Red Line

  The Games We Play, Book 1

  L.A. Witt

  Contents

  Artificial Intelligence

  The Games We Play Hockey Leagues

  Red Line

  1. Theo

  2. Christian

  3. Theo

  4. Christian

  5. Theo

  6. Christian

  7. Theo

  8. Christian

  9. Theo

  10. Christian

  11. Theo

  12. Christian

  13. Theo

  14. Christian

  15. Theo

  16. Christian

  17. Theo

  18. Christian

  19. Theo

  20. Christian

  21. Theo

  22. Christian

  23. Theo

  24. Christian

  25. Theo

  26. Christian

  27. Theo

  28. Christian

  29. Theo

  Epilogue

  The Games We Play… continues!

  The Games We Play, Book 2: Just Add Ice

  The Games We Play, Book 3: Even Strength

  Also by L.A. Witt

  Also by L.A. Witt

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Red Line

  First edition

  Copyright © 2024 L.A. Witt

  Cover Art by L.C. Chase

  Editor: Mackenzie Walton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at gallagherwitt@gmail.com

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64230-191-5

  Paperback ISBN: 979-8-32457-905-0

  Created with Vellum

  Artificial Intelligence

  No artificial intelligence was used in the making of this book or any of my books. This includes writing, co-writing, cover artwork, translation, and audiobook narration.

  I do not consent to any Artificial Intelligence (AI), generative AI, large language model, machine learning, chatbot, or other automated analysis, generative process, or replication program to reproduce, mimic, remix, summarize, train from, or otherwise replicate any part of this creative work, via any means: print, graphic, sculpture, multimedia, audio, or other medium. This applies to all existing AI technology and any that comes into existence in the future.

  I support the right of humans to control their artistic works.

  The Games We Play Hockey Leagues

  NAPH (North American Professional Hockey) - Major league.

  PHL (Professional Hockey League) - Minor league.

  HLENA and HLWNA (Hockey League of Eastern North America and the Hockey League of Western North America) - Second tier minor league.

  Red Line

  The Games We Play, Book 1

  Theo Mathis doesn’t regret defying the general manager during his brief stint on the Seattle Rainiers last season. The rainbow tape on his stick cost him dearly, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat… even though it means he’ll never get called up from the minors again while that GM is at the helm.

  Then a flood of injuries leaves Seattle desperate for players, and Theo gets called up after all. But he’s warned: provoke the GM again, and he will regret it.

  Except stick tape wasn’t the only line Theo skated over, and the temptation to cross it again has nothing to do with spite.

  Equipment manager Christian Hayes has had that hot minor league player living rent-free in his head ever since they hooked up last year. It wasn’t love, but it was fun, and he wishes they could do it again because they want to—not as an act of rebellion. If Christian’s dad ever finds out, there will be hell to pay. But it’s a non-issue, since his dad—the team’s GM—has vowed to never call up that player again no matter how bad the team needs him… and he doesn’t even know Theo and Christian hooked up.

  Now Theo’s back in the Rainiers’ locker room. They don’t dare risk a rematch—they both value their careers too much. All they have to do is ride this out for a few games until Theo’s sent back down. Easy enough. Right?

  But their mutual attraction refuses to be ignored.

  And it looks like Theo’s going to be staying a while.

  The Games We Play is a multi-author minor league hockey romance series! All titles run concurrently through the same hockey season, and the books can be read in any order, so jump in anywhere!

  Chapter 1

  Theo

  Last season

  For the two long years I’d been playing in the minors, I’d dreamed of finally getting the call-up to our NAPH team, the Seattle Rainiers. Even if I didn’t stay up—if I never actually made the roster for any length of time—I wanted to play at that level so bad I could taste it.

  Last season, I’d finally been called up for one of the road trips. I’d almost lost my mind on the plane, but shortly after I’d landed… disappointment. The left winger I was supposed to replace was going on LTIR, but one of the other injured forwards—one who’d been listed as week-to-week—had suddenly been available. I’d dressed and skated during warmups but watched the game from the owners’ box. The next morning, I was on the plane again, and the following evening, I was playing in Everett in the PHL like normal.

  When I’d been called up this time, I’d been so afraid that would happen again, but it didn’t. Two nights ago, in Vancouver, I’d finally hit the ice for real. That had been the coolest experience. I’d only played about six and a half minutes, but I’d done my rookie lap and I’d skated alongside players I admired, and I’d even managed a secondary assist.

  But tonight was the game I’d really been looking forward to.

  Not only would I be once again playing for the Rainiers, not only would we be going up against the Denver Mustangs (my favorite team growing up), but it was Pride Night. How cool was that?

