Hockey was some tough shit.

Trying to follow Dean's pace made it way tougher.

The rest of the tryouts were some sort of punishment for a crime I must have committed in my previous life, because I just couldn't see what I'd done in this one to deserve this. I was an athlete as well, and boxing was grueling, but my body wasn't ready for this shit. I'd been praised a lot by Paco, my boxing trainer in Orlando, because I had excellent footwork. Strong legs were the foundation of a good boxer, after all. But those must have been different legs altogether because my current ones were burning as though I'd submerged them in boiling water, and it was all thanks to the second drill of skating side to side until we dropped.

At least I was satisfied that I was not the first one to drop. A couple of the younger kids vying for a position in the team ran out of fuel faster. One of them had the misfortune of exploding into a fountain of vomit that painted the ice in a bright orange. It was the grossest and funniest thing I'd ever seen simultaneously. The asshole whose nose I rearranged was also one of the first to give up, and it filled me with a deep sense of satisfaction.

I kept going until bile started rising up my throat. But I didn't want to Make A Scene Part 2. I hadn't cleaned the ice with my ass only to soil it with the contents of my stomach. So I let myself collapse and I struggled to suck air back into my lungs and wiped the sweat away from my face with my sleeve. I watched the last five remaining, caught between admiration and jealousy until Dean remained last. He was unnatural in his speed and resistance, even though it felt like an hour had passed of this back and forth on the ice. He only stopped when Coach got tired of watching him and started preparing us for our next drill.

It should have been easier, but the third one was all about handling the puck and I hadn't learned how to do that. Reflexes alone didn't save me and I bumbled through the entire thing abysmally.

When the fourth drill started I was seriously considering just skating off all the way back to Florida. That one was about testing our skills at defense, according to the coach, because I didn't see a hell of a lot of value into body slamming each other at that point. Especially when every one of my opponents seemed to barrel through me.

To be honest, I don't even remember what the fifth heat was about. I think at that point I was passed out because when I came to was when I found myself being escorted to the bench by someone. I looked up, groggy, and realized that my savior this time was Pace. He passed me a water bottle and my limp arms couldn't hold it up.

"Open," he said, motioning at my mouth. I did so and he squirted water from the bottle into my mouth. The jet of water made me choke for a second, but I recovered quickly and started drinking without caring that more water was pouring down the front of my jersey than into my mouth.

"Thanks," I told him with a rasp.

He smiled. "Good job. We could really use with someone with your grit in the team."

The other guys I started to consider like buddies arrived one by one and suddenly I found myself being patted by heavy gloved hands. This wasn't something that I normally would have coveted, but at that moment the gestures made me glow.

I was being accepted.

Dean joined us a moment later and he sent a nod my way. I was irritated all of a sudden that this felt even better than everybody else's gesture.

"Good job, everybody. I'm impressed by quite a few of you," Coach Martel said after one last whistle. "Be on the lookout for the results on the school board on Monday. Make sure to take care of yourselves this weekend, because training starts next week for the lucky fellows who will join the Bears this year. And for those of you who won't join us," he said as he swept his eyes across all of us. "Make sure to ice."

Well, wasn't that a warm sentiment.

I sighed and pushed myself to get up, but my legs had suddenly become tree trunks that took root in the skates. "Fuck," I whispered.

"Guys," Hunter said, calling for the attention of the group. "It looks like our future enforcer needs help."

I looked up and found that he was pointing at me. I didn't know what he meant by the future enforcer shit but I totally needed help. Except that if I wanted to earn some respect I couldn't show it.

I gritted my teeth and instead said, "I'm fine."

They all rolled their eyes at me.

I lifted my arms with the last strength I had and two of them picked me up. I noticed that Dean picked up my fallen stick and helmet, but then I remembered they were his and it wasn't like he was doing it to be nice. And then for the second time that day I realized where we were headed.

The locker room. Double shit on a stick.

"Coach was extra grueling this year," Brian said as he carried me on my right. "Last season must have got to him."

I perked up just enough to ask, "What happened last season?"

Pace replied from my left as we entered the locker room. "We lost."

I opened my mouth to ask for details when I saw a bare ass right in front of me. My first instinct was to drop my jaw, but I caught myself and snapped it shut. Boys should not be shocked to see other boys' bodies. But then the owner of the butt turned around and headed for the showers and I realized I was in over my head.

