Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

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.”

“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.