Hometown Heat

Whistleport Hockey Book 2

Declan Rhodes

Book Cover by Wicked By Design

Model and background images sourced from DepositPhotos

Copyright © 2024 by Declan Rhodes

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Declan Rhodes also previously published under the pen name Grant C. Holland.

Contents

1. Ziggy

2. Kade

3. Ziggy

4. Kade

5. Ziggy

6. Kade

7. Ziggy

8. Kade

9. Ziggy

10. Kade

11. Ziggy

12. Kade

13. Ziggy

14. Kade

15. Ziggy

16. Kade

17. Ziggy

18. Kade

19. Ziggy

20. Kade

21. Ziggy

22. Kade

23. Ziggy

24. Epilogue - Kade

Chapter one

Ziggy

Whistleport was steaming like a lobster pot left on the burner too long, and it was only the second week of June.

I rolled over to unstick myself from my sweat-soaked sheets, cringing when I saw the damp patch left behind. Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I looked out my bedroom window at the ancient thermometer outside. It already read nearly 90°F, and it wasn't quite 9 a.m.

Rolling out of bed and throwing on a yellow tank top with blue jogging shorts, I scrambled downstairs in my bare feet. The suffocating mugginess wrapped around me like wet cotton. I was just in time to hear "…record-breaking early summer heatwave" from the weatherman on TV, followed by, "It's steamy out there, folks. We'll be in the high 90s the rest of the week, and the heat index is likely to rise into the triple digits."

In the kitchen, I yanked open the window, hoping that I might catch at least a small breeze off the water. Instead, hot, humid air rolled in to swirl around me. It had that briny smell of low tide. It was a day that it might have felt good to be a lobsterman. The air had to be a little cooler out over the ocean.

I listened to the lobster boats chugging out of the marina. They sounded a little like the old-timers clearing their throats at Gus's Diner. The seagulls hated the weather, too, croaking instead of letting out high-pitched nasal shrieks as usual.

It wasn't the best start to my summer after my first year attending the University of Maine. Whistleport was supposed to have mild summer weather—sweatshirts needed at night and low 80s on sunny afternoons. I'd already had enough of the oppressive humidity that made breathing difficult and turned me into a sweaty mess after any amount of exertion.

Mom entered the kitchen. "Ziggy, I made some iced tea. It's in the fridge."

It was a thoughtful effort, but the drink would only provide a brief respite from the weather conditions. Our ancient house, only a block from the shore, was usually a source of pride for my family. It was a white clapboard structure with a long, storied history of providing a home for generations of Knickerbockers. The heat wave turned it into a cruel joke.

While residents of newer homes and apartments relaxed with central air conditioning, the Knickerbocker family had to rely on a collection of noisy fans and our stubborn New England pride. Dad insisted we didn't need ridiculous cooling technology when generations before us stuck it out through summer heat.

His voice echoed in my head. 'Your great-grandfather Edwin survived the heat wave of '44 with nothing but a wet rag and pure grit. You can handle a little sweat, son." Dad conveniently forgot how miserable the house was during the day while he sat in his climate-controlled lobster company office.

An inspiring thought came to me as I poured a glass of Mom's iced tea. The rink! Why didn't I think of that before? There was no reason I couldn't go a week or two early, before Rory got us together to coach the juniors.

Our newly renovated Whistleport Arena was open to the public year-round. It would be cool and almost empty. I raced back up the stairs and started filling my hockey bag.

My 16-year-old sister, Emma, poked her head into my room. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"The rink. Wanna come?"

"Ugh, no thanks," Emma wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather melt."

I grinned. At least the heat wave was good for something—keeping my nosy little sister out of my hair.

When I scrambled back down the stairs, I nearly collided with Mom in the front parlor. Her brow furrowed, above a face flushed from the heat.

She eyed my gear slung over my shoulder. "Where are you going in such a hurry? It's not hockey weather."

"Just heading to the arena. Thought I'd get some practice in. They'll let me skate. There's nothing to do around here but bake and get a sunburn."

"Oh." She frowned slightly. I winced, thinking she might miss me. I'd lounged around the house the past three days, complaining about the heat and sucking down ice cream bars from the freezer. "Well, be careful on the ice, Ziggy, and don't forget to drink plenty of water."

"Will do." I leaned in close and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I loved my parents, but sometimes they loomed a little heavy over my life—Dad's expectations and Mom's smothering affection.

As I walked along the sidewalk, the sun beat down on Whistleport with a vengeance. Sweat ran down my back as I trudged along with my hockey bag heavy over my shoulder. Storefront air conditioners dripped condensation onto the walk, creating small steamy puddles.

When I arrived at the arena, I pulled open the front door, and it broke a vacuum seal, sounding like opening the refrigerator door. A massive whoosh of cool air beckoned me inside.

After arriving at the locker room, I inhaled the familiar scent of fresh Zamboni-smoothed ice with a hint of damp leather hockey gear. The comforting environment soothed my frustrations. It was the perfect retreat, the one place in town that was still reasonable.

I quickly donned my gear and laced up my skates. My shoulders relaxed further when I finally glided out onto the ice. I'd just begun to drift off into hockey paradise, executing crossovers and sharp turns, when I heard a sharp crack. It was the sound of a puck hitting the back of a goal. I whirled around, and there he was.

I laid my eyes on Kade Langston, star forward for the University of New Hampshire. They were our arch-rivals, and he was the worst, always preening and taunting. He skated at the far end of the rink and hadn't noticed me yet. I quietly glided to a stop to watch.

His movements were effortlessly graceful. That much was true. He was tall and lean, sporting a body built for swimming if hockey didn't work out. Leaning on my stick, I rested my chin on my crossed gloves. His strides chewed up the ice as he wove in and out of imaginary defensemen.

Surprisingly, I couldn't take my eyes off Kade. I caught the slight curl of his lip when he executed a tricky move. He wore an old UNH practice jersey that clung to his chest, damp with sweat, showing off the ripped body beneath.

I tensed as he suddenly accelerated, gathering speed until he drew back for a powerful slapshot. The puck took flight and soared into the top corner of the net. I'd held my breath through the entire maneuver, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

What the hell, Ziggy? Get a grip. He's not a friend.

He was Kade Langston, the guy who'd scored the game-winning goal in last season's Border War. He was a smug bastard who showboated after every successful play. Why was I standing there, chin-dropped, entranced by what I saw?

Was it simple grudging admiration, or was there more? He played passionately, and I never doubted that we shared a similar love of the game. It touched something deep inside us.

For a moment, I pushed the rivalry aside and forgot the long list of reasons I was supposed to hate Kade Langston. As those seconds ticked by, we were just two talented players who loved being on the ice.

Finally, he turned, and he spotted me. His eyes opened wide briefly before narrowing almost to slits. The change of expression was like flipping a switch. It turned him back into my arch-rival, an enemy lurking in my home arena.

Kade's voice echoed across the ice. "Thought I had the place to myself, Knicks." A hint of amusement in his tone made me cringe.

I skated a little closer to him and mirrored his squint. "You, too? I thought the same thing, but this is my home ice. What are you doing on my rink?"

One eyebrow rose. "Your rink, pretty boy? The website says it's open to the public." He flipped the puck off the ice and caught it, balancing it easily on his stick blade. "Anyway, my summer sublet came with a free arena membership. It's always wise to take advantage of the perks in a contract, right?"

The comment rocked me. He was living in Whistleport. "Summer sublet? You're staying here for the season?"

He nodded, and a small smile twisted into a smirk. "Man, yeah. It's a sweet little apartment that looks out over the harbor. You know, that new development south of the marina. Central air, private balcony, laundry in unit… beats the hell out of a dorm room."

His casual mention of upscale digs gnawed at my gut. It wouldn't take much more to fan a spark of envy into a flame of resentment. I was spending the summer in my hometown, sweating in my childhood bedroom, with an ancient box fan for company. Thinking about Kade Langston sprawled on a couch, cool as a cucumber, made my blood boil.

"Well, isn't that nice?" The bitter judgment in my voice was obvious. "Slumming it in a small town?" I knew he lived in Manchester, a city at least five times the size of Whistleport.

His eyes flashed. My dig found a mark and broke through his calculated facade. "You don't know the first thing about me or why I'm here, Knickerbocker."

He skated close, and we faced each other, a tense force like static electricity crackling between. I felt an urge to throw a surprise punch, channeling all of my frustration into a fist. But another side of me found his presence intriguing. Damned if I knew why I wanted to know, but I was curious why Kade was in Whistleport.

I finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Fine, if you want to share the ice, let's share. But you don't get it for free." I tapped my stick against the ice. "I challenge you. The first one to nail ten bar-down shots wins."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bar-down? Nice choice. Didn't know the Maine boys could play with such finesse."

Something about the shit-eating smirk made my stomach flip. Dammit, Ziggy, get it together. He's UNH. The enemy. So what if his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins like that? I rolled my eyes as I tried to ignore it.

"Do you need me to explain the rules? Break it down? Short words and simple sentences?"

"I've gotta hear this. Humor me, Knicks." Kade leaned on his stick.

I gestured toward the goal. "A bar-down shot is when you snipe it…" I cleared my throat and clarified the definition. "When you bounce it off the crossbar, and it goes in. It's the best goal in hockey."

He laughed. "Like I needed to know. Just wanted to make sure you understood. Ten, you say? I've got this in my pocket."

We set up for the competition at center ice, a bucket of pucks nearby. We were both ready to prove ourselves. It was the competition that would establish dominance in my home arena.

"Ladies first." Kade offered a mocking bow.

I clenched my jaw and grabbed a puck from the bucket. Resting it against my stick, I set off toward the goal. With the whoosh of steel biting into the ice, I pushed off, building my momentum as I barreled down the rink. When I reached the face-off circle, I wound up and let my shot fly.

The puck soared, a black blur against the white ice. For one anxious moment, I thought it might go too high, but then—ping!—it hit the crossbar and dropped into the goal.

I turned toward Kade and took an exaggerated bow. "That's one. Think you can keep up with me?"

We spent the next hour playing the most exhilarating and intense hockey I'd experienced in months. The lead changed multiple times. Neither of us was ready to give in. As we traded shots, I noticed something unexpected. He wasn't just playing to win; he was studying my technique. His eyes narrowed in concentration each time I took a shot. It was the look of someone always trying to learn and improve—not merely a showboat satisfied with his current talent.

Kade was good, even bordering on great, and it irritated me. His swift wrist shot shone, and when the puck left his stick, the crossbar pulled it through the air like a magnet. Still, I had a home-ice advantage, and I kept up.

He announced the score. "Eight-seven, my lead. You want to quit now while you're behind?"

I answered his bravado with one of my prettiest shots of the day. It hit the crossbar with a loud clang, then dropped to the ice, quietly rolling into the net. "Eight-all. No lead there. I thought you UNH losers were supposed to know their basic math."

His next shot was wide and bounced off the boards. A grin of satisfaction spread across my face. Take a deep breath, Ziggy. Flex. Release.

Ping! "Nine-eight!"

To my dismay, Kade proved it wasn't over. He managed to even up the score, and we both stood one shot away from victory. I held my breath as I watched him skate toward the goal. The puck rocketed off his stick. It appeared to be on target, and I held my breath.

At the last second, the puck hit the crossbar at an angle and deflected up and over the net. The cursing that followed made me blush.

It was now my turn and my golden opportunity. I grabbed a puck from the bucket while my pulse pounded in my ears. It was time to focus—me, my stick, the puck, and the goal.

I took off and quickly gathered speed. At first, I had a wonky angle, so I cut across the ice and corrected. It was now my shot. I had that sensation deep in my bones. My stick swept downward in a perfect arc. All those years of practice came together in one swing.

The sound was a sweet, crisp thwack followed by a high-pitched whistle as the puck flew through the air. Next, that beautiful ping rang out when it hit the crossbar and fell straight down into the goal.

I pumped my fists, did a little dance and spin, and skated back to Kade. "Game over!"

His grin surprised me. He shook his head, and I detected admiration. "Not bad at all, Knickerbocker. Looks like Maine hasn't sucked you down into the depths quite yet."

For a moment, I thought I should respond, but the words evaporated on my lips. We were close enough that I could see golden reflections in Kade's brown eyes.

Without saying a word, he pushed off gracefully. Calling back over his shoulder, he asked, "Same time tomorrow?"

A swirl of emotion rose in my chest as I watched him. "Yeah," my answer surprised me, "Same time tomorrow."

As Kade skated away, I spotted a small notebook peeking out of his bag. It wasn't the typical gear I expected a fellow jock to carry. I wondered what kind of thoughts filled those pages—was it hockey strategies or something else? Was there another side of him I'd never bothered to see before?

For the next three hours, I luxuriated in having the cool rink to myself. I fantasized about living in Newfoundland or even Labrador. Perhaps I had Inuit blood in me from generations past.

As I left the arena, a blast of heat hit me in the face. It was almost as bad as getting slammed against the boards in a close game. I squinted my eyes against the sun's glare.

Walking down Main Street, autopilot took me to Tidal Grounds. It was the best coffee shop in Whistleport, beloved by residents and tourists alike. When I pushed the door open, the air conditioning tugged me inside. I inhaled the rich aromas of coffee and sweet baked goods.

A familiar voice called across the room. "Look what the heatwave dragged in." Silas Brewster, the shop's owner and chief barista, smiled at me from behind the counter. He was a striking presence as always, lean and muscular, wearing a crisp white shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing a variety of nautical-themed tattoos.

Silas's shirt had the top two buttons open, showing off light chest hair and a shark-tooth necklace on a piece of rawhide cord. His neatly trimmed, dark beard framed a smile that could charm the grumpiest of customers, but his eyes were always what drew most of my attention. They were a deep blue, like the ocean itself. At that moment, they twinkled mischievously.

"You look about as fresh as a bleached jellyfish, Zig." He reached for a glass and plopped in 3 large ice cubes before filling it with freshly brewed tea. "What say we get some coolant into you?"

I managed a weak smile. "Is it that obvious?"

Silas chuckled. "The tea is on the house, but should I add a protein smoothie for a pick-me-up?"

"You read my mind."

While Silas ran the blender, I leaned back against the counter and scanned the room. Local artwork covered one exposed brick wall. The new theme was seascapes. Most seats were full, occupied by tourists and locals seeking escape from the oppressive heat.

He slid my smoothie across the counter. "How are you doing back here in the Port? I bet it's rather different from winter up there in Orono."

I took a long sip, enjoying the chill of the drink. "It's quite a change. That's for sure. Has it ever been this hot in June?"

Silas shook his head. "Not normal. That's for certain. Everyone's on edge. Mrs. Perkins says it's the first sign of the apocalypse." He rolled his eyes and started wiping the counter.

"Is this good for business?"

"Can't complain there." Silas smiled. "We're booming. It turns out people will pay good money for almost anything cold when the sidewalk feels like the surface of the sun. Unfortunately, it's been rough keeping up with demand. I've had to pay evening staff overtime to come in early."

I tilted my head to the side. "That rough, eh?"

"Well, my usual summer evening manager bailed on me. He snagged a fancy internship in Portland. Don't misunderstand me. I'm happy for him, but it left me in a tight place."

He stared at me in an uncomfortable way, so I decided to focus on my smoothie. "Zig, I don't suppose you could use some evening work this summer. Could be some nice extra cash while you aren't training."

I blinked. "Me? Work here?"

"Those smoothies would be on the house. Plus, I know how good you are with people. The town loves you."

My mind began to crank into full gear. I'd saved up some cash during the school year by working at the ticket window for sports events. I thought that would buy me a relaxed summer, but this was Tidal Grounds. The idea of working for Silas had a certain appeal. On the other hand, thinking about sweating in my bedroom, trying not to fixate on Kade Langston, curled my toes.

"Let me… uh… give it some thought."

Silas smiled, making tiny wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. "That's all I ask. Take your time, but not too much, eh? I've got thirsty customers in here. One plus, you'd make some cash when you're here on Rory's poetry nights. Might as well be compensated for the time you'd be hanging out anyway. I could even give you a break to share with the crowd what a college lit major can do."

Just then, the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of a new group of tourists. They started calling out orders. Silas turned to focus on them.

I retreated to a corner table. As I sat and sipped my smoothies, I marveled at how one day could change the whole trajectory of my summer. Kade Langston was in Whistleport, and I had a job offer at Tidal Grounds. What could happen next?

Chapter two

Kade

Igently closed the front door behind me as I entered my upscale, modern apartment, a rental in a mostly owned waterfront condo development. Every muscle ached, a testament to the intensity of my competition with Ziggy at the arena. The cool air conditioning landed on my sweat-slicked skin and raised goosebumps. The temperature was at least twenty degrees cooler than the scorching heat outside.

The combined scents of leather upholstery and furniture polish filled the air. I also detected a hint of briny seaweed that seemed to permeate every building in Whistleport. I found my way to the bathroom, where I peeled off my hockey gear, letting it thud as I dropped it. My stick rested against the wall for a few seconds before it slid to the side and clattered on the tile floor.

As I climbed under the rain shower head, I closed my eyes and let the warm spray pound against my head and shoulders. It didn't wash away the memory of the day, but it eased the ache in my muscles. When I closed my eyes, the scrape of skates against the ice came back to me. I could hear the thwack of sticks hitting pucks.

And Ziggy—Damn, Ziggy. He was tall like me, but his body filled out more than mine, adding on additional muscle. He was lightning-fast at responding to any movement on the ice. Dark, shaggy hair peeked out from under his helmet, and when he pulled it off, the jade-green eyes reeled me in.

My heart raced again as I remembered the intensity of our exertion… or was it something else? I wasn't ready to name what that might be.

Pull it together, Kade. He's just another hockey rival. I rolled my head back, letting the water cascade down my face.

I emerged from the shower into a cloud of steam filling the bathroom. After wrapping a plush white towel around my waist, I padded out into the living room with impossibly soft carpet beneath my feet.

The apartment came pre-furnished, and it practically screamed out my parents' expensive tastes. Chrome, glass, and leather upholstery surrounded me aside from one out-of-place hardwood desk that looked vaguely familiar, perhaps from my grandparents' home. The rest of the furniture was all new, delivered from the store the day before I moved in.

There was nothing warm and welcoming about my place. I was living in a furniture showroom.

It was too quiet, so I reached for the TV remote to break the silence. Before I could push the power button, I heard a burst of laughter from outside. Dropping my hand to my side, I walked to the window and peered out.

Mrs. Perkins from next door was talking to a silver-haired woman. She'd briefly introduced herself when I was moving in and brought over a plate of cookies that night. It was a kind gesture, but I couldn't stop thinking that she wanted something more.

I cracked the window open just enough to hear the conversation. "…that Langston boy. Did you see the car he drove up in? Looks like he's got plenty of Daddy's money to throw around."

Stiffening, I heard her piercing laugh. "Oh, I know! They say he's here for the summer to find himself. As if there's a closet in this little town he's hiding in."

The other woman's voice was too low to make out the specific words. Mrs. Perkins spoke again. "Betty at the Curl Up and Dye bets there was a scandal at his college. You know how those rich boys are."

I curled my free hand into a fist. There was no way I would hit an older woman, but her comments got under my skin. I pulled the window shut and retreated to the couch. No one in Whistleport knew jack about me, and they definitely didn't know why I was in their town for the summer. They hadn't lived through the pressure, expectations, family drama…

How could I tell any of them and make them understand? Mrs. Perkins confirmed they all thought I was a rich kid with a cushy life. Was I supposed to say, "Hi, I'm in therapy. I need to figure out what my world's about other than the family name and bank account." Would they have any sympathy at all?

Suddenly, the walls of my new apartment felt like they were closing in. The expensive furniture represented everything I wanted to escape. The plush, thick carpet under my feet was like quicksand trying to pull me under into a world I didn't like and didn't understand.

I stood and paced around the room. Mrs. Perkins' laughter rang through my head. It mingled with the comments I heard in the locker room of my college's arena and the constant weight of my parents' plans for me.

Dropping the remote on the coffee table, I muttered, "I've got to get out of here… at least for a few hours." I reached up and ran my fingers through my damp hair. My instinct to flee took over.

Pulling on the first clothes I could grab—a wrinkled UNH T-shirt and running shorts—I searched for my sneakers. Socks were unnecessary. The shoes were by the front door, where I kicked them off. After tugging them on, I reached out for the doorknob with a trembling hand.

Heading out, I knew that I desperately needed air and space. I needed to be somewhere that didn't remind me of everything I didn't quite understand.

How did everyone in Whistleport know my name and not know me? I heard snippets of conversation drifting past me as I walked.

When I caught the scent of freshly ground coffee beans, I stopped. Looking up, I saw a weathered sign reading "Tidal Grounds." Caffeine often had the counter-intuitive impact of calming me. When I pushed the door open, cool air from the air conditioning surrounded me.

As I stepped up to the counter, a man with a thick, dark beard and kind eyes greeted me. "Welcome to Tidal Grounds. I'm Silas. You must be Kade."

I tensed. "How did—"

"Small town. News travels fast. Don't worry, though. We're mostly a friendly catch. What can I brew up for ya?"

"Just a black coffee. Strong enough to strip paint if you've got it."

A gentle hiss filled the air as Silas brewed a mugful for me. "So, what brings you to a town like Whistleport."

I hesitated but ultimately told a partial truth.

"A change of scenery, and I needed to clear my head."

Silas nodded and slid the steaming mug across the counter. "Sometimes a change of scenery's just the recipe we need. Say, did you know our back deck's got a view that'd make a postcard jealous? Care to join me? It's time for my breather, and I reckon the sun's done broiling us for the day."

The deck was a gem. Strings of tiny lights twinkled overhead. We settled into mismatched chairs, and the tension in my shoulders started to relax. I listened to the gentle waves lapping onto the sand. "This is a beautiful space."

An old lobster trap served as a side table between us. Old buoys hung from the roof over the deck. They echoed Whistleport's nautical past and present.

Silas smiled. "Thank you for the compliment. This place is a labor of love. It's my pride and joy, like a perfect espresso pull. Used to be a bait shop, if you can believe it. I wanted to whip up a spot where everyone feels welcome, whether you've got seaweed in your veins or you're fresh off the boat."

It was the second sincere voice I'd heard in my day. I had to admit that Ziggy was the first. "So, you're okay with outsiders?"

Silas leaned forward. "Of course. Listen, Kade, you might hit some choppy water being a new face on the corner. Folks 'round here? They're like a good soup stock—takes time to simmer, but once they warm up to ya, they'll stick by you thicker than chowder."

I sipped the coffee. It was some of the best I'd had in a long time. "It's just… well, I'm already feeling like somebody took a slice of me, put it on a slide, and now everybody is looking at me through a microscope, trying to find flaws."

Silas nodded. "Yep, that's a small town, alright. We get lots of tourists but not many newcomers who stick around for more than a day or two, particularly with a background like yours. Anything new gives everyone pause, but give it a little time. Show us the real you."

"And if you don't like me?"

"That's our loss, but my gut tells me that won't be the case. This little town has a way of molding people into something new, bringing out parts of them they never knew existed. It did that for me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How'd that work?"

Silas chuckled. He swept his right arm in a half-circle, gesturing toward the shop. "Well, I certainly never planned on running a place like this. I was ready to leave my hometown and chase city dreams. After culinary school, on a brief trip back home, I saw this ramshackle bait shop up for sale. My eyes opened wide, and it drew me in. I learned that sometimes the biggest adventures happen in the smallest spaces."

I liked what he had to say. I needed a place that could help push me down a path. "I'm not sure who the real me is. Does that make any sense?"

Silas offered another warm smile. "Of course, it does, and that's okay. This might be a great place to figure things out as long as you keep an open mind. Talk to people, and listen to their stories. You might find a lot of surprises if you look in the right places."

I sipped more coffee, feeling a new glimmer of hope for a productive summer. "Thanks, Silas. I appreciate it."

He stood and stretched. "Anytime. They tell me I can be a good sounding board. Now, I need to get back inside before the evening rush starts. Just remember, there's always a friendly ear here and the best coffee on the coast."

I followed him back into the main room of Tidal Grounds. The cool interior provided a break from the outside heat. I sat on a counter stool and watched Silas work the espresso machine.

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked a familiar figure. It was Mrs. Perkins, and she made a beeline for the counter as soon as she saw Silas and me.

"Silas Brewster, are you squirreling away our summer celebrity from us? The whole town is buzzing about the Langston boy like seagulls who found a bucket of bait."

I braced myself for a raft of questions.

Silas took it in stride. "Dottie, you have perfect timing. I was just about to ask Kade about his summer reading. He'd mentioned Hemingway, I think."

Grateful for the lifeline he tossed me, I quickly made something up. "Yeah, I'm revisiting The Old Man and the Sea. It's such a classic."

Dottie opened her eyes wider. "Oh, you're a reader! We have a lovely book club that meets here every other Tuesday… perhaps the ladies would be interested in some Hemingway with a special guest."

I chuckled softly, and while Dottie launched into details about the members of her book club and the romances they favored, Silas shared a subtle wink. I smiled into my coffee.

When Dottie finally ambled off, clutching a to-go cup, Silas turned his attention back to me. A knowing smile filled his face.

"See? It's not so bad, right?"

"Yeah… guess so… thanks for the save."

Silas waved a hand. "Consider it a contribution to the public discourse. Now, about Hemingway…"

We launched into a spirited discussion of American literature, and my worries faded into the background. Although it wasn't my major, I took literature courses as electives in college whenever possible. When the heat finally gave up its grip for the evening, I reluctantly prepared to leave.

"I want you to know you're welcome anytime here, Kade. Sometimes, you only need one friendly face to make a place feel like home."

On my walk back to my apartment, I felt lighter than before. When I rounded a corner that took me along the edge of the beach, I spotted a familiar figure in the distance—Ziggy.

He was running in the shallow edge of the ocean, kicking up spray behind him. The setting sun cast hues of gold and bronze over his skin. As if someone whispered in his ear that I was around, he turned, and our eyes met for a brief moment.

I heard the sound of blood rushing in my ears and felt a surge of competitiveness, but that wasn't all. There was something deeper and more powerful. He raised a hand in a brief wave. I returned it.

He immediately turned, and I folded my arms over my chest, watching him as he disappeared around a short bend in the shoreline. What was our connection? Were we enemies… or was that too simple of a read on the situation?

Finally, I turned and shook myself out of my musing. I only had a short walk left, and the streets were much quieter than before. The gossiping voices gave way to the sound of crickets and laughter on beachfront decks and porches.

Back inside my new home base, I thought about ways to continue the competition with Ziggy, but my brain wouldn't focus. In my mind, I saw his muscles flexing as he ran and the intense gaze of his green eyes when we battled at the arena. He was like a massive magnet that I couldn't resist.

I closed my eyes, and he was there, too, with the fading sunlight reflecting off his skin and his hair slicked back by sweat and sea spray. I curled my fingers, wondering what it would feel like to run them through it.

It was a confusing maelstrom of emotions. I understood the admiration. Ziggy was a hero to some in Hockey East, our college hockey conference. He was a walk-on who not only made the team but also quickly became a leader as a first-year student. I couldn't deny his skills and dedication. Still, there was something else. I had to crack the code.

I flopped onto the couch. Was I soft in the head due to my summer confusion? Or was this exactly the kind of self-discovery I needed to find in Whistleport? Ziggy was supposed to be my rival, first and foremost. Why did I hope to see him again and have a chance to talk… talk! Not simply bury him in competition on the ice.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, still half awake, my first dreams were a confused tangle of ice and sand, one-on-one competition, and... something else. Ziggy's challenging gaze was the last thing I saw before sleep claimed me, those green eyes daring me to figure it all out.

Chapter three

Ziggy

It was like a sauna in the kitchen. The heavy, humid air descended on me when I entered, clinging to my skin. The ancient linoleum floor squeaked under my weight as I took each step. Dad sat hunched over the kitchen table, fiddling with the motor of an ancient box fan. Part of the front grate was gone, a victim of a past collision with an unknown object.

"For cryin' out loud," Dad growled in his thick Yankee accent. "Might as well be blowin' on the blades ourselves."

I dropped my gear bag near the table. It landed with a dull thump. The smell of sweat and leather mingled with the earthiness of Dad's favorite coffee. If you could bottle it, maybe that was the unique Knickerbocker scent.

"You know, Dad, if we didn't have to live in a museum, maybe we could have some ac."

He snapped his head upward to look at me. Pulling his readers down on his nose, he squinted. "Plenty of cool air down at the office. Any Knickerbocker is welcome anytime."

His expectations were ever-present, even when unspoken. They carried a weight heavier than the humid air. I tensed. "Got a planning session, Dad. The juniors kick their league off next month, and Rory sees me as one of the key coaches."

"Ayuh, that little hockey camp of yours." He waved a hand to dismiss me and turned back to the fan. The gesture, seen a thousand times before, always made me feel a little smaller. "Meanwhile, family business—"

"Is doing just fine without me." I finished his sentence. "Not gonna can my dreams and ambition just 'cause you can't deal with the future."

Dad gritted his teeth, and I watched a muscle twitch in his cheek. He slowly stood, scraping his chair against the linoleum. "Who are you? Oh, you're my son, the man who knows everything. What's college done for ya?" He poked my chest. "Turned you into a big shot, too good for an honest day's work."

"In your office, it would be honest?" The word had a bitter taste on my tongue. "Isn't nepotism a little unfair from the get-go?"

Suddenly, the fan groaned and then sputtered to life. It created a light, weak breeze, but it wasn't nearly strong enough to cool the heat generated by Dad and me. He lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "Don't use that tone around me, Zachary. Don't ever forget everything I've done—"

"For me. Yeah, you're the best." The statement came out more sarcastic than I intended. He only used my given name when I'd gotten under his skin. I loved my old man. There was no doubt, and I knew he loved me, too. That didn't stop it from being painful at times.

"Save the speech, Dad. I've heard it before." I decided to skip breakfast and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my right shoulder. "Gotta go. Otherwise, I'll be late meeting Rory."

I let the screen door slam behind me as I left the house. For once, I'd had the last word. It took me a few moments to process that.

The outside heat hit me hard. In the sunlight, it was even worse than inside the house, but it was better than letting Dad's hurt feelings suffocate me.

As I trudged along the sun-baked sidewalk, my clothes clung to my sweaty skin like a second shadow. The cloying, sweet scent of overripe strawberries from Mrs. Callahan's garden found its way to my nose.

I was already halfway to the arena when I had a sudden revelation. It always took me some time after events happened for the meaning to rise in the back of my mind. This new insight was about the weather.

The uncomfortable heat wasn't only physically annoying. It also seeped deeper inside and made us all moody.

At the best of times, since I turned 13, Dad and I were like two ships blowing foghorns at each other as they passed in the night, but we were always civil. The heatwave made that tenuous. Our raw nerves sparked like downed power lines. I needed to give him a little bit of a break.

When I reached Gus's Groceries, I decided to take a brief breather. Leaning against the warm brick wall, I exhaled. Almost every argument with Dad since I got back began with a comment about the heat. His efforts to keep our aging army of fans running constantly frustrated him.

"Shit," I sighed and raked fingers through my hair, damp with sweat. Guess I could be a grown-up about all of this.

I pushed off the wall and continued the walk to the arena. The air would be cool there, and I'd be in my element on the ice. It'd give me even more time to think about ways to bridge the rift with Dad.

When I finally reached the arena and pushed through the front doors, the relative chill made me smile. My mood rose as I pulled on my skates, lacing them tight. And… there he was.

Kade glided across the ice like he was born on skates. He practiced shots, lining up one after the other, the puck finding its spot in the net nearly every time. I gritted my teeth and hated how effortless he made it look. Watching him infuriated me, but I couldn't look away.

Our most recent experience locking horns was still fresh in my mind. Only two days had passed. Unlike the first go-round when I won, he dominated the second.

We did a shootout from center ice. He made it all look so easy, and his relative calm made me livid. One after another, the pucks slipped into the net like they were finding their way home.

I wasn't a pushover, but I shot wide a few times and let my concentration slip on a few others. In contrast, Kade was a machine. He won that competition, and we stood tied.

From a distance, I could detect a smug expression on his face. He knew I was there, and he knew I couldn't look away. We had to find a way to break the tie. Sooner would be better than later.

"Earth to Ziggy!" Rory snapped me out of my Kade fixation. I was still getting used to calling him Rory, as he suggested, instead of Coach Blake. He stood by the boards with a raised eyebrow. "Are you planning on working with me, or are you just here as an ice tourist?"

I blinked, focusing on Rory as he stood with a knowing half-smile. Even at an ungodly morning hour, he was annoyingly energetic. His lean frame practically vibrated with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything, whether drilling us on the ice or dissecting a poem in class.

A slight flush crept into my cheeks. "Sorry, just… thinking about things."

"Wouldn't be about the hockey star staying in town for the summer, would it?"

I grumbled. "He's not a star." I broke into a leisurely skate by Rory's side. "He's a spoiled rich kid with a fancy apartment who thinks he can skate on the same ice as us."

Rory chuckled. "Do I detect a little envy? Rivalry? I would have thought the two of you have a lot in common."

I nearly tripped. "Kade and me? Fuck, no." I paused. "Oops." I still tried to watch my mouth around Rory. He was my coach.

"I think I can handle that. Brooks says worse before noon almost every day."

For a moment, I pictured a sleepy Brooks. Rory's ex-hockey star partner was heading toward mid-30s, but he was still handsome as hell. A small part of me envied them.

We skated a few more strides. Rory took on a teacher tone. "Anyway, you're both top players and have to carry all the weight of expectations. I'd bet you're both trying to prove yourselves. If you ease up, maybe each has some wisdom to share."

Kade lined up another shot. The puck slammed the back of the net with an assertive thunk. "No, it's different from that." I listened to myself and knew my protest was weak.

"Maybe." Rory started to skate lazy figure eights on the ice. "I admit, on the surface, it might look like he has a cushy summer sewn up, but did you ever think the fact he's spending it in enemy territory could tell you things are a bit more complicated than that?"

I sighed. "Or he's just trying to throw it in my face."

Rory stopped. "Ziggy Knickerbocker is the sun, and the rest of us are mere minor planets rotating around him."

I tapped my stick against the ice and stared at Rory. "Damn, do I suck as much as all that? I thought I was supposed to be the good guy."

