Checked by His Teammate

Coach raised a hand, waiting for the noise to settle. His expression shifted, excitement from the win giving way to something serious. “Alright, listen up for a sec. Got some news. The expected flurries have intensified into an all out snowstorm. All flights out for the rest of the day have been grounded.”

Groans rippled through the room.

“Sorry, guys. We’re stuck at least until tomorrow afternoon, maybe longer, depending on how things develop. The logistics crew is working on accommodations, but there’s some convention in town. Most of the hotels are booked up. We’re likely to end up out by the airport.”

Henderson, our captain, stood in front of his locker, towel around his waist. “So what’s the plan?”

“Most likely, doubling up.” Coach’s reply was blunt. “We should have details any minute now. Keep an eye on your phones for more in about twenty minutes.”

My stomach dropped. The charity bachelor auction. Tonight. In Boston. There was supposed to be more than enough time to get back after the game. Shane was counting on me. I was the main event, the big draw meant to pull in thousands for the Children’s Sports Foundation. My brother had poured his heart into helping organize it, and it was important to both of us.

Guys started peeling off gear, heading for the showers. I snatched my phone from my locker. Three missed calls from Shane. He must have seen the weather alerts.

Ducking into the relative quiet of the hallway, I leaned against the cool cinder block wall and hit dial. Team staff bustled past, hauling equipment bags.

“What do you mean, you can’t make it?” Shane’s voice came through, tight with frustration, after I spilled the news.

“I’m sorry, Shane. We’re grounded.” My frustration mirrored his. “Snow’s coming down so hard they’ve shut down the entire airport.”

His sigh crackled over the line. Guilt twisted in my gut. This foundation gave me my start when Mom and Dad were scraping by and couldn’t afford league fees or gear. It meant everything.

“How bad is it?” He already knew the answer. I wouldn’t call unless it was impossible.

“Bad enough that the team’s bunking at an airport hotel. No flights in or out until tomorrow at the earliest.” More teammates filed out of the locker room behind me, faces grim, shoulders slumped in resignation.

We talked for another minute with the conversation circling back to apologies and logistics. Hanging up, I clutched the phone in my hand, the weight of letting the charity down settling heavy in my chest.

Back in the locker room, my phone pinged. A text about the hotel.

Airport Marriott room assignment. Bennett & Kogan. Room 1042.

Kevin Kogan was our newest defenseman who we picked up a couple of months back. Coach paired him up with me to mentor him, and we’d developed chemistry quickly. Off the ice, though? Barely knew him. Locker room small talk and how we could improve our game, that was it.

I looked around and spotted him reading his phone. A slight frown creased his forehead. Kevin was tall—an inch over my six-two—dark hair, eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Which wasn’t often. He had a rep: intense, outspoken where the game was concerned, private in all other matters. More likely to study game film than go out after a win. He had a certain contained energy even when standing still.

An image flashed—him pinning Robinson against the boards in the third, efficient and controlled. And kind of hot.

I walked over, aiming for a casualness I didn’t quite feel. “Looks like we’re roomies.”

He glanced up, his expression shuttered. “Guess so.”

“Could be worse.” I offered a tentative grin. “Could be stuck with Henson. Guy snores like a Zamboni.”

A flicker of amusement shone in his eyes. Almost a smile. “True. And you?”

“I’m told I’m a perfect gentleman of a roommate.” My grin widened.

That pulled a short, quiet laugh from him. Felt like a small victory.

By the time we boarded the team bus, swirling sheets of snow plastered the windows, blurring the city lights into streaks. What should’ve been a twenty-minute drive stretched toward ninety. A muffled silence settled over us, the storm outside dampening the earlier win. Most guys stared at their phones or listened to music.

Kevin sat across the aisle, headphones on, gaze fixed on the white vortex beyond the glass. Something about his profile—strong jaw, straight nose, the focused set of his mouth—held my attention.

I looked away. Now wasn’t the time to check him out, even though it wasn’t the first time his attractiveness had gotten my attention.

* * *

The hotel lobby was pure chaos. Stranded travelers milled around everywhere. Our team was one of many groups caught by the storm. Coach handed out key cards near the front desk, reminding us about breakfast times and a hopeful departure tomorrow.

Kevin and I ended up in an elevator with Lawson and Henderson. Small talk about the game filled the ride until we got off at our stop. The tenth-floor hallway was silent, and we quickly found 1042.

I swiped the key card, the lock clicking as the light went green. Pushing the door open, I stopped dead.

One bed. King-sized, dominating the room.

Well, hell.

“Uh,” I managed, stepping aside so Kevin could see.

He paused beside me, taking in the bed and the rest of the standard hotel decor—desk, armchair, minibar, wall-mounted TV. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I can call down, see if they have anything with two queens.”

I shook my head, dropping my overnight bag on the desk. “We’re lucky to have this given all those people downstairs.” A beat of awkward silence stretched. “It’s fine. Bed’s huge. Unless...”

“No.” The denial was quick. Maybe too quick? “It’s okay.”

Another pause settled as we silently claimed our territories. I took the side by the window while Kevin headed for the bathroom.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling out my phone to scroll through Instagram, trying to ignore the tension in the room. Comments about our win filled the feed, a welcome distraction.

