by Eden Finley
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll make it work. No matter what.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll text, we’ll video chat, we’ll do whatever we need to until my season’s done, and then I’ll come to wherever you are.”
“Six months,” Jet says on a sigh.
I poke him. “Eight. We’re gonna win the Cup.”
He moans. “That’s even worse.”
“Let’s not think of it as eight months. Let’s think of it as a week because that’s when we’ll see each other again. And then you’ll finish the tour in Boston a few days later and come straight back to New York. We’ll take it one visit at a time, and before you know it, eight months will be over, and we’ll have the entire off-season together.”
“Eight months,” he murmurs, sounding sleepy.
“What time do you have to leave in the morning?”
“Early.”
“Go to sleep.” I don’t even make the effort to clean up or even move into my room. “We’ll see each other when you play New York in a week.”
“Mmm. A week.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JET
“What do you mean I have to record with Harley? I don’t gotta do anything.” Yes, I’m being petulant.
I pace the dressing room trying to get all my excess angry energy out.
“The Eleven split is happening,” Luce says. “They’re announcing it after the last night of the tour, which means it’s going to be a scramble for the four guys going solo to fight it out to be the next Justin Timberlake. If it’s Harley and you have a collab on his first solo album? It could be amazing for the band. It’s an opportunity you can’t turn down.”
“But he’s recording right after the tour.”
“And?”
And I want to see my boyfriend in New York. Yeah, okay, that sounds like the lamest excuse ever.
“We’re famous enough,” I argue.
“Your headlining tour only goes ahead if your next single does well.”
“The label won’t go for it.”
“I’ve already got word from the big guns that they’ll sign off on it.”
Of course. When I actually want them to keep us apart, they don’t. Maybe now they know there’s absolutely nothing between me and Harley, they don’t see us as a threat. “He’s my ex. It’s weird.”
“You both know how to be professional if you put your minds to it. You’ve managed for months now.”
“Benji and Freya hate him.”
“No, they don’t, and where are they? You’re going on soon.”
“I think they’re fucking in some storage closet somewhere.”
“Fine, I’ll go find them and get them to the stage, but they’re not the reason you don’t want to do this.”
“Fine,” I relent and tell him the real excuse. “I don’t want to go to L.A. two weeks early to record a song with him because I want to go see Soren.”
“There we go.” Luce throws up his arms. “There’s the truth. And how does it feel to say it out loud?”
I hang my head. “Stupid and childish.”
“Good chat. You’re doing the collab.” He leaves the dressing room, and even though he can’t see it, my middle fingers follow him.
My break before needing to go to L.A. just disappeared, which means Soren and I only have tonight and tomorrow night together until the next album is finished.
That could take the entire hockey season because we don’t have enough songs written for it. The plan is to lock ourselves away until it’s done. We all contribute to writing for the band, but with Benji and Freya always fighting, most of the songs that land on our albums end up being mine because they’re too busy bitching each other out to work as a team.
I write better on my own anyway.
But it’s only been three weeks without seeing Soren, minus my impromptu middle of the night visit a week ago, and it’s fucking hard.
I don’t like it.
Being on the road when you’re single is lonely enough, but at least then you can have warm bodies filling your bed. It’s empty and always leaves you feeling worse the next morning, but it eases the pain momentarily. Touring while in a couple, long distance, is even more isolating, and while it’s a different type of loneliness than what I’m used to, I ache for him. I miss him.
I don’t know how we can make it eight months.
Even if I convince the band to take weekends off, flying across the country to see Soren for a few hours only to fly back the next day will be torturous.
Pulling myself away from him a week ago was damn near unbearable.
Maybe that makes me needy and clingy, but when you’ve lived a life surrounded by people who don’t think you matter—parents, record labels, boyfriends—all you want to do is hold on tight to anyone who fills that void in your heart that’s telling you you’re not worthy of true love.
Soren not only makes me feel worthy of it, but he makes me want to give him the same thing in return.
Not by making overt romantic grand gestures or posting our relationship status online for the world to see.
He’s who I want to see with a smile on his face whenever I leave the stage. He’s the one I want to hold me at night while we sleep.
I don’t need over-the-top romance.
I just need him to be there.
I need more of those eight weeks on tour.
I need things I can’t ask of him because taking him away from his job—his NHL dream—would be hurting him and his career as much as me turning down this opportunity to be on Harley’s solo album would hurt mine.
Luce is right, I know that. I can’t turn down Harley’s offer. This could be the thing that tips Radioactive from that band that has a couple of number ones to that Grammy Award-winning band. It could be our shot into superstardom.
I throw myself onto the couch in the dressing room and run my hands through my hair. Soren’s supposed to be here any minute, along with Ollie, Lennon, Damon, and Maddox. I always get the gay brigade tickets when I’m playing in New York.