"You are a good man. Just know humility has a place now and then. Anyway, I've been putting some thought into the junior program. We could use another body out there to help us and a fresh perspective on the whole project."

I nodded, potential options running through my head. "Sure, I'll ask around. Maybe Eric—"

"I was thinking Kade. He practically landed in our laps."

My skates suddenly slid out from under me, and I nearly wiped out. Rory reached out to steady me with a firm grip on my arm. "Rory! He's the en-" I cut myself off, remembering his earlier words about unexpected insights. "I mean, are you sure that's a good idea? We barely know him."

His full-bodied laugh filled the rink. "You were going to call him the enemy. Are we fighting a war this summer? It's hockey… sports, and sometimes the best ideas come from the most unexpected places."

Across the rink, Kade gathered his gear. His gaze met mine briefly as he left the ice. Was there something there? A challenge? Or appreciation?

"I… I'll think about it," I mumbled. I wasn't yet ready to talk it out with Rory.

***

That night at Tidal Grounds, we had an early rush, but after an hour, the crowd thinned to a handful of mostly regulars. I wiped the counter down, sniffing as the lemony scent mixed with the robust coffee aroma.

I had a hard time not staring at the far corner booth. There, Kade sat hunched over a steaming mug, conversing with Silas. Their heads were close and voices far too low to hear and understand over the hiss of the espresso machine behind me.

What could the UNH golden boy possibly have to say to a guy like Silas? I was dead curious and found myself straining to catch any of the words.

"Zigster! Hey, you in there?"

The voice startled me, and I nearly knocked over a stack of clean mugs. It was Eric Callahan, my best friend from high school and college roommate at UMaine. He had one of those bright smiles that could light up the entire town. His sandy blond hair stuck out in all directions after hours spent scratching his head while coding.

Behind thick, blue-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. He'd replaced the old wireframes, and now he looked like a proper nerd with a hipster edge.

"Sorry, man." I shook my head, trying to clear Kade out of my thoughts. "Lost in thought. You want the usual?"

Eric nodded. He was the son of Fire Chief Callahan and wore a royal blue T-shirt that stretched tight across the body he'd inherited through good genes. He followed my gaze across the room.

"That's an interesting pair over there. Is our resident coffee guru consorting with the enemy? Silas hasn't flipped, has he?"

I grunted wordlessly and focused on making Eric's trademark concoction—a quad-shot espresso with a pump of vanilla and a generous splash of cream. He insisted it was the perfect fuel for app development. I couldn't argue with his success, a fitness app that funded his first year in college.

As I worked the espresso machine, I couldn't stop myself from glancing at Kade and Silas again. Kade traced the rim of his mug with a single finger while Silas spoke. Neither of them smiled.

Eric spoke up again. "You know, I heard it through the grapevine, and by the grapevine, I mean my mom who heard it from her friend who heard it from Dottie Perkins that UNH dude's having a little trouble with—"

The steam wand shrieked behind me and drowned out the rest of his words. It was a lucky accident since I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the rest. "Sorry, didn't catch that," I whispered as I slid his coffee across the counter.

He took a long sip and closed his eyes, bliss taking over. "Oh, man, that's it. You're a wizard, Zig." He leaned partway across the counter. "And you disappoint me. I mean, why haven't you been over there eavesdropping? You're all over situations at school when you wanna know who the latest hunk in your headlights is dating."

I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and missing by a country mile. "I'm at work. Unlike some people, I can't spend all day staring at a computer screen, watching little icons dance."

"Hey, how many pizzas did those icons buy you last year?" Eric narrowed his eyes and studied me intently. "Wait a minute. There's more here. Are you worried about Silas getting… um… close?"

"What? No! Of course not." I jumped on his suggestion a little too quickly. "I just… damn, I don't know. Maybe there's more to Kade than we thought."

Eric's eyebrows shot up high enough they disappeared beneath his front bangs. "He's got a first name. Why, Ziggy Knickerbocker, the next thing you'll tell me is that you want to braid his hair and swap friendship bracelets."

Before I could respond, Silas called out from halfway across the room. "You're gonna wear a hole in that counter if you keep scrubbing it like that." He headed our way.

"Sorry, Silas…. I guess I lost track while talking to Eric here."

Eric downed the rest of his coffee. "Good to see you, Silas, but I gotta jet. Zig, see you soon."

He left a little too fast. I nodded and swallowed hard. "Later."

"Good to see you, too." Silas turned his attention to me. "So, I've been meaning to ask, how's your dad doing?"

It wasn't the question I expected. "He's Dad. About the same as always. You know how he is."

"And how are you doing?"

I opened my mouth to mutter, "Fine," but it didn't come out. Instead, I said something different. "I'm… figuring things out, I guess."

Silas smiled warmly. "Isn't that the truth? I think we're all doing that. Things aren't always what they seem on the surface. It goes for people, too."

He dropped that bomb and turned his attention to cleaning up, getting ready for closing. His words mingled with the wisdom Rory shared.

When I arrived home that night, I heard an unfamiliar whir coming from my room. A sleek, new pedestal fan stood in the corner, blowing a strong, cool breeze. It was a peace offering from Dad, and it caused a lump to grow in my throat.  

I lay back on the bed, trying to figure out my next move. When I heard soft footsteps, I immediately sat up.

My little sister, Emma, appeared in the doorway. She was only 16 but already wickedly observant. She crossed her arms over her chest. "So, the old man caved, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

She stepped into my room and spoke softly. "Sometimes I think you and Dad are more alike than either of you wants to admit."

"Where do you get that?"

She shrugged slightly. "I mean, you're both stubborn AF. That's one thing. And you both have this weird way of showing you care without actually saying anything." She jerked her thumb toward the fan. "Like, exhibit A, right there."

"When did you learn to analyze like that?"

"Oh, puh-leeze." Emma rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I'm the smart one in this family. You haven't noticed since you spend too much time chasing pucks and poetry." She giggled lightly.

She might have meant the words jokingly, but they hit home. I thought about my earlier conversations with Rory and Silas. Maybe I was too caught up in myself.

Emma continued, and her intonation turned more serious. "Look, I know it sounds cheesy, but... sometimes the people who bug us the most are the ones who help us grow or whatever. Like Dad, or... I dunno, that Kade guy you keep obsessing over."

I stared at her. "Obsessing? What makes you think—"

"Small town, Ziggy. Plus, I have my own ears, eyes, and brain."

As she turned to leave, she added another comment. "Just something to think about. Maybe it's time to look beneath the surface. That might help all of us."

Chapter four

Kade

Ihesitated before entering the coffee shop. Poetry night appeared to be a tightly knit community event, but Dr. Fellows insisted I take the opportunity to indulge in my literary interests. As I stepped inside Tidal Grounds, the ancient floorboards creaked beneath my feet. They shined with layers of polish and the smoothing impact of decades of foot traffic.

Silas had transformed the cafe for the night. He arranged mismatched chairs in a semicircle around a podium. New artwork, including watercolor paintings of lighthouses and charcoal drawings of weathered faces, adorned the walls.

As I scanned the room, it looked like almost everyone I'd met since arriving in town was there… almost. Captain Hank Lawson, the ferryboat captain who helmed the boat to Stormbreaker Island, sat with a steaming mug of coffee. He was mouthing something to himself with his eyes closed, perhaps the words of his own poem.

Dead ahead of me, Mrs. Eulalie Pinder chatted with a distinguished group of older ladies. She'd asked for my assistance in the grocery, reaching high for a can of cherry pie filling. After introducing herself, she'd welcomed me to town.

She wore a floral muumuu, a riot of color, and the jangle of her bracelets added music to her animated conversation. "I'll tell you," I heard her say, "if that poem doesn't win the Gazette's contest…"

In the far corner, a group of teenagers sprawled together on an old leather couch. I recognized Bridget Chen. She wore a blue streak in her hair, and I'd spoken with her at the arena as she practiced figure skating.

A kind of crackling energy hung in the air. I'd never seen a crowd so eager for a poetry reading, not even the salon night we created in the coffee shop at UNH. I stuck my nose in the air when I caught a whiff of lemon and blueberries. Then, Silas appeared, proudly carrying a tray of muffins.

While looking for an empty seat, I spotted the one person I didn't expect to see—Ziggy. He sat in the second row, leaning in close to Mrs. Perkins, nodding intently at her words. When the bells above the door announced another arrival, he looked up, and our eyes met. I felt something. What was it? Before I could figure it out, he looked away and then returned to his conversation.

"Well, if it isn't our summer guest from New Hampshire!" Silas's deep, resonant voice cut through the surrounding conversations. He nearly swaggered as he wove his way through an adoring crowd. Approaching me, he held out a steaming mug. "Thought you might appreciate my Poet's Blend, designed specifically for our regular readings. It's a dark roast with just a touch of lavender. Hopefully, it can at least inspire one short verse."

I graciously accepted the mug. When the aroma hit my nose, I sighed happily. Silas took coffee to the next level. "Thank you. Who would have expected such a crowd for a small-town poetry reading?"

A warm smile spread across his face. "We've got a raft of surprises. Keep those eyes open. If you let your guard down a notch or two, you might even find yourself enjoying your summer." He offered me an empty chair. "Come on, settle in, and remember, snaps or claps are welcomed, but heckling is prohibited unless it's in iambic pentameter."

I'd barely taken my seat when Rory Blake approached the podium, and we were underway. The mic squealed briefly, and everyone tittered. Rory tapped it until it quieted down. He clearly took pride in his emcee duties.

"Welcome all word-lovers to this hallowed place." A ripple of applause spread through the crowd. "Tonight, we have another wild journey through original and well-traveled verses for you. On the list, we offer you a villanelle, a sonnet, and abundant free verse." He pointedly gazed around the room. "But, to kick things off with something entirely different from those, a modest haiku about lobster traps from our harbormaster."

I leaned back in my chair. The harbormaster, with skin like tanned leather, and blue-gray eyes the color of the best faded denim, approached the podium. After a single cough, he recited:

"Wooden lattice dreams,
Brine-soaked hope sinks in darkness,
Claws scrape new fortunes."

Snaps and scattered clapping erupted from the crowd. Something about the few words uttered by a man with a lifetime of experience struck me in the gut. I nodded my appreciation.

Next in line was a teenager with abundant enthusiasm excusing a lack of nuance. A retiree followed, speaking in measured tones with words about life as an older person. The poems were like windows into the inner workings of the small town. It was all an experience with more depth than I would have ever expected.

I glanced at Ziggy between the readings. He concentrated intently on the presentations. Once, when he looked around the room, our eyes met again. Did I detect a hint of a smile? It all happened so quickly that I didn't know for sure.

Rory had his own poem to offer. A hush fell over the room. He started:

"Roots reach deep in rocky soil
Wings ache for southern skies
The heart is split like a pine struck by lightning
One half anchored, and the other longing for flight."

The poem continued to unfold with indelible imagery examining an uneasy balance between a settled soul and emotional yearning for something else, a tug of war between home and the rest of the world. I leaned forward, letting the words tug at my heart. They found a longing that I never quite knew was there.

When the applause for his work wound down, Rory broke the spell by announcing a brief intermission. Animated chatter took over the space. I stood to join the line and wait for a refill of my coffee. Behind me, I heard a familiar voice.

It was Ziggy having an animated poetry discussion with an older woman. He painted vivid pictures in the air with his waving hands. "Rory's imagery reminded me of Seamus Heaney. It was so solid, almost earthy. He took abstract ideas and made them real with that tight, physical language."

I nearly forgot I was standing in line. Hearing him speak with such passion about poetry knocked me for a loop. I'd discovered an entirely new part of him, like landing on the dark side of the moon.

Before I could stop myself, I surrendered my spot and walked up to Ziggy as the older woman faded into the crowd. "Heaney fan?" I wanted to kick myself—no sense of propriety, barging in like a bull.

Ziggy's head snapped around, and he stopped speaking mid-sentence. "Yeah," he responded slowly, like a man testing the waters with his toes. "Do you know his work? Color me surprised."

I nodded, and more words came tumbling out. "His Postscript. Oh man, I read it over and over last year. I think it helped me through some rough moments. There's that excitement about visiting the ocean. You Mainers—" I bit my tongue and inhaled noisily, blinking my eyes.

Ziggy's eyes opened wide, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "You sure you're not yankin' my chain? That poem's wicked good. He makes an ordinary drive into something you'll never forget." He shook his head, and a small smile appeared. "His Casualty. Have you read that? It felt like I had to look up about every other word to get the Irish slang the first time through, but after that… grief, tragedy…"

"And obligation. Haunts you, doesn't it? Wow, and I thought I was the only young guy in a radius of a hundred miles who loved Heaney."

For a few minutes, we were fellow poetry fans, and the rivalry disappeared, washed out to sea. I couldn't take my eyes off Ziggy's face, green eyes sparkling. There were details I'd missed before. He had a light scar along the jawline on his right side. Probably a hockey injury. We all had them.

He raised his right hand in front of his body, and it held a worn paperback. I recognized another name.

I pointed at the book. "You're a William Carlos Williams fan, too?"

"Are you kidding? The Red Wheelbarrow was the first poem I memorized that didn't have hockey or lobsters in it."

I laughed. "Guess we both did that. Did your English teacher make you recite it in class?"

"Worse than that. To help out, Mom photocopied it out of the book and stuck it up on the refrigerator. I read it every morning when I went for the OJ."

I shook my head. "You've got to be kidding. My mom stuck it to my bathroom mirror."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, our shared appreciation drifting like a cloud between us. The Tidal Grounds background noise was miles away while we met each other in our own little world of poetry appreciation.

It all shattered into bits when a voice behind me asked, "Hey, Kade, how's that fancy summer apartment? You sitting there all cool and happy? Must be nice to have that sweet AC in the heatwave."

I turned and recognized the face, but I couldn't place a name. He had blue-rimmed nerd glasses, and I'd seen him hanging around Ziggy at hockey games during the college season. He looked from one of us to the other. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

The words lingered in the air, heavy and accusatory. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could I say? That I'd give up the AC in a heartbeat if it meant I could keep talking poetry with Ziggy?

I glanced at him, hoping to recapture some of the connection we'd shared just moments ago, but his eyes had already changed. The spark of enthusiasm was gone, replaced by an already familiar guarded wariness.

Ziggy shifted his weight, taking a small step back. It was barely noticeable, but it felt like he'd moved miles away at that moment. "I should find my seat," he mumbled, his voice low and flat.

"Ziggy, I—" I started, not sure what I was going to say, but desperate to salvage something from our conversation. He turned, leaving me standing there, thinking about where our discussion could have gone, left to its own devices.

Rory called the second half of the evening to order. He said something about the next reader, but I missed it. I found it hard to focus. Ziggy was only a few seats away, his shoulders squared. He ignored my presence for the rest of the night.

When the final poem ended amid a sea of snaps and claps, the crowd began to leave. I hung around and helped Silas collect mugs and rearrange chairs.

He grinned from ear to ear. "It was a night, eh? These readings always make me think. When the idea first came up, I thought these would draw maybe ten diehard friends of the readers. I couldn't have been more wrong."

I nodded, unable to come up with any words to add. Silas clapped a warm hand on my shoulder. "I've got this to say. I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I think sometimes the most important part of these poems isn't the words. It's the spaces between them, what the poet didn't say." He tilted his head slightly to the right as he stared at me. "Same thing about people, I reckon."

I stood. "Well, guess it's time to head home." I walked slowly toward the door.

When I was only a step away, Silas called out, "How about one last cup before you head out? Got a fresh batch of Moonlight Roast that needs tasting."

I hesitated, but I didn't have anything to get home early for, and Silas was good company. "Sure, why not?"

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Pull up a stool. This brew's best enjoyed with a side of talk."

As he busied himself brewing the coffee, I settled onto a worn leather stool at the counter. The cafe was quiet, save for the gentle ticking of a lobster-shaped clock on the wall.

"So," Silas began, sliding a steaming mug in front of me. "What'd you make of our little literary gathering?"

I wrapped my hands around the mug, inhaling the rich aroma. "It was... unexpected. I've never seen so many people excited about poetry before. We couldn't even do that in the coffee shop at school."

Silas chuckled, a low, rumbling sound emerging from deep in his chest. "Ayuh, we're full of surprises here in Whistleport. Folks think just 'cause we haul traps and gut fish, we can't appreciate good words. I think it's a natural here. There's poetry in the patterns of the tides and the calls of the gulls."

"That's one way of looking at it."

Silas leaned across the counter. "So, I saw you chatting with Mr. Ziggy Knickerbocker. He's working a few evenings for me this summer. You two were thick as thieves, talking about poetry like you'd known each other for years."

I shifted uncomfortably on my stool. "We just... have some common interests, that's all."

Silas nodded sagely. "Ayuh, and a moose is just a big deer with a funny nose."

He refilled my mug without asking, the rich aroma of coffee filling the air once more. "Don't be afraid to indulge. If you take a second look, there might be more there than you first dared to see."

I took a sip of coffee, letting his words sink in. "But what if... what if the person I'm seeing has a giant chip on their shoulders?"

Silas let out a bark of laughter. "Yeah? Says who? The lobsters?" He shook his head, still chuckling. "Listen, Kade. In Whistleport, we've got a saying: 'The straightest course isn't always the best one. Sometimes, you gotta zigzag a bit to avoid the rocks and find the deepest channel.'"

I stared into my coffee, watching the swirls of cream slowly merge with the dark liquid. "I'm not sure I know how to navigate that way."

Silas's voice softened. "Nobody does, at first. But that's the beauty of it. You learn as you go. And you've got more people in your corner than you might think."

Chapter five

Ziggy

Ihung back in the arena's locker room for a few extra minutes. The muffled sound of skates gliding across the ice drifted through the walls. I retied my laces and thought about nothing in particular. I knew what was waiting for me on the rink—Kade Langston, the summer invader of my turf.

Fleeing was an option, but if he opened his mouth in Whistleport, I'd never live that down. I'd agreed to the third face-off a few days back. Regardless of what anyone else would think, the idea of chickening out to Kade made me fume.

"Suck it up, Knickerbocker," I muttered to myself. "It's just another day on the ice."

As if. And lobsters fly.

I skated onto the rink, and the cool air hit me square in the face. Kade lazily skated from one end of the ice to the other. His moves were effortless. Nobody in Whistleport could match them, other than perhaps Brooks, but he'd had a career in the NHL.

"Look who just fell off the lobster boat," Kade called toward me as he skidded to a stop at center ice. He showed off a set of perfect white teeth with a wicked smile. "I worried you'd gotten lost on the way here."

I considered a response but then bit back my words. I didn't need to get drawn into a battle of putdowns. Instead, I repeated an internal mantra: I belong here. This is my ice, my town.

Watching Kade closely, I pulled up alongside him. "Aw, Ziggy, if you wanted to stare at me, why didn't you just ask for a selfie?"

That one loosened my tongue. "Are you always this chatty before you get your ass handed to you?"

He took off, and I followed, matching him stride for stride. After a lap around the rink, we returned to center ice and faced off so close that I could see flecks of gold sparkling in Kade's eyes.

He laid out his terms in a low voice. "First to five in each drill wins. Five drills and the best of three takes the crown. Think you can keep up?"

I answered with my legs, suddenly bolting toward the goal, accelerating until a last turn along the boards. Kade laughed and chased me.

We tore around the rink, our speed turning us into two barely controlled blurs. My thighs burned. I wanted—no—I needed to win. Kade caught up and matched me stride for stride as we moved close and then separated like we were executing some unholy hybrid of speed skating and ice dancing.

I made a last turn and bolted for the opposite goal. Kade pulled up, shoulder to shoulder, and we both pumped our arms until we hurtled over the line in a photo finish. Our momentum carried us into the boards with a mighty crash. For a moment, we just lay there, a tangle of limbs.

"Damn, get off me." I climbed to my feet.

Kade laughed as he stood. "Not bad… for a pond skater."

I shoved him away, ignoring a small impulse to hold on instead. "You can bet I've got plenty more moves to show, trust fund."

We swept through the first drills, both animated by fierce determination. Kade gave a master class in stickhandling. The puck acted like an extension of his body when he took it through a slalom course of cones. I countered with my expertise at slapshots. They made my palms sting, but I pulled even, winning drill number two.

Four drills in, we were still deadlocked. Sweat glued my jersey to my back, and the muscles in my legs quivered. We were both spent, but sheer grit pushed us both forward.

"Last one," Kade called to me. "Winner takes all."

I nodded and gasped for a breath. "Penalty shots. Five each."

As he skated up to me, Kade raised the stakes. "Loser buys coffee at that hipster joint downtown, and we talk, really talk."

My heart skipped a beat. Coffee? Talking? With Kade? My mind raced in at least three directions at once while I tried to process the meaning of the demand.

My first instinct was to scoff and brush it off with a snarky comment about him having a "thing" for me, but what if he did? I'd tried to ignore him as much as I could since he arrived, but then there was his perfect hair, smart clothes, and that apartment. I couldn't back away.

"Really talk, huh," I muttered. What did that even mean? Would we ramble on about training tips and trash-talk the other Hockey East teams? Or was he suggesting something else entirely? Goosebumps rose on my forearms.

"Is it a bet?" Kade tapped his stick on the ice. I glanced around, half-expecting Dottie Perkins to appear with her gossip radar pinging wildly. What would people say when they saw us at Tidal Grounds, leaning close over mugs of coffee?

Rory and Brooks would be proud—they loved all that building bridges and kumbaya crap. But everybody else? Eric?

And then there was me. Did I want to know more about Kade? Did I want to hear about what made him tick and the real reasons why he was in town?

"Fine," I responded to the challenge. "I hope you brought your wallet."

We squared off, finally catching our breaths. I channeled every last scrap of my focus into each shot. The puck was part of me, seeking its goal, when it sailed past Kade and his outstretched glove.

He retaliated with a trick, backhanded shot that somehow found the one-inch gap between my foot and the post. We reached the final shots with the score tied. My arms had little strength left, but I did my best to bolster them with adrenaline. I couldn't give in.

Kade called out, "Last shot, Knickerbocker. Make it count."

I nodded and lined up, thinking it all through. The ice suddenly seemed to stretch for miles before me, with the goal a tiny target in the far distance. I closed my eyes momentarily to visualize the puck hitting the net.

My eyes snapped open, and I approached the puck. Crouching down low, Kade locked his eyes on mine, trying to read my plan. His thoughts were apparent when he shifted his weight slightly to his right.

At the last second, I changed my grip on my stick. The slight opening of my blade lifted the puck. It slowly, steadily rose as it sped through the air toward the goal.

Kade's eyes opened wide. He pushed off from the right and launched his body to the left. His gloved hand shot out, and for a split second, I thought he had it.

Then, the puck sailed just beyond his reach and landed in the net. I'd done it. I pumped a fist into the air and hissed, "Yes!" All I had to do was save one more shot, and I had the victory in my pocket.

That's all…

Kade took the puck and lined up. "Nice shot, but don't celebrate just yet."

I skated forward and took my position in the goal. Shaking out my arms, I did my best to stay loose.

Kade backed up a few strides after he placed the puck. He twirled his stick once before settling into a stance. Our eyes met, and the rest of the world disappeared—just me, him, the ice, and the puck.

I forced myself to breathe as he barreled forward. Patience. Read the shot. Trust your instincts.

Someone could have written a textbook based on his moves. He turned his wrists slightly at the last second and shifted his weight.

Backhand. He's going for backhand again.

I pushed off with my left skate just as Kade's stick connected with the puck. It was a beautiful shot—fast, hard, and with a gentle rise toward the top right corner of the goal. I launched myself in that direction.

I felt the impact of the puck against my arm, but then I lost sight of it. A second later, I heard a thunk as the rubber disc hit the boards behind me. I'd done it. I'd managed to deflect the shot.

I scrambled to my feet and busted out a massive smile. "Looks like you're buying, pretty boy!"

Gliding forward, I headed toward Kade. Victory was mine, and then the earth shifted. My right skate hit a groove in the ice and unexpectedly twisted sideways. Suddenly, I was airborne, suspended in one of those terrifying moments when knowing how I would land was impossible.

I hit the ice hard; my helmet landed with a sickening cracking sound that rattled my skull. Darkness around the edges and bursts of color behind my eyes threatened my consciousness.

"Ziggy!"

I heard Kade's voice and blinked, trying to keep myself from blacking out. He was suddenly there for me, on his knees, one hand tenderly cradling the back of my head.

"Hey, look at me," he ordered as his face wobbled and then came into focus. "You okay?"

I tried to nod, but my attempt to move sent daggers of pain into my skull. "M'fine." My words slurred when I struggled to sit up.

"Sure you are, tough guy."

Next, I tried to climb to my feet. I was a little dizzy, but at least the throbbing pain had faded.

"Need some help there?" Kade slipped an arm around my shoulders, providing support.

As I drew upright, I stumbled slightly and grabbed onto him for support. He held on tight.

"I've got you." His breath was warm against my ear.

I was suddenly aware of how close we were. His body pushed up against mine, and he splayed his fingers out against my lower back. I inhaled the distinct scent of sandalwood—his shampoo?

For a moment, I considered a snarky comment about not needing Kade's help, but then I gazed into his eyes, and the words died in my throat. Up close, I saw the light stubble along his jaw. He glanced down at my lips, and my breath caught.

Kade dipped his head slightly, and I leaned in like a magnet drawn to its target. Our lips were only inches apart when a loud crack echoed through the arena. It was likely the ice settling after my tumble. I'd heard similar things before, and it was enough to cause us to pull apart, breaking the spell.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh… let's get you over to the bench. It would be best if you sat for a few minutes. That was a nasty fall."

With an arm around my waist, he helped guide me. We sat side by side, and I reached down to gather a few ice shavings to press against the goose egg forming on my forehead. What the hell was going on? Did the summer just shift on me again?

"Are you sure you're alright?" Kade held up three fingers in front of my face. "I can call someone—your dad?"

I grunted. "I'm fine, and that's three. Just… give me a minute to catch my breath."

Kate stood and skated out toward the center of the rink to gather our scattered gear. I did my best to will my racing heart to slow. The ghost of his gentle touch remained, and it left me more rattled than any fall ever could.

***

The fluorescent lights overhead produced a soft but constant annoying whine. Their harsh glare gave me another headache and made it throb in time with my heartbeat. Mom sat next to me, thumbing through an ancient issue of People while she tapped her foot.

I spoke up. "I told you I'm fine. This is completely unnecessary."

She lowered the magazine and stared at me. "Ziggy, you took a fall hard enough to rattle that thick skull of yours. We're having the doctor check everything out to make sure, end of discussion."

I sighed, knowing it made no sense to argue with her. Olive Knickerbocker would not back down when it came to the well-being of her children. The best strategy was to ride it all out and humor her.

A nurse appeared. "Zachary Knickerbocker?"

Mom bolted from her seat and ushered me forward like I was a five-year-old kid again. As we passed a mirror, I glanced at us—me, slouching and surly, and Mom, worry eased slightly by determination. It was the small-town hockey mom with her reckless player son.

Doc Patel greeted us warmly. "And what brings you here today, Ziggy?"

Mom jumped in before I could say anything. "He fell and hit his head on the ice. Could he have a concussion?"

I sighed heavily. "It's nothing. I tripped. It could happen to anybody."

The good doc raised one of her eyebrows. "How about we take a look?"

We spent the next twenty minutes rolling through a flurry of tests. I had to follow a penlight with my eyes and touch my nose with my eyes closed. She asked me to recite the months of the year backward. That was harder than I thought it would be. Through it all, Mom hovered close.

Finally, Doc Patel put her clipboard down. "I think I've got some good news. There are no signs of a concussion. You will have some major swelling on your forehead for a few days, but otherwise, things look good. You're a tough young man."

Mom wrung her hands. "Are you sure? Could there be delayed symptoms?"

"It's always good to err on the side of caution, Mrs. Knickerbocker. I suggest that Ziggy relax for the next few days, and you can return if he experiences any unusual symptoms. For now, all is normal."

As we left the clinic, Mom linked her arm through mine. When I was still in high school, I would have seen it as embarrassing. Now, as a college man, it felt comforting.

"Thanks, Mom… for keeping an eye on me."

She squeezed my arm. "I'm always here for you. It's what moms do. So, were you skating alone? Or did this have something to do with that UNH player who's been turning all the heads?"

I groaned. "Please, Mom… don't start."

She laughed. "Okay, but if you ever want to talk or blow off steam…"

"I know."

While I climbed into the car, my thoughts drifted back to Kade and my head resting against his arm. We had a date—no, not a date—just the fulfillment of a stupid bet, and I shivered, wondering what it held in store for me.

The idea of sitting across from Kade at Tidal Grounds made my stomach do a weird flip. What would we talk about? Hockey was safe territory, sure, but "really talk" implied something different and deeper. We could rattle on about poets, but would he ask about my family and my dreams beyond the rink? And what if I actually enjoyed his company off the ice?

I groaned softly, earning a concerned glance from Mom. How was I supposed to face Kade after that near-miss by the bench? The memory of his breath on my skin and the intensity in his eyes—how was I supposed to hang on to our rivalry after this?

Part of me wanted to text Kade and call the whole thing off. I could claim a concussion and hide in my room for the rest of the summer—sweltering in the heat. A smaller, increasingly insistent part of me was... excited? Curious? What would I learn if I got to see Kade in a different light?

Chapter six

Kade

Gus's Diner was a noisy place at noon. Knives and forks clattered against plates, and light chatter filled the air, but it couldn't drown out Dottie Perkins. Her voice was like a foghorn, every word a pin pricking my thin skin.

She spoke to the woman across from her, but as a true gossip, she intended her words for anyone else who might be listening. "That Langston boy. He struts around town like royalty. Did you know his family has a building named after them at UNH?"

I sunk lower in my booth, the vinyl squeaking as my chin stopped just above level with the tabletop. My plate of a greasy burger and fries had seemed comforting. Now, it turned my stomach.

"And the way he carries on with Ziggy Knickerbocker." Dottie dropped her voice to the level of a stage whisper. "One minute, they're at each other's throats, and the next, they're practically joined at the hip. Mark my words. We haven't seen the end of it."

My jaw tensed. I wanted to stand and defend myself. I wanted to insist they were all wrong about me, but it wasn't the place. I couldn't trust Dottie's friends to take my side. Instead, I imagined I was a goldfish cooped up in a too-small bowl.

When Dottie finally ended her speech, I thought about Ziggy. Hazy images came back—our bodies pressed tightly together after his fall and that near kiss. It was such a raw connection.

He didn't hate me. I knew that now, but I wasn't sure what we were to each other. I couldn't answer that question on my own.

Finally, tired of too many prying eyes, I decided to leave the diner. I tossed a few bills on the table and slid out of the booth, heading for the door. Bells jingled as I escaped onto the sidewalk.

Once outside, I inhaled deeply. The oppressive heat that baked Whistleport for the past week began fading, replaced by a gentle breeze off the ocean that smelled of salt and seaweed.

My feet took off down the street on autopilot. They knew where I needed to go—Tidal Grounds. Silas always welcomed me there, and I desperately needed to feel like I belonged somewhere.

While I walked, I continued to think about Ziggy. In my mind, I saw the fire in his eyes on the rink and the urgent softness of his voice when we discussed poetry. He was a puzzle I couldn't yet solve, but maybe we could be friends if I were lucky.

I approached the weathered facade of Tidal Grounds with a smile. When I pushed the door open, the familiar coffee aroma wrapped around me, and I started to relax.

Silas called out from behind the counter. "Welcome! What can I get for you today, Kade?"

His genuine greeting, free from any sarcasm or judgment, charmed me. "Just hoping to find a place where the coffee doesn't taste like it came out of an abandoned pot from the last century."

Silas laughed heartily. "Did you try that swill at Gus's again? I say stick with the Moxie there. Let me fix you a special mug. On the house."

He set about, working his magic with masterfully precise movements. Listening to the whir of the grinder, I fidgeted with a napkin.

After carefully pouring the brew, Silas slid my mug across the counter. "Here you go. It's my secret weapon to fight small-town blues. Let me know what you think."

I tasted the rich, complex mug of coffee. It had a hint of chocolate and a slight bit of spice. The delicious concoction warmed me from the inside out.

Silas rested an elbow on the counter. "So, did you have a rough morning?"

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice to verbalize a response. If I started talking, I worried that I wouldn't stop.

"Come on." He jerked his thumb toward the rear of the room. "Let's get some fresh air, and you look like you could use a listening ear."

I followed him out a back door onto a small deck that looked out over Whistleport's harbor. It was a peaceful spot, quiet except for the cries of seagulls and the gentle lapping of ocean waves on rocks.

Silas settled into an Adirondack chair. "Join me. Do you want to talk about it?"

It didn't take long. I'd barely planted my butt in the chair when the words started to spill out. "I just… I don't get it. I'm trying as hard as I can. I don't mean to show off or cause anybody any trouble. I wish they'd just let me play hockey, but it's like they think I'm a one-person conspiracy to bring the town down."

Silas gazed at me with thoughtful eyes. "Is that all they think you are?"

"Heh." I reached up and ran my fingers through my hair. "They also think I'm some rich kid playing at being a local while I'm taking some poverty tourism trip. That is so not me. They don't see me. They only want to see my family's name and my air-conditioned apartment."

"And Ziggy?"

I laughed softly. "Ziggy… he's a different story. "We were rivals, but now…" I couldn't pull out the right words. "I don't think he hates me, but I don't know what we are to each other now. That's all confusing as hell."

Silas chuckled. "Let it settle. You'll figure it out."

I nodded and rolled the words around inside my head. "Maybe you're right, but it's all so complicated right now."

Look," Silas leaned forward, "people here aren't bad. They are mostly good folk, but a lot of them are set in their ways. You're the new thing, the new soda brand on the shelf at the grocery. It makes them a little nervous. Give people some time, and, meanwhile, show them who you really are."

"Does that go for Ziggy, too?"

"Ah, well, now you're talking about a whole other kettle of fish… or should we say lobster?"

I smirked. "I guess you could say that."

"Have you tried talking to him? I don't mean trash-talking on the ice. Maybe you need some real conversation."

Before I could say anything, the back door creaked open. There stood Ziggy with perfect timing. He appeared as startled to see me as I was to see him. Before saying anything to me, he turned toward Silas.

"I just stopped in to pick up my first paycheck, and they said you were out here, but I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." He glanced at me again.

