Page 65 of Bro Code

“Then why is he here?”

Nic sent a sideways look at Coach Myers at the end of the table. “Because he had to be.”

A brief pause, then someone else said, “Will Riley Webb be coming back before your game against New York?”

Coach Myers leaned in. “Yes, we expect Webb to be back on the ice next week. He’s currently on rest, but his injuries were not severe and, ah – we’re all wishing him a speedy recovery.”

“And what about the suspensions? Harris and Arsenault won’t be on the ice for a while, does it concern you to be losing your defensive dream team? Harris? Care to comment?”

It was the same journalist who’d been pestering him before.

“He does not,” said Nic, firmly.

“If he doesn’t want to be involved, then why did he get involved?” said someone.

“I don’t think this is–”

“I’d like to hear from Harris.”

“Well you’re not gonna hear from Harris.” Nic’s tone was getting flinty.

“Why can’t Harris just answer the question?” said someone else.

“Because he doesn’t have to answer your–”

“We just wanna know why he put himself in the middle–”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Harris yelled. He sat up, pushing up the ball-cap. “Because I’m super fucking gay and I’m in love with Nic Arsenault! Okay?”

The room went completely silent. Harris looked like that had come out much louder than he meant it to. He glared around, half-surprised, half challenging someone to ask him another question, then folded his arms and sat back in his chair and pulled his hat down and his eyes disappeared again.

On the plane, Louis’ mouth had fallen open.

Did Harris just…come out?

And did he also just say he was in love with Nic out loud for the very first time?

It kind of looked like it. Nic looked totally stunned. The whole room was so still and silent for so long, that Louis thought the phone might have frozen. Then Rodriguez said, “Oh shit!” and everything dissolved into chaos.

Reporters were practically climbing over each other to get their mics in Liam’s face. Liam just got up from the table and walked out, and Nic sat there blinking like he’d been hit with a bucket of water, then scrambled up and went after him. Rodriguez had taken his hat off and was waving it around, yelling, “¡Tranquilos, tranquilos! Hey, I’m still here, Mami, why don’t you talk to me, girl?” Coach Myers and the Tampa PR person were coming round the front of the table, waving their hands and telling people the conference was over⁠—

Louis swiped closed the video and went to the messenger and sent a text to Nic that just said, Holy shit in French.

Reply dots bubbled almost immediately, and then about twenty emojis came through, grinning and sweating profusely. A pause…and then they were followed by the one smiling with hearts all around it, looking happy as could be.

Laughing, Louis shook his head and lowered the phone.

Merde, this league was getting seriously gay.

His skin was immediately damp when he stepped off the plane, and by the time he’d walked down the steps and across the baking tarmac, he was sweating through his clothes. At least he wouldn’t have to moisturize here.

The air conditioning inside the ramshackle airport wasn’t working because the electricity was down. He got a taxi outside and found it mercifully cool.

“Rue de Palétuviers.” He leaned forward to speak to the driver between the seats, and they set off up the potholed road through town.

He texted Riley Landed to take his mind off how jittery he was, and they went back and forth for a few minutes discussing the press conference. Riley needed to sleep, so Louis reluctantly told him goodbye, put the phone down, and looked out the window.

Houses and mini-markets went by on either side of the narrow street – fading pastel-colored buildings, some with plaster peeling. Bright pink bougainvillea climbing up fences. Plantains and mangos being sold out of wooden carts, and then, suddenly, an expensive French supermarket, sleek and shining, with heat shimmering off the blacktop in the parking lot. Roosters and dogs picking around the parked cars. A massive cinema. An old European clock. Scooters falling apart as they weaved around shining BMWs.