And after the concert tonight, I get to go home to Noah and Matt’s empty townhouse and sleep in my bed in the only place I’ve ever considered my real home. I only lived there about a year, but Matt and Noah made it a home.
I only wish they could be here instead of in Chicago.
The door opens, and I push all the wallowing down and put on my Jay mask.
It almost slips out of place when I lift my head and see Soren in the doorway, but I lock that shit down.
We literally have two nights together for the foreseeable future. He’ll be at practice tomorrow, and I won’t even get to see him then, so I’m going to make the most of it. Spending our time together whining will just make us both depressed.
I stand and run to him, jumping into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist. I cling to him like I never want to let him go.
Because I don’t.
Ever.
I attack his mouth, kissing him with maybe too much excitement.
He laughs against my lips. “Missed you too, baby, but uh—”
“Oh, hell no,” comes a voice from behind Soren. A voice that shouldn’t be here. “I’m all for you two being together, but that is not something I want to see. I prefer to think of Jet as a virgin, thank you very much.”
“Noah?” I squeak.
“Surprise,” Soren says and taps my leg.
Oh. I’m still wrapped around him.
I slowly lower myself to the ground and go to hug my brother. “What are you doing here?”
A towering giant steps into the room. “And a virgin? Jethro ain’t been a virgin since I was in diapers, probably.”
“Wade?” Holy shit, when did my baby brother grow up? And when did he get so tall? He’s skinny like me, but fuck … I don’t think I’ve seen anyone taller in real life before.
“Double surprise,” Soren says awkwardly.
I hug my little brother who’s not so littl
e anymore. Then I reach up and slap him upside the head. “And don’t call me a slut. When you were in diapers, I was, like, eight.”
Wade laughs.
“Ollie and Lennon couldn’t make it because Ollie has a game,” Soren says. “I figured those two extra tickets could go to someone else.”
“You’re supposed to be in Chicago.” Duh, Jet. Way to point out the obvious.
“If Matt could’ve taken time away from the team, he would’ve come too,” Noah says. “We’re heading back tonight after the concert.” He throws his arm around Wade’s neck and forces his head down. “This little one has school in the morning.”
“Shut up,” Wade grumbles.
“I can’t believe you guys are here.” And I will not start sprouting tears, damn it. I turn to Soren. “You did this?”
He shrugs. “I just asked if they wanted to come seeing as Ollie and Lennon couldn’t.”
I wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his chest. “Thank you.”
Soren cups my face so I’m looking at him. Without breaking eye contact, he says, “Noah, shield your eyes.”
When Soren’s mouth meets mine, softer and more controlled than when I mauled his face, the doubt disappears.
He makes me believe this can work because we love each other enough to try, to put in an effort, and make it work no matter what.
I still don’t wanna do it though.
I groan when he pulls back. “Time apart sucks.”
“I know, but just think, three more days, and we have a couple of weeks together.”
“About that—”
Noah’s phone goes off. “Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“What?”
“She’s going into labor. The birth mom. She’s … she’s—”
Wade’s hand lands on Noah’s shoulder. “Breathe.”
Noah does as he says.
Huh. Guess Wade might be good for Noah even if there’s like a weird parental role reversal going on right now.
“Her water broke. Matt said he’s driving to Indiana to meet her. She was supposed to come to Chicago for the birth, but our baby is two weeks early.” Noah approaches and hugs me again. “Sorry, kiddo, we have to go.”
I hug him again. “Well, thanks for dropping by, I guess.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m kidding. Go, go!”
“She’s two weeks early!” he exclaims again as if he can’t believe the baby didn’t abide by their parenting timeline.
Ooh, yeah, it’s going to be so much fun watching Noah and Matt try to be parents. I mean, they’ll be great at it, but it’ll be an adjustment for sure. And he or she—wait …
“She?” I ask. “She’s two weeks early? You’re having a girl?”
“Crap. That was a secret. Don’t tell Matt I told you all.”
Wade starts pulling Noah away. “Come on, Dad. We have to go.”
Dad. Jesus. Alternate universe right here.
“I’ll come visit the baby on my way to L.A. in a few days,” I call after them and then wince when I feel Soren stiffen beside me.
“A few days?” he asks, his voice soft.
“I’m sorry. I just got told myself. Harley wants to collab for his new solo album, and Luce is making me do it.”
“You. And Harley.”
“The band and Harley. Benji and Freya will be there at all times.”
I can tell he’s still upset.
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “If the Harley thing is a problem for you, we can record separately on different days or whatever—”
“I trust you. I just … I hate he gets to spend time with you and I don’t.”
“Maybe I can talk to Luce about taking a break in between writing and recording Harley’s song and the band’s next full album. We can still have our few weeks, but just a couple of weeks later.”
Soren kisses the top of my head. “We’ll figure something out.”
“I wish L.A. wasn’t so far away.”
“Hey, that rhymes. You should put it in a song.”
I shove him. “How about you leave the songwriting to the professionals.”