"No interruption and the checks are in the cash register." Silas rose from his chair. "You have perfect timing, Zig. Why don't you join Kade? I'll grab a mug of the black stuff for you. Besides, I really should get to work on one of my catering orders inside."

A few seconds later, he was gone. That left Ziggy and me alone together.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I can go if you want."

"No… stay and have a seat. Please."

He nodded and took the Adirondack chair Silas left empty. I studied him while the silence grew between us. His brow furrowed lightly as he looked out over the water.

I grasped at straws, trying to figure out something intelligent to say. "How's your head? I mean, after the fall."

"It's better. Thanks for asking. And, uh, thanks again for your help when it happened. I'm sure some assholes would've left me there."

I planted my elbows on my knees and leaned forward. "Anytime. It's what teammates do, right?

"Is that what we are now? Teammates?"

I shrugged and rubbed one hand on my thigh. "I don't know. Maybe we are. All I know for sure is I'm tired of fighting. It's getting old trying to prove myself to you. Or I should say prove myself to the entire town. Does that make sense?"

I sensed a crack in his armor. "Yeah. I get it."

We were both silent again but with less tension.

Ziggy broke the quiet with a question. "Why'd you come to Whistleport, Kade? I mean, you could spend the summer training anywhere… even Canada."

I considered deflecting the question, like a goalie pushing the puck out of the crease. Excuses about ice time and upping my game danced on the tip of my tongue. But as I opened my mouth, I caught something in Ziggy's expression—an openness I hadn't seen before. My rehearsed mini-speech died in my throat.

Ziggy must have sensed my hesitation. He leaned forward. "No judgments, I promise."

I inhaled deeply, the salty air filling my lungs. The truth pressed against my chest, demanding release. "Honestly?" I started, with my voice barely above a whisper. "It's not only about hockey. I'm... I'm seeing a therapist here."

Both of Ziggy's eyebrows shot up, and I braced myself, but he didn't say anything. He nodded to encourage me to continue.

"My parents are getting a divorce. I guess it's been in the cards for quite a while, but now they're finally drawing up the paperwork. With all the hockey pressure at UNH and academic expectations… it got to be a little much. I needed to get out of town, find somewhere I could breathe, and find somebody to listen."

Glancing at Ziggy, I wasn't sure what to expect. He spoke softly. "That takes a lot of courage, man. It's fucking hard to admit you need help."

A shaky laugh escaped my lips. "Don't know about that. Sometimes, it doesn't feel courageous. I lay awake at night thinking all I'm doing is running away from everything."

Ziggy shook his head. "You're not running away. I'd call it that if you just set up shop in that fancy apartment and ordered delivery for every meal. What you're doing? Damn, you're facing your shit head-on."

Something about his straightforward words touched me. "Thanks," I mumbled.

"So, who's the therapist? We're not a very big town."

I'd dropped the big news. There was no reason to hide the details. "Dr. Amelia Fellows. She's been great so far."

Ziggy's eyes opened wider. "No way. It really is a small town."

"She's somebody you know?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Mom saw her a few years back. My parents had a rough year or so. I don't think it ever got to the point of seriously considering divorce, but still…yeah, Dr. Fellows stitched them back together."

Relief washed over me. "Really? That's… wow, I guess she does understand families. Good to know."

"Yeah, she's good people." Ziggy paused. "You know, I know it's not people I know, but if you ever want to… or need to talk about any of it, friends say I'm a good listener. I do understand what stress is in a family."

His offer caught me off guard. "Thanks. I really appreciate that."

A moment of comfortable silence passed between us before Ziggy spoke again. "You know, I think I get it… why you're here. Whistleport is a good place for people to lay back and work on finding themselves. I don't think you're the first to do that here."

I nodded and leaned back in my chair. "Yeah, I think you're right. I guess that's not a bad thing for us."

"Maybe not."

We talked. It was a real conversation and went on for what felt like hours. Silas brought us each new mugs of coffee as we exchanged thoughts about family legacies, the battle to live up to the expectations of others, and feeling a little different from the crowd around us. We didn't come up with any earth-shattering conclusions, but the talk was real. We were finally authentic people for each other, not just abstract rivals.

The door creaked behind us, and we both turned to see Brooks Bennett stepping onto the deck. I bit my lip. It was Brooks Bennett, a former NHL star, right there close to me. He was tall and muscular, and yeah, even I could tell he looked good. I'd grown up watching him play.

"Mind if I join the party?" His voice was a deep, rumbling baritone.

I nodded eagerly and worried that I looked like another awestruck fan. Ziggy smirked at me slightly. It wasn't malicious, more amused.

Brooks settled into an open chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Silas said the two of you might need a referee. He warned me to be prepared for cuts and bruises." I heard the humor in his tone. "I guess he was wrong. Looks like you're both managing quite well."

I started to explain. "We were just—"

"Talking." Ziggy finished the sentence for me. "A real conversation. I've got a question, though. Brooks, how'd you settle back into town so easily after being away for so many years."

Brooks sipped his coffee. "Good question. When I first came back to Whistleport, I thought I had it all figured out. I came back to take care of Dad and figured I'd eventually move on again. What I didn't expect was the warm welcome home I got. I was the hometown hero. It turns out," he leaned forward, " small towns have long memories, but they have even longer tongues."

I chuckled a bit and started to relax. Brooks spoke like a normal guy.

He continued his comments. "The trick is to remember, at the end of the day, it's mostly noise. What matters is what happens one-on-one with people. It's about what happens when you're forced to be you with someone."

The words were heavy, but they still managed to drift in the air.

"It's not easy," Brooks continued, "settling into a small town, but it's worth it. These people have a lot of love to give once you let them in and meet them where they are." He stood and then clapped us both on the shoulders. "I'm rambling. The two of you are going to be just fine."

As Brooks returned to the shop, I realized something had shifted between Ziggy and me. Something was building, but I didn't know what… not yet.

It was time to go, and I had a suggestion. "Same time tomorrow? I promise to bring my vivid observations and incessant charm."

Ziggy rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Don't push it, Kade, but yeah… maybe. We'll see."

As I strolled back to my apartment, I had a smile on my face. Whistleport was finally a little more welcoming. I didn't want to hop on a boat for the harbor islands anymore.

When I neared my building, a frightening realization hit me. My skin tingled when I watched Ziggy smile. That wasn't about hockey. It was something different, touching things I'd buried even more deeply than my family troubles. I paused on the sidewalk and let a new wave of trepidation wash over me. Whatever it was and whatever it might cause was sure to change my life forever.

Chapter seven

Ziggy

Dinner at the Knickerbockers was always an energetic affair. My family enjoyed reconnecting over Mom's food after a long day. The heatwave relented enough to have the windows open again finally. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean into the dining room. It was the beginning of a perfect summer evening.

Mom cooked a hearty New England clam chowder and served us bowls with tendrils of steam rising to bathe each of our faces. It was a welcome return to usual fare after days of cold sandwiches and popsicles.

I stirred crackers into my chowder but couldn't stop thinking about Kade's soulful brown eyes and his brave take on therapy. Dad's voice suddenly cut through the noise in my head.

"Ziggy, how's your summer hockey going? Are you keeping your edges sharp for UMaine in the fall?"

I nodded and swallowed a spoonful of my chowder. "Been working on a few new drill ideas. Rory wants us to have plenty of ideas when things ramp up with the junior leagues in a week."

Mom beamed. "That's wonderful. I'm so happy you're willing to help the youngsters. You're a perfect role model for the boys."

I felt a slight twinge of guilt, realizing I'd put more time into thinking about Kade than concentrating hard on hockey. Rory spotted my distraction. He told me Kade would join us in two more days and hoped I didn't embarrass Whistleport. That comment stung.

Dad tore a chunk off a crusty sourdough loaf. "Speaking of hockey, I heard that UNH hotshot is still in town. What's his name again?"

I did my best to answer in a flat voice. "Kade Langston."

Emma suddenly piped up. "Oh, he's definitely around. Hard to miss, and Ziggy can't stop talking about him."

I glared at her, but she merely smirked back at me. She always loved making her big brother squirm.

The comment caught Mom's interest. "Is that true? Have the two of you been spending time together? I think it's great to make friends with players from other teams. There's no reason to be at each other's throats."

"We're not really friends," I mumbled while I fished for a clam with my spoon. My comment was valid, but what were we?

Dad grunted. "Good, now son, remember, he's friendly now over the summer, but when hockey season starts up, he's the enemy all over again. Don't let your guard down too much now, and share secrets that can come back at you later."

"Knick!" Mom reached out for Dad's arm.

I bristled. "You make it sound like we're at war. It's not that way either."

Emma spoke up again. "No kidding. There's no fighting. I think Zig has mentioned Kade like a million times. You've got the hots for him, don't you?"

The dining room was suddenly silent, and my face flushed. Mom dropped her spoon in her bowl with a clink, and one of Dad's eyebrows rose high on his forehead.

"Emma! At dinner?" Mom always wanted conversation at the table to be polite, warm, and fuzzy.

I did my best to wrench back control over the situation. "Don't jump to conclusions, Sis. We've practiced together a few times. That's all."

Dad noisily cleared his throat. I thought of so many ways the comments could have made him uncomfortable. I'd never dated anyone and certainly never spoke about having the hots over clam chowder.

He managed a few words in a voice as calm as possible. "As long as you aren't giving away any team secrets. It's important to keep your loyalties in mind."

His words weighed heavy on me. I nodded to register my agreement in silence.

Mom did her best to change the subject. "Isn't it beautiful weather outside today? It's like a normal summer again. Maybe we can have a family picnic this weekend. I'd love to see the lighthouse up close again."

Her efforts were laudable, but Emma's comments had already shifted something inside me. Had she given a voice to the feelings I'd been too scared to name?

Later, while I helped clear the table, Mom touched my arm. "You know you can talk to your father and me about anything, right?" Her words were earnest, and her eyes radiated concern.

"I know, Mom. Thanks for that."

When I retreated to my bedroom, a breeze blew in off the ocean, quickly cooling the air inside the house. Despite the comfortable weather, I knew it would be difficult to sleep. The memory of Kade's laugh and the intensity of his gaze rolled around inside my head.

I read poetry, played games on my phone, and even pulled out some old TV episodes on my laptop. Instead of lulling me into a slumber, I found myself even wider awake, wondering whether Kade would share more of my interests beyond poetry.

Hours later, lying on my bed in the darkness of my childhood room, worries about my future crept in like fog from the harbor. The Zigster's life had always followed a relatively straightforward forked path: hockey on one side and poetry on the other, with little room for detours.

I'd never seriously considered a romantic relationship with anyone, let alone a guy. But Kade… he'd started to rattle everything I knew. He was challenging, infuriating, and intriguing. He caused me to question multiple things I'd always taken for granted.

Finally, with no sign of sleep anywhere in my near future, I decided I needed clarity. I knew one place where I could find that, and I thought there was one person who might be able to help me. I grabbed my phone, pulled out Kade's number, and typed:

"Hey, you up for a late-night skate?"

My heart pounded while I waited for a response. Maybe he was already sleeping and wouldn't hear his phone chime. Only seconds later, my screen lit up, and I nearly dropped my phone.

"Now? It's past midnight."

"I've got a key to the arena. Could use some company."

An excruciating pause followed. What if he said no? What if my assumptions about some kind of connection were all figments of my imagination? Just as I was sure he'd decided it was a ridiculous idea, his response appeared:

"Alright. See you in 15."

I quietly slipped out of the house with my hockey bag slung over my shoulder. Avoiding the three notoriously creaky steps, I crept down the stairs. It was an odd and unusual walk to the arena. After midnight, Whistleport was a different place.

Most of the town slept around me. The only sounds I heard were the distant waves on the shore and an occasional hooting owl. The cool air combined with a bright, nearly full moon made it all feel almost magical.

Kade waited for me at the arena doors. His breath was just visible in the cool night air. I couldn't ignore the sudden flutter in my stomach.

He pushed his bag further up on his shoulder. "Couldn't sleep either?"

I shrugged as I fumbled for my keys. "I guess I've got a little much on my mind." It was true, and to me, it sounded like an understatement.

The arena was eerily quiet. It had a security system, and I punched in the code. Rory gave me access while working with the juniors in case he couldn't be around and I needed to arrive early.

We laced up our skates and pulled on our gear in the locker room. When Kade stood and headed for the rink, I followed at his shoulder. Our blades scraped as we glided onto the ice. For the first minutes, we merely skated lazy laps, glancing occasionally at each other.

Finally, Kade skated to a stop at center ice and spoke. "So, what's keeping Ziggy Knickerbocker up at night? You can't blame it on the heatwave anymore."

I chuckled. "Do you really want to know?"

"I told you my big dark secret. It seems only fair that you share now."

Skating to a stop a few feet away from him, I laid it out as briefly as I could. "I can't figure you out, Kade. You told me about the divorce, but I know there's more. You occasionally have the cocky rich kid swagger, and then you start quoting Seamus Heaney. What makes you tick?"

Kade laughed. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm a man of many mysteries." He wasn't hiding anything. He appeared vulnerable as he spoke like he wanted me to investigate those unresolved questions.

I skated a little closer. "So, there are more reasons for being in Whistleport?"

He was quiet momentarily, and then he said more, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well, I've always been the golden boy—star athlete, good grades, Mr. Congeniality. Lately, though… somehow, I'm losing track of who I am. When I think about all of that, it's like looking at a photo album. I'm an actor in a movie about my own life. Does that make any sense? Amelia insists it does, but I'm still not sure."

His raw honesty startled me. "And you thought Whistleport could answer all of that for you?"

"I thought getting away from everything might help. I was the one who looked for a therapist a reasonable distance from home. When I saw Amelia's listing and all the positive reviews, I checked out the town and read about the arena. I didn't know you lived here. What about you, Zig? Is it easy to tread water in your hometown?"

I winced. "Ouch. You aim for the jugular."

"Only when I think the victim can handle it." He offered me a shy grin and gently pushed against my shoulder.

I started to skate again, and Kade followed me. We slowly did laps around the rink, discussing the weight of expectations and our fears about letting people down. With each new revelation, the remaining walls between us crumbled.

As we neared center ice again, he grabbed my hand. The sudden gesture sent a jolt through my body. I nearly lost my balance.

"Whoa, Ziggy." He held on tight and steadied me. "I thought you Maine boys were supposed to be graceful on a pair of skates."

I rolled my eyes at the comment but didn't let go. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I whispered, "Shut up."

When we reached center ice, we stopped and turned to face each other. I reached out to take Kade's free hand in mine. There was heat in each of his palms and slight trembling in his fingers. He was as nervous as me.

For several seconds, we stood face-to-face, watching the clouds of our breath mingle in the air. His gaze drifted to my lips and then back up to my eyes.

"Ziggy…" Kade's voice was rough and husky. He swallowed hard, and I fixed my eyes on his Adam's apple. "Can I… I mean, can we? Would it be okay if…"

I whispered, "Yes."

That was all he needed. Kade slowly leaned in, giving me every opportunity to pull back and flee, but I didn't want to. I met him halfway and placed one hand on his shoulder.

The kiss was tentative at first, a soft and gentle connection that sent a wave of electricity through my body. Kade's lips were soft and fit perfectly against mine. As our kiss deepened, warmth spread from my lips to the rest of my skin.

Time slowed down, and the world around us faded into nothingness. Only the two of us remained, suspended in a moment of pure connection.

Kade reached around me, and his hand slowly drifted up from my lower back to finally cradle the nape of my neck, pulling me even closer. I didn't want him ever to let go.

At that moment, all my everyday doubts and insecurities disappeared. With Kade's lips on mine, I was seen, understood, and desired in a way I'd never experienced.

As we finally broke apart, our breaths still mingled in the chilly air, and I opened my eyes to meet Kade's gaze. We both blinked and smiled.

No words passed between us, so we decided to speak again in the only language that fit the moment. He wrapped me up in a tight hug and kissed me again.

This time, the kiss deepened. He parted his lips, and I slipped my tongue inside like I'd seen but never done. He tasted faintly of peppermint.

Kade cupped my face with his free hand and brushed my cheekbone with his thumb. The gentleness of his touch made me shiver. I reached around to the back of his neck and tangled my fingers into the soft hair there.

We swayed slightly from side to side, finding our rhythm like we did when we skated side by side. Kade's tongue pulled back and traced my bottom lip. I responded with a soft sigh.

Finally, we had to pull apart and pant for oxygen. He reached out for us to hold hands again, and I happily complied.

Neither of us spoke. We stood there, staring at each other, waiting for our breathing to slow. I was a little dizzy, but it was okay. I was 20 years old and finally had my first real kiss. It was more amazing than I would have ever expected.

A small laugh bubbled up inside me. "Well," I whispered, "that's one way to settle a rivalry."

Kade grinned, and it lit up his entire face. "Think we can call it a tie?"

I pretended to consider the possibility. "I don't know. Maybe we need a rematch at some point. Winner gets to kiss the loser."

Kade laughed, and he pulled me in for another kiss. We stood there at center ice, totally lost in each other. I knew my world would never be the same again.

We skated off the ice, hand-in-hand, and I suddenly realized that my mind felt entirely at ease for the first time since I'd returned home for the summer. The new, fragile whatever-it-was between Kade and me quieted all the other noise in my life.

I heard Emma's smug voice ringing through my head. "Told you so, bro." For once, I didn't mind that she'd turned out to be right.

There was still one question that I had to ask. "So, this means you're into guys? I didn't know."

Kade blushed beet red and laughed an uncomfortable laugh. "I guess so, but I DON'T know for absolute certain. You?"

"Same."

Chapter eight

Kade

The invitation shocked me. One day, while cooling down after leading the juniors through a practice session, Ziggy invited me to dinner at his house with his family. I couldn't believe it. He wanted to pull me into the inner sanctum of his life in Whistleport.

"Are you sure about it?" I glanced at him before unlacing my skates.

He shrugged. "Yeah, why not? I mean, isn't meeting the parents sort of part of whatever it is we're doing? Mom's been yammering at me about meeting you. She wants to see the young man who has been filling so much of my spare time."

I swallowed hard. "And what's your dad have to say about this? Will he approve of my presence?"

"He'll come around… eventually."

Two evenings later, I rang the Knickerbockers' doorbell while tugging at the hem of my royal blue button-down shirt. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans and waited.

The house was weathered clapboard with white paint peeling in places. The slightly rundown appearance only added to the historical character. Wind chimes tinkled softly as I heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

Somehow, I'd ended up right in the middle of Ziggy's world. It was different from the manicured lawns and ostentatious facades in my neighborhood at home. It felt more authentic. Still, what if I didn't fit in? What if Ziggy's family dismissed me as a rich kid trying to play at small-town life?

I pressed the doorbell one more time. A split-second later, the door swung open to reveal Olive, Ziggy's mom. She offered a warm smile and gestured for me to follow her inside. She had Ziggy's eyes, the same shade of green.

"You must be Kade!" She reached out with both hands to take hold of my right one. "Come on in, and don't bring the mosquitoes with you."

The house's entryway smelled of lemon furniture polish and a delicious savory aroma—pot roast? The mouth-watering scent relaxed me and reminded me of family dinners when I was a small child and both of my parents were home. Mom occasionally let the staff have the night off, and she cooked dinner.

As I followed Mrs. Knickerbocker through a hallway, I glanced at the photos on the walls. They amounted to a visual timeline of the growth of both Ziggy and his sister, Emma. He started as a gap-toothed little kid with wild hair and matured into the young man I knew.

One image in particular caught my eye. It was teenage Ziggy with long, skinny arms and legs hoisting a hockey trophy over his head.

We entered the living room. It had a certain lived-in charm, and two massive nautical maps of coastal Maine reminded me that Ziggy's dad made his living lobstering.

Bookshelves lined one wall. Immediately drawn to them, I spotted titles that ranged from Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls to Advanced Hockey Strategies. One entire shelf held only poetry.

A large picture window filled most of the far wall. It had a postcard-perfect view of Whistleport Harbor with the lighthouse in the distance. Fading sunlight sent gold, purple, and orange rays across the sky. The beauty made my jaw drop. I wondered what it would be like to grow up with such a stunning view every morning.

Ziggy's father, Knick Knickerbocker, sat in an aging armchair, its leather cracked and faded in various places. Even from a sitting position, I saw that he was a sturdy man with broad shoulders. He'd spent much of his life hauling up lobster traps and steering a boat through ocean waves. He gripped the armrests of his chair as he sized me up with narrowed eyes.

"And here's the UNH hotshot."

"Dad." It was a combination of warning and request from Ziggy, who appeared behind me.

I cleared my throat and hoped my words would come out calm and focused. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knickerbocker. Thank you so much for having me in your home."

The words sounded too formal, but they were the best I could offer given the circumstances. I reached out a hand to shake.

Knick grunted, but he shook my hand. His paw, callused and rough like sandpaper, had a grip that could crush gravel.

Next came an awkward silence. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and listened to the hardwood floor creak. I looked around the room, hoping for a safe space for my gaze to land.

I found it in a collection of framed photographs on the fireplace mantel. One in particular caught my eye. It had to be Knick as a younger man with his arm wrapped around his boy, Ziggy. Together, they raised a massive lobster, smiling from ear to ear.

Olive noticed the direction of my gaze. "That was Ziggy's first big catch. He was nine years old. He insisted on helping on the boat that summer."

"Ayuh," added Knick, "nearly fell in the deep trying to haul that monster aboard."

Ziggy groaned.

I turned toward him. "I'd love to hear that whole story sometime."

"Oh, we've got plenty of stories." Olive's eyes twinkled. "I can tell you about this one time when Ziggy decided he wanted to—"

"Hey, is anybody hungry?" With quick thinking, Ziggy interrupted the tale, and his cheeks flushed pink. "Surely, dinner is almost ready. Is it, Mom?"

She laughed. It was a gentle, almost musical sound. "Okay, I know when you're shushing me. Why don't you boys sit and chat while I check on the roast? I have to make sure the potatoes are done."

I sat on the couch when she left the room. It was comfy and cozy, practically wrapping itself around me. Ziggy sat close enough that our thighs lightly touched. I wanted to reach out and wrap an arm around him, but I knew it was far too early to do that in front of Knick.

He leaned forward with his eyes fixed on me. I braced for another dagger aimed in my direction. "Kade, Ziggy tells me that you are an impressive hockey player. He said you're in the record books at UNH."

His light, conversational tone surprised me. "Yes, Sir. I hold the record for the most assists by a first-year student. I don't usually bring it up because I try to remain humble.

"Don't we all?" Knick chuckled. "And that's assists? Not goals?"

"Well, uh, Coach always says hockey is a team sport." I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, grateful for a topic I knew well. "I guess I've learned that sometimes setting up a shot can be as cool as taking it myself.

"Hm," he grunted and then nodded. "I suppose I understand that little nugget of wisdom."

Ziggy lightly bumped his knee against mine. I glanced at him, and he flashed a smile. Perhaps I'd passed the first test of the evening.

He jumped in with a comment. "Kade's a big help with the juniors, too. Rory says he's got a knack for coaching."

"He does?" Knick raised an eyebrow. "The kids in our little town are a motley bunch. Don't you think? I'm sure their skills are far from what you're used to seeing on the ice."

Breathing deeply, I ran my next comment through my head before saying it out loud. "Honestly, Mr. Knickerbocker?" I started, then swallowed hard. "It's been pretty amazing. These kids... they love the game so much. Sometimes, playing on the team at UNH can feel a little like a job. But here? I don't know; it's just different. Really cool. I'm glad Rory suggested I help out."

Knick opened his mouth to respond, but Olive's call from the dining room interrupted.

"Dinner's ready! Don't let it get cold!"

Participating in the meal was a little like walking through a minefield of long silences and loaded questions. The dining room itself was cozy, with walls decorated by shelves full of seafaring knickknacks and old framed photographs of lobster boats.

The table was solid oak and had its share of nicks and scratches gathered through the years. I suspected it was a valued relic representing Knickerbockers of the past.

Knick cut through my quiet reflections. "Pass the potatoes, will you?" When I handed him the bowl, he questioned my experience with the food. "Bet you're not used to simple meat and potatoes, eh? What's the Langston family have for dinner? Champagne and caviar?"

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. His assumption hurt. It reduced my years of hard work to be myself down to a stereotype. I could explain that my family did have champagne and caviar, but lonely dinners in front of a TV and eating restaurant leftovers out of plain glass containers were more common.

I did my best not to be confrontational. "Actually, sir, my mom can make a mean meatloaf. It's my favorite." I thought back to the perfect family dinners I had as a child. The memories were bittersweet.

Sensing a conversation going south, Olive jumped in. "Meatloaf… that sounds lovely. If you can get it, you'll have to share her recipe."

Somehow, I found myself stepping on another mine. Knick had another question. His voice was deceptively casual, "What exactly are your intentions with my son?"

I choked on my mouthful of pot roast. Ziggy's fork clattered against his plate. "Dad!" he hissed.

"What?" Knick shrugged. "It's a fair question. You two have been spending an awful lot of time together."

Emma, Ziggy's younger sister, jumped into the conversation to save her brother. "He's been helping with Zig's poetry, too, right?"

"Is that true?" Knick arched his right eyebrow. "Still don't understand how star hockey players have time for fancy words like that. Never heard any poetry in my high school locker room."

Determined not to let the comment go unchallenged, I gathered my thoughts. This was an opportunity to have Ziggy's family see me as something more complicated than a random rich kid or rival player.

"Mr. Knickerbocker, there's a lot of poetry in hockey… in any sport. There's the rhythm of the game and the ebb and flow of players moving up and down the ice. I suspect it's not so different from the tides you navigate every day."

Knick picked at a tooth with a toothpick, and then he looked up. He stared across the table at me. "Suppose you could have a point."

Later, while Ziggy and I helped Olive clear the table, he bumped his shoulder against mine and whispered directly into my ear. "You're doing great. Don't worry. Dad, well… he can be protective of his little kingdom."

Ziggy ran a sinkful of soapy water, and Olive cornered me. "Kade, honey, tell me the real story about your family. What do your parents do?"

I grabbed a dish towel and hesitated in answering the question. How could I explain the complex web of my family's life in one sentence or even two? I did my best. "My dad's in finance. Mom does a lot of charity work." The words were inadequate, but I hoped they might be enough.

"It sounds exciting."

After breathing deeply, I took a risk. "It generates a lot of pressure." I knew that once I started, more would tumble out. "They expect me to be perfect and uphold the family name like a shining beacon for all who see it. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning. It's never quite enough, no matter what I do."

Knick appeared in the doorway from the dining room, and I tensed. "A lot of pressure?" His voice was gruff, but I didn't detect any malice. "I can tell you there's plenty of it when you're trying to keep a business afloat during times that the ocean's rough and the catch is down."

I turned to face him. It was hard to understand why, but it felt like a crucial moment, perhaps the most important of the evening. I decided to stand up for myself.

"I... um, I know it's not the same as what you do, sir," I stammered, feeling my face heat up. "But sometimes, it's just... it's a lot, you know? Like, every day I wake up wondering if I'm gonna mess up somehow or let someone down." I paused, realizing I was rambling. "I mean, I guess everyone feels that way sometimes, right? Whether it's lobsters or, uh, boring meetings or whatever. It's all... pressure, I guess."

Knick suddenly approached his son, whose hands had plunged deep into soapy water. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Ziggy, you brought a wise man home. I appreciate that."

With the dishes washed and put away, we all retired to the back porch. Distant laughter from late-night beachcombers drifted up to us. Ziggy sat close enough to me that our knees touched. His presence comforted and grounded me.

Knick broke the silence. "I thought I had the whole world figured out when I was 20, like Kade and Ziggy here. I thought my life had specific plans for me, and all I had to do was follow them." He chuckled softly. "Now, looking back, I realize that life had a few curveballs to throw."

"It will do that, sir." I thought about the carefully laid plans I had just a year earlier when I began planning my first semester away at college. That last thing I would have guessed was that I'd land in a little town like Whistleport for the next summer and would kiss a man for the very first time.

The rest of our conversation was relatively inconsequential. Knick patiently explained the difference between Maine lobsters and Canadian lobsters and why the Maine variety was inevitably better and tastier. Olive invited me to watch fireworks on the 4th of July with the family, and with an elbow nudge from Ziggy, I tentatively agreed.

When I finally excused myself and thanked everyone for a fine evening, Ziggy offered to walk the first two blocks toward my apartment. While we strolled, a fine mist rolled in off the harbor. In the light of streetlamps, it lent an almost mystical air to the town.

Ziggy gripped my elbow. "Thanks for coming. It meant a lot to have you meet Mom and Dad."

"And Emma."

Ziggy laughed. "Yeah, I guess little sis is important, too."

Reaching for his hand, I gripped it firmly. Touching him was still exhilarating. "Thank you for the invite. Your family… wow, such personalities."

"That's one way to put it. Are you being kind?"

I chuckled. "No, I liked them… all of them."

I listened to the rhythmic sound of waves rolling in while we strolled along the final block. The town was mostly quiet.

When we reached the point where Ziggy would turn around, he stopped. "Kade… I know this wasn't easy."

"It wasn't too hard either. Mostly, it reminded me how real and… alive people can be."

"You fit in better than you think."

We stood for a moment longer until I threw caution to the wind. I wrapped Ziggy in a hug and shared a quick kiss.

When he pulled back, he chuckled. Indignation rose up inside me. "What's funny?"

"I was just thinking Dottie Perkins probably has a telescope trained on us right now. Her place is more than a quarter mile away, but I wouldn't put it past her."

"If only our biggest problems were the Dottie Perkins of the world."

We shared one more kiss, and then, with a small smile and a wave, Ziggy turned to head back to his house.

I was alone for the rest of the walk but didn't feel lonely. Replaying the entire dinner in my mind, I relished the sweetness of Olive's homemade apple pie lingering on my tongue.

I'd embarked on an entirely new path for my life. It was impossible to know where it would all lead, but I was eager to find out and excited to travel down the road to a new destination.

Chapter nine

Ziggy

The sky was clear blue, and the bright morning sun rose, sending reflections, like diamonds, across the gentle waves in Whistleport Harbor. Kade and I waited together for the ferry to Stormbreaker Island.

I'd invited him to join me, and my stomach nervously churned. For the first time, we would have hours of one-on-one time away from the town's prying eyes. This thing with him, whatever it was, was suddenly way too real.

I had an orange backpack slung over my shoulders as we walked across weathered planks to the ferry landing. It held provisions for a picnic on the island, where concessions were scarce.

Kade turned toward me. "Ready for our big adventure?"

I shook my head slightly. "Ease up. It's just a tiny rock with a lighthouse. Don't expect a carnival. I think they have a bar/restaurant/B&B at the landing with a tiny store and maybe five houses."

While we boarded the ferry, he touched my pack. "What's in there? Are you bringing hockey pucks and protein shakes?"

I chuckled softly. "I suppose that's for you to find out… later."

The ferry's engine chugged to life with a roar and a lurch, while we moved away from the dock. Whistleport grew smaller and less distinct behind us.

While my nervousness didn't surprise me, the subtle sense of relief did. Considering why I felt that way, I concluded that it was because away from Whistleport, we could be ourselves. We could set the local college hockey hero and rich boy from away identities aside.

We were just Ziggy and Kade. Still, the change brought along a specific responsibility. It was time to face whatever was growing between us.

As Kade stood at the railing facing out to sea, the wind whipped through his hair. He looked somehow different already—more relaxed.

I nudged him with my elbow, and I couldn't resist some good-natured teasing. "First time on an ocean-going vessel?"

He rolled his eyes. "Please, I've been on plenty of boats in my lifetime. They were just… well, bigger, with waiters."

When we settled onto a bench on the bow, Captain Hank appeared. His grin highlighted the creases in his weathered face. "Well, look at that. It's young Mr. Knickerbocker and his new shadow. Does that mean trouble on the way?"

Kade extended his hand, "Morning, sir."

I watched Kade's hand disappear into Captain Hank's grip. "Sir, he says. He's a good man, Ziggy. Has manners." The good captain ordered us to be friendly. "You can call me Hank. Everybody does."

With a churn of the water behind us, the ferry pulled away from the dock. Captain Hank continued the conversation with a more probing question. "Is there something you boys are looking for out on Stormbreaker on a beauty of a day like this?"

I tugged my backpack further up my shoulders. "Just showing the new guy the sights, Cap. Figured I'd educate Kade on something other than hockey for once."

Captain Hank smiled. "To be young again, exploring my world. Just watch your steps out there. Stormbreaker's got a few nasty cliffs. If you fall, I'm not as good at scrambling over the rocks on rescue missions as I used to be."

Kade leaned against the railing, staring out toward the island, still a thin line of greenish-black against the horizon. "Have you been running the ferry out here long?"

"Quite a bit longer than you've been on this planet, son. Started on my first regular trips out to the island when I was just a young boy, helping my old man. Seen so many things come and go through the years. You never know who might have a reason to head this way—tourists, locals, and even a few celebrities."

Kade raised an eyebrow. "Have you got some good stories to share?"

Captain Hank grinned. "Wild stories that'd curl your hair. There once was a Nor'easter on the way with a whole wedding party heading out to Stormbreaker. I suggested they camp out on the mainland until the storm passed, but they insisted on going anyway. The ocean waves dumped on the ferry, soaking the bride's dress. It was so heavy, I thought it'd sink the boat."

We laughed. Captain Hank had the kind of stories I'd heard around Dad and his friends my whole life. I was happy to see Kade fit so easily into the conversation.

Hank shared another story. "Then there was the summer of '85. A Hollywood movie crew decided the island would be a good place for a film. I think I showed up in two seconds of the final cut of the flick."

Kade eagerly asked questions and encouraged more storytelling. While watching him interact with Captain Hank, I saw my home through new eyes. Seeing Kade soak it all in, I suddenly remembered why I used to think the place was magic. It was funny how it took an outsider to remind me.

When we neared the island, the scent of the tall pine trees carried out over the waves. "Ziggy, make sure you show your friend the view from the old lighthouse. You can see clear to Nova Scotia on a day like today."

I nodded. "Sure thing, Cap'n." I knew it was impossible to see Nova Scotia, but I Ioved Captain Hank's earnest exaggeration. "And thanks for the ride."

Hank called to us while we headed off the ferry to set foot on the island. "Remember, back 15 minutes before the last ferry leaves, or you're swimming home. No exceptions made."

I called back over my shoulder. "Got It. We'll be here."

