by Kate Meader
He found Cade coming out of the restroom, and a jerk of his chin drew him around the corner. Not private enough for anything to happen, but enough for Dante to feel somewhat cut off from the rest of the gathering. Now that Harper suspected, he felt cornered; it was probably a good idea to tell Cade they should cool it.
But, Cristo, the man was so sexy.
“You look handsome,” Dante murmured. “Wait, is that my tie?”
“Yeah, I borrowed it. I figured you have a zillion.”
“It looks good.” He moved in closer. “You look good.” Then a burst of insanity attacked him, and he took a chance and kissed him. Just two seconds, which was a bad idea, because now he was desperate for more.
“I hate this,” Cade said.
“No, you don’t.”
Cade scowled, which was cute because it was so rare to see him frosted about anything. “Not this this. This this.”
“I think I know what you’re saying, but it might be best if you said it in English.”
A weighted moment passed, then another. Finally, Cade blurted out, “I’m going to talk to my dad.”
Yes. No, not yes. Because if Cade was relating this to that, then they had a problem.
“Burnett . . .” He checked over his shoulder, ensuring they were still alone. “If you’re going to come out, do it for the right reasons.”
“Like?”
“Your peace of mind, your journey, because it’s right for you.”
Cade’s brow furrowed. “It would be for me. I’m sick of hiding. I’m tired of the lies. I need . . . more.”
Dante stepped back, scratchy panic edging over his skin. He didn’t want to be Cade’s reason for making the most important decision of his life. Dante’s ex had never thought him worthy of that kind of brutal honesty, and Dante had accepted that this was how it should be. A deeply personal decision, and one that Cade should be making without the complication of Dante.
He chose his next words carefully. “If that’s what you want.”
Cade cocked his head, bewildered. “If that’s what I want? What the fuck kind of response is that?”
“Like I said, this is something you do for yourself. It doesn’t change anything with you and me.”
Cade checked that there was no one nearby, then leaned in close. “If I do this—talk to my dad, come out to everyone, the team, the press—then I think it changes things, don’t you? It makes this”—he waved between them—“viable.”
Viable? No, grazie. “There are fifty million reasons why you and I won’t work, and the fact you’re not currently out is barely a blip, Cade. I’m your boss. I’m quite a bit older than you. I’m your first for several new and exciting experiences. Think of me as your starter screw and not the guy who will make you happy. Because I won’t.”
“And if you already do?”
Oh, that was so fucking sweet, and Dante’s heart jumped in joy. But all sweetness aside, Dante needed to shut this down. “I could tell you that coming out would make you more attractive to me, but it wouldn’t. I think you are amazing right now. A great guy, hot in and out of the sack—a man anyone would be proud to have as his. You could come out tomorrow, and it wouldn’t make a difference to me because I can’t date an employee. I can’t date a guy whose career I hold in the palm of my hand. You know that.”
So Harper had slept with a player while she was owner-manager. Was still sleeping with him. But that was different. She and Remy were in love. The situations were in no way comparable.
Dante was not in love with Cade. Not even a little.
Okay, maybe a little.
“So I come out and we’re what? Over?”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t the start of something.”
Cade looked like he’d taken a puck to the head. “Are you seriously saying that I have a better shot with you if I lie about who I am?”
“I’m saying that the two things are not related, Cade. What’s happening between us now is hot, sexy, amazing.” So amazing that if it went another second longer Dante was going to make a fool of himself. “But you know it can’t last. As soon as you’re out, people will start looking for connections—don’t be naïve and say they won’t. There’ll be accusations that I ‘turned’ you. Probably that I’m working on converting the whole fucking team.
“When you come out, you’re going to have a hard enough time withstanding the media onslaught and probably the opinions of players both on and off the team. I will be there for you, as your GM, as your boss, and as someone who understands every single thing you’re going through. But I won’t be there for you in any other capacity. I can’t be.”
