Page 12 of Cross Ice

CHAPTER THREE

Nico

I stood under the shower spray in the locker room. The hot water pounded against my shoulders, and I tried to convince myself I wasn’t being a complete idiot.

Monday morning. Two days since I’d left Evan at that hotel elevator and promised to text him. I’d spent every one of those hours staring at my phone like a teenager and doing absolutely nothing about it.

Saturday’s game against the Tampa Bay Tempest had gone well. We’d won 4–2, and I’d scored one goal and assisted on another.

I’d had Sunday afternoon off after a light practice, with hours of free time I could’ve used to reach out. Instead, I’d spent them staring at Evan’s number in my phone. I wanted to text him. The problem was figuring out what to say that didn’t involve lying about my job, my schedule, or basically my entire life.

That was the part I hadn’t thought through. How was I supposed to date someone in my own city while still being San Jose Lasers star Nicolás Briggs? And how was I supposed to tell Evan who Nicolás Briggs was before Evan knew who Nico was first?

I turned off the water and grabbed my towel, trying to shake off the restless energy that had been crawling under my skin all morning. Practice had been fine, but I’d been distracted, my timing off just enough that Coach Dufour had noticed.

“Briggs! Where’s your head today?” he’d barked during drills.

Definitely not on hockey.

I dried off, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and shoved my feet into the VortexStride sneakers I endorsed. The locker room was mostly empty, just a few guys left finishing up. I was heading for the door when André caught me.

“Hey, you good?” He fell into step beside me. “You’ve been weird all practice.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically. “Just tired.”

André gave me a look that said he wasn’t buying it. We’d been friends for five years, teammates for longer. He knew when I was full of shit.

“Uh-huh. How’d Friday go?” He grinned. “You bail on me for a girl?”

My stomach dropped.

This was it. I could lie and make up some story about a friend’s emergency or last-minute plans, keep hiding like I’d been hiding my entire career.

Or I could tell him the truth.

“It was a guy, actually,” I said before I could overthink it.

André stopped walking. I forced myself to meet his eyes, bracing for whatever came next. Surprise, definitely—that was written all over his face—but underneath it…

“Oh,” he said after a beat. “Okay. Awesome.”

Just like that. Awesome.

Relief flooded through me so fast that my head spun.

“He treating you right?” André asked, like this was the most natural conversation in the world.

“Yeah,” I said, and couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. “Yeah, he is.”

“Good.” André studied me. “Look, you were distracted as hell at practice, but you also played one of your best games last night, so whatever’s going on with this guy, it’s good for you.”

“Even though I’m distracted?”

“You’re allowed to have a life outside hockey, Nico. And if that life makes you play better? I’m not complaining.”

We walked to the parking lot together, and he didn’t make it uncomfortable, didn’t ask a million questions. Just treated me like he always had. By the time we’d said goodbye and I’d climbed into my Range Rover, I felt like I could take a full breath.

I sat in the driver’s seat and stared at my phone.