The ferry pulled away from the dock, and we strolled the twenty yards or so to the rocky island's shore. Kade turned toward me. "Captain Hank's quite a character. Is everyone in Whistleport a storyteller?"

I laughed. "Yep, I think it's pretty close to that. If you're here long enough, you'll likely end up as part of one of his tales yourself."

The island was like a patchwork quilt with rocky cliffs, groups of scrubby pine trees, and the narrow path connecting them to the lighthouse. It stood like a sentinel on the opposite end of the island. I'd been to Stormbreaker several times before, but somehow, with Kade at my side, it felt different, ripe with opportunities.

I gripped his elbow briefly. "C'mon. I know a good spot."

As we hiked, the air was full of the crunch of gravel under our feet and the distant cry of seagulls. I glanced at Kade and wondered what he was thinking. Was he nervous, too?

We reached a secluded cove with smooth stones and a narrow sandy beach. I'd discovered it years earlier while hiking around with Eric Callahan. I came back once alone, and it soon became my favorite secret hideaway.

Kade kicked off his sneakers and stood, flexing his toes, in the shallow water. "Not bad, Ziggy. Maybe you can try for a career in vacation planning if the whole hockey thing doesn't pan out."

I snorted. "Yeah, it can join the list of backup careers. I've already got professional puck polisher and lobster whisperer as options.

Sitting on a driftwood log, I pulled an old thin quilt out of my pack and spread it on the sand. I'd had some help with the food I brought. Mom knew what she was doing when it came to packing a lunch. We had ham and cheese sandwiches on homemade sourdough bread with a container of fresh strawberries dusted with sugar.

Kade joined me and surveyed the bounty. "And here I assumed you'd throw together protein bars and energy drinks."

"Hey, I might be a small-town guy, but I know how to eat." I tossed him a sandwich. "Give it a try."

After the first bite, his eyes opened wider. "Okay, taking it back. This tastes amazing."

The island was breezy, and the salt of the ocean hung heavy in the air. I watched Kade out of the corner of my eye. It was incredibly comfortable as if we'd been taking little trips together for years. A few weeks back, sharing a getaway meal with one of my biggest hockey rivals would have sounded laughable.

Kade swallowed water from one of the plastic bottles I brought along. "Well, now it's time to tell me the real reason you brought me out here. I'm not complaining about the food or the company, but my senses tell me there's more…"

My heart started to pound. The moment had arrived. Rubbing an old stain near the edge of the quilt, I took a deep breath. "Well, one thing is… I… I wrote a poem. It's kind of about the summer so far."

To me, I suddenly sounded like I was fumbling over all of my words.

Kade sat up straight. "A poem? About us?"

"Well, not only about us. It's more about everything. We've been through a lot it seems. There's the heatwave, Dad and me, and the arena competitions." I slowly tugged a folded paper from my jeans pocket. "You don't have to listen to it or read it if you don't want to. I'm no William Carlos Williams."

Kade chuckled softly. "Of course, I want to hear it."

I unfolded the paper and cleared my throat. Like always, I worried I was exposing too much of myself, including the internal parts, to the bright light of day. My voice was shaky at first, but it grew stronger by the end.

"Summer in Whistleport, a cauldron of change,
Where rivals meet and reform in the sweltering heat.
Ice gives way to sand, confidence to questions,
As the tides of familiar shores recede.

In the thin gap between seasons and selves,
We skate on thin ice, searching for solid ground.
Each day a new drill, each night a new dream,
Of who we were, who we are, who we might become.

The lighthouse beam sweeps across shore and water alike,
Illuminating paths we never dared to tread.
In the space between our breaths, between checks and goals,
We find ourselves balanced on the knife-edge of opportunity."

A slight tremor swept through my body as my voice fell silent. I couldn't bring myself to look at Kade. Instead, I focused on a tiny crab scrambling toward a hole in the sand. Although I'd become more used to sharing my poetry during the year at UMaine, it was still hard when the audience included people important to me.

"Ziggy, that was… incredible. I love reading poetry, but I've always sucked at writing it."

I glanced up at Kade before looking down again. "And this didn't suck?"

"Way beyond that. I loved it."

I raised my head, surprised by the intensity in his eyes. "Yeah?"

He moved closer. "Nobody told me you could write like that. You didn't share anything at the poetry night. Surely, you have before. This was like you snatched the emotions right out of my chest and put them into words."

Kade's hand found mine, and our fingers intertwined like they'd been searching for each other all along. My heart raced, and the world tilted on its axis.

"Kade, I—"

He didn't let me finish the sentence before leaning in and kissing me. The taste of strawberries lingered on his lips. For a moment, I froze, feeling his soft lips resting on mine but not responding. Then, seconds later, I wrapped my arms around him, feverishly returning the kiss.

It was even better than our first because I expected it. At least, I thought we were likely to have another one, and I would have been shocked if Kade didn't feel the same.

I was a little dizzy when we finally parted, and my lips tingled. A giddy warmth bloomed in my chest. It spread to my face and formed what must have been the world's goofiest grin.

An emotion I can only describe as pure joy bubbled up inside. "Well, that's one way to critique a poem."

Kade grinned, but then he suddenly appeared serious. "Was that… okay? I know what we have still feels a little… undecided."

"So much more than okay." I squeezed his hand as my pulse pounded in my ears. "But… wow. I didn't expect it to blow me away… so much."

"Yeah… like…" He struggled for words. "So, I'm going to ask a stupid question, and slap me if you think it's bad. Anyway, have you ever—"

I interrupted him. "No, you're the first guy I've kissed." Admitting it made me feel vulnerable, but Kade smiled so gently, I had to continue. "Telling the truth, I've been so lost in hockey and poetry and nervous about what looking at guys on porn meant that I never really dated anyone. Sheesh, does that make me sound pathetic?"

He raised both eyebrows. "Are you serious? Damn, Ziggy, you're so good-looking and fun to be around. I thought they'd be lining up."

I laughed. "My buddy Eric has said he thinks they are, but I don't notice. He says I'm nice to the entire world and distant when it comes to getting… close."

"Well, I know that territory of having it be hard to figure things out. My parents' money makes some girls want to get in my pants, and I can't handle that. So damn hard to figure out who wants me for me. Make sense?" He picked up a small stone and tossed it out into the waves.

"Have you dated?"

He reached up and raked his fingers through his wind-tousled hair. "Yeah, I've dated, but only the right kind of girls. That means country club girls that meet my parents' approval." Kade stared out over the water. "None of it ever felt real. It was always like I was playing a part in a movie of my life, not living it."

"Now, the big questions for you. Are you ready for this?" I gripped his hand tightly and looked into his soulful brown eyes. "Guys? Yes? No? Dated?"

Kade took a deep breath, but I couldn't read his expression. "I've thought about it a lot more than I've ever admitted to anyone. I'm a porn watcher, too, but I've never had the guts to do anything in real life. Too afraid of what it would mean about me. So… then you crashed into my life."

His willingness to be so open with me was stunning. I couldn't think of what to say for a few minutes. Finally, my tongue was able to form words again. "I get it. Damn, man, I get it. The whole idea of not being who everybody thinks I am… scary stuff."

"Welcome to the Langston Lifeboat." Kade laughed. "Any conclusions?"

"Well, I mean, I love hockey, and my decision to be a lit major is my big rebellion against my dad, but this… it's beyond. It's a whole other part that no one would expect, at least I don't think so, not even Eric. Oh, maybe Rory would get it."

Kade squeezed my hand again. "And writing poetry? Have you written about guys in any of that?"

Somehow, that question made my shoulders relax, and I laughed louder. "I've got a box for those in the far corner of my closet. It's almost full. Poetry is my escape. I can let the feelings run wild without acting on them. But now… I think they caught up to me."

"Even scarier now because it's finally real… right?"

I smiled weakly. "Yeah… so what do we do?"

Kade breathed deeply as he gazed out at the horizon where the sea met the sky. "Don't know, but I think I want to find out. Do you?"

A smile spread across my face. "Yeah," I said, squeezing his hand. "I do."

Sitting there, I knew everything had changed, but I still wasn't sure what to call Kade's new role. Friend? I swallowed hard. Boyfriend?

I broke the silence between us. "A month ago, if someone told me I'd be sitting on a beach holding hands with Kade Langston, I would've laughed in their face."

Kade chuckled. "Understand. If somebody told me I'd be kissing Ziggy Knickerbocker, I would've checked them for a concussion."

Chapter ten

Kade

My phone's ringer—a recording of crowd cheer noise—woke me at 6 a.m. I fumbled for it, and my pulse raced when I saw Coach Cabot's name on the screen.

Trying my best not to sound sleepy, I answered. "Langston here."

"Good to hear you, Kade. You sound chipper for so early." Coach's rough voice was like sandpaper. "How's the summer?"

"All is well. Working out and getting plenty of time on the ice and—"

He cut me off. "What I like to hear. Listen, I called for a quick discussion of the rest of your summer plans and my expectations for my team."

My stomach clenched. Was there any way he knew about Ziggy? It didn't sound impossible that a gossip like Dottie Perkins could set off a chain that ran all the way down to Manchester."

"Of course, Coach."

He gave me a bird' s-eye view of it all and insisted on my presence. "I'm running some major team-building activities next month. We need to have you there. The younger players look up to you as a leader."

Forgetting he couldn't see me, I nodded. "Yes, Coach. You can count on me."

"And then there's the training regimen. You'd better not be slacking off. Can't afford our star players lying on a beach somewhere turning soft."

To me, the words sounded like an accusation. I'd been working hard, using the weight room in my building when I wasn't on the ice at the arena.

"No slackers here. Following the summer guidelines to the letter." I did my best not to sound defensive.

"Good man. And Kade," his voice suddenly sounded more serious, "be careful up there in Maine. Small towns have a way of being… distracting. Every minute of the day, you're representing UNH, and I can't tolerate things that compromise your performance or cast a shadow on the team's reputation."

Goosebumps rose on my forearms. Did he really suspect something, or was it some kind of paranoia about undercover plots by rival schools?

"Yeah, I get it, Coach. No problems here."

"Stay sharp, Langston. We'll touch base again soon."

I took a deep breath as the call ended. The leather felt cool on my skin as I slumped onto my couch.

The familiar pressure started building again almost as soon as the call ended. Coach's expectations, my own interests, and thoughts about my teammates all pressed down like a heavy weight on my chest.

Coach's words rattled in my head. "Every minute… you're representing UNH." What did that even mean? Did UNH hockey own my life 24/7? What about leaving room for me to be me?

Ziggy came to mind, and I immediately remembered how my heart raced whenever he was near. Did that mean my interest in him could compromise my performance? I didn't understand how it could. After spending so much of the summer with Ziggy so far, I felt more motivated than ever.

Still, my college teammates were like brothers to me. Anything that could let them down… I sighed heavily.

I needed to talk to someone, and I knew where to turn. Pulling out my phone, I looked up Dr. Fellows. I was still five days from my next scheduled session, but she assured me I could call any time.

An hour later, I found myself seated in her office. A light hint of lavender filled the air, underlined by the slight mustiness of old books. I slumped in a leather-upholstered chair, and Dr. Fellows sat across from me.

A neat bun gathered her brown hair. She had glasses with tortoiseshell frames pushed partway down her nose. I always sensed an air of humble authority, which made it easy for me to open up and talk.

"First off, I am sorry you are feeling stressed," she began. "Can you tell me what's troubling you?"

The words rolled out of my mouth after one deep breath. "I… I guess a lot of it is related to Ziggy. We've gotten closer… really close. Then, this morning, I got this call from Coach. He's going on about loyalty to the team and not being distracted and… I'm not sure what to do."

Dr. Fellows nodded as she always did. Her face was a picture of calm. "So, it sounds like you're experiencing competition between your personal wishes and the obligations already set in place. We can dig a little deeper into that. Remember how we've already talked about your inclination to put the expectations of others over your own needs?"

I nodded, remembering what we talked about in earlier sensations. "That's the stuff you said about setting boundaries, right? And you mentioned respecting my own feelings."

"Yes, that's right on the nose. Can you tell me how that might apply to today's situation with Ziggy?"

While thinking about the question, I leaned back and slumped further. "It was all okay until the phone call. Now, it feels like getting closer to Ziggy might be a betrayal to my team because he goes to UMaine. Then, when I think about that, my gut hurts because being with Ziggy feels right at the time."

With a slight forward lean, Dr. Fellows responded. "You have made tremendous progress on the path to understanding your needs and desires. Now, it's time to work on integrating that with existing commitments. Remember, it's about blending them together, not choosing one over the other."

"But how?" I looked at her, trying to see some sort of answer in her hazel eyes. "Coach makes it sound like it's one or the other. Can I really be a leader on my time while I'm close to a player for a rival team?"

Dr. Fellows smiled. "When you find yourself stuck like this, it's time to try to break it down. First, what does being a good team member mean to you?"

I considered the question. "Well, that's about giving it 100% every time, supporting my teammates, and being consistent."

"Does your relationship with Ziggy get in the way of that?"

I blinked. Dr. Fellows made seeing the different parts so easy. "No, I don't think so. If anything, he makes me a better player because I want to keep up with him."

After removing her glasses, Dr. Fellows polished them briefly, providing a welcome pause in the conversation. "Does that mean that you might be building up a conflict that, at worst, isn't as intense as you fear? Let's shift the focus to Ziggy. What does being a good man for him look like?"

I spoke slowly. "Being honest. I think I should support him even if we play for different teams. It's important to make time for him. That's easy now. In the future, not so much."

"It sounds like you understand some of the pillars that support a solid relationship. They aren't that different from what you mentioned about being a good team member. Honesty, support, and dedication are essential for both."

I started to understand her point. "So, you don't think I have to choose?"

"In a nutshell. I don't think being a good player and leader on your hockey team and developing a relationship with Ziggy must be mutually exclusive. Like you said, improving at either will likely assist the other."

She left me with something to keep in mind as the session ended. "Keep considering what your world will look like if you can simultaneously honor your feelings for Ziggy and your commitment to your team."

"Thanks. I will keep all that in mind, and I feel much better. I need to be honest with my team, Ziggy, and myself. I need to make sure I'm not hiding who I am or what I want behind being the guy who always does what's expected."

Dr. Fellows nodded. "That does sound like a mature approach, Kade. Also, remember that it's fine for everything to be a process. Changing it all overnight isn't necessary."

I toyed with a pencil on the edge of her desk. "Yeah, I get that. The trainers say the same thing when we're trying to get over an injury. Take it a step at a time and work on getting better each day."

By the time the session ended and I left the office, I didn't know the specifics of my path forward, but I felt better equipped to follow it. I took a deep breath of Whistleport's salty air mixed with a hint of pine, which settled deep in my lungs.

My phone chimed. It was a text message from Ziggy.

"Just got a blast from the Coach. You free to talk?"

Hearing from him put an immediate smile on my face. I invited him over to my apartment for the first time. Fifteen minutes later, Ziggy knocked. I swallowed hard and greeted him at the door. He looked worried.

"Hey," his voice was soft with a rough edge. "Thanks for inviting me."

I reached out and pulled him into a hug. His expression brightened a bit. "Hey… any excuse to see you."

Ziggy held on tight. "You don't know how much I needed the hug."

When I let go, I was suddenly aware of how the apartment might appear to someone for the first time. The furniture was as inviting as a hospital waiting room, and the walls were almost entirely empty. Would it put Ziggy off and make him think I was as dull as my summer home?

He whistled low. "Well… this is something else."

Ziggy wandered around, exploring every corner. He paused at the floor-to-ceiling living room windows that looked out on the harbor.

"And I thought our view was great, but we have to lean a bit to the right to actually see the ocean. You've got the postcard shot."

I relaxed a bit. His voice was upbeat. I followed him to the kitchenette, where he ran a hand over the smooth granite countertop. "This is fancy. Do you cook, or is it just for show?"

Color rose in my cheeks. "I… make a mean bowl of cereal."

"Every chef starts somewhere." Ziggy laughed. "I'm impressed by your digs."

He returned to the living room and stopped by the one personal item. It was a bookshelf I used to hold some of my favorites. I brought them from New Hampshire in a cardboard box.

Ziggy's fingers trailed over the spines. "The Great Gatsby next to Gretzky. I like it.

I shrugged and tried to inject a little humor. "What can I say? I contain multitudes."

Ziggy chuckled. "Did you just quote Walt Whitman at me?"

"Maybe." I moved closer. "Was it a good idea?"

"Jury's still out." That's what he said, but his smile told me otherwise. He plopped down on the leather sofa. "Damn, this is twice as comfy as any furniture in my house."

I sat next to him. "Mi sofa es su sofa."

Ziggy's arm snaked around my waist and pulled me close. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. He leaned his chin on my shoulder. "This is good."

"Yeah." I let two or three minutes of silence pass between us. "So, your coach called, too?"

"Too? I didn't know about yours. Mine was talking about all this team unity stuff and representing the program. For a second, there, I thought he might know."

I shook my head. "Tell me about it. It's like somebody's waiting outside to break down the door and yell, 'Gotcha!'"

We glanced nervously at the door for a second, and then Ziggy laughed and tackled me on the couch. We shared a quick kiss. "Damn, I guess what Coach said is important, but this…"

Ziggy's voice faded into another kiss. This one was deeper, and he parted his lips. I did the same, and a bolt of electricity raced through me when our tongues touched.

He rolled slightly to the side, the leather creaking beneath us, and, for the first time, he touched my bare skin. He slipped his right hand under the hem of my T-shirt, and our eyes met, the gazes locked. I gasped when he splayed his fingers out across my abs.

When Ziggy started to tug at my shirt, I raised up just enough so he could pull it up and over my head. When I reached out for his shirt, he teased. "You wanna see that?"

"I've seen it in the locker room—at the arena."

"But have you touched it?"

"In my dreams," I grunted. "Fuck, and yeah, that's the truth."

Ziggy gripped his shirt with both hands and tugged it off over his head. My breath caught, and I bit my lip. Could I really touch that—his body—maybe even kiss it? Almost tentatively, I reached out and ran my hand slowly up his abs until my fingertip touched a firm nipple.

He curled his body downward and kissed the side of my neck. I moaned. It felt so damn good.

"Mmmm," he hummed against my neck, and then he whispered. "I always thought this would be more… I don't know, aggressive? Like checking someone into the boards."

I laughed, and Ziggy rolled on top of me, the weight of our bare chests on each other. "You thought we'd body-slam each other?"

"Maybe a little."

"Well, if you…" I immediately wanted to please him and do what he wanted so he would be happy.

"Shhh." He smothered me in another kiss. "This is great. It's… it's us."

We explored at a slow pace, all above the waist. My fingers traced the firm contours of Ziggy's back, feeling the subtle ridges of muscle beneath warm skin. I wanted to tug at Ziggy's jeans so badly, and I didn't, too.

Being with a guy was still uncharted territory. It was easy to let my thoughts jump fifty giant steps into a terrifying future, but then he kissed my bare shoulder, and all those worries faded.

We didn't have to be like the sex gods in porn. I wanted to be just Ziggy and Kade.

"Your hands are softer than I thought they'd be," Ziggy mused as we wove our fingers together.

"Fancy hand cream, of course."

He rolled his eyes. "How do I like you so much? This isn't supposed to happen."

"You like me?" My heart pounded.

"Of course… duh. Would I do this with a guy I didn't like?" Suddenly, he took a nipple lightly between his lips, then sucked and tugged.

"Oh… oh, God," I gasped, my voice ragged with desire. My dick strained against my jeans. A warm flush spread across my chest, and I heard my heartbeat thumping in my ears.

Ziggy pulled back and then smiled wickedly at me. "I think you like me, too."

"Man, you're quick… to notice that." We were silent for another few minutes, staring into each other's eyes. "Ziggy, I'm gonna say something, and I hope it doesn't sound stupid."

"Who cares if it does?"

He was so damn accepting. I couldn't remember when that happened with anybody else important to me. "Well, I'm just happy we're not body-slamming each other… not yet. Thank you for that."

"Well, so that you know, my cock is rock hard. You can probably feel that anyway, but yeah, I'm happy to take this part slow. And your body… oh man, perfect. It's even better than I thought a guy would feel. Your skin is so smooth, but I feel the muscle underneath. Hot."

I smiled so wide that I thought my face would crack. "Yeah, same. So good."

"Kade, what are we doing?"

I sighed. "Who knows? I mean, I wish I knew, but all I really know is that I don't want it to stop."

Chapter eleven

Ziggy

Low tide always intensified the briny scent of the ocean waves. As I strolled toward Whistleport's town square, the scent mingled with the sweet aroma of Mrs. Miller's freshly baked blueberry muffins. It was a warm summer day, and sweat had already pasted my T-shirt to my back.

I had a hard time sleeping the night before. Thoughts about Kade cycled through my head—the unexpected softness of his hands, his low, rumbling voice, and the sparkle in his eyes when we challenged each other.

An explosion of red, white, and blue greeted me as I turned onto Main Street. Encouraged by Rory, Kade and I had volunteered to help decorate for our annual 4th of July celebration. I saw piles of boxes overflowing with streamers and banners scattered around the square.

A swarm of my neighbors gathered, sipping coffee, munching on muffins, and sharing the latest news and gossip. In the middle of it all was Kade. He was having an animated conversation with old Mr. Granger, gesturing with his hands while he spoke.

Pausing along the sidewalk, I watched for a few minutes. I gazed at the curve of Kade's shoulders and observed how his strong, wiry chest stretched his T-shirt. Memories of our time at his apartment rushed back—the feel of his bare skin under my fingers and the little gasp he made when I kissed the side of his neck below his ear.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Not here, Ziggy. Not now.

"Knock, knock. Anyone in there?" It was Rory. He held a clipboard in his right hand. "It's good to see you. I thought maybe you'd decided to sit this one out."

"Nah, just running a little behind. Emma had a wardrobe malfunction, and then she insisted I give my opinion on her replacement outfit. What's the game plan here?"

Rory's eyes twinkled in a way that made me uneasy. "Since you asked, I've got you and Kade assigned to Main Street banners and bunting."

My mouth dropped open. "I don't think—"

"It will work out fine." The tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't about to entertain questions about his plans. "You two are getting on well enough working with the juniors. It would also be great for the town to see the two of you bury the hatchet and cooperate."

Before I could come up with a coherent protest, he'd already moved on to Dottie Perkins standing by the balloon arrangement station. I inhaled deeply and then walked over to Kade.

He looked up as his conversation with Mr. Granger ended. "Hey, Zig." I watched a little smile play at the corners of his mouth. "Are we ready to give your hometown a makeover?"

"Yeah, sure," I mumbled. "Let's get this done." We reached for one of the strings of lights simultaneously. When our hands brushed, I nearly stumbled.

Kade grabbed my elbow to steady me. "Whoa, man. Maybe you've had too much caffeine. We can take it slow."

Take it slow. The suggestion reminded me of our explorations on Kade's couch.

As we worked in silence, it was incredibly awkward. I listened to the rhythm of Kade's breathing and inhaled the scent of his sandalwood shampoo while hoping nobody noticed. I had to work hard to stop myself from staring at the little sliver of exposed skin that appeared every time he reached for something over his head.

"Oh, for the love of—" I'd been rummaging through a box when I heard Kade's exasperated voice. When I turned around, he'd hopelessly entangled himself in a mass of red, white, and blue ribbons. He looked like he'd lost a fight with a patriotic octopus. Laughter bubbled up inside me, and I couldn't hold it in.

Our eyes met, and he lost it, too. Fortunately, the absurd situation eased the tension, at least for a few minutes.

I stepped up close. "Here, let me help."

As I worked to untangle the ribbons, my hands touched Kade's body in multiple places. Neither of us tried to pull away, and the world around us faded. I spread a hand wide and began to reach—

"Yoo-hoo! Kade, darling!"

Dottie Perkins' shrill voice shattered the moment. I jerked back, and I nearly stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. Kade grabbed my wrist, and I fell against his body, crumpling the last ribbon that stretched across his chest.

A group of Whistleport's most notorious gossips, led by Dottie, descended on us. We were soon fighting a whirlpool of heavy, floral perfume while serenaded by jangling bracelets. They were all there—Mabel from the post office, Gladys, who volunteered at the library, and Ruth, who recently retired from Gus's Grocery.

Dottie spoke for the entire group. "Well, aren't you young, handsome men a sight for sore eyes? And so good to see you mending your fences and working together."

I forced a smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Perkins and everyone."

"Pish posh, Ziggy." Dottie waved a hand. "How many times do I need to tell you to call me Dottie? Mrs. Perkins makes me sound like I'm three steps from the grave."

"You don't look a day over thirty-five, Dottie." Kade's compliment was a smooth move, full of charm. "Is that a new hairstyle? It's very becoming."

Dottie tilted her head slightly to the right and patted her hair. "You're a silver-tongued devil." She turned to her group. "This one is trouble, mark my words." She resumed the conversation with Kade. "And how are you adjusting to little Whistleport? Is everyone helping you feel welcome?"

"They've all been fantastic." He gripped my elbow briefly. "Especially Ziggy here. I've heard all of the local secrets from him."

I blinked furiously but remained quiet. I did my best to keep my expression neutral.

Kade intrigued Dottie, and she wasn't ready to let him go. "Well, isn't that nice? When I heard that UNH's star forward was spending the summer here, I said to Gladys—didn't I, Gladys? I said, 'We should watch this one. He's a story in the making.' And now, here you are, like two peas in a pod with our young Mr. Knickerbocker."

I waved a hand. "Oh, I wouldn't say—"

Dottie didn't let me finish. "It warms my heart to see you boys getting along. Battling in those hockey games is exciting but off the ice? That's silly. There are better ways to generate excitement."

"Absolutely, Dottie." Kade successfully wrapped her around his little finger. "Ziggy and I found out we have a lot in common."

I shot him a withering look, but he ignored me.

"Why, of course, you do!" She clapped her hands. "Two fine young men. You simply must stop by my place next week—the two of you together. I'll make my famous cherry cobbler. I'm sure you like cherry cobbler, don't you, Kade?"

"Who doesn't? I bet it's delicious, but—"

Dottie was on a roll and didn't let him stop her. "Marvelous. Next week, Wednesday at seven. And do try to wear something nice. Not that you fine young men don't always look handsome, but a little extra effort goes a very long way. Just ask my dear Harold—God rest his soul—he always said…"

She launched into a long, rambling story about her late husband and the importance of properly pressed shirts. When I glanced at Kade, he raised an eyebrow. It was a plea for help.

"Mrs. Per—I mean, Dottie." I interrupted her story. "I don't want to break up the story, but we've got a lot of work to do here, and Rory will be on our tails if we don't get it done."

"Of course, of course! Pardon me. Duty calls, but remember—Wednesday at seven."

She continued to talk as she herded her group away from us. "That Kade—he's a looker and a breath of fresh air. So polite and friendly, unlike so many of our young people with their noses stuck in their phones."

Once we were out of earshot, Kade turned to me. "That was quite an experience."

"That's Dottie, and she wasn't kidding about stopping by. We don't have a choice. Ignoring an invitation from her is social suicide. By the way, the cobbler is lethal."

Kade groaned. "So, you're saying there's no hope of getting us out of that?"

"Not without rumors spreading all over town. If I have to suffer through a visit, you do, too. It's payback for all those goals you scored on us last season."

He folded his arms over his chest. "I declare cruel and unusual punishment." Our eyes met, and we both laughed.

As we turned back to our work, I couldn't stop thinking about the upcoming visit. Visiting Dottie's place would be like diving into a fishbowl—every movement and every glance would be observed and analyzed. And her cherry cobbler wasn't the only thing that was lethal; her ability to uncover secrets was legendary in Whistleport.

"You know," I said, keeping my voice low, "Dottie's been the unofficial town gossip for as long as I can remember. Nothing gets past her."

Kade's eyes widened slightly. "So, this visit—"

"Could be interesting," I finished for him. "We'll need to be careful."

"Well," he said, "at least we have a week to prepare our act."

I swallowed hard, wondering if any amount of preparation would be enough to fool Dottie Perkins. Wednesday at seven suddenly loomed large in my mind, a deadline of sorts. By then, Kade and I would need to figure out exactly what we were to each other—and what we were willing to let the town see.

While the morning continued, we settled into a comfortable working pattern. Off the ice, without the rivalry, we were a surprisingly effective team. Kade's eye for what looked good perfectly balanced my practical notions about the easiest ways to complete a task.

We did run into a disagreement about hanging the primary "Welcome to Whistleport" banner. I was ready to put it where it was every year, but Kade wanted to consider new options.

He gestured with his right hand. "Maybe angling it this way would be better. It might catch the light well when people drive into town. The first impression should be a great one, right?"

As I considered his suggestion, I had to admit he was right. "More visible from the harbor, too."

Kade's face lit up, and for a moment, I thought about us in the future in a different reality. We weren't rivals and didn't carry the weight of responsibility for leading our teams. We could simply reach out to each other and—

"Looks great, gentlemen!" Brooks called out from across the square. "You two are a dynamic duo. Who would've thought it would be such a great pairing."

A flush crept up my cheeks. At my side, Kade shifted his weight. "Thanks, Brooks," he responded. "Just doing our part."

"And doing it very well. It's great to see you putting your differences aside for the greater good."

As Brooks walked away, something twisted in my gut. Was it guilt for not sharing our whole story?

When noon approached, Kade and I gathered our tools and headed to Tidal Grounds for refuge from the heat. Silas raised an eyebrow as we entered together. He leaned on the counter and, fortunately, spoke in a low voice that only we could hear: "Looks like our odd couple is smoothing over some of their differences."

I groaned. "Hilarious, Silas. Two iced Americanos, please."

"Coming up." He paused before turning to the espresso machine. "I've been watching the two of you from my window all morning. You make an impressive team."

Kade repeated his comment to Brooks. "Just doing our part for the town."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Silas started to hum as he operated the espresso machine. While he retrieved a pair of glasses and ice, he continued to talk. "Zig, I remember when you and Eric Callahan were inseparable. You'd be in here together after every game, win or lose."

I tensed when he mentioned Eric. A flood of memories washed over me—late nights in our dorm room studying plays, wildly celebrating victories, and consoling each other after excruciating losses. Eric was my roommate, best friend, and rock through college hockey's ups and downs. But things had been different lately. Ever since I started questioning... well, everything.

With Silas, I insisted nothing had changed. "We're still friends." The words sounded hollow even to my ears. The truth was, I'd been pulling away, afraid that if Eric saw the real me—the confused, questioning me—he wouldn't understand.

I thought about the last time we'd talked and how I'd made excuses to avoid hanging out. When I saw the hurt in his eyes, guilt gnawed at me. He deserved better, but I couldn't bring myself to open up to him. Not yet.

"What's your point, Silas?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, a defensive edge creeping in.

His back was still to us as he shrugged. "Merely an observation. Things change, and sometimes people come up with surprises."

Kade and I glanced at each other, but I couldn't read his expression. "Change isn't necessarily a bad thing," he said quietly.

Silas pushed the iced coffees across the counter. "No, but it can be scary, particularly in a little town set in its ways."

I grabbed my glass and swallowed a mouthful. "Thanks. I needed this."

Leaning on the counter, Silas shared more of his thoughts. "Listen, I don't know what's up between the two of you; frankly, it's none of my business. Still, I've lived almost my entire life here, and things can be rough sometimes for people who are… different."

I swallowed hard and looked down. Beside me, Kade didn't move.

Silas continued. "All I want to say is whatever's going on and whatever you're figuring out… you've got an ally here, and there are others in town, too." He pushed off and straightened up, suddenly speaking at twice the volume. "And yeah, Zig, I'll show you where I put the new shipments when you come into work tonight."

The abrupt shift in tone startled me, but it was impossible not to understand Silas's message, and I appreciated it. I turned to Kade. "Let's grab a lunch and get back to the square."

On the way to the job site, we made a quick stop at Miller's Bakery to grab sandwiches. The smell of freshly baked bread always brought me back to childhood when I'd go with Mom to pick up bread on the weekend.

At the town square, Kade and I found an empty spot under an old oak tree to unwrap our sandwiches and chug bottles of water. Our shoulders nearly touched while we ate.

Taking a break, Kade began to speak. "Ziggy, what Silas said… the last thing I want is to get between you and your hometown. I hope he's right about allies."

He was so direct and sincere. It made my heart skip a beat. I wanted to reach out, wrap my arms around him, and hold him. Unfortunately, we were very much in public view, surrounded by potential prying eyes and wagging tongues.

Instead, I addressed his comment. "Silas usually knows what he's talking about."

When everyone returned and the afternoon ramped up, we found our rhythm again. Kade found a group of kids working on streamers, and he helped them out. He was as charming with them as he had been with Dottie Perkins.

It was almost 5 p.m. when we could finally step back and admire our completed handiwork. We'd transformed the town square. It was festive and ready for the big crowds.

Kade whispered to me. "We did good."

He was right, and I agreed. "Yeah, we did."

Rory came along carrying his loudspeaker. He clapped his hands. "Alright, everybody! Great work out here! Let's get together for a group photo."

Kade and I joined the rest of the crew, and he deliberately brushed the back of his hand against mine on the way. I didn't pull away. Instead, I used a little pressure to let him know I'd noticed.

As we posed for the photo, a range of emotions washed over me. First was the pride in what we'd accomplished. Second was some degree of anxiety about what the future would hold. Finally, the most important was a warm sense of hope for a positive future.

Chapter twelve

Kade

As I entered Whistleport's town square, the savory scent of grilled hot dogs mingled with the intensely sweet smell of cotton candy. The Fourth of July festival was in full swing as the sun dipped low on the horizon. I looked up to see red, white, and blue streamers dancing in the breeze. They'd held up well overnight.

The high school band played patriotic music on the bandstand at the center of the square. Friendly chatter from gathered friends and family added to the sounds of celebration.

I scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar mop of dark brown hair. Ziggy was turning into an addiction. When we were apart, I counted the hours and minutes until we'd see each other again.

A nervous tingle swept through my system as I wondered what would happen if someone noticed how eager I was to find him. What if they saw right through our attempts to hide the truth?

Seconds later, I found him. He tossed a dart at a balloon, and it burst on impact. His sister, Emma, was at his side. She said something, and he threw his head back, laughing, exposing a vein in his strong neck. I swallowed hard as I imagined my lips kissing him right there.

