Page 8 of Knocked Sideways

Hal glanced over at Grant as he spoke, so quickly that Remy wondered if he was imagining things. Probably. Right? What did that look mean? Was Grant queer, too? Remy couldn’t even begin to process that idea right now. Grant was still looking down as he finished strapping on his pads and didn’t react to what Hal said.

“Also, Petey, be nice,” Hal continued. “At least on Lads’ first day.”

“I am without question the nicest guy on this team,” Petey protested. “Besides you, Cap. Obviously.”

That got a bark of laughter out of Grant, who finally looked up. Hal gestured toward him. “This guy is a much better bet than Moreau if you actually need help with something around here. Jed Grant, our goalie and unofficial alternate captain.” Hal dropped one of his giant hands down on Grant’s shoulder and, yup, gave a squeeze.

Grant must be used to it, though. Or maybe his thick shoulders were a fair match for Hal’s hands. He didn’t wince, just twitched the side of his mouth up in what might have been the beginning of a smile and stood up, offering Remy his hand.

“Hey. I’m Jed. Or Monty. We’ve got another Grant on the team, so that’s what folks call me here.”

Okay, Remy thought, taking Grant’s hand. Jed’s hand. Jed was still noticeably taller than Remy, and broader than Remy, too, though Remy had put on a lot of muscle in the last few years. Jed’s eyes were more blue than gray up close, and they crinkled a bit at the corners, even though he wasn’t smiling.

Damn. Remy realized he was staring and not doing much else. So he shook Jed’s hand way too vigorously, muttered a quick “Hey, yeah, people usually call me Lads,” and then dropped Jed’s hand like it was on fire. It was pretty much the opposite of what any normal person would do, but Jed’s expression didn’t change.

“I guess you’ve had a long twenty-four hours. Never fun being traded.”

“Yeah, no. First time for me. But. I’m glad to be here?” Remy’s voice ended on a question, and the corner of Jed’s mouth twitched up for an instant. Remy found himself staring. Again.

“Okay, better get dressed.” Hal broke into Remy’s thoughts. “Coach is a stickler for being on the ice on time. Which means early.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Cap.”

“No problem.” Hal turned back to his own stall, leaving Remy with Jed still gazing down at him.

“UVM, right?” Jed asked. “I think I saw you play there a few years ago.”

“Uh, yeah.” Remy was startled that Jed remembered. “You did. We met. Briefly. It wasn’t my best game. I mean, I think I maybe had an assist, but we lost. So.”

Kill me now, Remy thought, face heating as he finally managed to stop talking. He had also failed to form a complete sentence during his one prior, brief meeting with Jed, who had been quietly kind about Remy’s playing in a way that twenty-one-year-old Remy had not been ready for.

Jed didn’t look kind on TV. He looked terrifying, with his sharp nose and narrowed eyes that were always lasered in on the puck, whether he was in the goal or on the bench.

The corner of Jed’s mouth twitched again, drawing Remy back to the present. “Well, let’s hope it goes better tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, save your sucking for later,” Petey chirped from the other side, wiggling his eyebrows and flinging an arm around Remy’s shoulder.

“Really?” Jed raised his eyebrows at Petey. Petey, who truly was a good guy, looked worried for a minute but recovered quickly. Remy glanced at Jed. He was frowning, like he cared whether Remy was bothered by Petey’s teasing.

Huh. Maybe Remy hadn’t been imagining things when Hal shot Jed that look earlier. If Jed was queer, too, that did not bode well for Remy’s ability to act like a grown-ass professional hockey player around him.

“Better hurry up, dude,” Petey said. “Coach does not go easy on anyone if they’re late.”

“Right,” Remy said after a beat, aware that both Petey and Jed were waiting for him to show some sign of life, if not actual intelligence. “It was a long day yesterday. It’ll be good to get on the ice.”

“You know it.” Petey turned away to lace up his skates. Jed turned, too, reaching for his practice jersey and pulling it over his head. And Remy dropped down in his stall, finally. Kicked off his shoes and started unbuttoning his shirt. Took a few deep breaths and let the familiar motions of pulling on his practice gear ground him.

He might be in a new place, but he knew how to do this—how to sink into the moment and put everything but hockey out of his head. It was probably the only thing he knew how to do well. And it didn’t matter who was on his team—or how tongue-tied he was in front of them—as long as he showed up on the ice. So that’s what he’d do, starting now.

CHAPTER FOUR

JED

Remy in person was something else, even when he was possibly still starstruck by Jed—or maybe just sleep-deprived. He was certainly no more able to form a sentence than when they’d last met. That would wear off soon enough.

That blush, though. Remy hadn’t grown out of it, and Jed had a hard time looking away. For a second there, he’d pictured himself running his thumb along the top of Remy’s cheekbone, wondering if Remy’s eyes would darken under those absurdly long black lashes.

Which was ridiculous. Jed hadn’t had a reaction like this to someone in years.