Kevin emerged a few minutes later, wearing sweatpants and a faded university hockey t-shirt. The soft cotton clung to his broad shoulders. His damp hair curled at his temples.

He gestured toward the bathroom door. “All yours.”

“Thanks.” I gathered up my toiletries and left him sitting on the edge of the bed.

Even though I showered before leaving the arena, it was good to have another. The hot water eased my aching muscles.

Two months we’d been teammates, playing side-by-side, and what did I know about him beyond the stats, the quiet focus? Was he seeing anyone? Any family in Boston? What did he do on days off? The questions circled as I rinsed the soap off. We’d had only a few conversations outside of the game.

I changed into basketball shorts and a team t-shirt, toweling my hair dry. When I stepped back into the main room, Kevin sat propped against the headboard, tablet in hand and phone on the bed next to him. As I walked toward my side, his phone buzzed and the screen lit up.

A distinctive orange and black logo flashed—Grindr. No mistaking it.

Kevin snatched up the phone, and without checking the details, he turned the device face-down on the nightstand. His neck flushed, gaze darting to mine to see if I’d noticed.

The moment stretched, thick with questions.

“Sorry,” he mumbled finally. “Forgot to turn off notifications.”

I sat down on my side of the bed, keeping my tone light. “No worries. Happens to me sometimes too.”

His eyes widened. “You’re on Grindr?”

“Occasionally.” I shrugged, leaning back against my pillows, mirroring his position. “Harder these days. Being recognizable is a pain. Had to go faceless after some dude tried selling our chat log to a tabloid.”

Kevin studied me, something shifting in his eyes. A crack in the quiet facade? “I knew you were out, obviously. But... didn’t realize you were, uh, active.” He seemed to wince at his choice of words.

“Wouldn’t call it active.” Another shrug. “Dating’s complicated.” I met his gaze. “What about you? You’re not out to the team, are you?”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I’m not closeted, just... private. Family knows. Close friends and some former teammates.” He picked at a loose thread on the comforter. “Being traded mid-season, still finding my footing here...” He trailed off, lifting one shoulder slightly.

“I get it.” I should’ve mentored him more outside the game, so he’d develop some friendships with our teammates. “No pressure, but it’s a good group of guys.”

Kevin nodded, a small, genuine smile playing across his lips. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

The awkwardness dissipated, replaced by a different energy. He was gay. I was gay. Teammates. Sharing a king-sized bed in a snowstorm.

My stomach growled, providing a welcome distraction. “I’m starving.” I reached for the room service menu on the nightstand next to me. “Want something?”

“Sure.” Kevin shifted closer, leaning over to look at the menu. Close enough, I caught the clean, faintly woodsy scent of his shampoo.

“Victory meal,” I declared, scanning the options. “Burger and fries sound good?”

“Works for me.” That smile again. It transformed his face, making him look even more attractive than usual.

I called down the order, adding a couple of beers. While we waited, the conversation started to find a rhythm. He told me about growing up and starting his career in Minnesota, the hockey obsession running in his family, his older sister—his rock when he came out at nineteen.

“What about you?” he asked. “When did you come out?”

“High school.” I reached behind me to adjust pillows. “I was already out to my family before that. But by then I knew I was done hiding it. Figured if my play was good enough, the rest wouldn’t matter.”

“Brave move,” Kevin commented quietly.

I shook my head. “Not really. There was an out guy on the football team when I was a freshman. I was kind of like you are here. You’re not closeted, you’re private. I was private, but I also denied nothing. If someone asked me who I thought was hot, they found out I was into guys.”

Room service arrived, faster than I’d expected, given the chaos of the storm. We spread the containers out on the bed between us—burgers, a combined pile of fries, ketchup packets, napkins. A makeshift picnic. We sat cross-legged, facing each other.

We kept up our conversation as we ate. I noticed a few things about Kevin. The way his laugh started in his eyes. The happiness in his voice when he talked about his family. The small, faded scar near his left eyebrow from a high stick in college.

I snagged one of the last fries, aiming for casual. “No boyfriend back in Minnesota?”

Kevin shook his head. “Broke up about six months ago. He couldn’t handle the schedule. The travel, the attention, all of it.” He rolled his eyes slightly. “Called himself a hockey widow. Whatever. I suppose it was good it happened before the trade. What about you? Anyone special in Boston?”

“Nah.” I chased the fry with a swallow of beer. “Single about a year. It’s tough. Meeting guys who want me, not the jersey number.”

Kevin nodded, his expression understanding. “That’s why I keep a low profile. Simpler.”

I hummed in response. We finished up the food in comfortable silence.

I stood, gathering the trash onto the room service tray.

“Another beer?” I asked.

“Sure.” Kevin watched me cross to the mini fridge, his gaze steady, seeming to study me in a way I hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe I just hadn’t been looking closely enough.

Handing him the beer, our fingers brushed.

Was that a spark?

I settled back against the headboard, closer than before. The air crackled. The storm outside felt like a shield, creating this pocket outside normal rules.

“To unexpected roommates.” I raised my bottle.

Kevin clinked his against mine. His dark eyes held mine for a beat too long. “To unexpected connections.”