Page 28 of Cross Ice

“I’m fine. Just had an off night.”

“Is it about your guy?”

I glanced around. The room was loud with post-game energy. “I’ve got it handled.”

“You sure? Because we need you sharp.”

“You’ll have me.”

Back at the hotel, I showered, dropped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. The game replayed in my head—every missed read, every half-second too slow. I’d had off nights before, but this one had a specific cause, and I knew it. I’d spent three periods thinking about Evan instead of thinking about hockey, because Evan was the thing I couldn’t resolve. Not until I got home. Not until I found the right moment.

I picked up my phone.

And then I stopped.

Right moment. That’s what I kept telling myself—that it had to be in person, had to be timed correctly, had to be explained properly. But I’d been saying that for three weeks. I’d had moments. I’d just kept deciding they weren’t right enough.

I sat there with my phone in my hand and thought about Griffin Lapierre. He’d come out months ago and had navigated everything that came after. Media attention, locker room dynamics, all of it. He was still playing, still showing up. If anyone understood what I was sitting on, it was him.

I got his contact from a mutual friend and typed a message before I could overthink it.

Nico

Hey, Griffin, it’s Nicolás Briggs. Got a minute? Need to pick your brain about something.

The response came a few minutes later.

Griffin

Sure. What’s up?

Nico

I’ve been seeing someone. It’s new, but it’s serious. He doesn’t know what I do for a living.

A longer pause.

Griffin

He doesn’t know you play hockey?

Nico

No.

Griffin

How long have you been seeing him?

Nico

Two weeks.

Griffin

You need to tell him.

Nico