Shit. That wasn’t much better, and a cowardly little part of him wanted to run away.
Like you did twenty years ago?
It hadn’t been like that. She’d said it was fine. Said it was just a kiss, no big deal, and if that had made him feel worse, feel like…
He stopped again. Changed direction.
He wasn’t running away from this. As uncomfortable as it was, being with Gemma otherwise made him feel the opposite of uncomfortable. It reminded him what it was like to be with someone who didn’t need life to be smooth, who came out swinging and was always her authentic self. Someone who’d always made him feel like he could be more, could be better, that anyone who expected less didn’t really know him.
Gemma had never expected anything of him but honesty. To be his real self. None of his bullshit.
And what she’d gotten, in the end, was his bullshit.
So he was drinking away his discomfort while confessing to Jesse. Mason and Jesse had met in the juniors, before both were drafted to the Growlers at eighteen. Back then, they’d had little contact.Between the endless work and the endless competition, there’d been no room for friendship.
Even after they were drafted to the same team, that sense of competition had lingered. Soon Mason’s left defense position had begun drifting into enforcer territory. Mason had seized the role with gusto. He liked mixing it up on the ice, and he liked it even better when he could mix it up in defense of his teammates.
That’s how Mason and Jesse ended up behind the arena, trying to beat the shit out of each other.
Jesse was a skilled forward with a wicked slap shot. He was the kind of player who focused on his own performance and stayed out of the brawls and the backbiting and the grudge matches. The problem was that some people weren’t content to let him do that. Jesse was Indigenous, grew up in the islands off the coast of British Columbia as part of the Haida Nation. There weren’t many Indigenous players in the NHL, and before Jesse, there’d been none on the Growlers, and some assholes had liked it that way. Mason couldn’t do anything about the fans, but he could take care of the opposing players. That was his job, after all.
Jesse had told Mason to back off and let him handle it. Mason figured Jesse was just saying that. Turned out, Jesse wasnotjust saying that, and he finally decided to communicate in a language he presumed Mason understood better: talking with his fists.
In the end, Mason understood that having a white guy come to Jesse’s rescue didn’t help. So they compromised. Mason would signal when he sensed trouble, and Jesse needed to look up from the puck enough to catch those signals. If one guy went after Jesse, Mason would skate closer—so it didn’t look as if he was makingJesse fend for himself—but he wouldn’t get involved unless the attack came from multiple sources.
With that misunderstanding out of the way, the two had become friends. They were both fully committed to the Growlers. That’d been their home team growing up, and they’d spent their careers turning down offers from other teams… while praying they weren’t traded.
Part of not being traded was to make themselves irreplaceable—mostly with the fans. Because being good on the ice was one thing; putting butts in seats was another. They’d partnered in achieving that. Then Jesse suffered a concussion playing off-season overseas, followed by a second one shortly after his return. Three years ago, Jesse decided he was done. He’d made his money and invested it well, and he wanted to preserve his health and expand his work supporting Indigenous youth in hockey.
Jesse was happy, and Mason was happy for him. Some guys blossomed after retirement, while others just dried up and…
Mason shook it off. That wasn’t anything he needed to worry about yet. For now, he was talking about a much happier subject: Gemma.
He had explained the romance-novel thing and how he knew Gemma and then confessed to what he’d done to her in high school.
When he finished, Jesse stared across the table at him. “You let your friends tell everyone you only kissed her on a dare?”
“I didn’tletthem.”
A hard look from Jesse. “You know what I mean. You didn’t undo the damage.”
Mason slumped. “I know.”
Jesse shook his head. “You have done some spectacularly shittythings in your life, Mace, but…” He reached out to clap Mason on the shoulder. “You’ve outdone yourself. Congratulations.”
Mason took a hit of whiskey, noted that the glass was down to the dregs, and considered ordering a second. He wouldn’t, but tonight he seriously considered it.
“I talked to her afterward, and she said it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Of course she did, and I’m going to bet, even then, you realized she was just trying to save face, pretend it didn’t hurt like hell.”
Mason lifted the glass and drained the last dribble. “But it couldn’t have been too bad, right? She based her romance hero on me.”
“And serious congrats on that, Mace. It really is awesome, and I can’t think of a guy who deserves it more, except me… and maybe ninety percent of the male population.”
Mason lifted his middle finger.
Jesse met his gaze. “If you’re looking for someone to say that what you did wasn’t so bad, you came to the wrong person.”