Pure disgust sizzled off Cade. “So if I want to keep you, I stay in the closet?”
“I think we both know that’s not going to keep me.”
Cade took a step back as if Dante had punched him. It was cold, he knew, but it had to be said.
“Good thing I didn’t make a fool of myself,” Cade said. “Like tell you I was falling for you or some dumb shit like that.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, and that small chink broke something inside Dante.
He had no idea how he was able to speak his next words. Just line up the nails, Moretti, and swing that hammer.
“You’re not falling for me, Burnett. You’re in a honeymoon phase where getting some regularly with a guy who knows what you’re going through is tricking your brain into thinking you’re happy. Sex endorphins or whatever.” Bang that nail. “This is not real. You’re going to come out—and I applaud that, I do—but I won’t be waiting on the other side with a bottle of wine and a blow job.” Crack that hammer. “I’ve worked hard for my position with the team. I’ve put up with a shit-ton of hate and I won’t have anyone call my ethics into question.”
Final. Coffin. Boom.
Cade was shaking his head now, and he leaned in so close that Dante could see flames sparking in his eyes. Not the usual lust, but pure anger. “Your ethics? You mean the appearance of it, right? Because you sure as shit weren’t thinking about actual ethics when you ordered me to strip in your living room. That happened. We happened. Sure, whitewash it all you want, Dante, but don’t tell me I’m feeling this in a vacuum.”
His body shook, his disillusion evident, and Dante put a hand on his chest. To soothe. To absorb his emotion.
Cade jumped back, smacking into the wall behind him. Given that reaction, all Dante could do was step away and offer him space, which he took all the way into the ballroom. And Dante let him go, because he had no answer to Cade’s last accusation.
He balled his hand into a fist and touched the wall where, to Dante’s fevered mind, Cade had left some sort of imprint.
The man was right. It had happened, they had happened, and it was the best month of Dante’s life. That it had lasted beyond a weekend was a shock in itself.
Yet neither of them could claim surprise that it was ending like this. They’d gone in with clear goals, low expectations, and hard-as-a-puck dicks. And as Dante’s breathing slowed, he assured himself that this was for the best.
Cade could move forward, come out for himself—and Dante needn’t be part of that equation.
FIFTEEN
If Leon Shay didn’t shut his mouth, Cade was going to rip out the guy’s larynx and chop up his vocal cords. The guy was a grievance hog. You name it, he had a problem with it.
They were running line drills in morning skate ahead of tonight’s home game against Nashville. Shay had already exhausted his usual litany—women running the team (his favorite), Petrov getting more ice time (his next gripe of choice)—and now he was taking a breath while he figured out what crap from his mouth would get the best reaction.
“Here we go,” Shay said as he skated over to the bench to grab a water bottle. “Asses to the wall, gentlemen. Only way to stay safe when our GM is in the house.”
Cade looked up into the stands. About halfway up, Dante had just sat down with Isobel Chase, both of them huddled over her iPad. She had cha
rts and analyses on all the players and had done an amazing job getting Petrov back to full capacity after his knee injury last year. Cade was going to start working with her soon, hoping to improve his skating motion.
Ever cool, Dante didn’t even look at the rink, like there was nothing worth seeing. He guessed that whitewashing strategy was working fine and dandy.
Meanwhile, Shay was sneering, spitting, and sneering some more. He muttered something under his breath.
“What’s that, Shay?” Cade snapped.
“Just commenting that our GM is a fag-blowin’ fruit.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Shay wrinkled his nose. “What’s your problem?”
“Now, lads,” Bren muttered.
Ignoring him, Cade let loose. “You’re my problem, Shay. You and your paranoia and your constant bitchin’ and moanin’. Go cry a river someplace else.”
Before a slack-jawed Shay could muster a response, Cade was off, throwing everything he had into practice. About ten minutes in, he noticed that Dante was no longer on site. Fine, he’d just pretend the guy hadn’t even been here. He skated hard and attacked every puck like it had offended his family name, and when Shay got too close, he slammed him against the Plexi.
