Page 77 of Cross Ice

A player appeared at Thompson’s shoulder, looked between me and Nico, and nodded once. “Good to meet you.” Then he grabbed a handful of nachos from the platter and wandered off.

“That’s Fortin,” Nico said. “That was basically a speech for him.”

Not everyone was as enthusiastically welcoming. A few teammates offered polite nods from across the room but kept their distance. I caught a couple of raised eyebrows when Nico put his arm around my shoulders and noticed a few awkward glances exchanged between players who clearly weren’t sure how to react.

But no one was hostile. No one said anything negative. They just… took it in.

“Some guys need time to adjust,” Naomi said quietly, noticing my observation. “It’s not personal. They’re just not used to it.”

“I get it.”

“But most of them are good guys. They’ll come around,” she said.

As the night wore on, I relaxed. The music and laughter filled the space, and the team’s energy was infectious. Naomi and Chloe kept me entertained with stories about hockey life—the ridiculous superstitions, the pranks on roadies, the way grown men turned into children over the smallest things.

Around midnight, I caught Nico checking his watch.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just thinking we should probably head out soon. Early practice tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

We said our goodbyes. Naomi hugged me and made me promise to come to Saturday’s game, and Chloe squeezed my hand and whispered, “You’re one of us now.” Then Nico and I headed downstairs.

The main bar was still busy with the post-game crowd, and as we made our way toward the exit, I was hyperaware of the people around us, phones out, capturing the night. Groups of fans wearing jerseys, riding the high of the win.

Nico seemed to sense my tension, because the easy affection from upstairs disappeared. He walked slightly ahead of me, creating space, drawing attention to himself and away from me.

It wasn’t until we were in his car, doors closed and engine running, that he reached over and took my hand.

“Sorry about that,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“The distance. Downstairs in the bar.” He laced his fingers through mine. “I just… there were a lot of phones out. A lot of people. I didn’t want to put you in the middle of that.”

“I know.” I squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

“I hate doing that. Making you feel like I’m hiding you.”

“You’re not hiding me. You’re protecting me.” I looked at him. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Yeah. In the family lounge, with the team… that’s safe. Out there, with cameras everywhere… that’s different.” I paused. “We agreed. I’m not ready for photos of us all over social media yet.”

“I know. I just…” He sighed. “I want to hold your hand in public.”

“Someday,” I said. “Just not yet.”

“Yeah.” He pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward my apartment. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

“Really good, actually. Your teammates were great. Well, most of them.”

“I noticed some of the guys being weird.”

“Naomi said they just need time to adjust.”