Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6 (23 page)

“You two are friends. What the fuck is going on?” He held up his hand before either of them could answer. “Wait. I’m not sure I want to know. Demyan, you’re year-to-year. Don’t fuck this up because we need you out there. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Pearce. I talked to him about being so friendly with Zovko in the locker room…” Callahan trailed off, rubbing his face with one hand when Scott’s jaw hardened. “Shit, maybe the head coach is right. Maybe this shit—the relationship stuff…maybe if it was a bit more private…”

Scott’s lips parted. He looked ready to hit their coach. “You didn’t just fucking say that. Like what, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’?”

“I have nothing against gay men, Demyan, don’t twist my words. You love who you love, but it shouldn’t affect how you do your job. I guess you think no fraternizing with coworkers is some kind of violation too?”

“So long as we’re not fucking in the locker room, it’s no one’s business,” Scott said.

Callahan threw his hands up in the air. “I’ve seen how you guys react when the man you’re with gets hurt. It’s a puck, not a bullet. I wouldn’t want to see how you’d do if your lives were on the line. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yes.” Tyler had to clarify, but he couldn’t meet their eyes when they both stared at him like they’d forgotten he was there. He inhaled roughly, then just said what he had to. “During the game, I react no matter who is hurt. That don’t mean I wanna fuck them, whether or not I’m straight. You see that on every team. If we were at war…fuck, these guys would be keeping me alive. You ain’t thinking sex when you’re trying to get the puck in the net. I’m thinking, if you could die, the last thing on your mind is getting laid. Those men are your brothers. Making sure you’re all going home when it’s all over is all that counts.”

“So you’re going to tell me you’d react to Demyan, or Carter, or Zovko getting hurt the same way you’d react to Richards or White?” Callahan raked his fingers through his hair, looking like he really wanted to understand. He wasn’t judging. He was probably looking at it like he would if it was Oriana out there. Like having her as a distraction would be too much.

But Callahan wasn’t like other coaches. Yeah, he’d said something stupid and ignorant. He was in a good place to learn though. Tyler cocked his head, his lips quirking slightly.

“I would. I’m weird that way.” Now time to push it a bit. “If it was Max…could you say the same?”

“Fuck you, Vanek.” Callahan growled before punching Tyler’s shoulder. “I ain’t all up on him in the locker room. We ain’t like that.”

“Does it matter? You have a job to do. So does he.”

“So does Oriana. She’s in the locker room sometimes. I don’t have her shirtless out there with my hands on her tits.”

“Wasn’t like that, Coach.” Tyler looked over at Scott, who was being real quiet. Scott’s face was pale and his eyes were red. Not good. So Tyler kept going. “I get it. The way we were joking wasn’t appropriate. We’ll stop.”

“Okay. Good.” Callahan went to sit behind his desk. Put his head in his hands and groaned. “Can you…don’t tell anyone I even implied…
fuck
! I don’t think guys in the military should pretend to be straight. It’s just… Richter making it clear all kinds are welcome with the Cobras is good, but I have to make sure everyone is comfortable. And I ain’t sure how to do that. I just know guys kissing in the locker room makes people uncomfortable. And I don’t know whether to tell them to deal or whether to tell everyone to just fucking stop. You and Pearce are open, Demyan, but you’ve kept it low-key. No one wants to be called a fucking bigot, but you haven’t been flaunting anything. And I get the guys wondering why it would be okay for you, but not them. And to make it worse, if any of them are cheaters, they wouldn’t bring it here. So what do I do? It’s just—”

“I’m not cheating on Zach.” Scott pressed his eyes shut, his face white, as though he’d just realized that’s exactly what everyone would think. “I’m just being real friendly. And it’s not okay for me to do it because I hate that’s he’s doing it.”

“He’s not anymore, Demyan. I’ve spoken to him—he’s the first man to come out, and flirting with Zovko made him look bad. I don’t think he meant to, but either way, it stopped.”