“Asshole,” Shay muttered, and that was enough. Cade didn’t even remember being pulled off Shay, but that must have happened, because next he knew he was back in the locker room with Bren St. James sitting him on the bench like a kid who’d thrown a tantrum.
“You all right, Burnett?”
“Just sick of that guy.”
“We all are. But he’s going through a rough time, now that Petrov’s stolen his thunder.”
Like Cade should feel sorry for him. “He’s got a foul mouth. I don’t want to listen to it.”
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Bren sat on the bench beside him. “You have a fight with your girl?”
Cade coughed out a noise of disgust. “Something like that.”
When Bren didn’t respond, Cade looked up and found him staring with intent. Not the usual murderous intent, but something else. Something wounded.
“You could do something about that, y’know,” Cade muttered.
“About what?”
Cade gave his captain a duh look.
Bren grabbed his jersey. “One little argument and you’re ready to push her off on someone else?”
Jesus, Bren, tell me how you really feel. Or better yet, tell her, you Scottish idiot.
“Violet and me—we’re not—I mean—I’m not . . .” Ah, fuck it. “Bren, I’m gay.”
“Sure you are.”
Like picking up dropped food, there was also a five-second rule for dumb jokes masking honest utterances. Jump in now. Say it was a put-on. Ha-ha, very funny, lulz all around. But he was so damn tired of himself, of the lies, of keeping everything in. So instead he let the moment ride and the joke solidify into his truth.
Bren softened his grip on Cade’s jersey but didn’t let go entirely. “You fuckin’ with me?”
“Is that an offer?”
“Burnett, be serious.”
Cade closed his eyes and gusted out a breath. “Violet’s just helping me out so I don’t feel the pressure. So I don’t feel . . . anything. We’re not a couple. Never have been.”
He waited for Bren’s eyes to dim, for disgust to dawn.
All his captain said was: “This must be killing you, brother.”
This. Dante. His dad. Where to begin? “It—it is. It’s not been easy.”
“You could have come to me, but then—” Bren rubbed his mouth. “I haven’t been much of a leader to you, to any of you, in the past year.” He released Cade’s jersey but didn’t move away. “Remy knows, I suppose?”
Cade shook his head. What felt like—shit—tears pricked the backs of his eyelids. “No one on the team. Only—Dante.”
Only Dante. God, he was pathetic.
Luckily Bren didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that Dante was a substantial part of the reason for Cade’s misery. Thank Christ for small mercies, because even though Cade would love for Dante to claim him in front of the world, he would never disrespect the guy by spilling the beans about their time together to the team. Yeah, yeah, so he’d blabbed to Violet, but that chica would go to her grave before she broke Cade’s confidence.
“I want to tell people, but first I have to fess up to my dad and it’s going to suck.”
His captain laid a hand on Cade’s neck. “I’m guessing this is one of those situations where you’ll never really be ready. Where you have to leap and hope that you land on both feet.”
“And if I break my freakin’ ankles?”
“Hell, brother, I’ll be here with crutches.” He squeezed Cade’s shoulder. “You need me to be there? When you tell your dad?”
Cade’s head shot up in surprise. “Are you kidding?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding? I’m your captain. I am on your side, for whatever you need, just like all of you have been here for me after I fucked up. Not that you’ve fucked up. This doesn’t even compare to the shit I pulled. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone in this, Alamo. We’re your family.”
Even if Bren was merely paying lip service to the solidarity notion, it was still a relief. But Cade wouldn’t have Dante to help him through it and—hell, he didn’t give two shits what that guy thought, and he sure as hell wasn’t holding his breath or loading up his sexting finger because he wanted to be boyfriend material for Dante Moretti.
