Page 11 of Caught Offside

“You just made me laugh for thirty seconds straight.”

“That says more about your standards than my delivery.”

“See? That. Right there.”

Patrick went quiet. Then he said, “I have this thing on Saturday,” like the words had been sitting in his mouth waiting for an opening. “The Syndicate runs a youth hockey program. They asked me to come skate with the kids.”

“That sounds wholesome.”

“It’s exhausting. And the group I’m working with is a bunch of ten-year-olds.”

“You don’t like kids?”

“I don’t know what to do with them. They ask questions I can’t answer, and that age group is convinced they have it all figured out.”

“So you’re going to skate with a bunch of ten-year-olds who worship you, and you’re dreading it.”

“I’m not dreading it. I’m managing expectations.”

“Yours or theirs?”

Patrick didn’t answer. Asher heard him shift on the other end.

“I’d pay money to watch that,” Asher said. He meant it as a joke. It didn’t come out like one.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

“It’s Saturday morning,” Patrick said. Careful. Measured. “You could always drive down instead of sitting on your ass, you bum.”

Asher’s pulse kicked up. Patrick loved giving him shit about not doing anything because it was the offseason, but this was the first time he’d suggested they meet up. “Is that an invitation?”

“If you want it to be.” Asher wondered if Patrick regretted making the offer or if he was steeling himself for rejection. “Even though I give you a hard time, I know you’re busy getting ready for spring training. You don’t have to come down if you have to focus, I just⁠—”

“Patrick.” As reassuring as it was to hear Patrick rambling, the guy sounded like he was freaking out. Talking until he was out of breath so Asher couldn’t turn him down.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be there.”

Asher pushed off the couch. If he was going to spend part of the weekend in Chicago, he needed to get packing. Once he got home, he’d only have a day before leaving for Arizona. Luckily, he stayed at his parents’ place down there during spring training so he didn’t have as much to lug down as some of his teammates. “Tell me where I need to be and when.”

“Seriously? I… You don’t really have to,” Patrick hedged.

“Yes, seriously. Now stop trying to talk me out of it and tell me where I’m going.”

Asher pulled out both his big suitcase to pack for Arizona and a smaller duffel to pack for Chicago. Maybe he’d head down early to catch the Syndicate game on Friday night. Because, yeah, he had Patrick’s schedule memorized at this point, like a creepy stalker.

Patrick rattled off the address, and Asher opened up Notes on his phone so he didn’t forget it. Shortly after that, Patrick apologized, saying he needed to grab a nap so he was ready for tonight’s game.

Man, must be rough having scheduled naptime before games. Asher didn’t say that aloud. Even though they were both athletes, he was pretty sure Patrick’s job was a hell of a lot more physically demanding than playing ball.

Asher hung up and stared at the ceiling. He’d just agreed to drive three hours to watch a guy he’d met once skate with children. The excuse was garbage, and neither of them had tried to make it better.

The rink was freezing. Asher had shown up in only a denim jacket like an idiot, so by the time he found a seat in the bleachers his fingers were already numb.

Patrick was on the ice.

Asher had watched game highlights on his phone—clips of Patrick clearing the crease and moving the puck up ice. He’d been planning to drive down for the game, but something had come up. Video didn’t do it justice. In person, the man moved like the ice owed him something. Every stride looked effortless, which meant it was anything but.