andy cannon

That might be a good idea for a follow-up story. I enjoyed the scenes away from the hockey rink more than the sports scenes, so that gives me some ideas about the sort of life you ask about for Noah and Jackson... a bachelor party planned by Ben... the guys adopting a kid who adores hockey but resists any discipline... Ingrid Lindstrom dispensing wisdom as her son negotiates a rocky patch in the relationship. Food for thought.

I feel seen!

Jackson The awards ceremony was held three weeks after the Cup Final. We had won the conference. We had not won the Cup. That still hurt. It probably always would. But the season was over, the team had scattered for the summer, and somebody had decided that a ballroom full of hockey players in expensive suits was the appropriate place to hand out awards. I had already collected one. Noah had collected two. He kept looking at them as though someone mig

The lawyers for some tech company will be at her door any day now looking for their cut of the loot plus penalties, interest and legal fees.

Those books are annoyingly two-dimensional and generate an annoying amount of cash!

I imagine that suspicion would run rampant if the bookie wins the jackpot, although I think that is the business model for Las Vegas casinos.

Noah The locker room was louder than I'd ever heard it. We'd just won Game Seven of the Conference Final. We were going to the Cup Final. Someone had turned the music up so high the speakers were distorting. Water bottles were being sprayed across the room. Eddie had climbed onto a bench and was attempting to lead a chant that nobody else seemed to know the words to. Ben had somehow acquired a pair of sunglasses. It was nearly midnight. Nobody knew where they'd come from. Nob

Jackson The clock moved painfully slowly at the end of the Conference Championship. Tie game. Seven minutes seventeen seconds remained in the third. I knew the numbers without looking at the scoreboard. I had known them for most of the night. The game had narrowed into the familiar mathematics of elimination hockey. Every shift mattered. Every mistake became permanent. The building was deafening. I could feel the noise through my skates. Chicago had taken the p

Noah I woke up at seven twelve. For a few seconds, I had no idea where I was. Then I remembered the hotel, the playoff series, the Bay Area, and the fact that Jackson Lemaire had slid into a whole new phase of our relationship a couple of nights before. That last part was still taking some getting used to. I lay there staring at the ceiling. We were together. Apparently. I had spent months failing to notice that I was falling in love with my best friend, and now I was expecte

Thank you, that was brought to my attention by another alert reader, so I have edited that passage.

Jackson By the time we finally reached the hotel, it was well after midnight. Weather somewhere between Montreal and California had turned a five-hour flight into something much longer. We'd circled once outside San Francisco, diverted south to refuel, sat on the tarmac while another line of storms shuffled past, then finally lumbered north again. Normally a delay like that would have left the cabin full of complaints. Instead, everyone had simply run out of energy. Ben had

Noah The first shift told me everything I needed to know. Jackson carried the puck through the neutral zone. Before he'd reached the red line, one Montreal forward stepped towards him. Nothing unusual. The second one cheated in his direction too. Not enough to leave his assignment. Just enough. Jackson chipped the puck deep anyway. Their defense recovered it comfortably. Interesting. The next shift it was my turn. I circled low through our zone, picked up speed and hit the middle

Chaos gremlin Ben should always concern us! My interpretation is that Ben is reading the body language and sees that his "plan" is working out, so he doesn't need to stir the pot as much. More will come from him later.

Well! That was a missed opportunity for an "I-just-wanted-to-bring-you-some-soup-do-you-want-to-snog?" conversation.

--- Jackson The trainers cleared me that morning. "Full contact," Melissa said, handing back my chart. "No restrictions." I nodded. "Thanks." She looked at me for a moment. "Don't try to make up for lost time." "I wouldn't." She smiled in a way that suggested she didn't believe me for a second. --- Walking back into the dressing room felt oddly unfamiliar. It had only been a couple of weeks. Long enough for routines to shift. Long enough to re