Page 59 of Cross Ice

The corner of his mouth curved. “Okay,” he said. “Pick me up after practice.”

We beat Nashville 3–2 on Saturday night. Not a pretty win. They pushed us into overtime, and Anderssen had to make thirty-one saves to keep us in it. But a win was a win, and I texted Evan from the locker room before I’d even taken my skates off.

Nico: We won. See you tomorrow at one.

Evan: I know. I watched. Get some sleep.

Sunday afternoon, I picked him up at one and drove us to the park, one of my favorite spots when I needed to burn off energy. The trail wound upward through oak and bay laurel, quiet enough that we could hear each other without raising our voices. We walked mostly in silence, which with Evan never felt like absence, but like ease.

The higher we climbed, the more the trees opened up, and eventually we reached a ridge that looked out over the entire Santa Clara Valley. San Jose spread below us, reflecting the afternoon sun, and beyond it the bay stretched toward San Francisco.

“Wow.” Evan stopped beside me and went still.

“Right?”

We stood there for a while, the bay glittering in the afternoon light. I kissed him, and he kissed me back, deep and slow. I thought about how much had changed in four weeks and how much hadn’t changed yet. Miguel still didn’t know. My parents still didn’t know. The world still thought Nicolás Briggs went home alone after games. Evan’s hand was warm in mine. I was happier than I’d been in years, and none of the hard parts were over. They were just starting.

I looked at Evan, gazing at the city. Whatever was waiting, I wasn’t going to face it alone anymore.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Evan

Monday started the way I imagined most weeks would start from now on—with Nico at the rink and me at my desk trying to focus on work while half my brain was somewhere else entirely.

Nico

Light skate this morning. Game tonight against Florida.

Evan

Good luck. I’ll be watching.

Nico

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

I smiled at my phone and went back to the client presentation I was supposed to be revising. Made it through maybe two slides before my mind wandered again.

This was my new life. Games every few days, practices in between, stolen moments when Nico’s schedule allowed. It should have felt overwhelming—the constant hockey, the limited time, the way his career took up so much space.

But mostly it just felt… right.

Danny called around lunchtime.

“How’s the hockey boyfriend?” he asked without preamble.

“He’s good. We’re good,” I said, and I could hear the smile in my voice.

“You sound disgustingly happy.”

“I am.” The words came out softer than I’d intended, almost dreamy. I shook myself. “Is that allowed?”

“It’s mandatory,” Danny said. “You deserve it.” A pause. “You watching the game tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated, and I could hear him smiling. Then, more carefully. “You doing okay? With all of it—knowing who he is, what his life looks like, the whole thing?”