Free Safe Harbor 2: Hiding in Plain Sight by Cassandra Carr Page A

with Vlad now. Did Brendan just want to get together as friends? Did he want something more? Now was not the time to talk about things like that, so Joe kept his thoughts to himself.
    “I miss you.”
    Fuck . “I miss you too.” They chatted about mundane things for a few minutes, but as the game was about to start, Joe said, “I gotta go. I’m meeting some friends. Um, call me when you get back to the States. We’ll work something out.”
    “Awesome! Can’t wait to get out of the sandbox. Setting my boots on grade A USA soil for more than a few days will be fucking sweet.”
    “I hear you, bud.” He winced. Joe had never called Brendan “bud” in the entire fourteen months they’d been stationed together.
    Luckily Brendan didn’t appear to notice. “I’ll let you go. Later.”
    Joe hung up and put his head in his hands. He and Brendan hadn’t made any promises to each other, but the niggling sense of guilt that he hadn’t told Brendan he was involved with someone was starting to eat at him.
    The national anthem began on the television, and Joe stood. Even at home, he showed respect for his country. People who had never laid their lives on the line serving in the military didn’t understand the special relationship many veterans had with the United States. Sure, there were a lot of things wrong with the country, but Joe had traveled to several corners of the world while deployed. He’d seen atrocities he couldn’t even begin to describe, along with poverty, corruption—you name it, he’d seen it. Joe loved the United States fervently.
    Vlad was on the ice, his skates sliding back and forth, presumably to keep his muscles warm. The anthem singer finished, and Joe watched, rapt, as Vlad took a couple of quick turns around the ice before skating up to the red line to take the opening faceoff.
    The action was fast and furious for the first period, and Joe followed Vlad when he was on the ice and the entire play when he wasn’t. Vlad was never out of position, back-checked readily, and took the body when necessary. Joe had no idea why, but watching him play was pretty fucking sexy. The period ended, and Joe made some popcorn, grabbing a beer to wash it down with. He sat on the floor with his legs underneath the coffee table, leaned his back on the couch, and settled in for the second period.
    About seven minutes in, the Phantoms were awarded a power play after a Boston player high-sticked a guy. Vlad came on as part of the first power-play unit. He took the faceoff in Boston’s defensive zone and immediately drove to the net. The puck came back to an eighteen-year-old phenom from Sweden who was stationed at the blue line. The kid let a shot rip, and Joe watched in horror as it hit Vlad down low, knocking him onto his back where he spun out of control, crashing into the net. He was holding his leg, his face contorted in pain. Play stopped. Joe’s heart stopped too as Vlad rolled onto his side on the ice, still clutching his leg.
    The announcer was speculating about where Vlad had been hit, and Joe had a very real concern he was going to lose the contents of his stomach. He had a whole new respect for the spouses of professional athletes. Of course, it wasn’t too different from military spouses in some ways, but at least the spouses rarely had to sit there and watch their loved one be injured right in front of them, where they could see.
    The kid whose shot had hit him skated right to Vlad and was bent over, resting his stick on his knees a few feet away as the trainer came out onto the ice. Joe felt bad for the guy. It wasn’t his fault. The shot was low, exactly where it should be. It wasn’t like he was trying to take someone’s head off. He looked pretty shaken up, though.
    The trainer took hold of Vlad’s leg and straightened it. Vlad grimaced. They wouldn’t move his leg if they thought it was broken, would they? The television cut to replays from a couple of different angles, and Joe had to