Four Conversations Chris "Breezy" Calabrese Had About Tom Crowler

A Minor Penalties short story

One

[Video of several members of the San Francisco Sea Lions clinking champagne glasses together]

“The Sea Lions’ annual fundraiser for the children’s ward at the St. Sebastian hospital is underway! Looking fine, boys!”

Top comments:

seelionssaylions: some of the boys look fine. many of the boys look like they would rather be shooting pucks at a washing machine in someone’s basement.

phileastonfanclub: love East’s fits 90% of the time, but man, elbow pads? Really? Dude is married to a supermodel.

(From: San Francisco Sea Lions official Instagram account, posted on 11/03/2022)

Chris pulled his tie looser. He’d followed the instructional YouTube video on how to do a half-Windsor knot to a tee, but despite it only being half of a knot it practically choked him. His dad tied his tie for the draft, which was the last time Chris had worn this suit. Dad told him to leave the tie knotted and slip it over his head. Chris should have listened, then he’d never have to bother tying it again.

Unless he stayed up this year, in which case they’d expect him to buy a second tie.

Maybe even a third.

Chris shuddered at the thought.

He took a deep breath and smiled at his date. Jessica returned the smile and patted his hand. “You’re going to great, Chris. And remember—”

“Stay on your right side for the photo ops, I know. You look great from all angles, Jess.”

Despite the thick layer of makeup, Chris could see her eyes crinkling through the smile. “You’re such a flirt.”

Chris forced a laugh. “Sorry. I know we’re not getting back together. Thanks for this”

“No problem. But hey, if you can introduce me to Tom Crowler while we’re here…”

“I bet he has a super serious girlfriend. Or wife.” Crowler didn’t wear a ring, not even one of the rubber ones some married guys wore on the ice. Which didn’t mean anything, lots of couples didn’t do rings. 

Jessica shook her head. “No way a hockey player that famous could get married without anyone knowing.”

Chris wanted to argue because he hadn’t known about Vanderbilt being married either until he saw him pull the ring out of the coin compartment of his wallet after a night out during camp, but he didn’t follow the gossip blogs like Jess did.

The car pulled up to the arena and Jess slid out of the back seat, thanking the driver. Chris had always appreciated that about her, how polite she was, especially to service staff. The worst part when she dumped him had been not getting to go out for meals together anymore. She understood how much fun it was to be nice to people and to make them smile. As he got out to join her in front of the Arena, she asked, “So remind me what we’re supporting today?”

“Uh, it’s a gala to support…wait, lemme check on my phone.” Chris fumbled for the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Jess laid a hand on his, stalling him. “We talked about this,” she reminded him. “Use your own words or no one will take you seriously.”

No one had ever taken Chris seriously, including Jess. When she dumped him, she called him a great “starter boyfriend”. Not using his phone to remind himself about the right words would only speed up the process of his new teammates realizing how dumb he was.

But he didn’t like to disappoint Jess, either, so he cleared his throat. “It’s for the kids’ cancer ward at the hospital closest to the arena. We’re raising funds for, um. New machines? I think?”

Chris didn’t know what machines they needed. Those ones that beeped with your heart rate, maybe? Would he be asked? He’d never been to a gala, let alone one where he would be photographed for social media.

“Cool,” Jess said.

The arena air made Chris shiver. Someone turned the AC up to the max no matter what went on, which he appreciated for game days when a zillion people crowded the stands and the halls and the locker rooms, but in the drafty hallways where super rich people rented out boxes and the team held fancy functions, it caused a significant chill.

Jess smiled her most dazzling smile at the attendant who took her light jacket and Chris realized he counted as a super rich person now. Or at least super rich person adjacent. In the hockey world, an ELC counted as the bare minimum, but in the real world, if Chris didn’t get sent down he’d earn an amount this year which equaled ten years of hard work for his dad. And that wasn’t even taking the bonuses into account.

Not that Chris would get the bonuses, and he probably wouldn’t stay up for the full season. He could block well enough and he’d been working on his speed, but on the whole he doubted “good at Juniors hockey” would translate as easily to the NHL as his parents seemed to expect.

Jess tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Oh my God, there’s Camille Easton. I love her Insta. She’s so refined.”

“Wanna go say hi?”

A happy little squeal emanated from the back of her throat. “You are my favorite ex,” she said.

Chris beamed. He didn’t have a ton going for him, but he was great at staying friends with people he’d dated, and he loved being able to fulfil this wish for her. Besides, she used to go out with an underwear model in Montreal, so ranking above that guy made his day.

