Title: Keep Me Like a Secret

Series: Lancaster Hornets, Book One

Author: Ivy Hamilton

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/16/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 318

Genre: Contemporary, gay, bisexual, demisexual, sports romance, Canada, mental health/anxiety attacks, forbidden love, found family, doxxing/outing

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Description

Matt Miller’s hockey career is on the perfect track. He has an impressive Junior hockey record—not even a single fight—and his choice of full-ride scholarships at the end of the season. Nothing can throw him off course now. Nothing except a drunken mistake with his team captain, Jake Heeren. If Matt and Jake know anything, it’s this: being queer and professional hockey don’t go together. As their feelings for each other deepen and their games start to suffer, Matt and Jake need to decide how far they’re willing to fight for what they have once the world finds out their secret.

Keep Me Like a Secret
Ivy Hamilton © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The first weekend in February brings another set of double games—Friday night we play in Verdun, and then we host them Saturday night at Mooreland Place. Apprehension has been twisting my guts all day, and even now as I lean against the boards in Verdun, I can’t help but worry as the first period commences. The energy from the Vultures doesn’t sit well with me, and after what happened last time—I’m on edge.

The game is scrappy from the start, and Palmer scowls on the bench, next to me. “What the fuck is going on?” he mutters to Coach Lenek. “They’re playing like idiots.”

“There’s always a rivalry here,” Lenek dismisses. “They’re just blowing off steam. If they don’t start scoring by the second period, chew ’em out.”

“Vultures are fighting with a purpose here. I don’t like it,” Palmer says, narrowing his eyes.

His gaze catches me, and his frown deepens. “Miller, you’re up next shift. Try to score.”

What does he think I’ve been trying to do all game?

I nod, even as the whistle blows, then scramble into position, taking over from Jared. The ice is hard and slick under my skates, and I dig deep to find my speed. I stretch my arm out as far as I can reach and manage to capture the puck on the end of my stick.

A massive Vulture D-man heads my way, and I take the risk, sliding the puck between the defenceman’s legs as I duck around him. My teammates yell at me to pass, but I skid around the other defense and find the puck once more. Two more bursts of energy, and I send the biscuit sailing into the net, right over the goalie’s left shoulder pad.

Sick goal.

I punch my arm into the air in celebration, skating past the stands full of Vulture fans as I head back to my bench for the sweet high-fives. The next thing I see is the Verdun rink ceiling, the ice unforgiving underneath my back. I blink, dazed, and then Budi leans over me with a hand against my shoulder.

He spits his mouthguard into his glove. “Bastard checked you. You okay? Or do we need Ashley to check you over?”

“I’m okay.” I force myself to sit up, despite feeling woozy. I refuse to be the kind of player milking an injury for attention or a penalty. Having the trainer come out on the ice is an absolute last resort for me. I blink again, and this time, I narrow in on a fight that’s broken out in front of the Vultures’ home bench. “Who’s fighting?”

“Heersy tackled Torres the minute he checked you,” Budi says, grimacing as he glares at Connor Torres, who plays right wing. He helps me to my feet to faint applause filling the rink. “Torres will probably get a game misconduct for such a dirty hit. Not sure about Jake.”

In the last game, Brandon Leach chirped Jake, and now Torres is cross-checking me. They’ve somehow been able to connect Jake and me, and maybe I’m being paranoid, but I really don’t think I am. Everything’s coming into the open, and what the fuck am I going to do?

My gut throbs, warning me the other shoe is about to drop.

“Piece of shit,” Budi says, glaring at Torres.

The refs finally separate Torres and Jake, and both of them are led off the ice in game misconducts. I ignore Palmer waving me over. Instead, I skate away from Budi, towards Jake. I don’t care if everyone in the rink is watching us. We’re on borrowed time; everyone will know the truth eventually.

Jake spots me and skids to a rough stop by the exit doors. A linesman skates up behind me, calling my number, but I ignore him. I stop in front of Jake and lift up my glove for a fist bump. Jake’s face breaks out into a grin as our gloves connect, and then he’s pushed off the ice.

The linesman gets in my grill, screaming for me to get back to my own bench. I roll my eyes but comply, skating back towards the visitor bench. Torres lingers by the Vultures’ exit door, arguing with the ref, and our eyes meet. I give him the biggest shit-eating grin I can muster and flip him the finger. Torres flinches and looks away, giving me time to hop off the ice and back to the visitor bench as Ashley hurries over to make sure I’m not concussed.

The game finishes with a solid victory for us. We dominate 7–0, trashing them in their own barn, and the locker room is full of excitement as we shower and change into our dress clothes for the bus ride back home. The team trickles out to the bus, various guys disappearing to help haul equipment.

I’ve just finished pulling my coat on over my suit jacket when Seth bursts into the locker room, panting out, “There’s a fight in the parking lot!”

“A fight?” Palmer breaks away from Ben. “Who’s fighting?”

“Leach and Torres jumped Jake,” Seth gasps before disappearing back out the door.

A block of ice drops into my belly, and I push past Palmer before I can stop myself. I slam out of the nearest exit door leading to the back parking lot, where the Hornets bus idles a few feet away. Between the bus and the door, a crowd of guys mills around, Hornets and Vultures alike, with movement in the middle.

I shove through the crowd, launch myself at Leach, and punch him as hard as I can in the face. At an audible crack, blood sprays my face as Leach goes down in a heap. An instant of silence follows, save for the sound of my harsh breathing as I glare at the Vultures, vibrating with fury that they would dare touch Jake.

“Jesus,” Jared says, making a movement towards Leach but then stops.

“Anyone else?” I bellow.

“Break it up!” Palmer shouts, and he’s finally jogging into the center of the circle, along with Vultures’ assistant coach, Murray Sheldon. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Leach started it,” Seth says, skidding to a stop beside Palmer, his cheeks bright rosy red. “Bunch of these assholes came out here and jumped Jake!”

I finally turn to Jake. He’s standing in a wide stance with a tear in the shoulder of his suit jacket and a cut high on his cheekbone. Beside him, Torres kneels on the cement, his lip split open.

I exhale a sigh of relief and take a step towards him, my heart pounding wildly. I won’t feel reassured until I’m able to run my hands all over him to make sure he’s okay. Jake gives a slight shake of his head, though, and takes a step back, inching closer to Cam.

 

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Ivy grew up on the vast prairies in Saskatchewan, where hockey isn’t just a sport—it’s a culture. She resides on Treaty land and spends her time (when she’s not watching hockey, writing about hockey, or talking about hockey) either reading, playing board games with friends, or dreaming about the day she adopts a corgi.

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