Boarding Call

Beau nodded. He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I, uh, wrote you something,” he said. “Just some thoughts I had about the game tonight.”

Cash raised an eyebrow, but he took the paper, unfolding it carefully. He read it in silence, his eyes moving across Beau’s cramped handwriting. When he was finished, he looked up at Beau, a small smile on his face. “This is really good,” he said. “You’ve got a keen eye for the game.”

Beau felt a flush of pleasure at the praise. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve been watching a lot of tape since I got hurt. Trying to stay sharp, you know?”

Cash nodded. “I know.” He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a notebook and pen. “Here,” he said. “Write it down. All of it. Don’t hold back.”

Beau took the notebook, flipping it open to a blank page. He started to write, pouring out all his thoughts and feelings about the game, about his injury, about his fears for the future. He wrote about the way the team had struggled without him, about the mistakes they’d made, about the things they needed to do better if they wanted to make the playoffs.

When he was finished, he handed the notebook back to Cash. Cash read it in silence, his face thoughtful. When he was done, he looked up at Beau, a new respect in his eyes. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” he said. “Not just for hockey, but for life.”

Beau felt his chest heat up at the words. He’d never been one for grand gestures or big speeches, but something about sharing his thoughts with Cash felt right. It felt like a connection, a bond strengthened by shared struggles.

They spent the rest of the bus ride writing back and forth, exchanging notes about hockey and life and everything in between. Beau found himself opening up to Cash in a way he never had with anyone else, sharing his hopes and dreams, his fears and insecurities.

Cash listened without judgment, offering his own insights and observations. He was a good listener, Beau realized, and a good friend. More than that, even, though Beau wasn’t quite ready to admit it to himself.

As the bus rolled on through the night, Beau felt a sense of peace wash over him. His shoulder still ached, and the road ahead was long and uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone. He had Cash by his side, and that was enough.

The weeks passed in a blur of rehab and recovery, and Beau’s shoulder slowly but surely began to heal. The pain was still there, a persistent echo of his brush with disaster, but it was becoming more manageable. He could move his arm a little farther each day, lift a little more weight.

But progress was slow, and Beau’s frustration grew with every passing hour. He hated being cooped up in the gym while his team was out there fighting for a spot in the playoffs. He hated feeling like a burden, like dead weight.

Cash never wavered, though. He was always there, pushing Beau, encouraging him, believing in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. “You’re doing great,” he’d say. “Just a little bit more.”

As they worked together, Beau found himself increasingly drawn to Cash. He admired the other man’s dedication, his quiet intensity, the way he never gave up on Beau even when he wanted to give up on himself. He found himself looking forward to their rehab sessions, not just for the progress they made, but for the chance to be near Cash, to bask in his calm, steady presence.

Cash’s hands were gentle as he worked on Beau’s shoulder, massaging the sore muscles, stretching the healing joint. Beau found himself leaning into his touch, craving the warmth of his skin against his own. He knew it was dangerous, this attraction he felt, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Cash was everything he’d ever wanted in a partner: strong, capable, kind.

One night, during a late-night rehab session in a hotel gym, the air between them seemed to hum with promise. They were the only ones there, the rest of the team asleep in their rooms after a long day of travel and practice. The gym was small and cramped, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

Beau was lying on a massage table, his shirt off, his injured shoulder exposed. Cash stood over him, his hands slick with massage oil as he worked the knots from Beau’s muscles. His touch was firm but gentle, and Beau felt himself relaxing under his ministrations, the tension draining from his body.

As Cash worked, his hands drifted lower, over Beau’s chest and down his arm. Beau’s breath hitched at the intimacy of the touch, and he felt his heart begin to race. He knew he should say something, should put a stop to this before it went too far, but he couldn’t seem to find the words.

Cash seemed to sense his hesitation. He paused in his massage, his hands stilling on Beau’s skin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

Beau nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He could feel the heat of Cash’s body close to his own, could smell the clean, masculine scent of his skin. He wanted nothing more than to pull him closer, to taste his lips, to feel his body against his own.

But he knew it was a line they couldn’t cross, not now, not yet. They were trainer and player, professional colleagues. Anything more would be a complication neither of them needed, not with the playoffs looming and Beau’s career hanging in the balance.

Cash seemed to sense his thoughts. He took a step back, his hands falling away from Beau’s skin. “We should probably call it a night,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “You’ve had a long day.”

Beau sat up slowly, reaching for his shirt. He could feel Cash’s eyes on him, watching his every move. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re probably right.”

He pulled his shirt on over his head, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his healing shoulder. Cash was already packing up his massage oil and towels, his back turned to Beau. Beau took the opportunity to study him, to drink in the sight of his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck.

He wanted him, there was no denying that. But he knew he had to be patient, had to bide his time. The playoffs were what mattered now, getting back on the ice and helping his team win. Everything else would have to wait.

Cash turned back to him, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Beau nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They walked back to their rooms in silence, the tension still thick between them. Beau could feel Cash’s gaze on him, could sense the desire that lingered around them. But he knew they couldn’t act on it, not yet. They had a job to do, a goal to achieve. Everything else would have to come later, if it came at all.

As they reached Beau’s door, Cash paused, his hand on the knob. “Get some rest,” he said. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Beau nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. “You too,” he said.

Cash smiled, a small, tight thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Night, Brick,” he said.

“Night, Cash,” Beau echoed.

He watched as Cash walked down the hall to his own room, his shoulders slumped slightly with fatigue. Beau felt a pang of longing deep in his chest, a desire so sharp it stole his breath. He wanted nothing more than to follow Cash into his room, to pull him into his arms and never let him go.

But he knew he couldn’t, not now, not yet. He had to be strong, had to focus on his recovery and his team. Everything else would have to wait, no matter how much it hurt.

The day of the playoff game dawned clear and bright, the sun shining down on the city like a benediction. Beau woke early, his heart pounding with anticipation. Today was the day he’d been working towards for weeks, the day he’d get back on the ice and help his team win.

He met Cash in the hotel gym for one final rehab session before the game. They worked in silence, the air between them charged with tension. Cash’s hands were steady as he massaged Beau’s shoulder, his touch firm but gentle. Beau could feel the strength in those hands, the certainty, and it filled him with confidence.

“You’re ready,” Cash said at last, stepping back from the table. “I’ve done all I can do. The rest is up to you.”