They made their way across the floor. Chris nodded his hellos to the servers, a few of whom he recognized as part of the usual catering staff for the team. Not many teammates had arrived yet, so far he mostly saw the coaches and a few guys from the front office gabbing over champagne.

Phil clapped Chris on the shoulder. “Breezy! Right on time!”

“Was I not supposed to be?”

Phil and his wife both laughed, not unkindly but Chris couldn’t shake the feeling it was at his expense. 

Jess cleared her throat and Chris remembered his role here. “Oh, uh, this is my date tonight, Jessica Lombardi.”

Phil’s wife extended a long, elegant hand laden with several clunky rings. “Camille. What a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh my God, it’s an honor,” Jess gushed. “I love the shoot you did for Vogue two years ago? With the feathers? You looked like an angel.”

It became evident that Chris was not required to have any further input in this conversation, especially when Camille invited Jess over to the refreshment station to get a drink.

Chris pulled at his tie again.

“Girlfriend?” Phil asked, watching his wife’s retreating form. Given the back of her dress only started right above her hips, Chris guessed his interest had to do with sexy thoughts. He stared down at his shoes to give Phil privacy. 

“Ex, but she’s in town and she wanted to go to this and I needed a date, so.” He chanced a glance up (surely sexy thoughts had to be done by now?) and found Phil eyeing him thoughtfully.

 “You want a beer?”

“Oh, um, are we allowed? The nutritionist said—”

“The nutritionist doesn’t expect anyone to listen to half the things she says, she just has to say them. Come on, let’s get you a drink.”

Both brands of beer on offer were light. At nineteen, Chris had been legal in Canada for all of one hockey off-season so far, so he hadn’t gotten much experience drinking yet. He elected to not remind Phil about his age as they clinked cans together.

“I imagined this way more fancy,” he admitted, examining the streamers dangling from the light fixtures.

“It’ll get there,” Phil assured him. “They’re gonna plate dinner to look fancy, and there will be speeches and dancing and all that.”

“Dancing?” Chris didn’t know how to dance. He’d spent most of his own prom glued to the wall, which, come to think of it, might be part of why Jess dumped him.

Phil chuckled. “You don’t have to. I mean, your ex over there might be upset.” He jerked his chin in Jess’s direction. She had a flute of champagne grasped delicately between her thumb and her forefinger, her white teeth glinting as she smiled and talked simultaneously. She looked as fancy as Chris had imagined.

“Don’t they expect us to? Like, the team or whatever?”

“Nah. I mean, Kayleigh would love it if you did, but after a decade of Tom Crowler, the organization knows what to expect.”

Chris blinked. “Huh?”

Sighing, Phil threw back the rest of his beer. “Tom will show up maybe twenty minutes late, he’ll make the rounds once, have dinner, and then leave. No date who’ll take photos for social media, no dessert if it’s off the meal plan, and definitely no dancing.”

“No date?” Chris knew repeating everything Phil said would not help him appear smarter, but from what his mom and Jess had said, he’d assumed bringing a date to team functions was mandatory.

“Tom always goes stag,” Phil confirmed. “No clue how he does it, I’d go nuts if I didn’t have a built-in buddy for all the parts I don’t want to do.”

A built-in buddy. That sounded awesome, like a friend you could trust with the secret truth of your feelings on stuff you were supposed to enjoy, such as slow-dancing and meals with tons of tiny courses. Jess knew Chris felt out of his depth, of course. During the four months or so they did actually date, right around when he got drafted, they would go out for meals at various trendy restaurants back home in Montreal. She’d take selfies of the two of them, they would order delicious food she ate a fraction of, and then they’d go to her place and watch a movie. Sometimes, he put his head in her lap and she petted his hair, which always made him feel as though he had melted into a big ball of hockey player. One such time, he’d admitted he didn’t think he had what it took for the big leagues. She told him he was being an idiot, which was usually true, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she didn’t take his concerns seriously at all. They’d decided they were better off as friends not long after.

“Camille must be an awesome wife,” he said, trying to sound less wistful than he felt.

Phil’s eyes wandered over to Camille once again, greeting Jimmy Hayes and his girlfriend with cheek kisses. “She sure is,” he said. 

Chris took another sip. “So the Crow—I mean, Tom really never brings anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Does he, like, meet people here?”