While I strolled over to join them, I did my best to eliminate any goofy grins. I wanted to appear casual but knew I'd probably fail miserably. When I was only steps away, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and reached up to rake my fingers through my hair.

"Hey." My attempt at calm came out agitated and intense.

Ziggy turned, and his eyes suddenly sparkled. "Kade! You made it." His attempt at mellow, warm, and friendly worked much better than my approach.

"How could I miss the 4th of July in my summer escape spot?" I desperately wanted to reach out and wrap him in a massive hug while smothering his face with my lips and tongue, but a crowd of strangers surrounded us.

Emma smirked and glanced from one of us to the other. "Well, I'm gonna go find Dad. Later, losers." As she sauntered off, I figured she was a good kid sister to have.

Ziggy stepped up close to whisper in my ear, "I'm glad you're here." His breath was warm against my neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end. The familiar scent of his shower soap, citrus, was intoxicating.

He led the way as we wandered through the festival grounds, occasionally "accidentally" brushing our hands together. The smell of fried dough stopped him in his tracks at a funnel cake stand.

Ziggy held up two fingers. "Two, please." He pulled out his wallet.

I started to protest, but he was already shaking his head before I could get any words out. "It's my treat. Consider it a thank you for all the work you're putting into my hometown."

"Damn, these are delicious," I declared as I stuffed a sugary nugget into my mouth, with powdered sugar sticking to my fingers.

"Haven't you ever had a funnel cake before?"

"No." I sighed. "This isn't exactly the kind of event my parents would frequent."

Before we could discuss what all I'd missed, a familiar voice called out over the crowd.

"Boys!" Rory waved and wove through the crowd, bringing Brooks along behind him. I admired their comfort as a gay couple blending in with their Whistleport neighbors. For a moment, I daydreamed about Ziggy and me following in their footsteps.

With my mouth full of sugary dough, I nodded, and Ziggy spoke for us. "Hey, guys. Everything turned out great."

Brooks grinned. He casually slung his arm around Rory's shoulders. "Well, the two of you did a fantastic job. Who knew two rivals would work so well as a team?"

Ziggy and I exchanged a glance. Was there any chance Brooks and Rory saw through us?

"Yeah, who knew?" Ziggy popped a bite of funnel cake into his mouth.

Rory added his two cents. "You're doing well with the juniors so far, too. I hope this summer won't dull your edge on the ice."

"As if," chuckled Brooks. "I think it's great for kids to see this kind of cooperation. Are you enjoying working with the young ones?"

I did my best to keep my voice steady. "It's been great. Ziggy already had some experience, so he's been showing me the ropes."

He nudged me with his elbow, and I laughed, perhaps a little too loud. "Don't underestimate your talent, Kade. The kids love you. I'm worried you're converting too many UMaine fans."

We all laughed, but I couldn't help noticing Rory's piercing gaze. He appeared to be reading us like a book.

His words made me nervous. "You know, watching the two of you reminds me of when Brooks and I skated together in our younger days. Who knows when the next great partnership will emerge?"

Brooks nodded in agreement and squeezed Rory's shoulder. "I think it's true. Who would have guessed that an aging NHL player bailing out of his career and a poetry-loving English teacher would make such a great team?"

"Bailing out?" Rory sighed. "You left to take care of your dad. What a selfless act. Now, you're like a fine wine. You only get better with age."

As they playfully teased each other, I found the easy affection between Brooks and Rory inspiring. Someday, maybe Ziggy and I could get there.

Brooks turned his attention back to us. "Any big plans for the rest of the summer besides whipping the juniors into shape?"

I opened my mouth, but Ziggy beat me to it. "The usual. Training never ends, and I work evenings at Tidal Grounds. Maybe we can take a day trip to Portland before the summer ends."

"We?" Rory raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, uh, Kade mentioned that he's curious about the Sea Dogs. Baseball could be a fun change of pace."

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, the Sea Dogs. Maybe that's a path for me if hockey doesn't pan out."

Brooks laughed. "Don't let us keep you from the rest of your evening. I'm sure young bucks like the two of you have better things to do than jawing around with old-timers."

As they turned to leave, Rory tossed one last comment in our direction. "Guys, Whistleport might be small, but it's got a big heart. Don't underestimate your neighbors… while you're figuring things out."

After that mysterious comment, they disappeared back into the crowd. I stared at Ziggy, feeling a little stunned and confused.

I started to speak. "Do you think…?" And then my voice faded.

Ziggy shrugged. "I don't know, but would it be the end of the world if they did?"

A vulnerable edge to his voice made me want to pull him close regardless of the consequences. Instead, I settled for touching him lightly on the arm.

Ziggy turned away from the heart of the crowd. "Come on. Let's find a good spot for the fireworks. The sun is almost down. They should start soon."

I couldn't wait to be alone together, even if the rest of the town were nearby. We settled on a grassy mound just far enough from the town square to offer a bit of privacy.

It didn't take long for the colorful fireworks to begin. The first explosion lit the sky in red, giving Ziggy's face a warm glow. I couldn't stop staring at him while the next few shells exploded in bright colors. The light and shadows dancing across his features held my attention.

He noticed the direction of my gaze. "You're missing the show."

"No." I breathed out. "I'm not."

In a brief moment of darkness, I leaned in, and we kissed. It was electric, charged with the passion we'd held inside since I arrived in the town square. Ziggy cupped my face with his hand and stroked my cheek with his thumb.

After we shared another kiss, he started to climb to his feet. "Let's go somewhere."

I merely nodded and followed in his wake. My entire body throbbed with desire.

We slipped away from the crowd and carved a path through the shadows. Like stealthy cats in the darkness, we raced quickly across shafts of light and rested momentarily when the darkness surrounded us again. The sounds of the festival grew fainter, but the risk of discovery put every nerve on edge. When I stepped on a twig, and it snapped, I jumped. Ziggy squeezed my hand to reassure me.

"Almost there."

Soon, we arrived at the old boathouse on the edge of the harbor. It was a dark silhouette standing against a starry sky. Ziggy led the way to a hidden bench, invisible to all but the most determined prying eyes. As we sat, the distant boom of the fireworks barely drowned out our ragged breathing.

Immediately after we sat, Ziggy's right hand found its way under my shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on the skin. I shivered, and goosebumps rose across my flesh. He had hands callused from his years of handling a stick, but they didn't feel rough. He was far too gentle for that.

I tugged him closer, pressing our chests together. The warmth of his body helped calm me and steady my nerves.

Ziggy groaned. "Damn, Kade." He kissed me beneath my ear and trailed his lips down my neck. His breath was warm against my skin. "You have to know that you drive me nuts."

I laughed, feeling nearly overwhelmed. "That's all entirely true for me, too." I placed both hands on his cheeks and kissed him hard, our tongues dancing together in his mouth.

Next was a new step forward. Ziggy walked his fingers over my belt and down between my legs. He gripped my package through my jeans, and I nearly yelled out. "Shh, shh," he whispered as he rubbed the outline of my cock with his thumb.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me want to cum," I mumbled.

"No, I just want you to want it… crave it, Kade."

I wrapped both arms around his neck and nearly pushed myself into his lap. While he rubbed and stroked my cock, I feverishly kissed his face, sucking at the outline of his jaw.

With one hand, I reached up and tangled my fingers into Ziggy's hair, that extraordinary tousled mass. I gripped tightly and pulled his head back, exposing his fantastic neck. He moaned, and I bit my lip, fighting back my urge to explode.

I kissed his neck and slid my tongue from his collarbone to his ear. He tasted phenomenal, and I knew that I'd never get enough. Finally, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the heady mix of shower soap and sweat.

He let go of my cock and ran his hand up over my abs and chest before we kissed again, both exhaling and letting ourselves fall deep into the sensation of being one. In the darkness, I could barely make out the flush on Ziggy's cheeks. The lights along the docks generated pinprick reflections in his eyes.

Ziggy's voice was rough when he spoke. "Kade, I—"

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through our haze of passion. "Now, where did those boys run off to?"

We froze. It was Dottie Perkins. My throat closed, and I couldn't breathe. A sense of panic choked me. Scrambling to our feet, we brushed our clothes down and pressed our backs against the boathouse wall. I coughed and finally sucked in a big breath.

Her footsteps crunched along the gravel path. She was close. "Ziggy? Kade? Wherever the two of you are, the fireworks are ending, and the finale's about to start."

I briefly gripped Ziggy's hand and then let go. He held a finger to his lips and smiled at me. The playful expression on his face made me want to laugh, but I held it in.

Dottie's footsteps stopped just around the corner of the boathouse. My heart pounded so fiercely that I thought she could surely hear it. After a few moments that stretched out for an eternity, she sighed. "Those boys. They're probably off getting into mischief."

When we finally heard the footsteps moving away, we both sagged against the wall with relief. My body still vibrated from the surge of adrenaline.

Ziggy whispered, "That was close." He wove his fingers together with mine.

I nodded, unable to form words, and then I looked up. The fireworks finale was underway. The sky erupted in a kaleidoscope of colors. We both stared up at the sky and watched the display as it reflected off the water in the harbor. I pushed up close and wrapped my arm around Ziggy's waist.

As the booms of the last fireworks faded, I kissed him quickly, and then it was time to return to the real world. We walked back to the square, playfully brushing our hands together again.

We stopped a block away. Ziggy spoke. "Kade, tonight was—"

"The best. It was a little bit of terrifying, too."

Ziggy nodded. "Yep, all of the above. A month ago, I never would have believed I could have a summer like this."

I chuckled. "The great Ziggy Knickerbocker never planned on fraternizing with the enemy?"

"Something like that." He playfully elbowed me in the side. "Now…" His voice faded before he completed the thought.

"Now?"

"Now, I can't imagine going back. I can't imagine not having you."

I reached out for his hand. "Oh, man, Ziggy."

A sudden burst of laughter from a group leaving the festival pulled us back into the real world. We deliberately put a few inches of space between us. Ziggy's voice sounded sad. "We should probably head back. If we aren't careful, Dottie might form a search party."

"You're right, but one thing."

"What's that?" The way Ziggy searched my eyes made my heart melt.

"Whatever this is between us, I'm committed to it. I want you to know that."

"Me, too. Damn, no question. Me, too."

Chapter thirteen

Ziggy

When I entered the arena locker room, I saw that Kade had arrived ahead of me and was busy lacing up his skates. He looked up, and our eyes met, setting off a familiar warm sensation in my chest.

"What a coincidence running into you here." I chuckled softly, glancing around to ensure we had a private moment.

The lopsided grin on Kade's face made my skin tingle. "Yeah, who would have guessed? Not like we have any commitments here."

I sat on the bench beside him and moved close, speaking just above a whisper. "Today at practice—"

"We need to be careful. Yep, don't worry. I'm still the invader on your turf as far as Rory and the kids are concerned."

Brushing my hair to the side with my fingers, I patted Kade's thigh and wanted to do so much more. "We still have to work together, but it doesn't have to look like we're having fun every minute. It's getting tough, though, pretending I don't want to…" My voice trailed off, and I looked around again.

"Yeah, but throwing in some trash talk won't be too hard. How about an eye roll from you when I show off my fancy stick moves?"

"Or, 'Hey Kade, what happened to the standards at UNH? Did they lower them just for you, or do they run a lottery?'"

His jaw dropped as he pretended to be offended. "Ouch. I'll have you know they picked me purely for my skills…and maybe some of Dad's money."

We laughed together, but then, the sound of footsteps meant it was showtime.

"Ready to be rivals again?" Kade whispered.

"Again? Did we ever stop?" I grinned as we headed for the ice.

The part I had to play implied that Kade wasn't the guy who made my heart race. As UNH's star forward, he was a threat to UMaine's hockey legacy. I had to make sure everyone believed that.

When the young players skated onto the ice, their enthusiastic chatter filled the air. Rory watched from the boards with a poker face. It was the first session he left entirely to Kade and me. I took a deep breath and called out to the group.

"Listen up, everybody! Today's a day when you get to see what real hockey looks like, up close and personal. We're going to show you how it works, and when I say 'we,' I really mean me. After all, what can you learn from this New Hampshire puck bunny besides how to warm the bench?"

When I glanced at Kade, I saw amusement first, but he quickly covered it with an indignant glare. "Big words from the guy who can't score on an empty net."

I scoffed. "Okay, here's how we'll get started." I explained a drill focused on stick handling. "Treat those pucks like they're your partner at a dance. You want them to stick close as you move the two of you around the dance floor, or in this case, the ice."

I raised my arms, and the kids responded, "Yes, Coach Ziggy!" I beamed. The excitement caught me in the gut and reminded me how much I loved hockey.

Kade stepped forward to demonstrate a drill. "Watch closely." He was in his element, speaking in a silky-smooth tone and gliding his way through complicated moves that he made look easy. "When it comes down to it, this is all about finesse and control."

I couldn't take my eyes off him. I figured the kids were blown away. It looked like he had the puck glued to his stick as he blazed a trail, weaving in and out around imaginary defenders. When the demo was over, the kids clapped as hard as they could.

"Show-off," I mumbled, but I knew my complaint sounded weak.

Kade winked at me. He delivered it so quickly that I nearly missed it. "I'm just setting the bar high for you, Knicks."

We randomly divided the group into pairs. They worked together, doing their best to replicate some of Kade's moves.

I skated up to a small boy with a head of curly red hair. He furrowed his brow as he struggled with the drill.

Crouching down to his level, I gripped my stick in both hands. "Hi, what's your name?"

"Benny." He glanced at me and tapped his stick on the ice while looking down. "I can't get this right."

"Mind if I help?"

"Can you show us how?" I nodded, and Benny and his partner watched closely while I adjusted Benny's grip on his stick. "Now, I want you to pretend that your stick is a dog that's helping herd little lambs. The puck is one of the lambs. You need to gently guide it, not force it."

Benny tried again; this time, he kept control of the puck and moved more smoothly across the ice. He tapped the stick again. "I did it!"

"Great job!" I high-fived both Benny and his partner. It was one of those little moments that made coaching so rewarding. I didn't just teach a skill. I helped build his overall confidence.

On the opposite side of the rink, Kade worked with a girl with shoulder-length black hair. He spoke softly, patiently demonstrating. Even from a distance, I saw the raw determination on her face. The interaction made me feel closer to Kade, and I knew I was falling even harder.

We'd both softened our approach, and I knew it was time to ramp up the rivalry play. When we all came back together, Kade demonstrated a speed drill. "Oh, puh-leeze. My great-grandma can skate faster than that, and she's been dead for ten years."

The kids tittered behind me.

Kade skated back to us and kicked up a small shower of ice shavings. "Prove it."

I grabbed a puck, determined to put on a blistering display of speed. As I began to weave through the cones, I lost my focus for a split second.

Struggling to regain my balance, I found myself careening toward Kade. Our eyes met, and I saw panic in his a split second before the collision. We landed in a tangled heap on the ice.

We struggled against each other. "Damn, get off me! This isn't wrestling." I did my best to untangle my legs while fighting a powerful urge to laugh.

"Me get off you? You're the one that can't skate in a straight line, Mr. Maine Moose." Kade's face was just inches from mine. It took everything I had not to kiss him.

We both managed to scramble to our feet, fighting for breath. I looked at the kids; they were all staring, appearing rather bewildered.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, kids, that was a demonstration of why you must always be aware of what and who is around you."

Kade brushed the ice off his jersey. "Yeah, always watch out for opposing players who are blown off course."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rory standing by the boards. He had his face buried in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking. I hoped he was laughing and not crying.

When we skated to the opposite end of the rink with the kids following us, I heard one of them whisper to another. "Are they always like this?"

Another answered, "I think they just really like hockey."

If they only knew.

The rest of the session passed in a flurry of drills. I toned down the rivalry schtick and did my best to focus on hockey. The kids' excitement grew.

One of the older kids called out to me. "Hey, Ziggy, can you show us that sick spin move again? I've gotta learn that."

"Of course." I skated into position and then executed the move. Kade gasped. His soulful brown eyes made my pulse race when I glanced his way.

His voice was a little rough when he decided to one-up me. "That wasn't bad, but watch this." He performed a variation that made my jaw drop.

"Damn, I guess sometimes you do come through with something impressive." I led the kids in a round of applause.

As our session wound down, Rory called us over and praised us: "Good work out there, guys. The kids love you, and they're learning a lot."

Something about his voice told me there was more, but I acknowledged the praise. "Thanks, Rory. We're having a great time with them."

"I can see that, and I'd like to see the two of you in my office once you've cleared the ice. We've got some program details to discuss."

I glanced at Kade, and he looked as anxious as I felt. We corraled the kids and got them back to the locker rooms, where they could change into their street clothes.

In Rory's office, we sat in wooden chairs with our knees close enough that they nearly touched. My palms started to sweat.

Rory leaned back in his leather office chair. He folded his hands together on the desk. "So, tell me more about what you think of your coaching experiences."

I jumped in immediately, perhaps a little too quickly. "It's great. The kids are totally into hockey." I did my best to keep my voice steady and calm.

Kade chimed in. "I agree, and I think it's a great way to give back to the game. Thank you for the opportunity."

Rory nodded. I thought I detected a hint of a smile. "And working together. How is that going? Have you run into any issues or challenges?"

My face began to flush, and I heard Kade shift his position in his seat. "We managed to put our rivalry aside for the kids' sake." That might have been true, but there was so much more to the picture. I nervously drummed my fingertips on my thigh.

"Set the differences aside." Rory leaned forward, his eyes opening a little wider. "What's interesting to me is that when I was standing there by the rink, watching, it looked like you'd gone well beyond setting aside differences."

My mouth suddenly went dry, and Kade was silent. Feeling like I was speaking around cotton balls, I asked, "What do you mean?"

Rory's voice turned soft and direct. "Ziggy, I've known you for a long time, since the first time I saw you on the ice here at the arena when you were… what? Six or seven?"

I nodded. "Yep, around there."

"I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Kade. You move around each other like you've choreographed some dance, except for the collision… which was hilarious, by the way."

I glanced at Kade and bit my lip. He tensed, pressing his knee against mine. I desperately wanted to reach for his hand.

Then, he spoke. "Rory, we—"

Rory raised his hand. "Let me finish. I'm not going to judge or even pry for more information. There is something special between the two of you. I'd say it looks like it's helping push you both to do well. Whatever the details are is nobody's business but your own."

I exhaled. Tears began to burn at the corners of my eyes. "You're not disappointed in us?" It sounded like a ridiculous question, weak and lacking in self-awareness.

Rory chuckled. "Disappointed? Why would I be? I've known few players more talented than the two of you, and Ziggy, you're the best that I've coached. Beyond that, I know you're both good young men. My bet is you're searching for a deeper kind of satisfaction even hockey can't provide. Maybe you've both found it. How can I be disappointed about you doing that?"

Kade reached for my hand under the edge of Rory's desk, and we wove our fingers together. His gesture helped keep my heart from racing. He asked the questions we both had on our minds. "But what about our teams and the big rivalry?"

Rory raised his voice slightly, sounding like he meant what he said. "Hockey is just a game. It's an extraordinary, breathtaking game, but that's all it is. The two of you have something that extends into real life. Don't let anybody tell you that you have to choose between the game and the rest of your life."

A single tear ran down my cheek, and I quickly reached up to brush it away. "So, where do you suggest we go from here?"

Rory leaned back. "I've got some advice for your first move. You can stop working at acting like you hate each other. The two of you only look ridiculous when you attempt that."

Kade and I both laughed. The tension in the room dissipated.

Rory continued. "Be yourselves. Coach the kids and work like hell when you're showing them the best hockey you can demonstrate. Work together at it, and then love with all your hearts off the ice. If you do that, the rest will sort itself out."

We walked in silence, hand-in-hand, as we left Rory's office. Our skates made a rhythmic swish-thunk sound on the rubber mats in the hallway. When we reached the locker room, it was empty, and Kade turned to face me.

"So, no more pretending, huh?"

My heart pounded. "Yeah, suppose not." Gathering my courage, I decided to speak out. "Kade, I—"

"Wait." He interrupted me and held a finger to my lips. "Before you say anything else, I need to share something."

I held my breath, wondering if we were on the same wavelength.

"This summer, when I arrived in Whistleport, I looked at it like an escape. It was the little place I'd explore while sorting my head out with Dr. Fellows. But then you turned it all upside down. Suddenly, I wasn't escaping. I was arriving somewhere new. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

Kade continued. "What I'm trying to say is… you're my guiding light, the North Star these days, Ziggy."

A lump formed in my throat. "Kade, I—"

He interrupted again, and I grinned. "Let me finish. I know we're from different worlds—UNH, UMaine, city boy, small-town hero… but, for me, all that disappears when we get together."

I couldn't hold my thoughts in any longer. "You wanna know something? For me, you're like the perfect pass at a clutch moment, part of the ideal teamwork that wins the game."

He tilted his head to the right. "Did you just compare our relationship to a hockey play?"

"Yeah, I did because you've completely altered my game, and I don't mean just hockey."

Kade gripped both of my hands. "So, what you're saying is—"

"I'm falling hard, and I'm all in. If you want me, I'm yours."

"And I'm yours, too."

Chapter fourteen

Kade

We could already smell the sweet scents of cinnamon and nutmeg as Ziggy knocked at Dottie Perkins' door. He turned to look at me. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little green around the gills."

"I'll manage." I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop my fidgeting.

Ziggy appeared twice as calm as me, but he'd grown up in the same town as our host. He told me that I only needed to provide simple answers to her questions that couldn't be used against me. He made it sound so easy. I worried that it would be a monumental task I might fail.

While we waited for Dottie to answer the door, Ziggy leaned close to my ear. "Remember, if she asks directly, we're just friends. We're working with Rory to teach the juniors. That's it." His voice trembled slightly by the time he finished.

I nodded as my mouth went dry. I managed to choke out a few words. "Just two guys who decided to put a white-hot rivalry aside. Why would that be suspicious?"

Ziggy grinned, but before he could say more, the door opened. Dottie stood there. Her floral apron and silver hair gave off TV commercial grandmother vibes. The intense aroma of freshly baked cobbler made my mouth water despite my nerves.

"Oh my, it's two shining examples of the best of young New England men. Do come in." She held the door wide and ushered us into her apartment. "You have perfect timing. I took the cobbler out of the oven five minutes ago."

As I looked around, I would have sworn we'd entered a time capsule or a set decorated for a '60s sitcom. Nearly every surface sported floral designs. The armrests of the upholstered chairs displayed doilies pinned to the fabric, and knickknacks crowded shelves on every wall. I suspected they all had stories that Dottie would be eager to share.

Framed family photos crowded together on the fireplace mantel. It meant generations of Whistleport residents were in the room with us. Their presence nearly overwhelmed me, but somehow, I found it comforting, too.

Guiding us to an immaculately preserved overstuffed sofa, Dottie implored, "Please, boys, make yourselves comfortable. I'll dish up some of the cobbler and make a pot of tea."

As we sat, the cushions nearly swallowed us whole. I fought my urge to reach out for Ziggy to rescue me.

When Dottie left the room, we glanced at each other. His green eyes were open wide. He shook his head and fiddled with the doily on one arm of the couch. "Mom has a drawer full of these but never uses them. I'm not sure what they're for."

Finally, I knew something Mr. Knickerbocker didn't. "They're used to protect the furniture. The ones here on the couch are supposed to absorb the oils from your sticky fingers and keep the upholstery looking new."

"That's just bizarre."

"My grandmother on my mom's side is a little like Dottie. Until about ten years ago, Grandma and Grandpa kept their furniture wrapped in plastic."

Ziggy chuckled softly and snorted, leaning against me and rubbing my shoulder. "This is small-town life, for sure. Hold on tight, Kade. Things might get even more interesting."

With the clatter of tea cups and spoons, Dottie returned with a tray holding a tea set and three dishes of gleaming red cherry cobbler. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I watched her set the delicious display on the coffee table.

While Dottie poured three cups of tea, she asked, "Milk? Sugar?"

I couldn't remember the last time I drank hot tea, so I stuck with the basics—"Plain."

"And Ziggy?"

"I'll take it black. Mom says milk and sugar are only for special occasions."

Dottie smiled from ear to ear. "And this is certainly one of those. I'll add a spot of milk and two cubes of sugar for you."

After equipping us with cobbler and tea and pointing out the proper coasters, Dottie launched into her primary concerns for the day. "Now, please, tell me how the two of you are getting along this summer. Gladys said you perform wonders with the kids. Her little grandson, Benny, is taking part in the junior leagues."

Instead of answering immediately, I took a large bite of the cobbler to buy some time. An incredible blend of sweet and tart exploded on my tongue. The dessert was scrumptious.

After swallowing, my eyes met Dottie's. She had crinkly lines at the corners of her eyes, and I noticed a thin chain attached to her eyeglasses. I answered her question. "It has been interesting. I've never worked with kids, so Ziggy's showing me the ropes."

He nodded in agreement. "Yep, it's just two hockey players working together to help the kids the best way we can. Nothing particularly special."

Dottie tugged her glasses partway down her nose. "Well, I wouldn't say that. How often do rivals put the nasty bitterness aside and become fast friends? I think that's rare, particularly between two men as… committed as the two of you."

My face began to flush with warmth, spreading up to my cheeks. "I suppose it's like they always say. It's best to keep your friends close and your enemies even closer." I hoped my words didn't sound as inane to Dottie as they did to me.

"That's a charming way to look at it." Dottie took a tiny sip of her tea. She kept her eyes locked on us, peering over the rim. I suspected she was retaining a mental recording of every movement we made.

Suddenly, Ziggy choked slightly on his cobbler. I thumped him on his back, and he swallowed the offending bit.

I decided I needed to carry the conversation for the moment. "Mrs. Perkins—" She waved her hand and cut me off.

"As I believe I mentioned before, it's Dottie, dear. There's no need to explain how you are getting on. One only needs to keep their eyes open. I may be old, but I'm not blind." She leaned forward. "When my dear departed Harold and I first got together, we faced our fair share of wagging tongues. He was from the next town over, and in those days…"

She leaned back as her voice faded. Looking beyond us, the look in her eyes was miles away. "Oh, yes, Harold. He was the life of any party as soon as he entered the room. He was tall, like a lighthouse, with shoulders that would rival those of Atlas. His eyes were almost indigo blue, like the deepest part of the ocean."

Still lost in her memories, she chuckled softly. "When we first met, now, that was something. I couldn't stand him. He was arrogant and pig-headed, and he thought he owned the world. At least that's how I saw him, but you know what? It didn't take long for me to warm up to him. He wormed his way deep into my heart."

Suddenly, Dottie turned her attention back to us. "I suppose I'm trying to say that love doesn't always happen like a lightning bolt out of the blue. Sometimes, it sweeps in like the tides. It's persistent and rises a little each day until suddenly you're up to your shoulders. When you find that person who can challenge you and make you be better, hold on tight. You should never let go regardless of what the blabbering mouths say."

While our jaws dropped open, she reached out and patted our hands. "Harold and I stared down our fair share of negative Nellies. On a few nights, I went home and cried, but we had nearly fifty years together. I wouldn't change a thing."

Dottie wasn't finished. "So, I'm here to tell you that when you know you've found that special someone, and he makes your heart race like when you've scored a winning goal, don't dare let him get away. Our lives are far too short to indulge in regrets."

I blinked hard and could barely believe what I was hearing. Ziggy was quite still beside me. He sat with his back ramrod straight and hands placed on his thighs.

Dottie had one more zinger to share. "Real love always has a way of winning out in the end. This little town might gossip, but beneath that, everyone has a big heart. You just have to give them all the time they need to come around."

The weight of her words hung in the air between us while all I could hear was the ticking of her grandfather clock. I did my best to process her message of acceptance and understanding.

Ziggy suddenly cleared his throat. "Dottie, we're not… I mean, we haven't…"

She reached out and patted his knee. "Oh, honey. Don't try to explain. You're a tremendous young man. Just yesterday, Mabel went on about the poems you've shared with us. Anyway, we're all on your side. Love is love, and anyone who wants to look closely enough can see it blooming between the two of you."

My breath caught in my throat. Ziggy's hand crept over to mine and gripped it tightly. A wave of Whistleport affection crashed over my head.

"I... we..." I stammered. I cleared my throat and tried to form words for a second time. "Mrs. Perkins—Dottie—I don't know what to say."

Ziggy let out a shaky breath. "Dottie," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "you have no idea what this means to us."

I nodded vigorously, feeling a smile spread across my face even as my vision blurred with tears. The acceptance we'd been so afraid of seeking had materialized, wrapped in the warmth of cherry cobbler and unconditional love.

When we left Dottie's apartment an hour later, our heads were still spinning. As we walked along the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun gave Whistleport a golden glow, and the harbor glittered in the distance.

I tried to find appropriate words and couldn't. "Who would've guessed?" was all I could manage.

"Yeah, I'm stunned." Ziggy ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it and leaving it an adorable mess. "Did we just get major relationship advice from Dottie Perkins?"

I laughed. "I think we did, and she declared herself an official ally."

We wandered side by side for three more blocks. Ziggy piped up. "Want to grab a coffee at Tidal Grounds?"

I nodded, happy to surround ourselves with a friendly crowd and extend our time together. "Yeah, that sounds great. A brew from Silas might help us process… whatever that was."

The bell over the door chimed as we entered the shop. Before we could meet Silas at the counter, another voice called out. "Look who it is." Brooks leaned against the counter, sipping from a steaming mug. "It's Whistleport's newest power couple."

Ziggy tensed, and my pulse quickened. The temptation to flee nearly took over, but then Brooks flashed his trademark warm and accepting smile. He motioned us over.

I gripped Ziggy's elbow and headed for the counter. Brooks lowered his voice. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me, or it's as safe as any secrets are in this town."

As we approached, I asked, "Is it that obvious?"

A deep chuckle rose from inside Brooks' chest. "Only if you know what you're looking at. Guys, I know it can be rough navigating all of this in a town like Whistleport, but from someone who's been there and done that, it's worth it in the end."

Gesturing toward the rear of the room, Brooks made a suggestion. "Let's go sit on the deck." We both followed without questioning the suggestion. I settled onto one of the Adirondack chairs and enjoyed a gentle breeze off the water.

Brooks continued his thoughts. "You've got something special. Don't let your fear of what people might think get in your way. This small town might surprise you. I'm still finding out new things, and I've been here my whole life, except for the time in the NHL."

The door opened, and Silas appeared, carrying two iced Americanos for Ziggy and me. "These are on the house, lovebirds. I'm on your side."

Ziggy's face flushed pink, but he was smiling. I remembered Dottie's words. Ziggy and his town had successfully wormed their way into my heart.

Night was settling over Whistleport like a velvet cloak when we left Tidal Grounds. Warm pools of light cast by the streetlights appeared on the sidewalk. Ziggy and I paused at the corner where we usually said goodnight, but neither of us was quite ready.

Ziggy spoke. "At the risk of making a massive understatement, this was quite a day."

"Yeah, it was. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect—"

"Dottie to adopt us as her gay grandsons?" Ziggy smiled and reached out for my hand.

"Yeah, exactly." I squeezed his hand tightly. "And then Brooks and Silas just piled on the good vibes."

Ziggy rubbed his chin with his free hand. "When I first understood that I might be… well, knew that I liked guys, it scared the hell out of me. That was my first year in high school. I thought I'd have to choose between being me and all the rest—hockey, Whistleport, my family. Now—"

"It feels like maybe we don't have to choose."

"Yep, and that's more than I ever hoped for."

I looked at Ziggy and took in the entire picture. There was that dark, messy mop on the top of his head that I always wanted to touch. Then there were the green eyes that I got lost in regularly and the luscious lips that always looked like they were ready to break into a smile.

Everything came together for me. "This town and these people, and you. You're all so much more to me than I ever expected. For the very first time in my life, I feel like I belong somewhere. It's a place where I can be my entire self."

I reached up to touch Ziggy's cheek with my free hand. He leaned into my palm as our eyes met. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. I heard a slight tremor in his voice.

"More than okay. I'm home, at last, Ziggy. You're my home."

Chapter fifteen

Ziggy

It was still dark out when my phone chimed, waking me out of a deep sleep. I reached out to the nightstand, slapping around until I found it. When I squinted at the screen, I saw Eric's name and experienced a twinge of guilt in my gut.

We were roommates and best friends in college, yet we'd only spoken once or twice all summer. He lived less than half a mile away from me, but our paths rarely crossed.

His personality shone through in the message, a mix of humor and sharp observation:

"Yo, Zigster! Remember me? I'm your college roomie/best friend/future app billionaire. Why don't you climb out of your hockey-poetry cave for a day? Shore hike in two hours. No excuses."

I groaned and pushed my face into my pillow. The day hiking around sounded great, but the idea of talking to Eric for hours without mentioning Kade sounded next to impossible. Still, I couldn't keep avoiding the man I'd see every day when college resumed in the fall.

Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I typed back:

"Okay. Meet at the trailhead at 8. I'll bring trail mix and water if you bring your effervescent wit."

The weather man said our heatwave was threatening to return. A light fog rolled in off the ocean when I climbed out of my Uber at the coastal trail parking lot.

Eric's beat-up little Subaru was already there, covered in coding-related bumper stickers, most of them inside jokes. He stood at the trailhead, reading the posted map. When he turned, he hadn't changed in any significant way. Eric looked like he'd stepped out of a hipster catalog with his disheveled blond hair, thick, blue-rimmed glasses, and vintage Clash London Calling T-shirt.

"Oh my, look, it's the prodigal roommate," Eric called out to me. His blue eyes twinkled in the rays of early morning sunshine. "I'd started to worry that you'd been abducted by a rival hockey team."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. Do you think there's any way those UNH guys could handle me?"

"Dunno, man. I hear that you and that Langston guy are getting pretty chummy these days. I hope he's not working undercover."

Trying to throw Eric off, I forced a casual shrug. "We're only helping Rory out. He thought we'd both be great as coaches-in-training for his juniors league."

Eric smirked. "Yep, and I'm secretly developing the new Facebook killer."

He didn't push any further, and we set off own the trail. It was gorgeous, and I suddenly realized how much I'd missed nature. We wound our way between pine trees battered by storms and small meadows full of waving seagrass.

When I paused to look out at the ocean over the top of a boulder, Eric nudged me. "So, come on. What's the story? You've been like Casper the ghost all summer. Is there a secret fight club in Whistleport I don't know about?"