“Don’t change nothing, but I won’t let this fuck up the team.” Scott glared at the wall and let out a bitter laugh. “He’s being private. Gotta respect that. Zovko is a better actor than Zach is though. All those phone calls…”

Callahan put his hand on Scott’s arm. “I’d give you time off if I could, Scott. The playoff are too close and we need you. If it would help…you can come stay at my place.”

“I won’t leave Becky. Or Casey. But thank you.” Scott let out a bitter laugh. “Whatever Zach’s doing, we’ll get through the season.”

“But you’re hitting on Vanek.” Callahan put his other hand on Tyler’s shoulder, like he was innocent in all this. And he kept talking like Tyler needed to be protected. “Chicklet loves head games. I don’t think she expected you to get messed up in them.”

Scott’s jaw hardened, but he wouldn’t rat Tyler out.

And Tyler wouldn’t let Scott take the fall. His chin jutted up. “Raif thinks I’m an innocent virgin boy. Don’t make his mistake, Coach. I asked Scott to help me out. Make Raif see who I really am. I shouldn’t have done it here. And I’m sorry.”

“You’re trying to get Zovko’s attention?” Callahan’s eyes widened. “Does Chicklet know?”

“Yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Callahan dropped into the chair behind his desk. “Fine. Not here. At the club…well, I pity you if you wanna play games with him, but you’re not a kid anymore, Tyler.” Callahan using his first name meant the coach, the man he’d shared a woman with, the man he’d hated for so long for the kink that had left him on the outside looking in, finally saw him as an equal. “I’m not a sub. I can’t see things like you do. But I’ve cared for enough subs—no, I care enough about
you
to say be careful. You’ve shied away from talk about guys fucking, like it made you uncomfortable. You’re not open about being a sub. To get with Zovko, you might have to be open about both.”

“I don’t care.” And he didn’t. But he should. His life wasn’t his own right before the
playoff. Every choice he made could mean a win or a loss. But life kept going afterward. And that had to mean something. “Coach, I’m all about the game right now. I might explore, but…damn, you’ve seen me in action. And you’ve seen Raif. When we’re out there—”

“No. Tyler, that’s the problem. You’re both in each other’s heads and the game isn’t coming first. Prove me wrong.” Callahan slapped his shoulder. “I wan
t to be wrong.”

“You’re wrong. Watch me prove it.” Tyler had wanted Raif to come talk to him after he and Scott had been all weird. But the game was coming down on them. The rest would have to wait.

“I believe you.” Callahan looked from him to Scott. And squared his shoulders. “I’m all in. Show me what you’ve got.”

* * * *

Raif picked up his stick from its spot in the row of sticks along the wall. Dropped it even as he turned and spotted Tyler. The boy didn’t even look at him. At least he was wearing his practice jersey over layers of equipment, but his freshly shaven face and those tight, soft golden curls on his head gave Raif the urge to trap him against the wall to explore all the subtle changes. He’d been a naughty cherub before, looking so young with his hair a little wild, his smooth jaw making him look untouched. Strangely enough, the polished style was enough to bring out the strong angle of his jaw and cheekbones. His hair was a darker golden shade, his blue eyes a little harder—even his stride was more that of a man than a boy.

All good changes, but…Raif wondered what had been lost in the transformation. When Tyler had first come into the room there had been a hint of the young man Raif knew. The one who’d been speechless when they’d first met and had gone from adoring to defiant and back so often Raif never knew what he’d get when they found themselves alone.

The last time had clearly pushed Tyler too far. He was looking elsewhere to delve into his newfound curiosity in the same sex. To Demyan, who would ruin him. So much for being a reformed player because he had Zach and Becky and a child in his life now. Rather than fight for the man he claimed to love, Demyan was exploring his options.

Tyler is not an option for him.

Easy to say, but Tyler hadn’t seemed to mind being fondled in the player’s lounge. In front of the entire team. His Mistress had let him off his leash and he was running wild. And he was going to get hurt.

Laura had appeared to be the biggest threat, but that was negligible compared to what Tyler was mixed up in now. Becky would fight for Scott. So would Zach. Not only would Raif’s boy end up feeling used, but he’d make enemies of his own teammates. But he didn’t seem to know or care about the consequences.