Vanderbilt had arrived, and with him his wife Cheryl and what looked to be three or four of her closest friends. He’d met a few of them at an informal meet-up for the team at Phil’s place toward the end of camp and found their focused interest in him and his stats a little uncomfortable. But some guys liked puck bunnies. Vanderbilt, for example.

“Good god, no. Never even seen the man try to flirt. Can you imagine?”

When Chris got drafted to the team, he’d gotten a generic “welcome to the Sea Lions” message from Tom Crowler and a phone call from Phil. Neither of them kept in touch during the year he stayed with his Juniors team in Montreal. Since making the team this year, though, Phil had been super welcoming and kind.

Tom, well…

He wasn’t unkind. He wasn’t much of anything. Chris hadn’t really spoken to him yet. Every time he tried, Tom had been on his way out the door or about to put his earbuds in. 

“So he’s just…single?”

“I guess.” Phil sighed. “He’s never said as much, but it’s been ten years, if he had a girl he’d bring her, right?”

Chris scratched his head. “Didn’t Bill Rowden in Tampa keep his wife a secret for ages ‘cause he didn’t want the publicity?”

People called Rowden “Billy the Kid” or “The Second Coming” because he was so fucking good at hockey, and Tom’s stats weren’t far behind his. Chris could see it.

“From his team, too?” Phil made a face. “I don’t think so. He’s my best friend.”

“Ten years with no dates, though? He must be so lonely.”

Phil nodded slowly. “Sometimes I think…I don’t know, there must be something. He must have a reason for it. Maybe it’s complicated, like he met a married woman.”

Chris gasped. You don’t think he’s cheating—”

“No, no, Tom’s too principled. He’s more the pining from afar type.”

And who would a guy like Tom pine for if not his best friend’s supermodel wife?

Horrified, Chris sought out Camille again. Jess remained attached to her, shaking hands with all the Vanderbilts’ friends. Good. If her marketing degree didn’t pan out, Jess planned to meet an athlete. She’d need friends in the same lifestyle. And a mentor like Camille Easton, a poised, classy woman who didn’t appear bothered by all the girls demanding her attention. She led the group over to the buffet table full of tiny appetizers which had appeared out of nowhere and no one protested her being in charge. That was the kind of woman who ran the WAGs the same way a captain ran the team. It would make sense. 

The elevator slid open and Tom Crowler walked in, fixing his cuff as he did.

Phil checked his watch. “Twenty minutes on the dot.”

Maybe Tom couldn’t stand to be in the company of the woman he loved but couldn’t have for long. Maybe he needed boundaries to guard his heart. Maybe he needed boundaries to guard hers. God, what if she felt the same? Phil was such a great guy, he didn’t deserve that, no matter whether they acted on it or not. The only way they could ever be together would be if he died, which would be terrible—

Tom passed by the buffet table and snagged a plate of appetizers. 

Several of the pack of young, blonde women turned to greet him. He smiled, but even at a distance, Chris could tell it was fake. He barely knew Tom but he could not picture him dating someone who would wear a skintight dress with so much cleavage. Not that either of those things were bad, but a man as reticent as Tom would get lost in a neckline that deep.

Camille swooped in to save him, placing a hand on his arm and leaning in for an air kiss to the space beside his cheek. 

Tom fumbled the plate from one hand to another and returned the gesture stiffly.

Yikes.

No feelings there, then. Definitely not unrequited passion for a married lady. His body language could not scream “don’t touch me” any louder than it did.

Plate in hand, he extricated himself and made a bee-line for Phil and Chris.

One hand came up to loosen his tie on the way. 

“Phil, Breezy,” he said in greeting. “Have some snacks. I nearly died procuring them.”

“Oh no, a social interaction. Have you gotten all your shots for those?” Phil popped a piece of stale bread with prosciutto on top in his mouth and ducked out of the way of Tom’s hand coming to punch his shoulder.

Chris looked between them. Did Tom have social anxiety? Was that his whole deal about dating? And if so, had he seen the team’s therapist yet? Chris had an appointment with her coming up and it made him nervous. While he thought of a way to ask, he helped himself to a bruschetta bite and grimaced. The tomatoes were ice-cold and the bread was stale.

“Not good?” Phil asked.

“No! Is all the food going to be like this?”

That set them both off, discussing the best and worst meals they’d had at team functions in the last few years. Before long, Hayes and Vanderbilt joined them, and then a few other newer guys trickled in, and Chris never got around to asking Tom.

****

Two

“With a last-minute beauty of a goal in double overtime by Tom Crowler, the Sea Lions win the game and clinch a playoff spot! That team had better celebrate their captain tonight!”

