by Kate Meader
“Your jacket, Mr. Moretti,” the flight attendant called after him as he hit the jetway, only to have to turn back to pick up the suit coat she’d hung at the beginning of the flight.
Speed walking through the terminal, he dialed Harper and barely let her say hello before he ground out, “Tell me how bad it is.”
Infuriating pause. “Dante! How was your flight?”
“Harperrrr!”
“Okay, okay. So, the phones have pretty much exploded with calls and messages. PR is already fielding requests for interviews from ESPN, Fox Sports, and all the networks. Several gay rights organizations want Cade to speak—”
“I don’t mean any of that. How is he? Is he freaking out? Tell me you’re looking after him. Or Violet is. Or anyone.”
“Dante,” she said, drawing out his name to the point every nerve in his body shrieked. “He’s fine. Did you see it?”
Yes, he had. Rewinding the televised press conference in his head, he recalled that Cade had handled himself like a pro with his dad sitting on one side and Bren St. James on the other. He’d fielded questions with equanimity, even made a couple of jokes that had the press chuckling along with him. Ever the meatball.
“I did, but . . .” How could he explain this to someone who had never been in this position? “It’s only the beginning, Harper. Now comes the hard part.” Steeling your nerves every time you walk into a room of players, coaches, and team staff. Ignoring sloppy drunks and the viciously sober, who approach you in bars to tell you you’re a disgrace to the uniform of their favorite team and the fine traditions of the NHL. The slurs and snubs from people you thought had your back.
“And we’re going to be here for him,” Harper said. “As an organization. As a family. He’ll need you.”
There wasn’t much point in denying what had happened now. Dante lined up at the taxi stand outside O’Hare. “I’ll be here to give him any advice he needs in handling this. And I won’t let what happened between us affect any future business decisions.”
Harper hummed. “Well, I’m sure he’ll so appreciate you being there to dispense advice, oh sage one. And I know you’re a professional. What I am worried about is that you might be a little too ready to give up on something special just because you’re concerned with how it looks. I almost lost Remy because of that mind-set.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? These chances don’t pop up every day, Dante.”
Neither did general manager positions. He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished.
“What I said earlier about how the Rebels will be there for Cade as a family—well, that goes for you, too. You’re one of us, Dante, and we look after our own.”
A wave of emotion crashed over him at Harper’s unexpected and heartfelt words. He felt like he’d been in the wilderness for a very long time, and with the utterance of that small phrase—one of us—he was being thrown a lifeline he didn’t even know he’d needed.
More affected than he would’ve thought possible, he put a cap on the conversation. “I have to go, Harper. Thanks for taking care of this.” Thanks for taking care of mine.
“Sure, Dante. Oh, wait. So I have this guy who I think would be a great match—”
He cut her off. “Maybe after the play-offs.” Or how about never? The idea of dating anyone besides Cade repulsed him. “I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a crazy few weeks.”
As he went to hang up, he could have sworn he heard her chuckle.
Violet still had her arms wrapped around Cade as they stood in the middle of the hive of activity that was the Rebels’ front office. Phones were ringing, keyboards were clacking, and one of the admin staff had already asked him what he thought of her shoes. Like he was an instant fashion expert. (Uh, they’re . . . shiny?)
Everyone might be trying to pretend this was just business as usual, but it was clear the place was at DEFCON Gay.
“You know you can let go,” he said to Vi. “Anytime.”
“Think of me as your bodyguard. Anyone who wants a piece of you has to come through me.”
He dropped a kiss on her purple-streaked hair, feeling incredibly blessed to know her. “I feel safe, chica. But I’ve still got a bruise on my hip from the last game, so maybe less tight.”
She eased up—a little—and peered at him, lights shining in those green eyes she’d inherited from the father she refused to talk about.
“You were amazeballs out there. Right, Nessie?”
Bren was leaning against one of the cubicle dividers, checking his phone. “Nessie” was aimed at him. Ignoring her, the Scot raised his head slightly.
“You did good, brother.”
These two.
Cade couldn’t quite believe he’d had it in him. Not that it had been easy, sitting at a table with microphones that magnified every word out of his mouth and cameras that picked up every nuance of his expression. But his dad had sat beside him, doing an awesome job of not turtling as Cade announced to the world that he liked boys. Men. Hot, gorgeous, hairy Italians, to be honest.
So he hadn’t mentioned the specifics. He’d kept it classy and said he was gay—cue glitter poop and trumpets of joy!—and no one had asked anything weird like when did he know or was he dating anyone or how did he expect his teammates to react. No doubt he was getting it up the ass, so to speak, on social media, but he didn’t care about that. All he cared about was how his dad was doing.
And maybe what Dante was thinking.
So he might have chosen a time he knew Moretti was out of town to come clean. He and Violet had approached Harper this morning, and while Harper had mentioned that Dante—as their general manager, nothing else—should probably be brought into the circle, she had astutely recognized that Cade needed to do this while the cat was away. So she checked a flight tracker app, determined that Dante’s flight from New York was currently thirty-five thousand feet above Pennsylvania, and had PR call a hasty presser.
