Page 13 of Cross Ice

One person knew now. That was something. That was a start.

And if André had handled it that easily, maybe the fear of rejection wasn’t actually why I’d been waiting.

I sat with that for a moment. Because if it wasn’t rejection I was afraid of, I had to be honest about what it was, and the answer that came back wasn’t fear at all. It was preference. I liked being just Nico to Evan. Not Nicolás Briggs, the hockey player with a Wikipedia page and a VortexStride contract. Just a guy Evan seemed to like for no other reason than Nico himself. That was something I’d never had, and I wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

Which meant the delay wasn’t noble. It was selfish. And I knew it.

The practical problems were real enough, though. If I texted Evan right now and said, “Actually, here’s who I am,” he’d google me before we even made plans. He’d see the media coverage, the fan accounts, the profile pieces. He’d form a picture of Nicolás Briggs, NHL star, before he ever got to see any more of just Nico. And if I invited him to my place instead of defaulting to the hotel, the house would do the work before I opened my mouth—trophies on the shelves, jerseys framed on the walls, money visible in every room that obviously didn’t belong to someone who worked in sports in any vague, anonymous sense.

I could tell him in person. Control the context. Make sure he heard it from me rather than from a search result.

That was what I told myself.

It was a rationalization, and I knew that too.

There were other reasons, ones that had nothing to do with wanting to stay nameless. A hotel room in Edmonton, eighteen months ago. A guy who’d had his phone out the whole time, and I hadn’t thought anything of it until the text arrived three days later. I didn’t let myself think about that too often, but it was there, underneath everything, whenever I stood at the edge of trusting someone new.

I pulled up my messages and found Evan’s number. Started typing.

Nico

Hey. Sorry I’ve been quiet. Work’s been crazy.

Deleted it. Too much explanation.

Nico

Want to get together tonight?

Too casual. Like I hadn’t been thinking about him for two days straight.

Nico

I can’t stop thinking about Friday night.

Too intense. Jesus.

I groaned and dropped my head back against the seat. This was ridiculous. I’d never had trouble talking to guys before. But those had been hookups—quick, anonymous, meaningless. This felt like something else entirely, and I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

Just send something. Stop being a coward.

Nico

Hey. Sorry I’ve been quiet. Work’s been crazy. Want to get together tonight?

I hit send before I could second-guess it and immediately wanted to throw my phone out the window.

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Evan was typing. My heart hammered against my ribs.

Evan

Tonight works. Where do you want to meet?

Nico

We could meet at the same hotel downtown.

A hotel. Same as Friday. Safe, neutral, impersonal.