(Live commentary on Carolina Twisters @ San Francisco Sea Lions, 04/05/2023)

“Breezy!” Vanderbilt’s thick, heavy forearm settled heavy on the back of Chris’s neck, pulling him in the direction of the men’s room.

Chris let himself be dragged, somewhat relieved. Hayes had just gone to the bar for more shots and honestly, Chris was already pretty drunk. The strobe lights of the club made everything spinny and the bass pounded in his chest and he really, truly believed that if he had another shot he might do something embarrassing like cry.

They had made the playoffs, his very first year on the team.

“Breezy,” Vanderbilt said as the scuffed-up metal door closed behind them .

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you ready?”

“For playoff hockey? I don’t know, man, it’s supposed to be, like, super intense, and—”

Vanderbilt broke into loud peals of laughter. “Bro,” he managed between gasping for air. “Bro, are you kidding me?”

Chris frowned. Had he said something wrong? Was he not supposed to be nervous about the playoffs?”

Vanderbilt pinched his cheek. “You’ll do fine, don’t worry about the ‘yoffs. Now, are you ready?”

“Um.”

The bathroom door slammed open, letting in Hayes and Dmitriyev.

“Finally,” Vanderbilt complained. “What kept you?”

Dmitriyev made a noise of impatience in his throat. Hayes said, “Tom.”

“He wanna—”

“Of course not, man, he wanted to talk about D-zone coverage.”

Vanderbilt rolled his eyes. “Dude needs to get laid.”

“For real,” Hayes agreed. “I haven’t seen him leave with a chick in…I dunno, ever.”

“Way too buttoned-up,” Vanderbilt said. “Bet he’s the kind of freak who gets off in kink clubs or with a special escort service that does the real weird shit.”

“Hey.” Chris’s ears burned at the thought of Tom—or anyone, really—doing “real weird shit”. “That’s our captain you’re talking about.”

Hayes patted him on the top of the head. He had to stand on his tiptoes to do it. “I dunno,” he said to Vanderbilt. “I figure he’s with someone, but she’s married so he keeps it on the DL. No one’s that squeaky clean.”

Dmitriyev’s face went so pale Chris had to blurt, “It’s not that.”

Hayes and Vanderbilt turned to him as one, keeping their attention off the goaltender. “Uh,” Chris said. “I mean, he’s never talked to me about it or anything.”

Hayes snorted.

“Obviously,” Vanderbilt agreed.

“But he’s awful at lying. He can’t even do it to be polite.”

Hayes nodded. “You make a good point, Breezy. One time, Allie’s friend Andrea asked him if he liked her dress and he turned bright red and asked if she enjoyed barbecue sauce.”

“Definitely a freak in bed,” Vanderbilt decided. “So, we doing this?” From the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a small plastic baggie filled with plain white pills. He opened it and shook a few into his palm, holding it open. Dmitriyev took two and swallowed them dry. Hayes turned on the tap for a swallow of water before taking his. Vanderbilt proffered his open hand to Chris.

“Oh, no thank you.” Chris’s voice had gone so high as to be squeaky. “I couldn’t.”

Vanderbilt raised an eyebrow and shook the pills a little harder.

“I think I forgot I ordered an ice water,” Chris blurted, turned tail and ran.

He found Phil at one of the hightop tables, sipping a gin and tonic and eyeing the dance floor. “Um, Phil,” he began, voice pitched so low it took three tries for Phil to notice him.

“What’s up?”

“I was just in the bathroom and Vanderbilt. He, um. And Dmitriyev, uh, there were…like, I don’t know if it—I don’t know what it was, but—”

“Ah.” Phil put down his glass. “Probably ecstasy. Unless they snorted it, then it was coke.”

“Coke?!”

“Keep your voice down, will you?”

“Don’t we need to do something?”

“Such as?”

Chris swallowed. In Juniors, they’d have called the coaches, and the coaches would have called their parents. No one got in real trouble, but they would get benched for a while and maybe they’d have to do some community service or something. 

The NHL wasn’t Juniors. They were all adults. Someone could call the police and get Vanderbilt arrested.

The lines around Phil’s eyes creased more deeply with a hint of a smile. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”

“Huh?”

“Guys will find something to snort or swallow whenever they think there’s a reason to celebrate. If you know of a way to stop rich, successful athletes from doing drugs, let me know.”