I listened to the rhythm of the waves crashing on the rocky shore and then chuckled. "No, I'd have a great story if it were something like that. Instead, it's just been the coaching gig and working my evening shifts at Tidal Grounds."

"Right." Eric tossed a pebble into the waves. "I'm sure that drawing pretty pictures in the cream floating on coffee and teaching 10-year-olds how to skate and carry a stick at the same time takes many more hours than playing college hockey while taking classes."

I winced. "Yeah, I guess you've got a point. I've had to spend some time… figuring some things out."

Suddenly, his expression softened, and the furrows in his forehead disappeared. "Ah, well, you aren't the only one doing that. This summer has been a little… different."

"Oh yeah? Let's turn the microscope around then. What's going on with you?"

At first, he shrugged. While we descended on the trail, taking us closer to the beach, he kicked a pinecone.

"Come now. You can't complain about me and then hold back your own tales of summer madness."

"Okay, I've been putting together a new fitness app, and it's starting to take off. A few investors have contacted me, dangling seed money and talking about accelerator programs."

My eyes opened wide. "Wow, that's phenomenal!" I was genuinely excited for him. "Why didn't you tell me the good news sooner?"

He pulled down his glasses and looked at me. "I've been trying to, Zig, but it's been harder to catch you than the greased pig at the county fair."

Guilt gnawed at my gut again. "I'm sorry. Yeah, my bad. I owe you more time."

Eric waved his hand. "No probs. I get it. We come home from Orono, and there's so much of the stuff we left behind that's suddenly here again. We all get busy."

"But not too busy for friends… or we shouldn't be."

He nodded. "True, and it's been intense. I've had to pull all-nighters and then be alert enough to field calls from Silicon Valley guys. The whole thing is exciting, but I'm scared I'll screw something up big time, you know? Am I in over my head? I don't know."

His story inspired a little bit of relief. I wasn't the only one having to deal with heavy expectations from others. "I'm sure Steve Jobs worried about the same things. It's huge, though. You've always said you'd change the world with your coding. I think you're on the way."

"Maybe." I'd never known Eric to sound so tentative about his coding projects, so there had to be something else. "It's not just that. I've been… umm… going out with somebody."

He caught me completely off guard. "Wait, who? When?"

His cheeks blushed pink. "Remember Stef Wabanaki? We went to high school together."

"Of course, I remember her. She went all the way to figure skating nationals last year." I paused. "Wait, dude! You've had a crush on her for years. Now, you're dating? You fox." I punched his bicep.

Eric gave me a sheepish grin. "Yeah, well, we ran into each other at the arena early in the summer and started talking. I don't know how, but it all clicked into place."

"That's amazing. I'm so happy for you."

For a moment, he silently studied my expression. "I wanted to tell you about it sooner, maybe celebrate, but—"

"But I've been MIA. Yeah, I get it, and I'm sorry bud." The weight of what I'd missed hit me. "I should have been there for you every step of the way. It's on me."

Eric forgave me. "Don't get all goopy about it. It's okay. We're here now, and you know you can talk to me about anything. We've been through a lot together. Remember celebrating you making the UMaine team as a walk-on?"

We'd whooped it up for nearly twenty-four hours straight. I had so many doubts about making it, but Eric was my cheerleader with undying faith.

Our conversation was easier after that. I shared stories about coaching the juniors, and we speculated about UMaine's upcoming hockey season. Unfortunately, I couldn't shake my uneasiness about the big secret I was keeping.

When we reached a rocky outcrop that looked out over the ocean with foamy waves crashing below, Eric fell silent. It was one of my favorite places. Seagulls wheeled overhead as we sat on the boulders staring at the massive expanse of the Atlantic.

Finally, Eric spoke. "I remember when we used to come out here and spend all afternoon talking about how we were going to dominate the NHL. You would be the next Gretzky, and I'd change sports analytics forever."

"The world was our oyster." I sighed, with my thoughts full of bittersweet nostalgia.

When he turned toward me, Eric's expression was significantly more serious than usual. "What's really going on with you, Zig? I see through the busy summer garbage. We've been close since we were little kids. You know I can tell when something's up."

I opened my mouth, right at the edge of sharing the truth. I could say, "Eric, I think I'm gay, and it looks like Kade Langston and I are a couple," but I was still scared. My fear choked off the words before they could come out.

What I said sounded lame even to me. "It's complicated. I'm trying to figure myself out. With hockey, college, and Whistleport, there's a mess of expectations, and I don't know whether I can meet all of them."

Eric nodded. "Yep, you said that already, and you don't have to figure it all out alone. I've got your back. whatever it is. Always have and always will."

My gut twisted into knots. "I know, and I appreciate that. Being distant isn't like me."

He nudged me with his shoulder. "Hey, no worries. Just promise me when you become an NHL star, you won't forget who helped you get there."

As we headed back toward Whistleport, we talked about lighter topics—Silas's latest experiments and some of my favorite hockey kids. When we were close to the end of the trail, my phone chimed. I tugged it out of my pocket, but it caught, and I stumbled on a tree root. The phone flew out of my hand and bounced to the ground.

I lunged for it, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw a flash of a text conversation with Kade on the screen. Before I could reach the phone, Eric picked it up for me.

He started to read the message out loud:

"Can't wait for—"

I snatched the phone back as Eric's eyes opened wide. "Whoa, what's that? Since when are there winky faces in your texts?"

"It's nothing," I insisted, and heat rose in my cheeks. "I bet it's just… um… a wrong number."

Eric's brow furrowed. "Come on. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. What's really going on?"

I wavered on the edge of confession again. The words were right there, smashed together on the tip of my tongue. Then, before I could speak, I pictured Eric's shocked expression. What if he didn't understand? What if it changed our friendship forever?

"Okay, let's make a deal. As soon as I get stuff sorted and I'm ready to talk, you'll be the first to hear about it. Promise."

He sighed, and his eyes pleaded with me, but then he backed off. "Okay. It's a deal. When you're ready, I'm here… like always."

After we hugged and said our goodbyes, I watched Eric's car disappear. I should have felt relieved, but instead I wondered what permanent damage I might have caused to our friendship.

Back at home, I trudged up the three steps to the back stoop. The old screen door creaked when I pulled it open, announcing my presence.

"Hey, welcome back," Emma called from the living room. "How was that hike with Eric? Is the world a better place now that the two of you have solved all our problems?"

When I entered the room, I found her sprawled the length of the couch with her nose in a book. "Ha," I muttered as I collapsed into Dad's favorite chair. "It was all way too complicated."

She lowered the book and squinted at me over the top of the pages. "Uh oh. Something's wrong. I can tell.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. It was overdue for a cut. "No, I'm fine. Well, maybe not so much. I don't know."

Emma marked her place in the book and sat up. "Wow, that explained everything—not. What's going on?"

For a moment, I considered telling my little sister about Kade. Then, I thought better of it. Instead, I muddied the waters.

"Have you ever felt like you're living two separate lives? Like you're pulled in two different directions at the same time?"

Emma's eyes opened wider. "Whoa. That's deep for you. We're not just talking pucks and sticks, I assume."

I leaned back and spotted the water stain on the ceiling that had been there for at least a decade. "It's just a mess. I'm figuring out who I am, but I'm not sure that matches what everybody thinks I am. Make sense?"

"Oh, heck yeah." Emma's voice turned soft as she studied my face. It was like she could see right through me to my core. "Does this have something to do with Kade?"

I gasped audibly. "What? No, it's… no—"

"Get a grip, drama queen." She smirked at me. "Do you think I haven't noticed that ridiculous smile that shows up every time he's mentioned?"

My cheeks flushed, and I offered a weak protest. "I don't…"

"Yeah, whatever. Keep telling yourself that." Emma's tone turned gentle. "Hey, you know whatever's going on, I don't judge. You do you."

The sincerity in her voice made me want to confess everything, but I feared disappointing my parents, and Emma couldn't know without it getting to them, too. There was too much risk.

"Thanks for that. I'll let you know when I get it figured out."

She nodded and picked her book up again. "Let me know when you're done being all broody. Whoever you turn out to be, you're still my dorky big brother. Nothing will ever change that."

Unshed tears burned at the corners of my eyes. "Thanks, squirt."

When I reached my room upstairs, I flopped onto my bed. The reality of my entire situation settled over me like a heavy blanket. I had some incredible allies, but there was an entire world that still didn't know about Kade and me. Sooner or late, they'd all have to find out.

What would happen then? How would the proud Knick Knickerbocker react? Would my UMaine teammates still accept me in the locker room? And what about my hometown?

I grabbed my phone, thinking about texting Kade. Before I could type anything, I froze. What would I say?

Dropping the phone on the nightstand, I stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. They were reminders of a less complicated time in my life. Before I could think much more about the potholes in my road to the future, my phone chimed.

It was a message from Kade:

"Everything okay? How was the hike with Eric?"

"It was complicated. I almost told him about us. I hate lying to my best friend."

"I get it. Whenever you decide to speak up, I'm here. We're in this together."

Chapter sixteen

Kade

Anew heatwave arrived in Whistleport like an unwelcome houseguest who refused to leave. It threatened to make daily life miserable for everyone. I walked the quarter mile to the arena, and the air was so thick I figured I could chew and swallow instead of breathe.

Linden Hayes, the popular Portland meteorologist, described the heat in increasingly colorful ways. Before I left the apartment, I watched him characterize it as a "Moose-Melting Swelter." I smiled briefly, but it did little to cool the unpleasant air outside.

As I walked, I saw evidence of the heat's impact everywhere. Main Street usually bustled with tourists and kids out of school during mid-July. Now, it was eerily quiet, with only a few hardy souls walking from one place to another. Those I did see hurried along and tugged at their clothes stuck to sweat-slicked skin.

Outside of Gus's Diner, the neon "Open" sign flickered half as bright as usual, as if the heat sapped its usual energy. The tables along the front window were usually the most popular, but now, everyone crowded toward the rear, away from nature's onslaught.

The town's gardens fared the worst. I passed roses with scorched petals and grass colored a sickly yellowish-brown.

Outside the bank, the digital thermometer fluctuated back and forth between 98°F and 99°F, like it couldn't decide which would depress the locals more. I spotted one pedestrian looking up and sighing before trudging forward toward their ultimate destination.

Whistleport residents did their best to adapt to the heat with grim determination. While the heat intensified, the little town's status as an idyllic coastal tourist destination dimmed, yet I found the different side fascinating. It was more real than the calculated image presented to out-of-town visitors.

When I reached the arena and opened the door, the chill hit me like someone slapped me. The sweat on my skin dried almost instantaneously. I took a deep breath and savored the unique scent of freshly zambonied ice.

The day's big event was the junior league's first competitive scrimmage. I led one team, and Ziggy was in charge of the other. When I arrived, he was already in the locker room, and I sat next to him on a bench to lace up my skates.

He elbowed me. "Ready to lose this one? I've got a team full of future superstars."

"In your dreams. My kids are firing on all cylinders like a well-oiled machine."

Rory's voice suddenly rang out, cutting through the excited chatter of the junior players adjusting their gear. "Alright, everybody. Today's the day to show us what your coaches have taught you. First and foremost, though, this is about having fun. Kade, Ziggy—keep it clean, gentlemen."

He couldn't resist a knowing wink as he passed us, and a rush of gratitude filled me. He'd briefly pulled me aside on my way into the locker room. "I see how you and Ziggy look at each other, and it warms my heart. Brooks and I were like that as seniors in high school. You've got my full support, but today, I need you to set that aside and focus on coaching first."

While we skated out onto the ice, I glanced at Ziggy. I saw the competitive fire in his eyes that I remembered from our college games. I couldn't wait for the fun to begin.

When Rory dropped the puck at center ice, chaos ensued. My team's center, a scrappy kid named Josh, passed the puck back to one of his wingers, Danny, and they took off down the ice. Danny deked around one of Ziggy's defenders, but the next one, a tall girl named Brenda, checked him hard into the boards.

I called out encouragement. "Heads up, Danny! You've got this."

Ziggy's team took possession and passed the puck back and forth with a crisp precision that made me envious. Their center, a boy named Travis, fired off a wrist shot that my goalie barely deflected.

I bit my lip and glanced at Ziggy. He was waving his hands, encouraging his team to regroup. "Nice shot, Travis! You'll get it next time!"

The score rocked back and forth. Neither of our teams was able to stay on top for long. I found myself totally engaged in the match. It was as fun and exciting as any college game. My competitive nature soared, and I took pride in seeing the kids putting all they learned out there on the ice. Ziggy and I had taught them a lot.

The play of the day happened halfway through the second period. Mandy, one of my youngest players, skated into the path of a pass intended for one of Ziggy's wingers and snagged it. She put on the jets and broke away from the pack. The parents in the stands held their breath as she tore down the ice with defenders at her heels.

"Go, Mandy, go!" My heart pounded as I watched.

She deked left and then right. Her stick handling was impressive for such a young player. She had one last barrier to surmount. In an act of attempted intimidation, Ziggy's goalie, a boy twice her size, stormed out of the crease to challenge her. Mandy didn't flinch. She stood her ground, lowered her head, and calmly flicked the puck into the top corner of the net.

Cheers erupted from the parents as they rose to their feet. Caught up in the excitement, I pumped a fist in the air, forgetting I was supposed to be a calm, cerebral coach. On the opposite side of the rink, Ziggy paced back and forth, shaking his head as he fought back a smile.

When Mandy returned to the bench with her teammates, I offered a high-five. "That was fantastic. Where'd you learn those moves?"

She beamed. "It was what you showed us last week, Coach. I've been practicing at home with a foam stick and a tennis ball."

At that moment, I thought I understood for sure what coaching was about. I'd encouraged Mandy to go above and beyond what happened in practice sessions, and she followed my suggestions.

The final period was the most intense yet. Ziggy's team was down by one, and they kept the pressure on. Their defense was so strong that my team barely moved the puck across center ice. With only two minutes left on the clock, Ziggy's team tied the game with a beautiful tic-tac-toe play. The passes zipped from one player to the next, and our goalie didn't have a chance when it came time for the shot.

Fortunately, we had one more brilliant play to execute. Josh caught the puck on his stick as the final seconds ticked down. He looked up and saw a fearless Brenda heading for him. He brilliantly passed the puck off to Mandy, who tucked it into the goal.

The parents cheered wildly. My team poured out onto the ice, mobbing Mandy. Caught up in the joy of the moment, I did a little victory dance on my skates and joined my players. Ziggy skated toward me with a playful smirk on his face.

"Hell of a game." He extended a hand to shake. I shook it hard and pulled him in tight for a one-armed bro hug.

"Yeah, I agree. Both of these teams are winners."

Rory skated over and clapped us on the shoulders. His eyes shone. "The two of you are naturals as coaches. A professional team would do well hiring you onto their staff."

I grinned and appreciated the positive strokes, but I knew working with adult players would be a different animal all the way around. "Thanks, Rory, but I'll stick to playing for UNH for now."

When we herded the excited kids off the ice, I smiled at Ziggy. When he smiled back at me, I saw an intoxicating blend of pride, competitive fire, and his love for me. At that moment, I felt like the luckiest guy in the entire state of Maine.

Rory's voice cut into my thoughts. "Great job, men. Now, why don't you two go… cool off?" He offered a not-so-subtle wink. "I'll take care of everything here."

Adrenaline still raced through my veins, but I was also uneasy. As Whistleport continued to embrace me, I started to dread the summer's end. I didn't know how I could return to being Ziggy's rival. He was so much more than that to me. Could I at least fake it?

Ziggy sidled and whispered in my ear. "So, your place?"

Desire surged inside me. "Yeah. Let's go."

On the way to my apartment, I wanted to break into a run to get there as quickly as possible. Ziggy was by my side, and I couldn't wait to touch him. Unfortunately, the heat made running a ridiculous idea. We would surely both collapse before we got there.

Finally, we reached my place, and I was a sweaty mess. Ziggy's lips crashed into mine as soon as I closed the door behind us. The urgency stole my breath, but I managed one word, "Shower?"

We stumbled to the bathroom, losing sweaty T-shirts and jeans along the way. We didn't make it to the shower before Ziggy shoved me up against the wall in the hallway. He pinned me by the wrists and planted his lips on mine.

Pulling back from the kiss, he whispered, "I can't be all Mr. Polite much longer. You drive me crazy, Mister."

I beamed from ear to ear. "I wondered when that side of you would finally come out."

"And you've got one buried in there, too." I was bare-chested with jeans tangled around one foot, wearing only deep purple briefs. Ziggy gripped my thick cock through the cotton, and I moaned.

"Damn, I love that. Turns me the hell on." Pressing one hand on my chest, Ziggy peeled off the rest of his clothes, including his underwear. He stood buck naked in front of me, his cock standing out almost straight. It was beautiful, perfectly formed, and not freakishly large like some I'd seen in porn flicks.

"Shower?" I asked.

"Oh, hell, yeah."

When the warm water started to rain down on us, Ziggy pushed me against the wall again. I let him take the lead, and it was exhilarating. I'd spent so much of my life out front. It was exciting to play the supporting role.

We each squirted out big handfuls of shampoo and dug our fingers into each other's hair while we kissed with water running down our faces. I hadn't seen anything like it other than in one hetero-romance movie I remembered. Ziggy and I were creating brand new memories all our own.

With our hair rinsed, Ziggy gripped my cock and turned it upward, shifting one way and then the other as he checked it out. "I want that."

"It's yours," I whispered.

"I mean, I want that… in my mouth."

"Oh, fuck." I rolled my head back. "No one's getting in your way."

Ziggy slowly dropped to one knee and trailed his long, slim fingers down over my smooth pecs and abs, making it hard for me to breathe. "Damn, Zig, you—"

His right hand shot up, and he covered my mouth. "No talking now. Moans, grunts, and yelps are appreciated."

I couldn't stop a slight chuckle while he gripped my cock with his free hand. I blinked hard as I watched the head disappear between his lips.

Grunting into his hand, I squirmed but didn't want to pull out. He flicked his tongue across the exposed portion of my head. I'd never felt anything like that before. I'd never gotten a blow job from any of the girls I dated. We'd only made it to second base or so.

Pulling back briefly and gazing up at me with those amazing green eyes, Ziggy asked, "Have you ever tasted dick before?"

"No. I hope it's okay."

"OMG, I want this morning, noon and tight. Fuck, I might have to keep you in my bedroom, Kade."

My entire body shivered. Ziggy let go of my mouth and reached down to stroke himself while he sucked me. He was entirely in charge as he led me to the edge.

It didn't take us long. We had an entire summer's passion pent up inside. When we finally came, I yelled, and Ziggy whimpered. The difference made me laugh. It was awesome and freaking unexpected.

He rose to his feet and kissed me hard while I reached behind me to turn off the water. "I love you, Kade Langston," he mumbled into my mouth.

I pulled back from the kiss and chuckled. "Mr. Smashmouth, I love you, too. God, I love you so damn much."

Afterward, we toweled off, and I suggested, "Don't get dressed. Let's head to my bedroom."

For the first time, I crawled into bed with Ziggy Knickerbocker; it was the best place in the world. While we lay tangled together, I traced lazy patterns on his arm.

"Wow," Ziggy whispered, leaning back with his head against my shoulder.

"That's the only word for it."

An hour later, we were both starving. "Want to order a pizza?" I suggested.

"Yeah, because I want to stay here forever."

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and ordered sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese. "If you were here forever, I think the rest of the world would miss you, Zig."

"Probably more than I'd miss it."

"Now, you're just talking with your head spinning around in the hazy sex world."

Ziggy smirked. "And your point is?"

We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening together, eating pizza, playing games, and watching a movie. I hoped that it was a glimpse into our future.

As the clock inched towards 11 p.m., Ziggy reluctantly pulled on his shoes. "I should go," he murmured

I reached for his hand and wove our fingers together. "I wish you could stay."

"Me, too." He sighed heavily.

When we finally reached the door, I watched him disappear into the steamy night, the heat still clinging to the air despite the late hour. The perfection of our day together made the reality of our situation hit even harder. How long could we keep this hidden? How would we face each other across the ice when the season started?

As I closed the door, the weight of our secret settled on my shoulders. Something had to give, but what would break first?

Chapter seventeen

Ziggy

Working my evening shift at Tidal Grounds was usually one of the best parts of my day—comfortable, familiar, and soothing. Unfortunately, as I wiped the counter down and looked out over the customers, something in the air made me uncomfortable. I couldn't put my finger on it.

While I was in the process of creating a new latte art design—a swan—I noticed a flicker in the lights. It was enough to cause my swan's wing to come out wobbly. "Damn," I muttered to myself.

Al, a lobsterman by trade, called out to me. He was a regular who loved his coffee strong and black. "Everything okay over there, Ziggy?

I smiled and started to work on a new latte. "Yep, all is good. How's the catch been lately? Is the heat causing any trouble?"

Al shared a story about his day on the ocean, which helped me relax. Although it had been years since I joined Dad on a lobster boat, I'd heard enough tales to know how everything worked, inside and out. The overhead lights behaved for the next hour, and I soon forgot about the previous flicker.

Between 7 and 8 p.m., more of our regulars drifted in. Dottie Perkins took her usual seat at the counter, and I presented her with a mug of chamomile tea.

She grinned. "Such good service. If only they did so well at the diner."

A group of high school kids tried to fit eight around a four-top in the corner. A few had algebra textbooks, while the rest feasted on hot chocolate and cookies.

About fifteen minutes later, the lights dimmed again, lasting almost fifteen seconds. The radio behind me made a crackling noise before returning to its usual soft jazz broadcast.

Dottie glanced at me over the rim of her mug. "Goodness, I hope this doesn't mean we've got a storm on our way. My arthritis says it's possible. It's been acting up in this heat."

I did my best to offer a relaxed smile. "Most likely, it's nothing. There are little glitches that happen all the time. You should ask my friend, Eric. Tiny mistakes in coding can cause the weirdest phenomena, and computers run everything. How about I refill your tea?"

While I prepared Dottie's mug, nagging discomfort crept up on me. More than the lights were acting strange. The espresso machine was noisier than usual, and I couldn't place a faint buzz I heard.

One of the high school kids interrupted my speculation. "Hey, Ziggy! How about some more hot chocolate over here? And add in more cookies if there are any left."

The request was a welcome distraction. A few minutes later, I headed over with fresh mugs of hot chocolate. I glanced at the textbooks. "How's the study session?"

One of the girls sighed. "You remember Ms. Skilling, right? I think she wants to kill us all off. We're stuck with these equations none of us understand."

I chuckled. Math was never a strong subject for me. Fortunately, I had Eric to help out. "Hang in there," I suggested. "It gets easier, and if it doesn't, you'll never use it again once you graduate."

When I returned to the counter, the lights flickered again, followed by a static-y sound. The high school students gasped, "Oooh!"

Al looked up from his coffee. "Are you boys having some electrical troubles here? Do you want me to take a look at anything?"

I shrugged. "Don't know what it is, but I'd guess it's the heat putting a little strain on things."

I was doing my best to look on the bright side, but the troubles were more bothersome as the evening wore on. Static interrupted the radio periodically like we had a Nor'easter blowing in, and I saw the streetlights outside pulse strangely.

Silas emerged from the back deck with a furrowed brow. His voice was low and gravelly. "Are you noticing it in here, too? Seems like a thing across town."

The mug in my hand was spotless from my incessant polishing. "Yep, it's so odd. What do you think it is?"

Silas shrugged. "I suppose the grid might be under a lot of strain from those who have air conditioning in this heat, but I've got a better explanation."

I leaned across the counter with a raised eyebrow. "And that is?"

"I think the town's old bones are creaking. Maybe it's growing pains. We've got a few new developments out by the highway. They need power." He glanced out the front window. "This wouldn't be the first time Whistleport's old infrastructure wheezed like an old man. They had to upgrade water mains when I went online here at the shop."

The bell above the door chimed. It interrupted my conversation with Silas and gave our regulars something to look at other than the nearest light fixture. Eric had wandered in right on time. He was ready for his nightly caffeine fix.

I smiled, seeing his blond hair stuck out at random angles. His glasses rested slightly crooked on his nose.

Seemingly oblivious to the scorching weather and wobbly electrical grid, he greeted us all. "Good to see everyone, evening crew." He settled onto a stool by the counter. "Slide me the usual potion, Zig. I've got a bug in the app that's kicking my ass. Likely a coding all-nighter ahead for me."

Working on the quad-shot espresso gave me something to do aside from worrying about atmospheric disturbances. "Careful with these 24-hour gigs. You're gonna burn out. Life has more to offer than a series of 1's and 0's."

Eric hissed, "Blasphemy!" and then he laughed. He was in a good mood but had dark shadows under his eyes. "It's all good. My work is fueled by caffeine and pure genius. This app could be my golden ticket. I can't let up now."

Silas sighed and shook his head. "This caffeine dispenser is heading homeward to turn in for the night. Can you lock up before you go home, Ziggy? I trust you'll keep the place intact until morning."

"Done. You head home and get some sleep, Silas."

When Silas left, the rest of the customers followed, leaving only Eric and me behind. Without the additional conversation, Tidal Grounds was very quiet. While I cleaned up, all I could hear was the occasional crackling sound from the lights and Eric tapping on his laptop keyboard.

It was a perfect opportunity. I decided to share my story and ease some of the guilt in my heart.

"Hey, can I interrupt for a bit? There's something I want to tell you."

He stopped typing mid-keystroke and looked up, tilting his head to the left. "What's up? You're so serious all of a sudden. Please don't tell me you're confessing to a murder."

I laughed softly. "No, it's nothing quite that dramatic, but like you suspected yesterday, I have been keeping a secret from you. I don't think it's just you, though. It's from everybody, and I can't keep it inside any longer."

Wrinkles appeared on his forehead. "Okay, you're sounding a little scary now. Tell me."

I took a deep breath and held on tight to the edge of the counter. My knuckles started to turn white. Finally, I blurted it out. "I'm gay, and I'm dating Kade."

The entire coffee shop was silent. I couldn't believe I'd said it, but I did, and it was time to see what Eric thought.

His eyes opened a little wider behind his glasses. At first, he opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. "Kade? As in UNH Kade Langston, the star forward? Isn't he the guy you've been trash-talking all summer long?"

I nodded, my mouth turning to cotton. "Yeah, him."

Eric looked down. "Wow." He glanced up at my face again. "That's unexpected—a surprise."

"Are you… I mean, are we okay?" My voice was soft and trembled. For a moment, I felt like I was back in junior high when my fast-growing legs and arms turned me into a geeky, spindly, hopeless mess, constantly looking for approval.

Eric reached out to grip my shoulder. "Of course, we're okay. Don't be stupid. You're my best friend, and nothing's gonna change that. But this… Kade… I need a minute to process. It's a lot to take in."

A sense of relief steadied me. "Yeah, it's also taken me a while to sort it out. I've wanted to tell you for weeks. I just didn't know how."

Eric chuckled. "You know, Ziggy. To be honest, your being gay isn't that big of a surprise. It's the Kade part that's tougher, but I guess this explains the extra practice sessions at the arena."

"Well, don't go too far down that road. It's not like we've turned the arena into a palace of sin."

We both laughed, and some of the tension faded until Eric looked serious again. He was quiet for a few seconds. "Well, if this is a night to share secrets…" His voice trailed off, and he fidgeted with his empty coffee mug.

"You've got something? What is it?"

Eric took a deep breath. "My life has been full of confusion lately. At least it feels that way." He ran shaky fingers through his hair. "Confusion about a lot of stuff… including my sexuality." He paused again. "I mean, I'm with Stef, and I like her a whole lot, but sometimes… I don't know. It's complicated."

I leaned in toward him, making him my entire focus. "Take your time. I'm listening. No judgments."

"Okay, so you know how crazy I've been about coding? It's been my thing—like hockey and poetry for you."

I nodded, but it was impossible to know where he was going.

"So, there's this guy in my online coding group. He goes by the username ByteMaster23, and he's so damn smart… a brilliant guy. If you think I'm good at this, double it."

"Got it," I whispered.

Eric continued. "We've been working together on a little side project, and I look forward to our chats more than anything else in my day. That's when we talk… about anything, not only the project."

I watched as he swallowed hard and then told more of his story. "At first, I thought it was just kind of a bromance kind of connection—kind of like me and you. It was two guys connecting through stuff we found interesting. Then, I started having dreams with him in them. It wasn't anything explicit like a porn flick. It was being close to him and holding each other."

I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"The thing is, I'm still into Stef. Nothing has changed about wanting to be with her, but I can't get ByteMaster out of my head. Not only that but now, when I look at other guys, I feel attracted in ways I never did before. I got flustered the other day in Portland when a cute barista smiled at me."

A loud laugh erupted from Eric. It was shaky, and he planted his hands hard on the counter. "Damn, do I sound as much like a cliché as I think I do? I'm that ridiculous bi guy who can't make up his mind."

I reached out to rest my hand on his forearm. "No, you don't. This is your story, and it's unique. Taking it all in and moving forward to figure yourself out takes guts. I know."

Eric smiled weakly. "Thanks, Zig. It's just… what am I gonna do with all of this? What if I love Stef? I might. But then, what if that means I miss out on an entirely different part of me… a critical part? Or what if I'm really gay, and I haven't figured all of that out yet? Or maybe it's all just a phase.

I nodded, completely understanding the spiral of questions and self-doubt. "There's nothing wrong with being confused. None of it's completely black and white. Hell, I spent years grabbing onto any tiny signs that might indicate I was really straight. It's not like I wanted to be gay—at least not at first."

Eric's voice was low and soft when he asked his next question. "How did you know? I mean, how did you know you were gay for sure?"

I reflected back on my coming out process. "I don't think it was one specific a-ha moment. It was more like I gradually accepted what I'd known for a long, long time. Now, this summer, meeting Kade… it confirmed what I'd hidden from the world."

"Okay, yeah, I see that." A small smile slowly lit up Eric's face. "I think I might be bisexual, and I can deal with that… at least on the inside. For the rest of it, I'm scared. What if people think I'm just greedy or can't decide? What if Stef hates me when she finds out?"

"Anyone who matters won't hate you." I paused. "Stef… it's obvious she cares about you. It might be a shock at first, and I can't guarantee she will decide to stay together, but I think she'll understand."

Eric exhaled. "Damn, Ziggy, thank you, man. Thanks for listening and… going first. When you were brave enough to finally come out to me, I decided it would be selfish not to tell you about my summer."

As we talked, the lights flickered again. The espresso machine let out a loud pop, and we both jumped.

"Is it just me, or is the electricity acting like there's a storm somewhere?" Eric glanced around the shop.

"It's been acting up all night. Silas said he thinks the heatwave might be putting strain on the grid. I'm trying not to be superstitious and think there's something big on the way, and this is just the beginning."

Eric shook his head. "Too many horror and sci-fi movies, Zig. I might have to repossess your Netflix subscription."

We chatted more about the heavyweights we both felt. Eric had the pressures of his app development, and I knew I had to figure out how to tell my hockey teammates about my new revelations.

When midnight struck, we decided it was time to go home. I locked up Tidal Grounds, and we stepped out into the unusually warm night. The streetlights pulsed as they cast their glow over the empty streets.

Eric wrapped me up in an intense hug. "Thanks for listening and for trusting me enough to open up. I'm damn happy that you found a guy that turns your crank even if he is a UNH jock."

I laughed. "And thanks for being there. Anybody who catches you is lucky to have you. We'll keep each other in the loop on our progress, yeah?"

"Of course, Team Zigric forever, right?"

"Right," I smiled. "Be safe driving home. Try to get a little sleep, and don't code the entire night."

I pulled out my phone when Eric's car disappeared around the corner. I needed to hear Kade's voice.

He answered on the second ring, but his voice was sleepy. "Ziggy, hey. Is everything okay?"

"All is great, and I'm sorry I woke you up, but I told Eric. I let him know about us."

"Yeah?" Kade's voice suddenly perked up. "Share. How'd it go?"

"Better than I ever would have hoped. Listen, I know this is a lot to ask, and it's late, but is there any chance you could meet me?"

"You don't have to ask twice. The harbor in fifteen?"

"Perfect."

By the time the call ended, the weather had changed, and a cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean.

Chapter eighteen

Kade

Ileaned against a weathered post at the end of one of the Whistleport docks at the harbor's edge. It was past midnight, but the oppressive heat that plagued the town for days had somehow broken. A cool breeze smelling of salt and seaweed blew in off the water while I waited for Ziggy.

I couldn't stop myself from smiling as he approached. Seeing him and knowing he was mine made my heart dance with joy in my ribcage. "Thanks for coming out," he called to me. "I know it's horribly late, but I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep."

We shared a massive hug, and I inhaled the mingled scents of coffee and citrus shampoo. "No worries, but this is a total surprise. I had no idea I'd get to see you."

While our bodies fused together in our hug, I realized the harbor was unnaturally quiet and still. I could barely hear lapping waves or creaking boats.

Ziggy pulled back. "Is it just... I don't know, doesn't it seem way too quiet?"

I stared ahead at the harbor. "Now that you bring it up… it is. And what about the gulls? They're usually squawking, even at night."

A shiver raced through Ziggy's body, and I instinctively tightened my arms around his waist. His unease was contagious, making my stomach churn with a vague dread.

Growing up on the edge of a country club with manicured lawns cared for by a landscape company, I didn't pay much attention to nature's patterns. By contrast, my summer in Whistleport taught me a lot about the moods of the ocean and the subtle shifts that Ziggy knew, like the back of his hand.

Taking a step back, he reached out to hold my hands. "Something's off. Maybe we should head back toward Main Street." His voice shook slightly.

That was all the confirmation I needed. "It's not just me. You feel it, too." As we turned toward downtown, I caught something moving out of the corner of my eye. A lone seagull, barely visible in the darkness, flew low and fast over the water like it was trying to escape something. I quickened my step at Ziggy's side.

We'd only traveled about twenty yards when we heard a faint rumble. At first, I thought it was distant thunder, but the sky was clear, with thousands of stars visible.

I stopped and tried to remain calm, but I wanted to clarify I wasn't imagining things. "Did you... wait, did you hear that?"

Ziggy nodded. We heard the sound again, louder. It was like an ominous growling beast buried somewhere in the earth at our feet.

"What the hell is that?" I didn't expect an answer, but I had to ask anyway.