I did this.
Raif snatched up his stick, then backed up to let Demyan pass. A surge of rage had him grabbing Demyan’s arm before he’d fully thought through what he would say. The two goaltenders, Hunt and Bower, stopped behind Demyan as the man glared at Raif.

“If you were ever Tyler’s friend, you will leave him be.” Raif focused on Demyan, but he was aware of Hunt stepping forward and Bower moving to block the young backup goalie. “You will not use him because you fear what Zach and I had.”

Demyan jerked away from him and smirked. “The kid don’t belong to you, Zovko. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with him.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it.” Raif took a deep breath, resisting the urge to punch the cocky bastard right in his pretty, smug mouth. “But it’s good that you are done hiding who you really are. Perhaps it’s not too late for Zach and Becky to protect their daughter from—”

White hot pain slashed through Raif’s jaw as Demyan’s fist connected with his face. A big arm crossed his throat as Hunt hauled him back. Bower picked Demyan up by the front of his jersey and threw him into the rack of sticks, sending most of the spares tumbling to the floor as Demyan fell.

“You thinking of cheating on my sister, Demyan? Or hurting my niece because you’re fucking bored?” Bower stepped forward and Hunt released Raif to grab the huge goalie. “I’ll fucking destroy you, you pathetic piece of shit!”

“I’d never cheat on Becky! And I love Casey, you know that!” Demyan’s eyes glistened and he turned away from them, swiping at his cheek with his gloved hand. “Shit, this is fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Callahan came down the hall, his face red, and threw his hands up in the air. “What now! Why aren’t you all on the ice?”

“It’s fine, Coach.” Hunt growled as Bower struggled against him. “You better fucking cool it, old man, or I’ll fucking drop you.”

Already too far gone over the edge, Bower turned on the young backup goalie and shoved him against the wall. “Old man? Listen, you cocky little shit—”

Raif lunged forward, latching on to Hunt’s wrist before he could take a swing. Callahan had moved just as fast to grab Bower. Even with the coach’s track suit and jacket making him seem smaller than Bower in all his bulky equipment, the coach was clearly a good match for the goalie. He had Bower up against the wall, his hand on Bower’s throat, a dark, dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Let me go, Callahan.” Bower’s tone was dead calm. The calm worried Raif more than the rage had. The situation had gotten so far out of control that the mindless anger was to be expected. Could perhaps be dealt with.

But Callahan had lost his cool. Bower had snapped. The argument that had started it all seemed irrelevant now.

“Let him go, Callahan.”

Every single man in the hall went still. Turned toward the voice of calm authority that not one of them would dare ignore. One that hadn’t been heard in far too long.

Callahan released Bower. Demyan scrambled to his feet. Hunt took a big step back while staring at the floor.

Dean Richter, the team’s general manager, looked them over and shook his head. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but it’s done.” He fixed Callahan with a level stare. “Get your men on the ice. We will discuss this after practice.”

“You heard him.” Callahan rolled his shoulders, then let out a strained laugh when Hunt mumbled something under his breath. “You’re not in trouble, kid. You did good. But we’ve got to work on that temper.”

Richter snorted.

The coach scratched his jaw, looking embarrassed. “Yeah…ah, good to have you back, Richter.”

“Clearly.” Richter sighed. “Make it a short practice, Callahan. Then send them all home to get their heads on straight. We can’t afford issues like this with the playoff so close. We’re having a team meeting before the game tonight.” He put his hand on Bower’s arm as Callahan motioned the rest of them out to the ice. “You stay, Landon.”

There was a softness to Richter’s tone that Raif couldn’t quite place. Raif took his time following the others, glancing back once he’d reached the doors opening to the bench area. Bower still didn’t look happy, but then Richter slid his hand to the back of the goalie’s neck and said something that had Bower letting out a low laugh. No mistaking what that softness was now.

Not wanting to intrude on what was clearly a private moment by the way the men parted, he turned. Between the benches stood Tyler, his eyes wide from having seen the exchange. He caught Raif’s gaze for a moment and inhaled roughly.