“But…”

“But if you tell the coaches, or the GM, or the trainers, they’ll tell you to shut up or we’ll lose a big chunk of the team. But if you tell the press, we will lose a big chunk of the team. So long as they’re not shooting up and the trainers wave them through the doping tests, it’s just a part of the lifestyle.”

Chris frowned. “You don’t—”

“Not anymore, no. I tried a few times, when I was your age. Not worth how shit you feel afterward.”

Letting himself fall into a bar stool beside Phil, Chris propped his elbows on the table. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Has Tom ever…?”

“Good God, no. Tom pretends he doesn’t know about this shit.”

That sounded more like the Tom Chris knew. “Where is he?”

“Home.” A weak smile stole across Phil’s face. “He saw an out when Abrahamov went to find vodka and he took it.”

Classic Tom.

Unless he actually left to go to a super secret kink club and do…whatever Vanderbilt meant. Did people tie each other up at kink clubs? Or use toys? Chris had never been very successful at having sex the way people in his biology textbook did, he couldn’t imagine adding props would help.

“He didn’t want to celebrate?”

“Nah.” Phil downed the rest of his drink. “Tom won’t celebrate until we bring home a cup.”

With a flash of insight only the tipsy could have, Chris knew him to be right. Tom would no more frequent a secret sex club than he would sleep with a married woman. There was no space in Tom’s life for anything but the chip he carried around on his shoulders. Chris wondered where it came from. Not from hockey, he was too good for that. Maybe something had happened to him? Or maybe he was just one of those people who carried around some sadness wherever he went?

Chris might be too inexperienced for sex clubs and too straight-laced for drugs in the bathroom, but he wouldn’t let himself be that sad.

“Well, I think we should party! Let’s get another round for everyone and hit the dance floor!”

Phil laughed ruefully. “I’m too—”

“Do not say you’re too old!” Chris considered. “Unless you want to be with Camille, that would be—”

“Nah, come on. Third place in the Pacific, we deserve a celebration.”

Chris followed Phil to the bar, smiling as big as he could and trying not to think of their captain, alone at home.

****

Three

[Image of Allie Hayes in a white lace sundress surrounded by other women in a richly decorated room, all of them blowing air kisses at the camera]

Top comments:

cheryl_vanderb: can’t wait to keep celebrating you boo!

andrea_morris: always elegant, always classy!

(Posted to Allie Hayes’ Instagram with the caption "bach party blast!!!" on 12/02/2024)

“That is the silliest thing I have ever seen,” Luca said. His low, rich voice sounded right by Chris’s ear.

On Chris’s phone screen, Andrea, best friend of Allie soon-to-be-Hayes, threw massive amounts of glitter confetti in the air at Allie’s Cancún bachelorette party. The tagline read, “love celebrating you bc you’re so easy to celebrate!”

“Look how happy they are, though!”

The women all smiled widely at the camera on the first picture, but subsequent ones showed them goofing around, grinning, playing with the confetti. 

“They are very happy to show off for the camera, yes.”

“Okay, if you’re gonna be all judgy and rude, you can just not watch over my shoulder.” Chris tilted his phone screen away and rolled to a different position on the couch so his roommate couldn’t lean over the backrest to watch his feed.

Luca huffed.

“See, you like it.”

“I enjoy mocking people, yes.”

“She’s getting married, she’s allowed to be excited!”

The sound of disgust Luca made had more to do with Chris’s socked feet suddenly up in his face, so Chris let it slide.

“I like weddings and people being happy,” he said.

“Oh?” Luca asked. “Do you see that with…what is her name…Chloe?”

Before he could stop himself, Chris hissed in a shocked breath.

A triumphant expression spread across Luca’s face. 

“We’ve been dating for two weeks!” Chris complained. “I’m not thinking about marriage yet.”

“She is,” Luca said drily.

“You don’t know that.”

“It is an educated guess.” 

“Well I guess you aren’t as smart as you think you are, then.”

Luca fell into place on the couch beside Chris. Chris tensed, expecting further mockery for his choice of girlfriend, his interest in romance in general, or Luca’s favorite thing to poke fun about, his alleged Italianness. Instead, Luca heaved a great sigh and asked an earnest question. “All right, fine. You want the whole…the wedding, the photos, the beautiful children.”

A tight, cold knot formed in the center of Chris’s breastbone. “I, uh,” he said.

“It is not a bad thing to want,” Luca said. “I should not mock.”

Chris let his foot bump against Luca’s knee. “I was thinking more that I wanted to have good friends to take fun photos with, to be honest.”