"This is not right. Where's that coming from?" Ziggy took three steps back as his green eyes scanned the harbor. The worry in his voice caused my stomach to churn.

Before I could answer, a flash of light appeared at the far end of the harbor. For a second, I thought it was lightning, but it was too close to the ground. It was near a row of electrical transformers.

A deafening boom suddenly shattered the night and shook the ground beneath our feet. We both instinctively threw ourselves to the earth. I watched as a blinding flash appeared at the far end of the harbor. It lit up everything with an unnatural light—like an overly intense camera flash. I saw dozens of lobster boats, a few gleaming yachts, and salt-crusted buoys swaying on the waves.

Everything was dark again the next second until flames consumed one of the electrical transformers. It was a horrifying sight. A white-hot shower of sparks rained down from atop the tower of flames, landing on the boats below.

Ziggy reached up and clenched a handful of his hair. "Oh, God." I turned to see his face light up like a ghost in the gleam of the fire.

The flames started to spread. They leaped from boat to boat like a devil's game of hopscotch. The stench of burning fuel and melting fiberglass filled the air, making my eyes water and my nose burn.

Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to overwhelm me. I'd never felt so helpless, so utterly unprepared for something. It wasn't like anything I'd faced before—not a must-win hockey game or a family argument. Raw, primal fear tore at my heart.

A second explosion, louder and closer than the first, split the night. I watched as a lobster boat with the name Lady Luck on its hull turned into a fireball. The blast knocked us to the ground, and tiny wooden splinters fell around us.

"We gotta go! Now!" I shouted, grabbing Ziggy by the arm and hauling him to his feet. The panic in my voice snapped him out of a state of shock. "Come on, move!"

As we ran, chaos reigned. Fishermen and boat owners rushed from the town toward the docks, some shouting and some crying. Their voices were suddenly drowned out by a sound that made my blood run cold. It was the whoosh of a fuel tank igniting.

Beside me, Ziggy yelled, "Look out!" He yanked me down to the ground as a burning piece of debris sailed over our heads. It came too close. We had to keep moving.

When we reached the east side of Main Street, nearest the harbor, we flung ourselves onto the ground to sit and catch our breath. As I panted for oxygen, Ziggy grabbed my hand again. "We're not safe yet. If the fuel depot explodes—"

Another massive explosion cut off the sentence. A shock wave hit us and pushed us to our knees before we could fully stand. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw roaring flames where the fuel depot once stood. The multiple raging fires threatened to swallow the entire harbor.

As we stood and leaned on the west wall of Tidal Grounds, the sheer scope of the blaze started to sink in. It wasn't a simple fire. It was the kind of catastrophe I'd only seen on TV news.

Ziggy gripped my hand tight enough that I worried he might break my fingers. "Dad's boat," he wailed. I could barely hear him above the roaring flames. "Our company offices. Everything…"

I pulled him against me, and he buried his face in my shoulder. His body started to shake as he sobbed. Two more lobster boats fell victim to the flames, their fuel tanks exploding in the terrifying scene.

Ziggy pulled back and turned around. We watched as people who lived near the harbor began to flee in their cars and on foot. Sirens wailed when fire trucks, emergency vehicles, and police cars arrived.

With a tug on my arm, Ziggy insisted, "We have to help. There are real people down there, our neighbors and friends."

I swallowed hard. Fear threatened to consume me, but my loyalty to Ziggy was stronger. Real danger surrounded us, but lives were at stake. Ziggy bolted, and I followed at his shoulder. We headed down into the inferno, and I knew at that moment that I would follow him anywhere.

Another explosion rattled the harbor. The entire area was like a war zone, and Ziggy took us directly into the heart of it. It was mayhem everywhere we looked.

Dodging the maze of smoke and flames was a little like navigating through defensemen in a tight hockey game, except the stakes were now life and death. I saw familiar faces—the man who owned the bait shop and Eugenie from the Lobster Shack. Everyone scrambled to save what they could in case their homes and shops went up in flames.

Ziggy and I worked as a team to help get people out of boats and buildings. Sweat rolled down the sides of my face as I confronted the intense heat. Soon, my muscles screamed from the intensity of the workout, but I couldn't give in with Ziggy at my side.

We helped a trembling fisherman off his listing boat before taking another break. While we sat on a patch of grass, he pressed his face into his crossed arms and shook with sobs. Multiple boats capsized in the harbor as I watched helplessly.

Our rest didn't last long. Within thirty seconds, Ziggy was up again, and we pushed back toward the harbor. Firefighters nearly had the blaze contained. Putting all the fires out would take some time, but they would no longer spread to untouched properties.

Suddenly, Ziggy gasped at my side. "Mom! Dad! Emma!" he yelled, his voice cracking.

As he took out running, I followed at his heels. The Knickerbocker family waited for us with light smoke swirling around them. Usually immaculate, Olive was less than put together. Her tangled silver-streaked hair wreathed a face smudged with soot. Knick appeared older than I remembered, his shoulders slumping. Emma clung to her mother, eyes wide as she stared straight ahead.

Ziggy crashed into his family, wrapping them in an intense hug. A huge lump rose in my throat as I watched the emotional reunion. I hung back a few steps, not wanting to intrude on such an intimate moment.

Olive cupped her son's face in her hands. "Thank God you're okay. We couldn't find you, and we worried—"

"I'm okay, Mom. Kade and I were down at the harbor when it started. We saw the first explosion, and we've been trying to help."

When Ziggy mentioned my name, they all turned their attention to me. I shifted my weight back and forth as they watched.

Olive reached out, took my hand, and pulled me into the family group. I wrapped my arms as far around the group as they would go.

Ziggy praised me. "Kade's been amazing. He's been right with me through all of it. He pulled Old Man Fredericks to safety out of his boat."

Knick gripped my shoulder with his bearish hand. It shook slightly, but his hold was still strong. "Thank you, son." The words were brief, but the acceptance was apparent.

Emma pushed one of her arms around my waist. "Thanks for watching out for my crazy brother," she mumbled into my soot-streaked shirt.

I offered an awkward pat on her shoulder. Such open displays of affection didn't happen in my family. Genuine hugs were rare. "He's looked out for me, too."

Olive wiped tears from her eyes. "We're just glad you're both safe. This is all so horrible. How could it happen?"

Suddenly, Knick gasped, his eyes wide open. I turned to follow his gaze, just in time to see a sign reading Knickerbocker Lobster Co. go up in flames while the building behind it collapsed.

"No," Ziggy yelled.

A choking, anguished cry came out of Knick, and it made me tremble all over. He took one step forward, but Olive caught him by the arm.

"Knick, no." Her voice was firm as tears rolled down. "It's too late. Let it go."

Emma turned away and buried her face in her mother's side. She was always strong and direct with frequent sarcasm. Now, she was a frightened young girl, and seeing it tore at my heart.

So much of Ziggy's world crumbled that night. The legacy of generations of Knickerbockers working to provide a future for their children and grandchildren went up in flames, and we were helpless to do anything about it. Without thinking twice, I pulled him in close to me, and his body shook against mine.

I leaned my head against his. "I'm here. We'll get past this. We're all stronger than it is."

Ziggy's family watched closely as I held him. I didn't know whether they put two and two together, but it didn't matter. The only important thing was being strong for him and for his entire family.

Olive rested a hand on my back, indicating I was part of the group. Knick wrapped an arm around the back of Ziggy and me while Emma pressed in close. We all huddled together, desperately trying to offer comfort while the harbor burned.

A profound understanding swept over me while we all held each other close. I not only had my birth family, but now the Knickerbockers were a chosen one. I chose them, and they chose me, both through Ziggy. It was a warm sense of belonging I couldn't remember ever experiencing.

Holding onto Ziggy, I whispered in a shaky voice. "We'll figure this all out together. I promise."

It was a tremendous promise to make. It wasn't just a situation where I was comforting my boyfriend after a bad day at work. It was a commitment to a future together, rebuilding his family and town's lives. Surprisingly, the daunting task didn't frighten me. The promise was the right thing to do, and I couldn't see the aftermath of the fire any other way.

When the sun cast its first rays over the horizon, smoke still billowed out of the ruins of Whistleport's harbor. A few small fires continued to burn, but the fire department had them contained. Ziggy's breathing was ragged as he held me tightly. He'd taken a significant hit, but I sensed he remained strong. He might bend and ache from such a disaster, but it would take a lot more to break him.

Around us, the local residents were already looking toward the future. They comforted each other, and I heard the first whispers of plans to rebuild. Whistleport was a town that didn't give up. The people were fighters, and I had become one of them.

When Ziggy finally pulled back from our firm hug, he gazed at me with red-rimmed eyes. I spoke softly. "You and me, Zig. We're together, whatever comes next."

A slight smile flickered on his lips. "Yeah, you and me."

We turned toward the scene of devastation, hand-in-hand. Instead of despair, a wave of hope swept over me. the disaster battered Whistleport's harbor, but it didn't break it. We'd be part of the future, building it back better than ever.

Chapter nineteen

Ziggy

The pungent reek of smoke, charred wood, and melted plastic assaulted us as Dad and I wound our way through the ruins of the Knickerbocker Lobster Co. office. The blaze reduced the desktop computer to blackened wreckage, and the contents of file cabinets crumbled when we touched them.

It was a waking nightmare. Dad stood near what was once the door, continually shaking his head.

"I… unbelievable." Dad crouched next to a pile of debris and touched it with trembling fingers. Underneath the unreadable covers of regulation manuals, he uncovered a buoy, its paint blistered from the heat. "Five generations, Ziggy. Five damn generations of Knickerbockers, building this up from nothin'. All that blood and sweat... gone. Poof. Just like that." He sighed heavily. "And it happened on my watch."

I swallowed hard over a lump in my throat. "We've faced rough situations, Dad. We'll rebuild it. That's what we do." I did my best to sound upbeat, but it all rang hollow.

When he looked at me, I saw lines on his face that I would have sworn weren't there the day before. He had a haunted expression with dark bags under his eyes. "I'm not sure I have it in me this time."

The words hit me hard. It was like somebody slammed me in the gut. Stubborn and unyielding, Dad was always our rock. I couldn't stand to see him so crushed beneath the weight of the disaster.

I watched as Dad tried to add things up in his head while he moved around the ruins of the office. Our company boat was a blackened shell. Somehow, it didn't sink, but it was a total loss. The intensity of the fire reduced thousands of dollars of equipment to scrap—winches, traps, and GPS systems.

I asked about insurance, confident it would cover a significant portion of the damage. Dad frowned in response, followed by a short, bitter chuckle. "They'll cover some, but it won't come close to replacing everything. This will take years if we can tackle it at all."

The words took a few minutes to sink in. As they did, my thoughts raced around in my head. I did some quick calculations and speculated on what the disaster meant for my future. My college tuition and dreams about the NHL now seemed a bit selfish, knowing what my family was facing.

While Dad held up a charred, framed photo of one of the family's past lobster boats, I blurted out a suggestion. "I could stay, take the year off, and help rebuild here."

Dad didn't mince words. "No." He set his jaw as he always did when his decision was non-negotiable. "You won't sacrifice your future because of this. Your mother and I won't let you."

On the way home, we argued about my future plans. Our voices rose occasionally as the discussion became heated. By the time we reached our house, we were both tired from arguing, but we hadn't reached an agreement.

Mom was waiting. She had her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a bun and, to my surprise, wore one of Dad's old Knickerbocker Lobster Co. sweatshirts. Her voice was soft. "Well? Is it as bad as we thought?"

The words wouldn't come for Dad. He wrapped Mom up in a warm, silent hug.

I announced, "I want to stay and help. I can defer college for a year and probably work something out with Coach, seeing what's happened."

Mom was just as firm as Dad had been. "Absolutely not." It was the same voice I'd heard many times as a kid when I argued with Emma. "Ziggy, your future is too important. We'll work it out."

"But—"

"No buts," Dad insisted. "You're going back to school, end of discussion."

I opened my mouth to respond, but when I saw the look in their eyes, I knew it was fruitless. Despite their exhaustion, they were as determined as ever. They'd fight tooth and nail to keep me on my path. The straightforward demonstration of their selfless love moved me to tears.

Retreating to my room, I threw myself backward onto the bed. Memories of happier times stood out in every corner. I saw hockey medals and trophies, along with framed poems graded A+. Seeing it all made it hard for me to breathe. I needed to get out of the house and give myself some open space to think.

Pulling out my phone, I typed a message to Kade.

"You busy?"

"No. Is everything okay?"

"Not really. Can I come over?"

"Of course. The door's always open for you."

I stared at his words and re-read, "door's always open." I knew it was more than a statement about the apartment. It was about Kade himself. He was always there for me.

I sneaked out of the house the back way, careful not to disturb my parents. How could I explain to Kade the emotions swirling inside me? Would he understand my guilt about pursuing my dreams while my family struggled to put their lives back together?

The streets of Whistleport were radically different. Neighbors walked by with shell-shocked expressions on their faces. According to the radio report I heard at home, we'd been fortunate not to have any deaths in the harbor explosions. Fortunate? It was a relative observation. Almost everyone in town would face some misfortune due to the disaster.

I reached Kade's door on autopilot. My feet knew the way. When I raised my hand to knock, it trembled. Kade answered after my second try. His brow furrowed. "Zig, what's wrong?"

Seeing him—my love and my port in the storm—made my pulse race. I tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come, so I reached out and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his shoulder.

He placed one hand on the back of my head. "It's okay. I've got you. I'm so sorry about what happened."

We stood like that for a few minutes just inside Kade's apartment. I inhaled the scents I'd grown to love—sandalwood shampoo and his laundry detergent. They helped ground me and soothe some of the tension in my body.

Finally, we pulled back a half step. His voice was soft and rumbled slightly. "Let's sit down, and you can tell me everything."

He led the way to the couch with a hand splayed against the small of my back. As we sat, I scanned the room. There was a laptop open on the coffee table with books and papers around. "Did I interrupt something? Are you studying early for the school year?"

Kade smiled. "It's nothing important. You'll always take priority."

The commitment in his voice shook something loose in me. It was like a dam broke, and a rush of words flowed out of me. I talked about what Dad and I found in the remains of the office. Then, I shared the details of my argument with my parents and the weight of the decision I still had to make. I rose from the couch and paced back and forth, waving my hands as I shared my stories.

Finally, I collapsed back on the couch. "I'm so lost here. It's like... no matter what I do, I'm letting someone down. Damned if I do, damned if I don't, you know?"

Kade listened quietly the entire time I ranted and raved. When I sat again, he took my hand and rubbed my palm. His voice was firm when he shared his observation. "You won't let anybody down. It's not your fault that you're faced with this. And you're right, there probably is no perfect solution, Zig."

I curled up against his side, my long legs hanging off the cushions. "I don't think I've ever felt this helpless."

He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer. "I know, but you're not alone. You've got me to help you through."

We sat together like that for several minutes. All I could hear was distant traffic and the sound of our breathing. Kade's presence comforted me. When I sagged against him, he tugged on my elbow. "Come on. Follow me."

He led me to the bedroom. I didn't feel sexy, but the room was a comfortable space. He'd placed hazy seascapes on the walls to enhance the comforting atmosphere.

We undressed silently. As we slid under the covers, I moved up next to Kade, my body fitting against him like a missing puzzle piece. He didn't try to push anything sexual. Instead, he held me close and softly kissed me beneath my ear.

Tracing my collarbone with his index finger, he paused at a small scar. "How'd you get this?" He didn't ask in a demanding tone. Every word was soft and conversational.

I chuckled. "It was a hockey puck to the chest my first year in high school. Hurt like hell and scared Mom, but I finished the game."

"Why does that not surprise me? Sometimes, you can be a stubborn ass." He laughed softly. "I'm betting you scored the winning goal, too."

"Nah, it was just an assist for me, but it was a thing of beauty." I paused briefly. "Hey, Kade, tell me a story about you. Something you haven't shared yet."

"Okay." His voice was warm and gentle. "Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to learn how to surf?"

"No." I'd been curious about surfing at times. Some hardy athletes did it in Maine, mostly from Portland on south. I'd been too busy to give it a serious go. "Tell me what happened. Did you do it there in New Hampshire?"

He shook his head. "No, but maybe I should have practiced at home before the trip. My family was on vacation to Hawaii, and picture me as this gangly fourteen-year-old, fearless and convinced I could succeed at any sport. I was good at hockey, so why not surfing?"

"Sounds like a disaster in the making."

"Sort of." He pushed himself up with his hands until he sat upright. Then, he gestured to help tell the story. "So, I signed up for this lesson at our hotel. My instructor was chill, and the hotel concierge said he was among the best. His name was Kai, and he looked like he was born with a surfboard in his crib."

"But you weren't."

Kade laughed. "Hey, there wasn't any room for it. The hockey stick got in the way."

I smirked.

"Anyway, Kai drove us out to the beach in his jeep. He explained the basics, and I nodded along. I figured I had it in the bag."

"And you didn't."

"I wasn't even close. On my first try, I stood on the board for about a second before I face-planted in the saltwater. I figured, you know, two or three tries. On the second, I lost my balance, and the board shot out from under me. Big splash."

I grinned. "At least you survived, or you wouldn't be telling me the story."

"Yeah, but I nearly killed my instructor. When I lost control of my board, he didn't see it coming, and it whacked him upside the head."

A laugh bubbled up from inside me. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I do hope he was okay."

"Yeah, he survived his encounter with me, but the day turned into one disaster after another. I even got stung by a jellyfish for my trouble."

I reached out for Kade and pulled him down on top of me. The warmth of his body was soothing, and we both laughed. "Thanks for the story. That helps."

"Anytime. I've got plenty more embarrassing tales to tell."

We continued on, gently exploring each other's bodies and trading stories. I learned that a small scar on the side of Kade's knee was from a childhood tumble out of a treehouse. I admitted that the calluses on my hands weren't only from hockey. I'd spent summers hauling in lobster traps for extra cash during high school.

Kade wove his fingers together with mine. "Those hands tell a story."

I snorted. "Yeah, one about manual labor and holding onto hockey sticks."

Kade sighed. "No, that's not what I mean." He reached out for my chin and tilted my head up so he could gaze into my eyes. "Don't talk yourself down. Your hands have created beautiful things, too. I've seen some of your poetry."

The time spent together eased much of my tension, but some still lurked in the background. I brought my primary dilemma up again with a calm voice. "I don't know what to do. It's like being ripped in half. If I go back to school, I'll feel like I'm abandoning my family when they most need me. If I don't, it feels like I'm throwing away what I've worked for."

Kade was quiet for several seconds. "What does your gut tell you?"

I closed my eyes and did my best to listen to a faint voice deep down inside. It took me a few minutes to sort it out. "It tells me that I need to go back. As hard as it will be to leave this fall, the best way I can help my family is to succeed at college and make something of myself."

Kade saw the answer as a simple one. "Then, I think that's what you should do, and I'll have your back all along the way."

I searched his face. "Yeah? You're not just saying that?"

"I'm all in, Zig. We'll put our heads together and figure out ways you can help your family from school."

"Thank you." I turned my head and kissed his bare chest, right over his heart. "I'm so glad we found each other."

Chapter twenty

Kade

Ientered Dr. Fellows' office feeling both excited and a little hesitant about the future. It was my last session. Exhaling slowly, I settled into the familiar armchair.

I'd grown fond of her office's faint lavender scent and knew that I would miss it in the future. Perhaps I could use an essential oil to bring back the comforting feelings away from my sessions.

Settling into her seat across from me, Dr. Fellows pushed her tortoiseshell glasses slightly down the bridge of her nose and smiled. "Final session of the summer, Kade. Are you feeling good about that?"

Needing to buy a bit of time while I thought about my answer, I reached up and raked my fingers through my hair. It had been an intense but mostly positive summer punctuated by the disaster at the harbor.

I rubbed my cheek. "To be honest, I've got a pretty wild mix of emotions going at the moment. I know I've made a lot of progress, but so many things are still undecided."

Nodding, Dr. Fellows held her pen above a pad of paper. "Those feelings are normal. Can you tell me more about what is still uncertain?"

While I rested my elbows on my knees, I leaned forward with my chin in my hands. "I think it's mostly about what happens next. Life feels real for once here in Whistleport. I get to be myself around Ziggy and not worry about what someone might see. In a few weeks, though, I go back to UNH as the star forward of the hockey team. There's so much more to me now than in the past, but I'm not sure that's what anyone wants to see."

"So, those expectations conflict with what you've learned about yourself this summer?"

I let the question float for a few minutes while considering what to say. "I don't know that it's a direct conflict. Maybe complication is the better word. From where I sit right now, the easiest path, the route of least resistance, would be to slip back into my old patterns and be the guy who always does what others expect of him."

Dr. Fellows pushed her glasses back up her nose with one finger and leaned back. "Do you have any ideas about what could help you continue on the growth path you've discovered here in Whistleport?"

While I thought about the question, I gazed out the office window, which had a view of the fire-scarred harbor in the distance. "I suppose I need to be more honest. That means with my teammates, coaches, and perhaps my parents."

"Thinking that way shows a lot of maturity." I loved the sound of approval in her voice. "This is all a process. You can take your time with it."

A bit of the weight rose off my shoulders. "Thanks, Doc. Trying to perform perfectly on the ice introduces a lot of pressure. Sometimes, being a straight, rich kid with perfect manners is like putting on another kind of performance."

Dr. Fellows' voice was gentle, but she had a firm point to make. "Life is not a stage play. It's for real, and it's okay to struggle for answers. Sometimes, you might even stumble and have to pick yourself back up again. What matters most is that you keep growing and moving forward."

When the session wound down, Dr. Fellows left me with a last nugget of wisdom. "I want you to consider what your world would look like if you could simultaneously honor your feelings for Ziggy and your commitment to your hockey team. There's no need for them to be mutually exclusive. If you can visualize it, you can do it."

Those final words echoed inside my head as I left the office. Next, I decided to stop at Tidal Grounds. The familiar jingle of the bell and the rich aroma of delicious coffee greeted me as I stepped inside.

Silas looked up from behind the counter and called across the room. "You look a little… serious today, Kade. What will it be? Do you need a pick-me-up?"

I chuckled and sat on a stool at the counter. "Can't hide anything from you, can I, Silas? Give me something strong enough to curl my toes. It will be fuel for thought."

He nodded and reached for a clean mug. "Rumor says it was the last of a series of important meetings for you. How're you doing after that?"

It took only minutes for Silas to slide a steaming mug across the counter to me. I inhaled the scent and smiled. "I guess it's a little sad in a way. It makes me think about leaving Whistleport, and that will be hard."

As he leaned on the counter, Silas's eyes were a deeper blue than I remembered. "It does get under your skin, doesn't it? I do think it's important to remember that everything you've learned here goes with you. It doesn't get left behind."

I sipped the coffee. It was intense but flavorful, too. "There's a bit of vanilla in here, isn't there?"

Silas grinned. "You have top-notch taste buds, my man. Does it work?"

"Oh, yeah. No complaints here." I paused to let my thoughts catch up. "You know, I just hope I can hold onto all the great lessons when I plunge back into life at UNH, and everybody expects me to be the same old Kade."

"I don't think any of us need to worry. You're a stronger man than you think. And if you need any of us up here, we're all still in your corner."

I nodded, feeling gratitude for his positive words. "Is Ziggy around? He's usually on his shift by now, right?"

Silas shook his head. "That would be the usual schedule, but he asked for the night off and said he needed some space. If I were a gambler, I'd place a bet that you can find him at the arena. The rink seems to be his comfort zone."

A few minutes later, I sipped the last of my coffee and thanked Silas. I power-walked to the arena and enjoyed the familiar chill as I stepped inside.

Sure enough, Ziggy was on the ice. He was alone, gliding around with remarkable grace. I thought perhaps he should have been born to an Arctic family. He looked so natural wearing skates.

"Fancy meeting you here," I called out.

Ziggy turned, spotted me, and grinned from ear to ear. He skated toward me. "Hey, how was the session? Is Dr. Fellows sad to see you go?"

"It was a good one. Let's say it was a little bit intense but still worthwhile. Should I get my skates? I'd be happy to join you."

All it took was a slight nod. Less than five minutes later, we were both on the ice, syncing up as we skated side by side. The sound of our blades provided a soothing backdrop as we talked.

"Last session," Ziggy remarked. "That's a huge deal. Congrats."

"Yeah, and we talked a lot about what happens next. She knows all about you and how I feel about my hockey team."

Ziggy glanced at me. "Going back to UNH won't be easy, will it? I feel that way about UMaine. At least I've got Eric to help out a bit."

I agreed. "No, it won't be easy, but I've got you now. I know distance isn't easy, but I hope that's what we do. You're too good to lose."

He pulled up to a stop and faced me. "Yeah? You think that about me?"

I threw up a small shower of ice shavings as I stopped by his side. "Yeah, I do, and you're important enough that I don't want to hide it from anybody anymore. I'm thinking about coming out to the team. We can still lead rival teams, but when the game's over, I want to be able to be myself with you."

Ziggy reached out for my hand. Our fingers locked together despite our gloves. "That sounds great, but do you think they can handle it? Will your teammates still follow you as their leader?"

I shrugged. "I think we'll figure it out. They might learn a good lesson when I show them how to be rivals on the ice and partners off it. There's no reason we have to be one or the other."

Ziggy's green eyes sparkled. "Partners? I think I like the sound of that."

As we stood side-by-side at center ice, a peaceful sensation filled me, and an idea started to form in my mind. It was a potential solution or at least something that could help Ziggy's family situation so he could go back to college and pursue our relationship without guilt.

I wasn't ready to talk about it quite yet, and I didn't have a guarantee it would work, but it ignited a glimmer of hope. A playful note crept into my voice. "You know, we should probably practice our on-ice rivalry a bit if we're going to be convincing when we go back to college. It would be embarrassing if we looked soft."

Ziggy laughed. "I get where you're going. You're so on with this. The first one to score five goals wins?"

I nodded as my adrenaline started to spike. "You're going down, Knickerbocker."

We faced off at center ice. Ziggy dropped the first puck, and I snagged it, trying to dart to the left. He was on me immediately, working to poke the puck away with his stick.

Using a spin move I'd perfected at UNH, I broke away and opened up a clear shot at the goal. I didn't have time to dawdle. Ziggy was on my tail. With a quick wrist flick, I sent the puck down the ice, where it sailed into the net.

"One-zero," I announced.

"No need to be an ass about it." Ziggy laughed. "Anyway, you lucked out. That won't happen again."

Those were famous last words. It did happen again, and soon I was up two-zero. It looked too easy for a moment, but then Ziggy decided he wouldn't go down without a fight.

He roared back with a vengeance and showed the skills that likely earned him his spot on the UMaine team. He executed a top-shelf snipe, a beauty that would have made NHL highlight reels.

"Two-one." He showed off some fancy footwork as he skated past me. "Better be careful, Kade. I'm just warming up."

As our competition continued, we pulled out all the stops. After I poked in one more shot, Ziggy tore up the ice. He evened the score at three-all, sending a shot between my legs.

"Don't cry," he teased. "I did that in a game last spring." We both lowered our hands to our knees, working to catch our breath.

I managed to sneak past Ziggy in the next round and send a shot into the center of the net. "Four-three. I'm ahead, and I only need one more to win."

Ziggy skated around me in a circle. "That's all you need, but you won't get it."

The next few minutes were some of the most intense one-on-one hockey I'd ever experienced. Ziggy threw everything he had at me. He had blistering speed on his skates and executed textbook shots, but I blocked one after the other. Finally, he got one past me, and I nearly slammed into the boards when I tried to block it.

"Four-all," he said, his chest heaving. "Next goal wins."

I was too busy fighting for breath to say anything back. We faced off one more time. We agreed to set the puck at center ice and take two steps back. After I counted down, we both lunged for it in a wicked tangle of sticks and skates.

Ziggy suddenly broke free, cradling the puck on his stick. He tore off down the ice, racing toward the goal. I pushed myself as hard as I could in hot pursuit. When he wound up for his shot, I dove forward, stretching my stick as far as I could to block.

It was like everything dipped into slow motion. The puck moved through the air and missed my outstretched stick by mere millimeters.

Ziggy danced a jig and shouted, "Yes! Looks like I'm the winner, Kade!"

Slowly, I climbed to my feet. "Yeah, okay, but don't let it go to your head."

He skated over to me and pulled me into a hug, saying, "To be honest, I think we're both big winners." Ziggy stared into my eyes, and we both started laughing as we panted for breath.

I tightened my arms around him. "Good game."

"The best."

Later, Ziggy methodically packed his gear in the locker room as usual, but he was quieter than normal.

I moved up close to him on the bench. "Hey, are you okay?"

He looked up. "Yeah, mostly, but just thinking about the next few months, you know. No matter how I look at it, there's a lot of hard stuff to face."

I nodded in understanding. As I watched him, my earlier idea about how to help came back. It was risky, maybe even a little wild, but the more I thought about it, the more right it felt.

Could I make it happen? It would involve taking a stand and being true to myself. I'd have to prove that I really believed in myself and our partnership.

Ziggy caught me staring into space and raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking about?"

I smiled as my affection for him surged. "Nothing." That wasn't true, but I couldn't share my thoughts just yet. "Well, I do keep thinking about how lucky I am."

He smirked. "Lucky to finally find the guy who can hand your ass to you on the ice?"

"Well, that, but most of all, just lucky to have you."

As we finished packing up and headed out of the locker room, my mind raced forward on my plan. I didn't know exactly how it would play out, but I was confident of one thing: I was going to do everything in my power to help Ziggy, no matter the cost. Because I knew that's what I would do for the people I loved.

Chapter twenty-one

Ziggy

Iresisted getting out of bed, and then the luscious scent of Mom's blueberry muffins wafted up the stairs. I'd barely slept, with thoughts about Kade, my family, and our secret rolling back and forth in my head all night.

When I finally rolled out of bed, I glanced at myself in the mirror over my dresser. The person I saw staring back was older and more resolute than the one I'd noticed early in the summer. I decided it was the right day to come clean—time to stop hiding.

While padding downstairs in worn UMaine sweatpants and an old T-shirt, each step was another move forward into a new beginning. It was a sunny day out, and the kitchen was warm and bright. Mom was washing dishes in the sink, and I bent close to kiss her.

"Morning, sleepyhead. I started to think you might be hibernating."

I spotted the muffins on a cooling rack. "These smell fantastic." I snagged one and took a bite. "Oh, man. I bet most guys my age don't have a mom who bakes delicious stuff like this."

Mom turned around, drying her hands on a towel. "Ziggy, do you want something? The compliments are wonderful, but—"

"And they're well deserved. Is Dad around?"

She nodded. "He's out back, fiddling with an ancient lobster trap burnt in the fire. He tells me he's making art with it." She sighed softly. "And Emma's at Bridget's. She's planning to be back in a few hours."

I pulled open the fridge and poured myself a tall glass of milk. My palms were sweaty. "Mom, can we talk? You, Dad, and me? I need to tell you something."

"Oh." Her eyes opened wide. She turned around and pulled the plug on the dishwater. "Why, of course. Let me get your father, and we can talk in the living room."

Minutes later, we gathered for the discussion. Nervous energy filled my body. I sat on the edge of the couch at one end, tugging at a stray thread on my sweatpants.

Dad settled into his old armchair across from me. Black ashes and soot from the trap streaked his hands. He placed them on his knees and leaned forward.

Mom was at the opposite end of the couch from me. Somehow, she'd put her hair up in a bun for the talk. When I first came downstairs, it was falling over her shoulders.

As soon as we were all gathered, I stood. I had too much adrenaline racing through my body to remain sitting. I'd rehearsed my words in my head all night, but now, at the critical moment, they were gone. Poof! Like a cloud drifting into the sky. How was I going to tell my parents about a huge part of me they'd never met?

Dad broke the silence by using my given name. He only did that when he wanted to express the gravity of a situation. "Zachary, whatever it is, let's get on with it. You're making your mother nervous."

I stopped pacing and faced them with my hands lightly clenched at the sides. Shouldn't there be a film crew? It was a newsworthy matter, to me, at least.

"Mom, Dad, I'm gay." The words exploded out of my mouth and then hung there, just below the ceiling light fixture. "And I'm dating Kade Langston."

I watched Dad tilt his head slightly as he looked at me. Then he glanced at Mom. Neither appeared shocked or angry. That was a good thing. What were they thinking? Waiting was excruciating.

"Kade? Is that the UNH boy you brought to dinner?" Dad leaned forward, waiting for my answer.

"Yes, that's him." I rubbed my damp palms on my sweatpants and braced myself for more. When I looked at Mom, she appeared much less concerned than when I asked her about talking. Where was the anger, confusion, and rejection? I'd read so much about that in online guides to coming out.

Dad shocked me when he chuckled softly. "Well, I'll be damned. Your mother owes me twenty bucks."

"Knick!" Mom scolded him from across the room. She turned her attention back to me, her eyes shiny with tears. "Oh, Ziggy. Come here, sweetheart."

I paused. "Wait! The two of you bet on whether I was gay?"

Dad laughed again. "No, we didn't. What we bet on was whether you would come out to us before the end of the summer."

I exhaled and walked over to sit by Mom. She wrapped her arms around me, smelling of vanilla and blueberries. "You already knew I was gay?"

Mom spoke softly. "We've had our suspicions for a while now." She reached up and slowly raked her fingers through my hair like she'd done since I was a little boy. "A mother often knows things like this about her son."

I pulled back and looked from one to the other as my anxiety balloon deflated. "So, you're okay with this?"

Dad stood and crossed the room to us. He squeezed my shoulder with his beefy hand. "Son, we would never reject you for being you. My only concern has been whether it might make your life more difficult outside of this house. I'd never want that for you."

Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. I reached up to wipe them away with my wrist. "But what about how this could impact my hockey? I don't know what my team might think. And then there's the rivalry with Kade, at least on the ice."

Dad surprised me again. "Hockey's just a game. Family and the people you love are what matters. Although, I don't know whether this means I need to cheer for the wildcats, too. That would be awkward." He winked at me.

I laughed softly. Years of worry and self-doubt had evaporated in minutes. I'd never expected such a stress-free response from my parents.

"Now, hang on for a sec. Mom said you had suspicions about this. What gave it away?"

My parents exchanged a knowing look. They'd perfected the ability to have entire conversations with just one glance.

Dad cleared his throat. "Well, son, I wouldn't pin it on only one thing, but Kade has been around a lot this summer."

