Page 77 of Hard Check
Dawson’s jaw worked. The bar noise felt far away.
“I messed it up,” he said. His voice was low, rough, and he didn’t recognize it.
Wes didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. “Then un-mess it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yeah, you do.” Wes held his gaze. “You’re just scared of what comes after. And I get that. But what you’re doing right now is hurting yourself for no good reason.”
Dawson looked at the TV. Leo was on the bench, helmet off, water bottle in his hand. Wes followed his gaze, and for a second, they both watched, and then Wes put his hand on Dawson’s forearm again and went back to work without another word.
Gunnar put a second beer in front of him. He stood there for a moment, his hand flat on the bar, not saying anything. Then he moved on. Gunnar and Wes had built a life together in a town this size without apology. He’d wanted what they had, but until Leo, he’d never let himself believe he could have it.
The third period started. Dawson watched every shift. Midway through, Leo shot the puck and it went in. The bar erupted. Dawson sat there with his beer in his hand. On the screen, Leo's teammates piled on him after a goal, and Leo was grinning — the real one, the kind that took over his whole face. Dawson hadn't been the reason for that smile in a week. He wasn't sure if he ever would be again.
Dawson paid his tab and walked out, leaving the book on the bar. The cold hit him as soon as he hit the sidewalk. His truck was under the streetlight, frost already on the windshield. He sat in the cab and pulled out his phone. The thread was still there. Leo’s last message, three days old. The cursor blinked in the text field.
I’m here when you’re ready.
Looked at it. Five words. They didn’t carry half of what sat behind them, but he hoped it was enough to let Leo know he wanted to fix what he’d broken.
He hit send and put the phone face-down in the cupholder. He drove home with the radio off.
The house was dark. Dawson sat on the edge of his bed and didn't take off his boots. Wes had been right. Justin had been right. Keeping Leo was going to cost him the one piece of armor he'd been hoarding his whole life — the freedom to walk into a room and not be known. He'd have to come out to Ethan first, then Wyatt, then his parents, then everyone else he encountered.
He didn’t know if he could stand in front of his family and tell the truth after so long hiding it.
But the alternative — losing Leo, losing every version of himself he wanted to be — was worse. He’d been picking the wrong fear his whole life. It was time to quit being a coward.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Leo fanned on a one-timer during the second drill of practice, and the puck skidded harmlessly into the corner. He reset. Carter fed him again from the boards, same angle, same timing, and Leo’s stick was a split-second late, the blade catching nothing but air while the puck bounced off the boards behind him.
“Vargas.” Deluca didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “You’re drifting to the middle. Stay on your wing.”
Leo circled back to the line. Jonesy slid past him and bumped his shoulder, not hard, just enough to register, and didn’t say anything. Jonesy always had something. The silence was its own commentary about his shitty performance today.
He got through the rest of practice on muscle memory and stubbornness. His edges were fine. His hands were fine. Everything between his ears was somewhere on a county road four miles outside town, replaying that night.
In the locker room after practice, Leo pulled off his gear and let the noise wash over him.
“Vargas.” Jonesy pointed at him from across the room. “You, me, Novo. Steakhouse tonight.”
“I’m good. I think I’ll just?—”
“Wasn’t a question.” Jonesy grinned. “Eight o’clock. You’re buying because you played like shit last night and you owe us.”
Leo almost said no. But Jonesy was already turning away, already assuming he was in, and that assumption was the thing that got him. In Orlando, invitations had been polite. Here, they were nonnegotiable.
“Fine,” Leo said. “But I’m not buying Novo’s steak. He eats like he’s storing for winter.”
Novo, three stalls down, didn’t look up. “I heard that.”
“You were supposed to.”
Ford caught his eye from across the room. No question in his gaze, no demand. Just Ford letting him know he was seen.
After the room thinned out, Ford dropped onto the bench next to him, hair damp, smelling like the generic shampoo the team bought in bulk.