Luca laughed. Chris wondered if he ever sang. He had such a musical note to his voice. “It is the NHL way, though, is it not? Marry young, have a big party, then lots of small children.”

“Not everyone.”

“Oh?”

“Look at Tom.”

Luca frowned. “I suppose he has not brought a date to a team function yet.”

“He never does.”

“Never?”

“Cap doesn’t date.”

“Why?”

Chris shrugged. He’d heard just about every theory the team had to offer, from the the childhood sweetheart he was saving himself for to the high-end dominatrix he saw on off-nights, and he thought they were all bogus. “Honestly, I think it must have been a tragedy.”

“A what?”

“Like, he loved someone and lost her and now he can’t ever…go there again.”

“You think she died?”

“Maybe,” Chris said. 

“How?!”

Chris hadn’t thought about that part of his theory very much because it depressed him. In movies it was usually cancer or some sort of vehicular accident, but in books it could also be something romantic like getting lost at sea. Did that still happen to people?

He shrugged.

Luca narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

“Not for sure, I mean, he never talks about it.”

“So you just assume a tragic backstory!”

“Well, yeah! He seems tragic.”

Luca subsided. “You have a point.”

“And what other reasons could there be?”

“Many!”

“Like what?”

“He could have had a bad breakup, he could be one of those men who hate women, he could have a rich and active sex life he tells us nothing about,” Luca ticked off on his fingers, “Or he could simply care only about hockey.”

Chris snickered. “Hockeysexual.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Luca’s mouth. “Absolutely not.”

“I once saw this reality show about a guy who fell in love with his car, maybe it’s like that.”

They considered this for a moment, and then they both began laughing and couldn’t stop for quite some time. What pulled Chris out of it was Luca getting out his phone and snapping pictures of him.

“What are you doing?”

“You wanted fun photos with good friends, no?”

Chris tackled Luca to the couch and hugged him tight, and before Luca could escape, he snapped one last picture of the two of them together. Luca huffed and curled up tight to his end of the couch all through dinner in wounded dignity, but later on, he posted the photo to Instagram.

Chris double-tapped as soon as he saw and shared it to his own page.

He wondered if this was how it felt for Allie Hayes and her friends, too, to get along with someone so well you wanted the whole world to see how happy your friends made you.

****

Four

“[...] And as the season heats up and each point in the standings might make or break the team’s chances at a playoff berth, the question has been raised by fans: should the team continue splitting their focus with this heavy involvement in a local homeless shelter?”

Top comments:

seelionssaylions: ah yes, great look in the year of our lord 2025, calling into question the one NHL team loudly and vocally standing up for LGBTQIA+ rights (as a whole team, not just individual players, stop @ing me about what good dudes the huskies are already).

grant16rox: did the fans question? did they really?

[comment deleted]

[comment deleted]

(From: “Sea Lions Playoff Chances - Dire or Doable?” by Olivia Starling, published in the San Francisco Herald on 03/31/2025) 

“Man, why does Tom never date?” Howie wondered aloud as he collected pylons.

Chris glanced at the shelter to make sure none of the kids were still outside. “Shh,” he hissed all the same.

“Not like they care. Seriously, though, last night at the New Year’s party? He hung out with Jax all night.”

“You didn’t bring a date,” Chris pointed out. 

“Yeah, but I’m twelve years younger.”

“Jax didn’t bring a date.” Shit, Chris shouldn’t have pointed that out, Howie might connect the dots.

Howie shook his head. “Not the same, everyone knows Jax gets it in.”

Crisis averted. Chris wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

“Just stating facts, man. Anyway, Tom would be a good dad. Or husband, I guess. He’s a great listener.”

“Aww, does Howie have a hockey crush?”

“Shut up.” A dull red flush spread across the back of Howie’s neck. Chris hated to embarrass him, but Howie couldn’t keep questioning this or he might stumble across the truth.

The whole team could, and then…and then…

Chris had no idea what would happen then, but he knew he had to stop it.

“I bet Cap keeps his private life private,” he said, wishing more than knowing it to be true. If Cap could keep his private life private for shit, Chris would never have seen him about a minute away from third base in the locker room.

He’d never wanted someone so much he’d disregard a public space like that.

“I guess,” Howie said doubtfully. “I dunno, I wish he’d let us in some.”

“When he’s ready,” Chris said.

He just hoped when Tom was ready, the rest of the team would be, too. Especially Howie.