"Go on." I was curious and wanted to hear the rest.

Mom rubbed my upper arm. "Well, when he wasn't around, your face would light up every time there was a reason to mention his name, even if it was a complaint."

"And you have spent a lot of time helping Rory at the rink. It nearly doubled once he brought Kade on to coach, too."

I blushed. "That was just dedication to the program."

"Admirable." Dad chuckled again. "And a few late nights sneaking out of the house. You're not as clever about that as you think. I have some ideas about what was happening then."

"Knick!" Mom scolded Dad again, but she followed it with a smile. "I noticed how you looked at each other when you assumed nobody was watching."

Dad picked up the thread again. "There was a clincher for me. It was the night of the 4th of July festival. The two of you disappeared during the fireworks. when you came back…" His voice trailed off as he smiled and raised an eyebrow.

Mom finished the thoughts. "What he's trying to say is you both had a special glow. For me, it brought back memories of how your father and I were when we first started dating."

"So, you already knew the night of the explosions.

Simultaneously, they responded, "Yes."

"Was I that obvious?" I lowered my face into my hands, and I couldn't decide whether I should be mortified or touched by my parents' interest in my life.

"We're your parents, Ziggy." Mom continued. "We were pretty sure, but we wanted you to take your time. We just hoped you weren't afraid to talk to us."

Dad nodded. "It might seem like we're set in our ways sometimes, but helping you and your sister grow into happy adults is what matters most."

"I just… I didn't know how to tell you. I worried so much about how you would react. I didn't want to disappoint you or my hometown."

Mom pulled me closer again. "Oh, sweetheart, you could never disappoint us by being you. That's part of who you are. You love who you love."

I sat up straighter. "Well, there is something else, too. What Kade and I have is going to be long-distance soon, and we're going back to our teams. I'm scared it might be too hard for us to manage."

Mom squeezed my hand. "First off, I'm so happy to hear that you're definitely going back to UMaine. Secondly, nobody ever said love is easy, but it's always worth fighting for if it's real. You might have some challenges coming up, but you and Kade will face them together. And don't forget, we're always in your corner."

We continued talking for the next couple of hours, and I was more open about my life than I'd been in years. I told them about the first kiss with Kade at the arena. Then, I shared what I knew about his struggles with his family. I also mentioned the rivalry and how scary it was to fall for someone who was supposed to be the enemy.

Suddenly, in the middle of our conversation, Emma burst through the front door. She absorbed the scene—Mom, Dad, and I huddled close—and her eyes widened.

"Did somebody die? Please tell me Aunt Mildred's okay."

I laughed. It was the perfect break in the tension we needed. "Nobody died, squirt. I just came out to Mom and Dad. I told them about being gay and about Kade."

Emma smiled. "Finally! I was about to lock you in your closet upstairs if you didn't spill it soon." She plopped down on the couch with us and wedged herself between Mom and me. "Does this mean I get to be your fashion consultant now? She pinched my sweatpants. Ziggy, your wardrobe could use some serious help."

Mom sighed. "Emma! This is a big moment for your brother."

"Oh yeah, I agree. All I'm saying is if he's going to date the prettiest forward in Hockey East, he needs to look like they go together."

I groaned. "I think I do okay."

Emma's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Speaking of gay friends, I've got to share about Jake, a gay guy in my art class. Last May, we did this big end-of-the-school-year show."

I raised an eyebrow. I didn't remember Emma ever talking about a guy named Jake, and I wondered where she was going with her story.

"Jake decided to come out at the show." She waved her hands to illustrate her story. "He created this massive installation piece – picture a giant closet door right in the middle of the gym. He covered it in all these labels society puts on people."

Mom leaned in, curious about the story. "What happened next, honey?"

Emma grinned. "So, the showcase opens, and Jake's nowhere to be found. Everyone's wondering where he is. Then, suddenly, the lights dim, and a spotlight hits the closet door. Out comes Jake, wearing the most fabulous rainbow suit you've ever seen, trailing glitter everywhere!"

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Sounds like quite the entrance."

"It was epic," Emma agreed. "He got a standing ovation. But the best part? His super-conservative grandma was there, and she just marched right up to him, glitter and all, and gave him the biggest hug. Turns out, she'd known for years and was just waiting for him to be ready."

It was a touching story. "Thanks for sharing, Em. It sounds like a big warm and fuzzy moment."

She nodded. "Yeah, it really was. And you know what? Jake said the hardest part wasn't the big reveal—it was working up the courage to tell his closest friends first. So, thanks for trusting us, Zig."

I reached over and ruffled her hair, earning an indignant squawk.

The story was a welcome moment of lightness after the emotional intensity over me coming out. We all sat together as a family, letting the warmth of acceptance and love settle around us like an old favorite blanket.

Mom was the first to move, her practical nature reasserting itself. "Well, I suppose those muffins won't pack themselves up. Knick, dear, could you give me a hand in the kitchen?"

Dad nodded, groaning slightly as he pushed himself up from his chair. "Sure thing. Though I warn you, my artistic vision for that lobster trap is far from finished."

"I can't wait to see how it ends up," Mom replied, her voice fond and exasperated at the same time. "Emma, didn't you say you had to come home to work on a project?"

My sister's eyes widened. "Oh shoot, yeah! A bunch of us from school are pitching in together. Some aren't back from vacations yet, but I think we've got enough people. My part of the diorama of the harbor won't build itself." She bounded up the stairs, pausing briefly to toss a wink in my direction. "Don't think this gets you out of being my model for figure drawing class, bro! We'll have to sort out the right weekend. Maybe I can get a twofer with Kade."

As my family dispersed, returning to the rhythms of everyday life—albeit with a new, beautiful understanding among us—I suddenly needed quiet.

I slipped out the back, the old screen door creaking softly behind me. Leaning against the railing, I gazed out at the harbor. Our neighbors were already starting to rebuild.

My hand found my phone in my pocket, and I knew there was one more person I needed to share this moment with. Someone who had become as essential to me as the sea was to Whistleport.

With a deep breath, I began to type a message to Kade.

"I told them. About us. About everything. They're amazing, Kade. I can't wait for you to really be part of this family."

"I love you, Ziggy Knickerbocker. More than words can say. You're the bravest person I know."

As I turned to go back inside, where the warmth of my family waited, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. The person looking back at me was still Ziggy Knickerbocker—hockey player, poet, son of Whistleport. Only now, there was something more. He was in love with Kade Langston, and for the first time, he wanted all of the world to know.

Chapter twenty-two

Kade

The ancient floorboards of Whistleport's town hall groaned as I stepped inside the main meeting room. A slightly musty smell hung in the air while a single pedestal fan whirred in the corner. When I sat in a wooden chair, it creaked beneath me, the seat worn smooth by generations of citizens diligently participating in local government.

Mayor Flannigan, a stout man with a shock of white hair and a voice like gravel, called the meeting to discuss and coordinate efforts to rebuild the harbor after the disastrous explosions and fires. No one knew for sure what direction the discussion would take.

At 7 p.m. on the dot, the mayor stood at the podium with his gavel in hand. "Okay, everyone, let's come to order. There's a lot of ground to cover tonight, and I'm sure we'd all like to get back to our homes as soon as possible."

As individual conversations died down, I scanned the room from the back row. Many familiar faces were present in the crowd, and I saw worry in many of them.

Captain Hank folded his gnarled hands in his lap as he gave his full attention to the mayor. Mrs. Fairweather, who lost her late husband's lobster boat in the disaster, stared defiantly forward. Finally, two rows ahead, I spotted the back of Ziggy's head, sitting next to his dad with his dark hair askew as always.

Mayor Flannigan began his comments. "I know everyone is eager to get our port back in order. We will accomplish that as soon as possible, but we must coordinate the efforts. We can't have everyone rebuilding willy-nilly."

Dottie Perkins thrust her hand into the air as her bracelets jangled. "What about the insurance money? Do we know when that will come through?"

A ripple of questions passed through the crowd. The mayor sighed and removed his reading glasses. "I'm afraid I can't provide a simple answer, Dottie. As often happens, the insurance companies are dragging their feet. Some are trying to withhold payments by waving around act of God clauses and whatnot."

A massive groan rose from the gathered residents. I heard a few pointed comments:

"Bloodsuckers, the entire lot of them!"

"How're we supposed to survive and make a living?"

"My men can't fish with no damn boat!"

Mayor Flannigan banged his gavel, trying to calm the crowd. "I know, and I understand. It's unfair, but we can't make something out of nothing. If we're to receive any compensation, we must work with others instead of against them. I've had my office draw up a preliminary schedule, collaborating with architects to organize rebuilding plans. We'll start with the main pier and work our way outward."

A chart hung on the wall behind him. As he started to talk about the details, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Silas crouched behind me with a furrowed brow.

"This isn't good, kid. People are scared. I don't know how we'll pull this off without that insurance money."

A knot appeared in my gut. Whistleport was resilient. Old-timers frequently talked about destructive Nor'Easters of the past, but the fire was a step beyond.

Before I could respond to Silas, the door at the back of the room creaked open. Every head turned to check out who dared to interrupt such a solemn occasion. I gasped, along with many others, when I saw the tall figure silhouetted in the doorway.

It was my father.

Mayor Flannigan adjusted his glasses. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is a town meeting. It is open to all residents, but if you're not—"

I stood and spoke out. "Oh, he's not a resident, but since he's here, I think you will all want to hear what he has to say."

I wasn't sure why Dad would appear, but I had a good guess. We'd had a good discussion just two days earlier when I came out to my parents, and I didn't think he would travel all the way up to Whistleport for a personal appearance without good news to share.

A hush fell over the crowd as my father joined Mayor Flannigan at the podium. His dark, tailored suit contrasted sharply with the casual clothing the local residents wore. I held my breath as he started to speak.

"Good evening, Whistleport," my father began. I knew by the tone of his voice that he was in a good mood. He knew how to turn on the charm when an occasion called for it. "In light of recent events. on behalf of the Langston family, I would like to announce a contribution to your rebuilding efforts."

Murmurs swept through the crowd like a strong breeze off the ocean. I caught snippets:

"Langston? As in Kade Langston?"

"What's the catch?"

Dottie Perkins' voice cut through the din, sharp as a fishhook. "Well, I never! What's a big city family want with our little port?"

My father continued, unfazed by the murmuring crowd. "We'll be covering all costs for the harbor reconstruction not met by insurance."

The room exploded into a cacophony of sound as everyone rose out of their seats. Cheers accompanied gasps of disbelief, creating a wave of noise that rocked the old town hall. Conflicting emotions rose inside me—pride in my family's generosity, anxiety about the attention, and a twinge of frustration that I hadn't known about the plan.

Mayor Flannigan banged his gavel repeatedly, fighting to be heard over the noise. "Order, please! Order!" His gruff voice cracked slightly, revealing his own surprise at the turn of events.

As the roar began to subside, I noticed a few specific reactions. Dottie Perkins dabbed at her eyes with a floral handkerchief, her voice warbling louder than the rest, "Oh my stars, it's a miracle! Kade, honey, your family's an answer to our prayers!"

Knick Knickerbocker stood stock-still beside Ziggy, his weathered face as unreadable as driftwood. I watched as he looked first at me and then at my father, trying to understand the unexpected turn of events.

Silas caught my eye from across the room, offering a slight nod and a raised eyebrow. He mouthed, "We need to talk."

Mayor Flannigan cleared his throat, finally regaining some control over the gathering. "This is an act of unprecedented generosity, Mr. Langston. I think I speak for all of Whistleport when I say we're deeply grateful. But, if I may ask, what prompted this extraordinary offer?"

My father's practiced smile never wavered. "Whistleport has strong new connections with my family," he said, his eyes briefly meeting mine. "Our family foundation believes in helping support and preserve communities of vital interest to our loved ones. It's not just about rebuilding a harbor; it's about securing a positive future for the next generation."

A fresh wave of murmurs swept through the room. I caught more snippets of conversation. They demonstrated a mix of gratitude and confusion:

"It's too good to be true!"

"What's the catch?"

"Do you think they'll want to change things?"

"Who cares? We're saved!"

Mayor Flannigan raised his hands, trying to quiet the room once more. "Folks, please! Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. Mr. Langston, on behalf of Whistleport, we accept your incredibly generous offer. Now, if you'll bear with us, I'm sure there are many details to discuss..."

His final words disappeared, lost in all of the excited chatter. Residents turned to their neighbors, gesturing wildly, as their faces lit up with renewed hope.

Dottie Perkins cornered a group of her friends. "I always said that Langston boy was special, didn't I? Why, just the other day..."

Captain Hank was on his feet, one of his weathered hands gripping the shoulder of a younger fisherman. "You hear that, boy? We'll have you back on the water before you know it!"

Even Knick Knickerbocker abandoned his usual stoic facade, engaging in an intense discussion with several other lobstermen, their heads bent close together.

Realizing he had lost control of the meeting, Mayor Flannigan sighed and relinquished his gavel. He stepped away from the podium and made his way toward my father, no doubt to begin hammering out the details.

As the excitement swirled around us, attention turned to me from several directions. Ziggy appeared at my side, taking my hand in his.

"Did you know about this?" he whispered, green eyes open wide.

I shook my head. "He didn't tell me."

Ziggy tugged on my hand. "Let's get some air."

We slipped out onto the town hall's back steps, the cool night was a relief after the stuffy interior. The distant lapping of waves against the shore provided a soothing counterpoint to the muffled excitement inside.

Ziggy leaned against the railing, moonlight catching the angles of his face. "So... that happened."

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. I'm still wrapping my head around it."

"It's amazing, Kade. But..." Ziggy hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm beyond grateful. But your family doesn't have specific ties here."

I met his gaze. "They didn't until a few days ago. Now, they have me, and I have you."

Ziggy stared at me, realization dawning on his face. "You talked to them about us?"

I nodded and released a nervous laugh. "It wasn't exactly how I planned to come out, but... yeah. I told them how much you and Whistleport mean to me. I explained how being here has changed my life."

Ziggy pulled me close. "I'm so proud of you."

We stood there for a moment, reveling in each other's presence. Then, Ziggy pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, does this make you, like, Whistleport royalty now?"

I groaned, shoving him playfully. "God, I hope not. Can you imagine Dottie trying to set me up with her granddaughter?"

Ziggy's laughter rang out, bright and clear in the night air. It faded into a comfortable silence as we both turned to look out over the town.

"What happens now?" Ziggy asked softly, raising the question that had been nagging at me.

Before I could answer, the door creaked open behind us. Silas stepped out, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Well, well," he drawled, "if it isn't Whistleport's new golden boy and his beau."

I blushed. "Silas, I swear I didn't know about this. It was as big a surprise to me as it was to everybody else. Dad sometimes does phenomenal things all on his own."

He held up a hand, chuckling. "Relax, kid. I believe you. But you might want to brace yourself. Dottie's in there spinning quite the tale about how you single-handedly saved the town."

Ziggy snorted. "Oh man, what's she saying now?"

Silas adopted a high-pitched, warbling voice that was a near-perfect imitation of Dottie. "I always knew that Langston boy was special! Why, just the other day, I saw him helping Mrs. Findlay with her groceries. And now look! He's saved our town!"

We all burst into laughter, the tension of the evening finally breaking.

"Seriously though," Silas said, his tone growing somber, "this is big, Kade. People are going to look at you differently now."

I nodded as the weight of it settled on my shoulders. "I know. I just... I want to help. You're all family to me now, this place and these people."

Silas clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "And you're family to us now, too. Just remember, with great generosity comes great responsibility... and a whole lot of nosy neighbors."

As if on cue, Dottie's voice rang out from inside. "Kade? Kade, darling, where are you? We simply must discuss the rebuilding committee!"

Ziggy stifled a laugh as I groaned. Silas shot me a sympathetic look. "Welcome to small-town fame, kid. Better you than me."

As Silas headed back inside to run interference, I turned to Ziggy. "You asked what happens now?" I took a deep breath, the salt-tinged air filling my lungs. "Honestly? I don't know. But I do know this—whatever comes next, we're sticking together."

As we stood there, a sense of purpose settled over me. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in my life, I was confident I could forge my own path. I was no longer merely following expectations.

Just then, Dottie burst out onto the steps, her eyes wild with excitement. "Oh, there you are! Kade, darling, you must tell me all about your family's philanthropic history. And Ziggy! What a catch you've landed, dear. Who knew all those hockey practices would lead to this?"

Ziggy and I exchanged a look, equal parts amusement and resignation. This was our new reality—the golden couple of Whistleport, under the town's watchful (and often meddling) eyes.

Chapter twenty-three

Ziggy

Late August wasn't as hot as our earlier heatwaves, but the warm weather still clung to Whistleport like a second skin. Inside Tidal Grounds, all was cool and comfortable, with the air conditioning humming a soothing lullaby.

I sipped my iced coffee, busying myself by tracing random abstract patterns in the condensation on the glass. Deciding that I couldn't procrastinate any longer, I pulled a folded paper out of my jeans pocket and a pen out of my shirt pocket. Staring at the multiple cross-outs and scribbled replacement words, I made a few more last-minute changes to my poem. It was one I'd been writing and editing since mid-July.

Silas went all out for the final poetry night of the season. He replaced the usual fairy lights with larger multi-colored bulbs that circled the room. The espresso machine was festive, reflecting a rainbow of bright colors.

He placed Mason jars full of seasonal wildflowers—goldenrod, asters, and black-eyed Susans—on each table. Fall was just around the corner, and the flowers represented summer's last hurrah.

The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee mingled with the salt-tinged breeze sneaking through the open windows. It was an olfactory snapshot that reminded me of many things I loved about my hometown. I wished I could capture it in a bottle and take it with me to college.

As I put the finishing touches on my poem, I scanned the room. It was still early, but many familiar faces were already gathering, wanting to make sure they didn't miss out on Silas's latest brew and the buffet table full of baked goods.

Dottie Perkins held court at her usual table, regaling a group of enraptured listeners with the new gossipy stories she'd gathered over the past month. Dad sat in the corner, looking simultaneously proud and uncomfortable, his callused hands wrapped around a mug of black coffee. Next to him, Mom caught my eye and offered me an encouraging smile that did little to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

Finally, I found Kade and the rest of the world blurred into soft focus. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question mark I answered with a slight nod.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and my heart stutter-stepped in my chest. Three months ago, I couldn't have imagined sharing poetry—let alone my heart—with my on-ice rival. Now, I couldn't fathom spending extended time in Whistleport without him.

Rory's authoritative voice cut through the low hum of conversation, silencing even Dottie mid-sentence. "Welcome, everyone, to our final poetry night of the summer." He paused, allowing a moment for the bittersweet sighs that spread through the audience.

"We've had quite a journey these past few months, haven't we? Terrible threats from the heatwaves and the massive fires in the harbor have failed to tarnish our community spirit. Tonight, we'll hear from both familiar voices and some surprises. So, without further ado, let's dive in. First up, we have Ziggy Knickerbocker."

The floor creaked beneath my feet as I stood, my chair scraping against the hardwood. My heartbeats thundered against my ribcage as I made my way to the podium. With shaky hands, I unfurled the paper that held more than just words—it was the story of Kade and me, thinly veiled in metaphor and line breaks.

I cleared my throat, my voice wavering slightly as I began:

"In the crucible of summer,
Ice melts, revealing hidden depths.
Rivals become allies.
Then something more profound.
The rink, once a battleground,
Now a canvas for new choreography.
Two sticks, once crossed in combat
Now trace parallel lines,
A geometry of understanding.

Sweat-slicked skin and stolen glances,
Replace the clash of body checks.
In the suffocating heat,
We find a different kind of breathlessness.
Our pulses race not from exertion,
But from the thrill of discovery.

The town watches, whispers,
As we skate on the thin ice of expectation.
But in each other's eyes we find
The strength to pirouette past judgment.
Summer days stretch long and lazy.
Yet time slips through our fingers like sand.

We chase it down empty streets,
Laughing beneath a canopy of stars.
Every moment a treasure. Every touch a revelation.
In shared silences we speak volumes,
In heated debates we find common ground.

As August wanes, we feel the pull
Of separate paths, diverging futures.
But distance is just another challenge,
A new rink to conquer together.
In the heat of summer's forge,
We've crafted something unbreakable.

And in the chill of coming autumn,
We'll find our true north in each other."

The last word hung in the air for a heartbeat before a round of applause broke the spell. I blinked, returning from what I called poetry space, suddenly aware of the room full of people.

Dad's eyes shone with pride. Mom was openly weeping, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. And Kade... he stared at me with a dropped jaw. He appeared so vulnerable that it took my breath away.

As I made my way back to my seat on shaky legs, Rory squeezed my shoulder. "That was something special, Ziggy," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. Turning back to the mic, he announced the next reader. "And now, for something completely different, Eric Callahan with... a haiku about coding?"

Eric bounded to the stage with his characteristic energy, grinning as he adjusted the mic. "Hey, everyone. So, yeah, I wrote a haiku about coding. Don't judge me too harshly, okay? It came to me under the spell of too much caffeine. Some of us can't all be secret poetry prodigies like Ziggy here."

He took a deep breath and recited:

"Semicolons missed
Syntax errors haunt my dreams
Coffee, my savior"

The room erupted in laughter and applause. I playfully shook my head at my best friend's unexpected foray into poetry. Our eyes met across the room, instantly bringing back memories of our shared childhood and the simplicity of our friendship before the current summer had changed everything.

As the night wound down, Kade and I sat together, finding a quiet corner near the back of the café. The last ice cubes in my coffee had long since melted, leaving behind a weak and watery blend.

Kade tapped his index finger on my forearm. "That poem of yours…"

"Yeah. I suspect you figured it out. It's about us, the summer, and everything."

He wove his fingers together with mine. "It was beautiful, Zig. You have such an incredible gift for words. You made your mom cry."

"I don't know where they come from," I admitted, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. "But I guess you inspired me on this one. The entire summer has had a poetic feel, or maybe it's more reminiscent of an oddball series on Netflix."

Kade laughed softly. The warm brown of his irises reminded me of the coffee beans before I put them in the grinder. He shared his observation. "I know what you mean. When I came to Whistleport, I never expected... this. You. Us."

As the poetry night wound down, our friends and neighbors slowly filed out leaving only us and Silas behind. He busied himself, wiping down tables, tactfully giving us space for what we both knew would be a difficult conversation.

Kade swallowed the last of his coffee. "I guess we should talk about... you know."

A lump immediately formed in my throat. "Yeah. The whole long-distance thing."

Kade reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "We're only going to be three hours apart. That's not so bad, right?"

"It could be a whole lot worse," I said, trying to match his optimistic tone. We can do weekends and take turns visiting each other."

"Exactly. I've got my car, and there are buses from Orono to Manchester or flights from Bangor. I already looked it up."

I smiled. "Of course you did. You're such a planner."

"Hey, one of us has to be," he teased, but his expression was serious. "I'm not going to let this slip away, Zig. We've worked too hard to get here."

"I know," I said softly. "I just... it's going to be weird, you know? Not seeing you every day. Not being able to drop by the rink or meet up at Tidal Grounds whenever we want."

Kade squeezed my hand. "We'll make it work. We've got phones and video calls. Hell, I'll write you actual letters on paper if that's what it takes."

I chuckled, picturing Kade hunched over a desk, pen in hand. "I'd like that, actually. It'd be nice to have something real to hold onto when I'm missing you."

"Done," he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You'll be drowning in sappy love letters by Halloween."

"What about hockey?" I asked, raising the concern that had been nagging at me. "We'll be playing against each other."

Kade's expression grew serious. "On the ice, we'll play our hearts out for our teams. Look at how we are in one-on-one competition. That last one was some of the most intense hockey I ever played. It won't be any different from last season. But off the ice? We're us. Always."

I nodded, feeling a weight lift off my chest. "Agreed. No matter what happens in games, it doesn't affect us."

"Exactly," Kade said. "And hey, think of it this way—now we have an excuse to study each other's play style even more closely."

I laughed, shaking my head. "I'm not sure play style is what I'd be watching."

Kade chuckled. "Seriously, Ziggy. We'll make time for each other. Study sessions over video call, watching the same movie on Netflix, sending stupid memes at 2 a.m...."

I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement bubbling up inside me. "We can tell ourselves it won't be, but it's going to be hard. I know it will."

Kade nodded, his grip on my hand tightening. "Yeah, that's true. But you know what? I think that's okay because anything worth having is worth fighting for. And this? Us? It's worth everything."

Tears started to prickle at the corners of my eyes. "When did you get so wise?"

"It must be all that time I've been spending with a certain poetry-writing hockey player. He's rubbing off on me."

I leaned across the table and playfully rubbed my nose against Kade's. "I love you," I whispered, the words still new enough to send a thrill through me. "We're going to make this work."

"Damn straight we are," he murmured back. "I love you too. Distance doesn't stand a chance against us."

As we sat there, hands intertwined, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Yes, the coming months would be challenging. There would be missed calls, busy schedules, and moments of loneliness. But there would also be surprise visits, care packages inspired by inside jokes, and the knowledge that we'd be stronger at the end of it all for having weathered the distance.

Kade scooted his chair to my side of the table and pulled me close. I breathed him in. "It might sound weird, but I think you'll have to send me some sandalwood shampoo so I can smell you."

"Deal. We'll be back here before you know it," he whispered. "And in the meantime, we'll make new memories. Different rinks, different coffee shops... but always us."

Our lips met in a kiss that tasted of promise and possibility, of summer's end and new beginnings. When we parted, I saw our future reflected in Kade's eyes—challenges, yes, but also hope, growth, and a love that was just beginning to blossom.

"I love you," I said again. "God, I love you so much."

His smile was brighter than all the stars above Whistleport. "I love you too, more than I ever thought possible."

Outside Tidal Grounds, we stood together for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, neither wanting to be the first to let go. But finally, with one last lingering kiss, we parted.

As I walked home alone, I thought about the boy I'd been at the start of summer, confused about who I was, and marveled at the person I'd become. The journey hadn't been easy, but every stumble and moment of doubt led me forward.

The following day, alone in my room, I packed my bags for college, tucking in mementos of the summer—a pebble from the beach where we'd shared our second kiss, a napkin from Tidal Grounds with a hastily scribbled verse, and the ticket stub from our first official date at the old Bijou theater. Each item was a chapter in the story of us, one that we were still writing.

When I zipped up my duffel bag, I felt an unusual mix of nostalgia and excitement about the future. I had a number of beginnings and endings to face in the coming months. Whatever challenges lay ahead—juggling hockey and academics, navigating a long-distance relationship, and securing my place on the hockey team—I knew one thing for certain: I was heading into the new season older, wiser, and irrevocably in love.

Chapter twenty-four

Epilogue - Kade

The Whistleport Grand Hotel was a far cry from grand, its faded glory a perfect metaphor for the town I'd once dismissed. Tacky tinsel garlands draped the lobby, and the scent of artificial pine air freshener battled with the musty carpet.

Yet, as I paced my room, a winter break retreat where Ziggy and I could have some privacy, I found it more welcoming than my family's sterile mansion ever was.

While I waited, I watched British people on TV try to outdo each other in baking meat and pastry creations they called pies. Meanwhile, the ancient heating unit wheezed and rattled.

I caught my reflection in the streaky mirror—hair disheveled, eyes bright with anticipation. Who was this person Whistleport molded and shaped into someone new?

A rapid succession of knocks startled me out of my thoughts. As soon as I turned the knob, the door burst open, revealing a snow-dusted Ziggy Knickerbocker, grinning like he'd just scored a hat trick.

"Penalty for too many men on the ice!" Ziggy shouted, launching himself at me with all the force of a body check.

We tumbled onto the bed, springs creaking in protest. Ziggy pinned me down, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Looks like I've got you in the sin bin."

I smirked up at him. "Pretty sure that's not how that works, Zig. But if this is your idea of a penalty, I might have to break some more rules."

"Oh yeah?" Ziggy quirked an eyebrow. "You gonna argue with the ref?"

I flexed, easily flipping our positions. Now looming over him, I grinned and pulled my sweater off over my head. "Depends. Is the ref as cute as you?"

Ziggy's laugh filled the room. "Flattery will get you everywhere. But I've got moves you haven't seen yet."

"Bring it on, Knickerbocker," I challenged, my fingers slipping under his sweater and T-shirt, finding that spot on his ribs that always made him squirm.

Ziggy yelped, then retaliated by pulling open a pair of buttons and going after my abs. We wrestled playfully, a tangle of limbs and laughter.

"Foul!" Ziggy gasped between giggles. "Unsportsmanlike conduct!"

I paused, hovering inches from his face. "You started it. What are you gonna do about it?"

Ziggy's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I've got a few ideas."

He pulled me down, and our lips met in a kiss that sent electricity sparking throughout my body. When we parted, both breathless, I smiled from ear to ear.

"You know," I murmured, "I think I like your kind of penalty box better than the real thing."

Ziggy's answering smile was equal parts tender and mischievous. "Just wait till you see what I've got planned for overtime. God, I missed you, Kade. Like, write-bad-poetry missed you."

Our lips met, and suddenly, the months apart melted away like snow in summer. We tugged each other's clothes off, somehow never separating our lips along the way.

When we were finally naked, Ziggy pulled back from the kiss with a serious expression on his face. "Are we ready?"

"Born that way, Zig."

"Condom?"

"Check."

"Lube?"

"Check."

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?"

After helping sheath Ziggy's beautiful cock, I straddled him and rode him like a cowboy. Before he could cum, we flipped around so he had a better angle to drive deeper inside me.

"Aww, damn, someday this will be every day."

Ziggy growled. "You can fuckin' bet on that."

We moved together in sync like longtime hockey linemates, anticipating each other's moves.

"I love you," I grunted breathlessly as I gripped my cock and stroked while Ziggy drove deep inside me.

"Love you, too," he moaned.

It didn't take long for us to reach the edge. "Double penalty if we score!" declared Ziggy.

"What the hell does that… oh f… fuck."

"A score… damn… come less than twenty seconds apart."

"And double penalty?"

Ziggy laughed wickedly. "We do it again in the morning."

"Incentive enough, Coach."

It didn't take much longer. Ziggy's breathing changed, and I knew he was riding the edge. "Come with me, Kade, please. I need another goal in my stats."

We both laughed. "Yeah, well… ohh, edge… ready!"

Seconds later, the room rocked with the feral sounds of two hockey players heading over the edge. Ziggy immediately smothered me in kisses until I could barely breathe.

"Ohh, man, college? What's that? Let's shack up on a lobster boat and forget the rest of the world exists."

Ziggy laughed. "If only it were quite that romantic."

We lay tangled in the hotel sheets, with Ziggy's head resting on my bare chest. As the silent minutes passed, I realized we were rarely quiet when we yammered through phone calls and shared minute-by-minute recaps of our lives over video chat. The silence was a luxury.

Finally, I spoke up. "How's our little slice of coastal paradise? You were here two weekends ago. Is it still standing after a Kade-less fall?"

"Oh man, where do I start? Remember the heatwaves over the summer? Dottie Perkins is now convinced they were a government conspiracy to test some new weather control device. She's got half the Curl Up and Dye crowd wearing tinfoil hats."

I laughed, and the sound rumbled through my chest. "Seriously? I thought you all believed the city slickers were the ones bringing strange ideas to town."

"Oh, you've got nothing on Dottie," Ziggy chuckled. "You know what's really wild? Dad's actually asked about you. Twice. He never asks about anyone. I think he'd forget he has a brother if Mom didn't make him sign the Christmas cards every year."

"Knick Knickerbocker asking about me? That's sweet… in a way."

Ziggy poked my ribs. "Hey, it's progress. Even though one of the times he followed it with a five-minute rant about those f'in wildcats."

We settled into more comfortable silence and listened to the distant sound of carolers on the street in front of the hotel. Ziggy propped himself up on his elbow when they finished and looked at me.

"Are you okay? You've got that 'I'm thinking deep thoughts' furrow in your brow.'"

I smiled. "I'm just thinking about us. You know, we have officially survived our first extended time apart, and I'm crazier about you than ever."

"Oh, damn, me, too. I've got a special Kade folder of photos on my phone, and I can't get enough of scrolling through it."

I sighed. "I have to admit, though, it hasn't been easy. We've had a few rough moments."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Like after that UNH-Maine game?" I winced, remembering the brutal hit I'd laid on Ziggy's linemate. The look of betrayal on Ziggy's face haunted me for weeks.

"Yeah," Ziggy nodded, "but then you called, and we talked it out. No yelling and no fake excuses. That's when I knew we were gonna make it."

I imitated Dr. Fellows and pretended to push glasses down my nose. "Kade, you showed a great deal of maturity in your handling of that crisis."

Ziggy laughed and kissed me while lightly tweaking a nipple.

"Ouch! Seriously, though, you make me better than I would be without you, Zig. Both as a player and as a person."

"Right back at you. You've opened my eyes to a world beyond the port and helped me appreciate what I have here."

Ziggy's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, breaking our tender moment. We burst into laughter, the sound filling the small room with joy.

"Alright, alright," I said, sitting up and running a hand through my messy hair. "Let's get some food in you before you start gnawing on the furniture. I don't think my wallet could handle the damage charges."

Ziggy's eyes lit up, a boyish excitement replacing the earlier intensity. "Ooh, let's go to Tidal Grounds! Silas has this new gingerbread latte that's to die for. If he doesn't have any food, we can order pizza delivery. Plus, I might have told a few people we'd stop by..."

I raised an eyebrow. "A few people? Should I be worried?"

Ziggy had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "Maybe just Rory and Brooks. And Silas, obviously. And possibly my mom. Oh, and Eric might swing by. Then there's Em and her new boyfriend. But that's it, I swear!"

I shook my head, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "You're lucky I love you."

We dressed, and when Ziggy finished lacing up his boots, he stood and extended his hand to me. "Ready to face the Whistleport winter, city boy?"

I took his hand in mine, marveling at how perfectly they fit. "With you? I'm ready for anything."

We stepped out into the swirling snow, the cold air nipping at our cheeks. But with Ziggy by my side, all I felt was warmth. And possibility. And home.

***

Thank you for reading Hometown Heat. It is the second book in the Whistleport Hockey series.

If you haven't read it yet, don't miss the first book, Hometown Hero, Brooks and Rory's story.

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Visit my website at https://www.declanrhodes.com/

Declan Rhodes also previously published under the pen name Grant C. Holland.