“I’m super good at rhyming. Love, glove, shove, dove, flove.”
“Flove … Flove. I cannot believe you just said the word flove to me.”
“You know, like, flove. Fucking love.”
“I know what it means. Geez. It’s just, someone from Gen X saying it is weird.”
“Hey, fuck you. I’m a millennial.”
I side-eye him.
“I swear. I’m not that old.”
“Mmhmm. You’re lucky you’re good-looking. That’s all I’m saying.”
Someone rushes into the room, startling us. Maddox stands there, panting. “Noah and Matt are about to be parents. The world is fucking ending.”
Damon strolls in behind him, calm as ever. “Was that really necessary?”
Maddox loses the panic. “Yeah. It was fun.”
I can’t help laughing at him. I don’t think anyone can help laughing at Maddox, honestly. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.”
We do the handshake, man-clap on the back thing.
But then Damon turns to Soren, and my stomach sinks when he says, “We need to talk.”
I don’t know why, but I get the feeling this can’t be good.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Soren
I had a feeling this talk with Damon might be coming.
The new kid, the one I’m struggling to keep up with on the ice, is going to be a huge star. And beside him, I look like a tortoise wearing skates.
I’m about to get a lecture on upping my game.
“They’re ready for me,” Jet says and kisses my cheek. He gives me a concerned look as he walks out, and I try to give him a reassuring smile in return.
“I’ll …” Maddox looks between his boyfriend and me. “I’ll go find my spot out there.”
As soon as Maddox leaves, I cut Damon off.
“I know I’ve been sucking.”
He holds up his hand. “Don’t want to know what you and Jet get up to—”
“Dude—”
“Sorry. I spend way too much time with Maddox. But yeah, your preseason game is struggling. At this rate, you might become the highest paid player in the AHL. With a no-trade clause, they can’t trade you, so the only way to go is down.”
I grunt. “I keep telling myself it’s only preseason and I’ll get my mojo back the more I’m on the ice, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“If you want that contract extension, you’re gonna have to do something.”
“Good thing I’ve got all season to find my game, eh?”
“Think you’re in the right headspace to do it?” Damon glances around the lavish dressing room at all the band’s equipment.
“Subtle, man. Real subtle. What would you say if I told you I’m starting to regret even signing for this season?” Hockey may have been my home at one point, but now I’m split down the middle between hockey and Jet.
“That maybe you’ve found something more important than hockey, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I’m sure you’re hoping for the ten percent of a multimillion-dollar extension contract, but thanks for pretending you’re not picking a side.”
Damon cocks his head. “You should know me better than that by now. I’m not picking a side. And, if you are ready to retire, I can look into other types of jobs for you. Endorsements or maybe speaking events around the country that might happen to coincide with a certain rock tour …”
My gaze flies to his. “Am I that obvious?”
“That you’re head over heels in love? Yeah, you are.”
“Am I stupid to consider early retirement for a relationship?”
“It’s not really early, old man.”
I point at him. “I’m only three years older than you, asshole.”
Damon laughs.
“I thought I’d have a few more years.”
<
br /> “And you can have it—if you pull your head out of your ass and get back to work on the ice. Guess you need to decide what’s going to be your priority. Your career or Jet’s.”
When Damon leaves, I take a seat on the couch in Jet’s dressing room, and a billion things run through my head.
Never before have I taken someone else’s life into consideration when it came to my NHL career.
I don’t want to make the same mistakes I did three years ago.
On the other side, I don’t want to walk away from hockey unless I’m one hundred percent sure.
Once I’m done, I’m done. There are no comeback tours for athletes. Any who try inevitably retire again soon afterward.
Radioactive is on the cusp of becoming one of the biggest bands in the country, and I can’t ask Jet to step back for a few years while I finish out my career.
If I can even turn this season around and save my career.
Gah! This! This is why I’m fucking up on the ice.
Something’s going to give eventually. I don’t want it to be Jet, but am I ready to let go of hockey?
Music filters in from the stage, and Jet’s loud voice carries through the building.
I shake off the confusion and indecisiveness of my future and tell myself the same thing I have been since preseason started. There’s nothing I can do about it in this moment, so no decisions need to be made.
I’m going to go out there, enjoy my man’s show, take him home and make love to him, and then do it all again tomorrow.
Then when I have to say goodbye, I’ll put on a brave face and try to convince both of us that we can do this long-distance thing.
It’s only eight months. And that’s if we make it to the Cup.
We can do it.
We can totally do it.
When the hell is this convincing thing supposed to kick in?
Right now, with Jet in my arms, my hands trailing down his naked skin, I’m more than ready to say fuck hockey.
I’ve had a good career. A long one. Fifteen years is a great career.
I may not have a Stanley Cup win, but neither does Dino Ciccarelli, Pavel Bure, or Phil Housley, and they’re all in the Hall of Fame. More players walk away from the game without one than with.