Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6 Read Free

much success.
    Pischlar cocked his head and gave the reporter an indulgent smile. “Who said I was gay? I’ve dated women. I’m dating a man. I’m up for anything.” He chuckled. “I’m in an open relationship, and I’m awesome in bed. If you want to know more, I’ll give you my number.”
    A few of the reporters looked shocked, but tempted. The old man who’d asked the question seemed to have swallowed his tongue. Tyler was pretty sure he’d swallowed his own.
    Damn, how could he just… I mean, wow. Not that Pischlar should hide it, but to just put it out there like he didn’t give a shit what people thought?
    When the press left the room, Callahan went over and gave Pischlar one of his rough, manly hugs. So did a few of the other guys. One thing wouldn’t change with the team. They backed their own , no matter what.
    But Tyler would have expected Callahan to tear Pischlar out for not being all politically correct with his interview. Maybe not in front of the team, but in his office at least. Instead, he seemed totally okay with everything.
    “Hey, Demyan.” Tyler pulled Demyan off to the side, speaking low so no one else would hear him. “What did you say to Coach?”
    Demyan shoved his hands into the pockets of the jeans he’d changed into. “I told him Easy was coming out—in a way. Room service took a few pictures of him and some random guy on the last road trip. There’s been stuff all over the ’net. Easy didn’t want people thinking he was ashamed or anything, but he had to face them as himself. Keane asked him to wear a suit for the interview, but he needed something that was…well, him. Callahan got it.”
    “That’s good, I guess.” Tyler wasn’t sure why any of them had to share personal stuff. He remembered when reporters had come to his house to ask him about how soon he’d be back on the ice after his concussion. He’d always worn the team hat and one of his many Cobra T-shirts. Like that, the press wasn’t really questioning Tyler. They were questioning “Vanek.”
    One of the team’s most promising rookies at the time. A player. Not the man he was off the ice.
    “We can’t all do it, Tyler.” Demyan sat on the stool beside Tyler’s stall even as Tyler lowered to his own. He put his hand on Tyler’s forearm. “ You can’t and that’s cool. I’m not allowed to. I gotta give ‘the right answers.’ But out there, beyond the game, we do whatever the fuck we want. We’ve just gotta be careful.”
    W as kinda weird that Demyan was calling Tyler by his first name, but whatever. Guys did that when they were being all supportive. Not that he could figure out why Demyan needed to give that support. Chicklet liked things private. And her girlfriend, Laura, was a cop and needed things that way. A few of Laura’s close coworkers knew she was a sub and into BDSM. But nothing was public.
    Demyan’s grip tightened on his arm. Tyler opened his mouth to tell the man to ease up, but then spotted Raif standing with Zach Pearce across the room. Pearce was the first Cobra—hell, the first professional hockey player—to “come out” to the media. He was involved with Demyan and Rebecca Bower, their goalie’s big sister. The three of them had some nice domestic thing going on. Becky’s kid was the center of their universe.
    But Pearce had history with Raif. And Demyan got a little weird whenever Pearce and Raif hung out. Like they were doing now.
    Pearce finished dressing and laughed at something Raif said, which had Demyan breaking fucking blood vessels in Tyler’s arm. Pearce flung his arm over Raif’s shoulders. “I don’t think anyone’s surprised a game against the Leafs ended in a few brawls.”
    “You are not a fighter. Or did you forget?” Raif’s brow lifted at Pearce’s protests. “In a bar, yes, you can hold your own. On the ice? You embarrass yourself.”
    “Thanks.” Pearce snorted. “You did pretty good out there, but you’re gonna fuck up your hands if