Of course, none of this leaked outside of my brain. The guys flopped me on a bench and started taking off their gear as they chatted about the drills, who did what well and who tanked. Meanwhile I was trapped between my immobility and my faked masculinity. I couldn't run away and I couldn't look away as more and more pieces of clothes and equipment fell to the floor.

"So, what do you think?"

I turned left to where Dean asked the question. I was going to ask him what he meant, but then my mouth suddenly filled with cotton. He was in the middle of peeling off a lycra undershirt and I was mesmerized as rivulets of sweat trickled down the ridges of muscle between his pecs, down to a tight set of abs that looked chiseled in marble, lower still until the moisture disappeared down the low V of muscles that led to what his pants was hiding. I was fortunate that the tight undershirt caught around his head and he struggled for a second to pull it all the way off. It allowed me to savor the flex of his bulging biceps and the chords of his neck, and bought me just enough time to recover and try to wipe any thirst off of my face.

And I was thirsty. Very thirsty.

I fumbled to pick up his water bottle and spray it in my mouth. It half squirted into my left eye, but it didn't matter.

"About what?" I managed to ask as I wiped my face.

"The game," he said, sitting down next to me to remove his skates. He gave me a glance even as he was bent forward, and the wrinkle between his eyebrows made him look too...

Too cute. Far too much. I cleared my throat.

He jerked one skate off and then the other as he added, "Do you want to be a Bear now?"

A Bear? More like I wanted to bear hug him with all my limbs around him.

"I, er." I cleared my throat again. Shook my head. Drank more water. "I don't know if I have what it takes."

"You do," Dean said as he stood up and pulled down his hockey pants in a swift motion.

I could have died, and not just because of the compliment he casually tossed. He was wearing lycra underneath and it didn't hide Any. Thing. Whereas I'd been pretty horrified to see some random boy's buns and sausage package, I was so impressed by this one's buns that I couldn't wait to see the sausage.

But I got thwarted. Or saved, maybe. If Coach Martel hadn't walked in right there and then and called my name, I was sure I would have showed way too much of a reaction when Dean dropped the rest of his clothes.

Of course, this also meant that once I was able to tear my eyes off of him I was able to see how a few of the other boys were already in their birthday suits. It didn't seem to matter one whit to them that they were having entire conversations in the nude in front of others.

I felt heat rush up my neck, but I could blame it on the clouds of steam that were rising from the showers and the fact that I was still full disguised a hockey boy. I stumbled as I attempted to push up, but Dean quickly hauled me up by my elbow with a single hand.

I now knew why he was so strong and fast. It was because he was a wall of muscle. Dios mío, I didn't know a boy my age could look like that.

"You okay?" he whispered in my ear.

No, I wasn't. My legs were absolutely shaken. The ground had moved from beneath me.

I murmured a vague assent and he let me go. I waddled over to the Coach.

"You okay, son?" he asked, patting my shoulder. "You pushed yourself pretty hard out there."

I managed a weak smile, and it was weak only because I was, but I was pretty proud of myself. "Thank you, sir."

"Listen," he said. "Frankly, your skills suck."

"Uh, thanks?"

His face twitched like he wanted to smile, but he stopped himself. "The truth is that I'm trying to assemble the best possible team, and it's hard for me to justify putting an amateur in it."

I sighed and hung my head.

Well, I hadn't exactly held out hope that I'd make it right away, especially when there were so many other kids who had been preparing themselves for this their entire lives. I had no delusions of grandeur. It also wasn't like dad would let me join a boys hockey team.

Besides, if I didn't make the team I definitely wouldn't have to have a reason to see boys' hot dogs. Maybe this was a good thing.

Then coach said, "However, it's been a long time since I last saw a right hook like that and we really need that in this year's team."

My face whipped back up with such force it gave me a neck ache. "What?"

"I'm saying that it's going to suck for you, kid, because you're going to have to keep up with everybody else." He shook me by the shoulder that he still had in a vice. "But I want you on my team this year. What do you say?"

All I could say for a few seconds was the word I. I knew there was no I in Team and all that crap, but at that second all I could think was that I had been the one to impress this man after I had given it my all. This kind of pride was the most wonderful feeling that had rushed through my veins in a long time, and I felt more alive than ever.

"So?" Coach asked as he smiled.

I nodded rapidly. "I'm in."

This one I couldn't tell my dad, though. Joining a boys hockey team was not at all like getting my hair sheared off. This one could banish me from public life for a decade if he found out.