  The Rainiers always had incredible Pride jerseys, which were then signed and auctioned off to benefit queer charities. The design for this year’s jersey hadn’t been revealed yet, but there would be one with my name and my number, and I couldn’t fucking wait. Ten years after my parents had cautioned fourteen-year-old me against coming out if I wanted to play pro hockey, I was going to play my second ever major league hockey game on Pride Night after wearing a Pride jersey during warmups.

  Maybe it was stupid, but I had literally never been more excited about a game in my life. Not the Junior World Championship gold medal final. Not my first game on the PHL team. Not even my first game at this level.

  My first major league Pride game.

  Hell yeah.

  But when I strode into the Seattle Rainiers’ locker room, the jersey hanging at my stall was the usual home jersey. Blue with gray and black. No rainbows. No Pride insignia. All the sticks along the wall had white or black tape on the blades and handles.

  At first, I thought maybe the equipment managers had made a rare mistake. They worked like a well-oiled machine, though, and our head equipment manager was known throughout the league for being one of the best. Like, the guy literally traveled to other teams—from youth on up to pro—to help them get their equipment crew running efficiently. I didn’t imagine he’d make (or allow) a mistake like this. Especially not when he was vocally out and proud himself.

  Christian Hayes dropping the ball on Pride Night? Yeah, right.

  And when I found his face in the room, my heart sank. The first time I’d seen him in a video about equipment crews, someone who worked with him had commented that he now understood what it meant for someone to light up a room. For all I’d been told to play down my sexuality if I wanted to make it in the league, Christian wore his like a badge of honor. He was flamboyant and hilarious, and whenever he was photographed or videoed, everyone around him was laughing.

  Rumor had it there’d been precisely one homophobic player in Seattle, and it hadn’t been Christian or even his father—Jack, the team’s general manager—who’d nipped that problem in the bud. It was the Rainiers themselves. Despite being older than a lot of the players, Christian was everyone’s honorary little brother, and no one tolerated anyone giving him shit. In one interview, Seattle’s captain, Alex Condit, had said Christian could singlehandedly keep up team morale even in the face of a crushing loss just by being himself.

  So to see him standing off to the side tonight with his arms crossed over his hoodie and his eyes downcast—that hit me right in the feels. Hell, everyone in the room seemed to be thrown off by the crestfallen expression on the guy the team reporter called “Seattle’s very own ray of sunshine.”

  My heart sank even deeper as the mood in the room settled heavily on my shoulders. I’d admittedly had the worst crush on Christian since the first time I’d seen him in videos, and in person—oh, God, I was lucky I remembered how to tie my skates. He was gorgeous, built lean and powerful like a hockey player since in addition to the physical demands of his job, he apparently worked out with the
team, including occasionally joining them on the ice outside of official practices. He had a smile that could stop traffic and crystal blue eyes that had their own online fan club.

  No, really—there was a page somewhere called “Have you SEEN the eyes on Seattle’s equipment manager?”, and for good reason. He was just… fuck, he was so beautiful, and he had an infectious laugh and the kind of personality that made everyone around him smile.

  Except tonight.

  Ugh. Seriously? What the hell is going on?

  That answer came soon enough. As the guys and I were starting to put on our gear, Coach Baldwin walked into the locker room. He gave us his usual pre-game speech, then followed it with, “I know we had Pride Night on the calendar, but Jack Hayes has made the decision to cancel it.”

  And… that was that. No explanation. Nothing. The GM—the man whose gay son worked with the team—had nixed Pride Night.

  I didn’t think a locker room had ever been as silent as it was after Coach’s speech. There was nothing but the usual sounds of gear rustling, creaking, and rattling. No one talked, though there were some very puzzled looks being exchanged among my teammates.

  There were also a lot of sympathetic glances thrown toward our equipment manager. Christian was focused on tightening a screw on someone’s visor, but even his intense concentration couldn’t mask how obviously upset he was.

  Fuck. I was disappointed to have Pride Night canceled, but it must’ve been an extra slap in the dick for him. His own dad had made the call.

  My disappointment started to ebb in favor of anger. Sure, my folks had urged me to be cautious about coming out, but that had been well-intentioned. They loved me, supported me, and accepted me; they’d just been able to read the writing on the wall and had been concerned about a gay son being able to break into the world of professional sports. After all, that world hadn’t always been what I would call welcoming to queer people.

  Christian’s dad actually had power and clout in that world. He had the ability to make statements and huge demonstrations of public support. He was in a position to make a difference for men like us.

  Men like me. Men like his own son, for God’s sake.

  And he’d made the call to cancel Pride Night.

  Fuck.

  That.

  Noise.

  I finished tying my skate and put my foot down. Then I cleared my throat and called out over the unusually quiet locker room, “Hey, Christian?” When he glanced at me, I gestured for him to come to my stall.

  He acknowledged me with a nod and nothing else before continuing to adjust the helmet in his hand. Normal, apart from the lack of a smile or a chirped, “Be right there!”

