“Y-yes, Sir. T-thank you.”
With a chuckle, he shakes Coach’s hand, leaving me dumbstruck as he walks out the door.
“Did I hit my head during practice and hallucinate that Neil fucking Hanoman basically offered me a place on his team?” I ask aloud, staring at the now-closed door.
Coach simply claps me on the shoulder. “Nope. That’s just how it feels when your dreams finally come true, Son.”
If that’s the case, then it feels really fucking great.
Except, as I absently leave the stadium and climb into my car, I realize there’s one problem.
Accepting a place on the Penguins team would mean I’d have to move to the West Coast once I’ve graduated. I’d be thousands of miles from Halston.
From Riley.
And if this week away from her has taught me anything, it’s that I wouldn’t survive being that far away from her.
Everything I’ve worked for, dreamt of, has just come true. And yet, I feel more conflicted than ever.
Despite my concerns, I’m pumped as I walk into the house, puffed up with pride after my chat with Neil fucking Hanoman, and excited to tell the guys my good news. Even if his offer does bring about its own set of problems I hadn’t considered until today, it’s still a fucking NHL offer, and since I can’t celebrate with my girl, I wanna celebrate with my guys.
“Yo, fuckers, you home?” I call out as the door closes behind me. “We’re celebrating!”
I’ve hardly spoken a word to Grayson all week. Barely even seen him, but I don’t give a fuck about the tension between us right now. Regardless of the other shit going on, I know he’ll be happy for me, just like I’d be happy for him.
I find the asshole himself sitting in the kitchen, appearing about as glum as a rainstorm with a bottle of half-drunk whiskey in front of him. He looks up when I walk in, his expression unchanging.
“Who died?” I freeze in my tracks. “Oh, shit, your Gran didn’t actually die, did she?”
His huff of a laugh is humorless. “No, you’re good. She’s still alive.”
Oh, thank fuck. I seriously thought I put my foot in it there. Which certainly isn’t uncommon, but talk about awkward.
“So what’s got you drinking whiskey in the middle of the day?”
He shakes his head, stare intent on the countertop, but doesn’t answer me.
“Gray,” I nudge. “Something is bothering you, what is it?”
“I—” Lifting his head to look at me, he swipes a hand through his unusually messy hair. “I don’t even know. Everything’s so fucked up.”
Brows furrowed, I take him in. His ruffled clothing and the dark rings under his eyes. He looks like shit. “Look, I know we haven’t seen eye-to-eye much recently, but no matter what, I’m here for you. Both me and Royce are.”
I’m not sure what it is I’ve said, but his shoulders straighten, his entire body going taut, as something dark flashes across his face too quickly for me to decipher.
“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says in a tight tone that clearly statesend of discussion. “What was it you were yelling about when you got in?”
Lips pinched, I feel like a bit of a douche for telling him my good news when he’s clearly conflicted over something. “Oh, uh… I think I just got offered a spot with the Penguins next year.”
Foul mood forgotten, his eyebrows lift as he gapes at me before a grin spreads across his tired face. “That’s fantastic, man. Congrats. No one deserves it more.”
The little tendril of tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding on to unfurls at his genuine happiness for me. I mean, I knew he would be, but fuck, maybe I was a little worried he wouldn’t. Things haven’t been good around here recently.
Getting out of his seat, he comes over to give me a bro hug. “Thanks, man.” My smile comes easier now. “Is Royce around? Maybe the three of us could hang—like old times.”
“He’s not, but I can kick your ass at virtual hockey until he gets home.”
“You only win ‘cause I let you,” I scoff, before grabbing a beer from the fridge and offering him one. He shakes his head, retrieving his bottle of whiskey before we head into the living room, where Royce finds us when he gets home.
