The rink is about the same size as the
coliseum back home where the club skates but there are no hockey
markings on the ice—just the short track, blocks around the curves,
a deep blue oval in center rink, red lines marking the start and
finish. Despite the early hour, the stands closest to the ice are
already filled with guests and fans out to watch the practice. At
the locker rooms, Dante asks Ryan if he’ll be okay for himself by a
while, as if he hasn’t been doing this wheelchair gig for over a
month now. “I’ll be fine,” Ryan assures him, and at the forlorn
expression on his boyfriend’s face, he gives him a push with the
toe of his left sneaker. “Don’t give me that look. I’ll shout your
name every time you come by me.”
With a sexy grin, Dante lowers his voice and
asks, “Isn’