These Chase women? Totally badass.
Dante’s flight had to have landed by now. No doubt he’d already reamed Harper out for not waiting until he’d returned, but Cade didn’t want Dante to feel awkward or in any way concerned that the focus would turn to him as the gay manager who now had a gay player. Granted, this was also about Dante, but it was mostly about Cade. The boss had been right. Cade had to do this for himself.
He needed to raise life to meet him instead of the other way around.
“So, you want to go grab Potbellys?” Violet asked. “Harper will be back from giving your dad a tour of the offices any minute, and I’m getting hungry.”
So was he, but he’d hoped a certain someone would be here by now and—a movement at the entrance to the office suite spiked his pulse and crackled along every nerve ending.
Dante.
There he was, a hottie in a suit, the guy he was crazy about, his borchia. He’d dropped his overnight bag and was stalking toward him, those blue eyes boring into his skull, setting every cell in his body aflame.
“Hey,” Dante said.
“Hey,” Cade said back.
On hearing Dante’s voice, Violet released Cade, and Dante slotted into the vacated spot. Something rough and warm stroked along Cade’s cheek and landed at the corner of his mouth. Dante’s thumb, attached to the hand that was anchoring Cade’s head.
“That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dante whispered. “I’m so proud of you, polpetto.” And then he kissed him—not just a cool, welcome-to-the-tribe peck, either, if that was a thing. This was an all-in, yeah-we’re-fucking-or-soon-will-be mouth melter. Ten seconds later, he ended it and laid his forehead against Cade’s.
The entire staff of the front office had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at the mythical creatures, aka the gay guys, in the suite. Violet was grinning up a storm, and the look on St. James’s face? Priceless.
At least his dad wasn’t there—aaaand he’d spoken too soon. Tucker had just walked in with Ha
rper on the tail end of that smooch.
There was no missing the wince that crossed his dad’s face. The whole affection-between-guys thing was going to take some time getting used to.
He recovered quickly, though, and shook Dante’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Dante. You missed the main event. Pretty dramatic stuff.”
Dante smiled, his hand on Cade’s back like it belonged there. “I don’t know, Tucker. We’ve had no shortage of drama around here these past few months. This is par for the course, to be honest.”
But the look he slid to Cade said it was just a little out of the ordinary.
“If you guys don’t mind, I need to have a word with Cade. In my office.” He was already pushing Cade toward the door while Harper and Violet stared in wide-eyed wonder.
“Sorry,” Harper said, catching herself. “We know it’s inappropriate to ogle, but you two are really cute together.”
“Harper!” Violet elbowed her sister. “We don’t know—they might not be together.” She shot a look at Cade, one that said don’t take any shit. He shrugged in her direction, helpless in the face of the Beast’s dominant streak.
Behind closed doors, Dante pushed Cade against the wood and cupped his face. No words, just Dante holding him, studying him, looking for God knew what.
Cade spoke first. “What you did, going to see my dad . . . it changed everything. He was so impressed, and believe me, it takes a lot to impress Tucker Burnett.”
“I told you, he’s a good guy. It was so great to see him there, beside you in the presser.”
Cade could only nod, a creeping awareness coming over him at how he’d achieved something close to a happy outcome with his dad, but how Dante’s experience had been so different. He’d lost part of his family, and that had to have crushed him.
Dante Moretti was the real trailblazer here. Without his bravery, Cade wasn’t sure he could have made it this far.
“Yeah,” said Cade. “My dad’s probably going to need therapy to cope with the trauma of seeing you kiss me, but all in all, it’s turned out well. Harper was amazing. The whole org, too.”
Now the work of being publicly gay began. There’d be shit to contend with, and Cade was under no illusion that everyone in the NHL, particularly some of his teammates, would be kosher with this. Though a small part of him was looking forward to getting into it with that moron Leon Shay.
“Are you okay?” Dante asked, his blue eyes alive with concern. “I played it over and over on the cab ride here. You looked so calm, but I know you must have been freaking out.”
“I still feel like my blood is on fire. It was simmering down until you showed up, and now all I can think of is how much I want you to kiss me again and never, ever stop.”
So, not really okay.
Frustratingly, kissing did not appear to be on the menu. Instead Dante searched his face. “Whatever happens, whatever comes next, I will protect you.”
“And I’ve got your back as well.” And then, because Dante didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get physical, Cade took control, grabbing the lapels on his suit jacket and slanting his mouth over his boss’s beautiful lips.
I mean, really, Moretti.
Cade pulled back an inch, meeting Dante’s intense gaze. “And while I might have your back, I really want all of you. Let me tell you this now, just so there’s no confusion. I understand that getting to the finals and taking home the Cup is at the top of the list—and by the way, it completely sucked that I couldn’t celebrate that last game win with you—and that’s fine. But as for what comes after, I need to know: do I have a shot with you, Dante? A real shot with ravioli and ugly wine labels and sofa cuddling and lazy Sundays? And before you answer, don’t think you need to reward me for what happened today. I’m not looking for a prize. I’m looking for forever.”
