unavoidable.

What I wouldn’t have given for a few nights in a row of just enjoying each other’s bodies without pain.

The off season. We’d have the off season.

Of course, some of that would be spent recovering from whatever injuries I inevitably collected during the playoffs. And I’d still have to keep myself in condition so I wouldn’t have to dig myself out of a hole in the weeks leading up to training camp.

Just thinking about that made me tired. So, so tired.

A day didn’t go by that I was completely pain-free. Hadn’t since my youth days, honestly. Sometimes it was just annoying. Sometimes it was enough to make my eyes sting and my breath hitch if I dared to move.

How much more could this carcass take before the bad days started outnumbering the tolerable days?

What if I got hurt? While I hardly had one foot in the grave, I also wasn’t seventeen anymore. I didn’t bounce back like I did years ago. Injuries took longer to heal. That separated shoulder at the beginning of this season had probably kept me out a week or two longer than it would have a decade ago, and it was still giving me grief every goddamned day. My trainers and physical therapists said it would probably haunt me to some extent for the rest of my life.

And regardless of age, career-ending injuries were a possibility every time I stepped out onto the ice.

I loved hockey. I still had the passion I’d had for it all these years.

But every hockey player knew their body could crap out long before the passion ebbed. And we all knew former players who were in so much pain all the time that they barely functioned, not to mention the ones whose pain had driven them into bottomless pill bottles.

There was also that moment when I’d been ready to retire in the name of saving Chris’s career, and something had settled in my mind. Some feeling like I’d been holding my breath for too long, and I’d finally let myself exhale. I’d expected resignation and preemptive grief over the end of the most significant chapter of my life, but those hadn’t come.

I closed my eyes as I let the hot water continue thumping on my sore shoulder. I’d worked so hard for so long. I was paying for it with every joint, every muscle, every piece of overtaxed connective tissue.

I was tired.

Maybe it was time to think a little more seriously about the future.

Unfortunately, this shitshow of Garrett and me being outed didn’t end with everything being smoothed over between the three of us and with the team. We’d not only been outed very, very publicly, the confrontation with Chris outside the locker room had been in front of multiple cameras. Needless to say, there’d been a few salacious headlines, and there was no shortage of speculation about drama and strife.

Which meant there was only one way we were getting the media off our backs and convincing the team this was truly behind us.

“You guys really have to do this regularly?” Garrett adjusted his tie in the hallway outside the room where the press waited. “Over personal stuff?”

“Not regularly.” Chris tugged at the sleeve of his suit jacket. “But if the club wants the press to shut up about something…” He gestured at the door.

Grimacing, I nodded. “He’s right.” I touched Garrett’s waist. “You don’t have to join us. Chris and I are media-trained, so we can⁠—”

“No. No.” Garrett shook his head. “I’m as much a part of this as you two.” He glanced at the closed door, swallowed hard, and rolled his shoulders. “I can do this.”

“Are you sure?” Chris asked. “The cameras and microphones—they can be really intimidating.”

I thought Garrett shuddered, but he just nodded and murmured, “I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t sure I bought it, but there wasn’t a lot of time to argue. If nothing else, Chris and I could take point and answer most of the questions.

To Chris, I said, “What about you? Are you okay doing this?”

He nodded with a bit more certainty than his father had. “Yeah. I think it’s intrusive as fuck and I wish they’d leave us alone about private stuff, but…” He laughed humorlessly. “Guess I should’ve thought of that before I lost my shit in front of the cameras.”