Chapter 1
Roger “Cross” LaCroix woke gasping for air, the sound of a gunshot echoing in his head. He felt the flash of red, hot blood across his face. A scream he’d never uttered strangled his voice. Only after two more harsh breaths did he register the jaunty tune in the background as his ringtone, and the peace and quiet of his dark bedroom.
“Shit.” He ran a hand down his face. The nightmares were less frequent these days, but when they happened, they still shook him.
Only as the last tinny notes began fading did he also recognize the specific tune. He grabbed his phone, answering with a rough swipe a moment before it went to voicemail. “Rusty? What’s wrong?” He’d had the young hockey player’s number in his phone since last summer, and they’d texted off and on, but a voice call in the middle of the night meant something was up.
“Fuck.” Rusty’s voice sounded hoarse. “I’m sorry, Cross. It’s fucking late as hell, isn’t it? And you’re out east. I’ll just hang up now.”
“Stop!” He didn’t mean to be harsh and was relieved when Rusty grunted but didn’t disappear. “You called me for a reason. Besides, I was dreaming something I didn’t mind waking up from. What’s up?”
“It’s stupid. I mean, I was stupid.” Rusty sighed audibly.
Cross pushed himself higher on his pillows and switched on the bedside light.No blood on me.Talking to someone was arelief, in that moment when the echoes of his dream lurked in the shadows. “You’re eighteen. You’re allowed to be stupid sometimes.”
“Nineteen.”
“What, you had a birthday and didn’t tell me?” The joke fell flat. They weren’t that kind of friends. “Never mind. Lay it on me.”
“Lay it on you? How old are you? No one says that.”
“Get to the point, kid.”
“Right.” Rusty’s pause was long enough that Cross was about to prompt him again when he added, “I’ve been… dating. A bit. Trying to.”
“Good for you.” Dating as an out, gay hockey player, even in the ECHL minor league, took some guts.
“Well, mostly just fucking around.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Thinking of Rusty with a bunch of guys, learning about sex, made Cross feel unsettled, so he pushed the image away. “Probably easier in Eugene than in Kansas, huh?”
“Yeah, except there’s this guy.” Another pause. “He turned out to be kind of an asshole.”
“Did he hurt you?” Rusty might be tall, fit, and a hockey defenseman, but sex made everyone vulnerable. A flash of anger flared in Cross’s chest at the thought of someone taking advantage of the kid.
“No, nothing like that. But he…” Rusty clammed up again.
Cross glanced at the time on his phone. Almost three A.M. because he was in… he blanked for a second at the end of thislong-assed road trip.Minneapolis, that’s where.Which meant only one A.M. out in Oregon where Rusty’s team was based, but still. “Spit it out, kid. I’m not getting any younger.” Thirty sometimes felt like fifty after a bunch of physical games.
“Okay, at first he was cool. We hung out for like two months. He’s really hot and he’s older than me, and I was super flattered he liked me.”
Rusty was really hot too, objectively speaking. Blond hair and clear blue eyes, six-foot-several-inches of fit, athletic hockey player. Maybe a little baby fat still softened his high cheekbones, maybe his hockey ass and thighs were a work in progress, but Rusty had no reason to feel attention was flattery. “Lots of people like you. And now?”
“Now he’s, well…” Rusty said in a rush, “I broke up with him weeks ago and he won’t go away and he keeps calling me. Today, he showed up at the arena after practice and told the security guy he was my boyfriend, and when they wouldn’t let him in, he hung out by my truck till I came out. I told him we were done and we argued. So I blocked his number, and now he just called me from a different one.”
“What did he say? Is he making threats?”
“No. I think he was drunk. He was, like, being nice, saying how he can’t wait till our next date and how I’m real good in bed and good at hockey and he’s looking forward to being the partner of an NHL star one day. And when I told him to get lost, he just laughed and said I didn’t mean it, he’d see me soon.”
“Well, at least he has faith in your talent.”
“It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not.” Cross rubbed his eyes and tried to get his brain usefully back online. At least the old nightmare had faded to nothing. “I guess you have to keep saying no.”
“Except Coach Frazier saw us arguing in the parking lot and him trying to kiss me and all. He told me to keep mylifestyleout of the public eye. The team took enough of a chance with me being gay and out. If they think I violated the morals clause, I’ll be gone. Coach Frazier isn’t my biggest fan.”
“Getting kissed in a parking lot is not a morals violation.” Or there’d be no active players. “What’s this persistent douchebag’s name?”