Dante looked stunned. Good stunned? Bad stunned? Cade braced himself for rejection.
“You’re young, Cade. You have so much opportunity open to you now, and if you need time to explore that—”
“I don’t need time. But I don’t want to be a dirty little secret. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”
Dante rubbed his mouth, deep wells of emotion softening his gaze. “You’re sure?”
How could he doubt it? Dante always projected such confidence and bravado, but what happened with his ex and his family must have done a number on him. Somehow, this amazing guy thought he might not be enough when really, he was the standard by which Cade measured his entire life. His first hockey crush, the hero who had shown him the way, and now the man he loved like crazy.
“I came to that club, Dante, and it wasn’t for the overpriced Glenlivet.”
Dante’s hesitancy gave way to a killer smile, and Cade was knocked over. Dead, not getting up.
“You’re mine all right, polpetto, and don’t you forget it.”
“Really? Thank Christ, because you had me going there.”
His guy leaned in close. “Did you happen to notice that I kissed you in front of the entire front office less than five minutes ago? But let’s give the media a chance to recover from our big win and your historic announcement. That’s not to say I don’t love you, because I do. Cristo, I truly do. Eventually, I’ll be happy to tell the world, but for now I want to stay in our bubble. With ravioli and ugly wine labels and everything else.”
Dante Moretti loved him. This perfect guy loved him. But he had a point. If they kept up this breakneck pace, it would kill them both, so reeling it in was probably a good move. A sane move after several weeks of insanely sexy chaos.
“There is something we probably should talk about, though,” Dante said slyly.
“Oh, yeah?” Talking was so not what Cade had in mind.
“I had no idea you were such a big fan of me in my player days.”
That dumb bedroom poster. “Every guy’s got to have a hero, Moretti.” And material for his spank bank.
“They say you should never meet your heroes. I wonder if anyone has ever said you shouldn’t proposition one in an exclusive gay club and then later give him the best BJ he’s ever had.”
Cade grinned. “Pretty sure if that was a rule, I’d have heard about it. But, even if I had, I don’t think either of us has ever been all that interested in playing by the rules.”
And then he kissed his rule-breaking hero with everything he had.
EPILOGUE
THE PLAYERS’ TRIBUNE
Letter to My Younger Self
Kid, it’s me, your future self. You’re probably looking at me and wondering how I got to be so big. Well, there are these things called protein shakes . . . but they’re a bunch of baloney. Truth is, I spent a lot of time in the gym. I had my reasons, and they weren’t all related to muscle building. (You’ll get that joke when you’re older.)
But mostly you’re thinking that you’re eleven years old and your life sucks. You’ve got to make a decision about hockey or football. Your mom’s not well and it doesn’t look good. And you’ve started having weird thoughts about this guy in your English class . . .
Life’s going to blow for a while before it gets better. You’ll do something that feels like the worst decision ever, and you’ll spend years kicking yourself stupid for it. When you tell people you want to be the next Wayne Gretzky, they’ll look at you like you’re a freak. This is Texas, after all, where the gridiron is king. You’ll need that ice to cool your demons.
It will. For a while.
NHL Hall of Famer Clifford Chase—yes, that Clifford Chase—will trade you in from Denver. You already think you’re a hotshot, kid, but Chicago’s a whole other world. Your first season as a Rebel isn’t anything to write home about, and the next isn’t much better. Then things start to happen.
This funny Swedish guy from O-Vik will show you all the best places to eat in the Windy City. Three women who know a thousand times more than you about life, love, and hockey will barge in. One of them will become your best friend, and that seaso
n, the United Nations of Badass will be born: a Russian, a Swede, a Scotsman, and this Cajun guy who makes a mean gumbo.
And all this time, you’ll be holding a part of yourself in a separate box that you take out on special occasions. ’Cause you’re not ready. ’Cause you’re afraid. ’Cause . . . reasons. But one night, you’ll muster up a little bravery, line up that shot, and get to see what you’re made of. You’ll take risks and it’ll look touch and go for a while, but in the end, the people you care about will be standing by your side: Highlander, Vi, Remy, the Czar, Fish, Killer, Iz, Harper, Coach, Dad, and Il Borchia. These are the players who complete your team, and you won’t be able to imagine a game or a life without them.
In the locker room before game one of the first-round play-offs against Dallas, the Czar will triple-knot his skates. Highlander will growl if anyone tries to talk to him with his headphones on. Fish’s stomach will answer back (the guy’s always hungry). Coach will say a few encouraging words, and the Cajun will give a speech, because nothing pleases him more than talking everyone into winning—usually in French.
And as you head toward the tunnel, you’ll hear a voice saying, “Knock ’em dead, polpetto.” You’ll smile, taking the joy of those words into your heart and stowing it there for later. But as soon as you hit the rink, the smile will disappear, because smiles don’t win championships. Hearts do, and so do rebels.
Will you win, kid? Well, I can’t give away everything!
Vivere senza rimpianti.
Cade “Alamo” Burnett
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my Pocket/Gallery family, thanks for seeing me through another book. From editing to marketing to art to the intangibles, you make my job so much easier. Go team!