  A few minutes later, as I was pulling on my jersey, he appeared.

  “Hey, what do you need?” He sounded polite but exhausted, as if it took everything he had just to show up.

  I met those sad blue eyes as I tugged at my jersey. “Do you have any rainbow tape?”

  Christian’s back stiffened and his eyebrows jumped. “I, um… Yeah. Of course.” Sighing, he let his shoulders fall. “But since we’re not doing—”

  “Can I get a roll?”

  His eyes widened. “Are you… Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  He studied me incredulously. I fully expected him to question me. Had I not heard that Pride Night was canceled? Did I want to get fined? Or more likely, since I was a PHL player, sent the hell back down to the minors with no hope of ever getting called up again?

  I set my jaw, ready to fire back that I didn’t give a damn. Let ’em fine me. Let ’em send me back down. I hadn’t worked my ass off to get this far—while being openly gay—only to cower now that I had a chance to stand up for people like us.

  Little by little, something brightened in Christian’s expression. One corner of his mouth turned up as the faintest glimmer of rebelliousness sparked in his eyes. Without looking away from me, he called over his shoulder, “Hey, Marty?”

  “Yeah, boss?” came the response from Marty, who had just finished adjusting someone’s skate blade.

  A grin came fully to life. “Can you toss me a roll of rainbow tape?”

  I sensed some of my teammates glancing our way. Marty shot Christian an uncertain look, but when Christian gave him a nod, Marty shrugged. He handed the skate back to Hanson, then stepped out of the locker room for a second. He returned, and my heart did a little flutter when a roll of tape flew across the room.

  Christian caught it and held it out. “Rainbow tape.”

  I smiled, wondering if anyone else could hear my heart pounding as I took the roll from him.

  Then I sat down and, pulse still absolutely thundering, grabbed my stick and started pulling off the black tape.

  I was halfway through wrapping the rainbow tape around the blade when Wilcox, who sat at the next stall over, nudged me. “Can I have that when you’re done?”

  My hands froze mid-wrap, and I looked at him. “Yeah?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  By the time I’d handed the roll to Wilcox, Christian and Marty had brought out four more rolls. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Christian smiling brighter than he was as he collected all the discarded black and white tape, and that said a lot. He really was this team’s own personal sunbeam, and I decided that watching him brighten up was worth any shit that came my way over this. There would be shit, too; Jack Hayes had an incredibly low tolerance for insubordination, and all of us slapping on rainbow tape after he’d canceled Pride Night definitely fit that category. Once he found out I’d been behind it…

  Oh, yeah. There’d be hell to pay.

  But Christian Hayes was smiling. I think he even had tears in his eyes.

  Bring it, Jack.

  I regret nothing.

  Chapter 2

  Christian

  Not gonna lie—I was tearing up while the Rainiers skated out onto the ice for warmups.

  I mean, okay, I’ve always been an emotional guy, and I will totally cry watching sad or romantic movies. I bawled during Red, White & Royal Blue—do not judge me.

  But watching this team take the ice with rainbow-wrapped sticks had me choked up in ways Hollywood could never.

  Because they weren’t just being allies tonight, showing solidarity to me, the queer players in the league, and their queer fans. They were being allies when it could cost them professionally.

  My father was going to be furious, and this was not a man who was above trading or waiving players over petty shit. Last season, one of the second pair defensemen, who’d been coming up on free agency, had answered a reporter honestly about whether he was going to stay in Seattle. All he’d said was, “I like playing here, but it depends on if they want to re-sign me.” Dad had taken that as a swipe at the slow progression of contract negotiations, and he’d promptly traded the guy for a couple of fifth round draft picks. People still wanted his ass fired over that, and it wasn’t the first or last time he’d fucked over a player that way.

  Everyone on the Rainiers’ roster knew about that. Hell, the guy who’d been traded? His old D partner was still here, now playing in the top pair, and he’d rainbowed the fuck out of his stick tonight.

  Go ahead and punish us, the whole team seemed to be daring him. You can’t trade or waive us all.

  Standing behind the bench as I watched them all fall into their warmup routine, I had to work to swallow. My ex had cynically believed they all just kissed my ass because I could fuck with their gear and make their lives hell. Which, okay, that was true. There was a reason hockey players deeply respected their equipment managers.

  But there was a big difference between being courteous and thanking us for our work, and defiantly putting rainbow tape on their sticks when they knew their GM would have their heads for it.

  Coach Swanson, the defensive coach, stepped up beside me and leaned in to be heard over the music and the crowd. “Uh, I thought your dad canceled Pride Night?”

  I nodded, fighting a smile. “Yeah, it’s canceled.” I scanned the crowd, which was full of rainbow hats, rainbow flags, and a few rainbow warmup jerseys from previous seasons. “I don’t think the fans got the memo.”