The boss had his reasons. He couldn’t date an employee, and Cade had always known that even if he could, he wouldn’t be dating this employee. A guy like Dante Moretti with his tailored suits and his perfect hair and his pocket watch was far too evolved to want to hang long-term with a Texan rube like him. Which was okay, because once Cade got this over with, he could have any guy he wanted.
Pity there was only one guy who filled his dreams. One set of crystalline blue eyes. One dark, shadowed jaw framing a beautiful mouth and a sunshine smile—when he chose to share it. When Dante turned that smile on for Cade, anything felt possible.
Erik walked in and frowned. “What’s going on?”
Better start practicing his big speech of two little words. “I’m gay.”
His Swedish friend sat on the other side of Cade, patted his arm, and without missing a beat, asked, “Does Violet know?”
Cade’s mouth dropped open. “Does Violet know? I just told you I’m gay and you’re worried about Violet?”
Erik shrugged, or at least Cade thought he did. His goalie padding made it hard to tell. “This will be a great disappointment to her. I think she’s in love with you. But I will be there for her, to help her pick up the pieces.”
Cade couldn’t believe the Swede. One guy’s misery, another guy’s opportunity.
He turned to Bren, who was not even bothering to hide his grin. “Like I said, we’re family. And, kid, you can’t choose your family.”
With the smell of coffee teasing his taste buds, Dante tried to figure out the name of the song blasting from the picture-perfect cottage on the grounds of Chase Manor. Just as it came to him—“Tusk,” by Fleetwood Mac—the door flew open.
“Oh, it’s you.” Violet crossed her arms and took on an aggressive stance. “To what do I owe, etcetera?”
“Why, yes, I’d love a cup of coffee, Violet.”
This past week had been the worst seven days Dante had spent as a manager. Vadim Petrov had returned to his early season form—i.e., shit—and then taken a “personal” day instead of attending practice the day before. The team should have already secured the wild card spot for the play-offs, but had instead thrown away two chances and left it to ride on the last game of the season against Philly—as in the Philadelphia Liberty, current Eastern Conference leaders.
And then there was Cade.
Apparently recognizing that Dante was not in a bullshit-taking mood, Violet drew back the door and headed toward the coffee
maker. Overalls hung loosely over a purple tee that matched the streaks in her dark hair. She grabbed a cup and poured. “Cream? Sugar? Arsenic?”
“Black, please, hold the poison.”
The mug she gave him had a picture of Lionel Richie on it and the slogan: Hello! Is It Tea You’re Looking For? Cute.
Dante took a seat at the farmhouse table in the cozy kitchen. Music still blared from the other room, but asking Violet to lower it would probably set her off. He needed her pliable.
He started with, “How’s Cade doing?”
Her answer was an undignified snort that reflected Dante’s opinion of himself right now. When nothing more was forthcoming, he pressed on.
“He’s not answering my calls or texts. He’s hurting and I figure you’re his best friend, so I can pump you for information. Also, you’re too nosy and self-righteous not to want to interfere and give it up.”
Violet picked at a fleck of red paint on the table. “He’ll be fine.” But the way she said it sent a burst of foreboding through him.
“Violet . . .”
“He’s terrible!” she spat out. “But don’t think it has anything to do with you, stallion. He’s got more going on than your fickleness.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like you care.”
He loomed over her and refused to feel guilty about it because Violet Vasquez could probably kick his ass six ways from Sunday.
“What’s happened?” If not me, what?
“He came out to his dad. And it went about as well as could be expected.”
Dante rubbed the bridge of his nose. Cristo.
“It wasn’t because of you,” Violet said quickly. “Okay, maybe being with you made him think about what he’s being missing, but he didn’t do it to get a better shot at you, Moretti, so don’t even bother.”
Her voice shook with fury, and Dante had never been more grateful that this woman was Cade’s friend.
She pulled her knee up on her chair and wrapped her arms around it. “He knew his dad’s reaction would be tough, but he didn’t think it could be worse than what happened with you.”
