Page 2 of Shattered On Ice

Rook: *laughing crying emoji* If Ryder is bringing Knox, I’m gonna bring Knight. That boring fuck needs to get out of the house.

Campbell: Oh, fucking hell. There’s going to be two of you? That settles it. I’m definitely not going.

Nico: Come on, Campbell! You know you wanna meet Rook’s twin and see how different they are!

I tilt my head and run my fingertips through the beard I grew for the playoffs. I’m curious, too. Rook has mentioned Knight plenty of times. I know he’s a therapist and moved to Atlanta with Rook to watch Indiana Bones, Rook’s dog, when we travel. But none of the team has actually met him. I’m not sure if he even likes hockey or showed up to any of our games. If he did, Rook never mentioned it. Now I want to know about this mysterious brother of my best friend. I type out another message.

Westy: The more the merrier! Bring your brother, bring your boyfriend, bring a friend. I have room and food for everyone.

I look around the spacious living room of the house I bought in Atlanta. It’s so different from the Florida high-rise condo I lived in previously, and I like the quiet neighborhood. But it feels empty the way all my houses have. There’s never anyone to come home to, no feeling of familiarity and warmth—just a place to land in between practice, games, road trips, and seasons. Before I can lose myself in the morose yearning again, I’m shaken from my thoughts by my phone once again buzzing in my hand.

Chad: Anyone have a friend for me? Of the female variety, preferably. I need to lick my wounds after that loss, and it would be nicer if someone else did it.

Campbell: For fuck’s sake. Don't be so fucking desperate.

Yikes. Nope, gotta nip this one in the bud before they get crazy, and I have a bunch of women running around my house. I furiously tap out my message and send it before anyone else can climb on that bandwagon.

Westy: Bros only. Adding ladies gets out of hand too easily. Besides, I don't want them to know where I live. Now get your asses over here before I eat all the wings.

I hop up, taking a photo of the spread of wings and fries on the kitchen island, and send that to the group chat as proof that they’ll miss out if they don't listen to me. The last thing I want is a parade of randos in my house or anyone who could potentially come back to haunt me later.

I place the ice on my knee as the group chat goes quiet, the guys finally on their way. They all take food very seriously, and hot wings are a top-tier choice.

Nico is the first to show up, towing Chad behind him.

“Found this guy trying to parallel park on the street. He was on his sixth attempt when I jumped in and just did it for him,” Nico says, thumbing back at Chad, who’s smiling without any chagrin.

“The Escalade is new and huge. I’m not used to parking it yet,” Chad reasons with a shrug as they troop inside, each with a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips.

“You need a bike like mine. You wouldn’t have to worry about parking at all,” I tell him, closing the door. “My Hayabusa goes anywhere, is fast as fuck, and looks lethal.”

“It is lethal.” Nico shudders, tracing the sign of the cross over his chest. “You couldn't pay me to ride something that dangerous.” He makes an X with his hands and shakes his head.

“It’s not the bikes that are dangerous,” I mumble. “It’s the other people on the road that you have to worry about.” I know full well the dangers of motorcycles, but I like the rush anyway. It’s one of the few dangers I can actually indulge in.

The doorbell rings again. I move around Nico and Chad to grab the door. I smile when I see Ryder and Knox. I notice Rook’s familiar flop of dark hair behind their towering forms. I open the door wide and gesture for them to come in.

“Thank you for inviting us, Westy,” Knox says as they fill the entryway, his voice a smooth and velvety deep baritone rumble. “I appreciate you allowing me to tag along.” He gives me the most luscious smile that heats my chest and forces me to mask what that one kind and gracious look does to me.

I stare up at him, which is unusual since I’m six-two and most of the guys around me are usually close to my height, but Knox is a fucking six-six giant. He’s also one of the nicest and most patient people I’ve met, He deals with Ryder’s grumpy ass and demanding ways so well.

“Of course,” I say with what I hope is a welcoming smile. “An invitation to Ryder always includes you.”

Knox is the only out gay athlete I know first-hand, and I admire him for so many reasons. He’s not only incredibly talented, intelligent, and brave, but he’s also hot as fuck. I would never let Ryder know I think that, though. He’s possessive as hell and would fuck me up if he knew I noticed Knox's attractiveness. But it’s not just that I think Knox is hot. I wish I could be as brave as Knox and say to hell with what people thought, and come out to everyone, no matter the consequences. But I’ve seen how the hockey world treats the few gay athletes who have decided to live their truth while playing the sport they love, and it’s never been kind.

Knox smiles and slides an arm around the front of Ryder’s chest, pulling him in for an embrace that seems so natural. “I appreciate that,” he says easily, before placing a quick kiss on Ryder’s cheek.

My stomach knots into writhing snakes of jealousy, warring with concern at their casual intimacy out in public. I scan the faces around me, looking for disapproval or judgment, but only see acceptance. My heart picks up its pace anyway, memories flashing back to when I held a man in my arms in public and felt the sting of rejection and the pain of hate from people I should have trusted with my life. Unlike Knox, who bravely declared his orientation in a fucking newspaper article for all to see, I can’t even tell those closest to me. Instead, I jammed the closet door shut and don't have any plans to come out, no matter how accepting this team seems. People aren't always what they seem.

Ryder was lucky when he came out as bisexual, and our team was cool with it. Other teams I’ve been on would have turned ugly at the mere mention of his interest in another man, even if it wasn’t any of them. Hell, the team I played for in Florida before the Hydras was the worst. The kind of hateful vitriol and casual use of slurs without any out players around made me wary of ever telling any of them. Still, I want what Ryder and Knox have with an ache that almost doubles me over. I grasp the door handle for support, choking the knob like it can save me from my own envy.

“What about me, buddy?” Rook asks, throwing his arm over my shoulders to bring me in for an exuberant side hug that startles me into remembering he’s even there. “You gonna give me a two-person pass also? That’s how it was growing up as a twin, ya know. We were always a package deal. I couldn’t go anywhere without Knight as a shadow.” He turns me slightly to include the newest addition to our group.

And that’s when I see him, the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on, patiently standing in the entryway waiting for his introduction. He’s casual as hell, his hands in the pockets of his charcoal pants, leaning against the doorframe with the toe of one of his perfectly broken-in boots crossed over the other. My mouth goes dry, static filling my head, drowning out whatever Rook is saying as I hold the deep green gaze of the gorgeous man in the tortoiseshell glasses, and he stares back into my soul for an endless amount of time.

I thought I knew what to expect. Rook and Knight are twins, after all. I figured they’d look alike. Maybe have similar mannerisms, or sound alike to a degree. How different can they be, after all?

Like day and night, apparently.