He Shoots He Scores

by Tricia Owens

  “Where is he?” Adrian asked in a rush, losing his composure once he entered the lobby and saw the team’s travel secretary at the check-in desk, holding their room keys.

  “Just missed him,” Jonas told him, to Adrian’s disappointment. “He wanted to get warmed up on the ice before practice. Maybe working out the nerves. Must be a little stressful. He’s never played for another team besides Colorado.”

  “And look at the loyalty they showed him,” Adrian said, frowning.

  “It’s only business, Maggy. You’re here now and instead of leading Chicago, remember?”

  With a grin, Adrian collected his room key from the other man. “Excellent point, JoJo. Business is business and it’s looking up for us. What time is the bus heading for the arena?”

  “You’ve got just under an hour.”

  It was an hour that stretched interminably. By the time Adrian and his teammates were back on the bus, he was practically bouncing out of his shoes.

  “You looking forward to this game tonight or what, Maggy?” Their captain, Elias Koskinen, a Finn with flowing hair so pale it was nearly white, laughed at Adrian’s jitters.

  “Every day, every game,” Adrian replied with a smile. “How about you, Eli? Ready to mix it up with Shannon?”

  Elias’ expression took on a hint of wistfulness. “Never thought I’d be the captain of a team with both Adrian Magnusson and Neil Shannon on the roster. Looking forward to seeing what kind of damage we’ll do to the rest of the league.”

  Adrian laughed. “Hopefully lots. You can see why I’m excited.”

  “Yes, I guess I don’t blame you.” Elias rolled his shoulders. “Now you’ve infected me.”

  The entire team, in fact, seemed more amped up than usual for a gameday practice, in Adrian’s opinion. He was glad the other guys appreciated just what an opportunity this was. They were about to become a super team.

  He led the way into the facility and through the concrete halls beneath the arena to reach the visiting team locker room. He drew up short in the doorway, eyebrows raised. Neil Shannon sat on a bench in front of his player stall, putting on his street clothes.

  “Where are you going?” Adrian blurted without thinking. “We’re about to start practice.”

  Shannon stood and didn’t look up from the gear bag he zipped up. “Felt a tweak in my knee. I’m sitting out tonight.”

  “Coach is scratching you?” Adrian was aware he sounded like a parrot, but he was having difficulty comprehending what was happening. “But it’s your first game with us.”

  “It won’t be. I just told you I’m being scratched.” Shannon hefted the bag onto his shoulder. “I’m heading back to the hotel. Good luck tonight.”

  Shannon was going to walk right past him without another word or even meeting Adrian’s eyes?

  “Wait.” Adrian caught him by the bicep.

  Shannon shook him off with him a glare that sent Adrian back apace.

  “I told you I’m sitting out,” Shannon hissed, his blue eyes glowing with anger and something more that Adrian didn’t quite understand. “Even you can’t tell me when to jump.”

  “What?” Adrian finally felt anger bubble up to overcome his confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t realize you were one of those guys who thought they were hot shit. All that money went to your head. Just because you’re the highest paid player on this team doesn’t make you the GM. Screw you for manipulating my career, Magnusson. No, actually—fuck you.”

  Shannon shoved past, gear bag slamming painfully into Adrian’s shoulder.

  “What?” Adrian repeated dumbly. His teammates filed past him, shooting curious looks at him and Shannon’s retreating back.

  “What’s going on?” Elias asked, stopping beside Adrian to look back down the tunnel. “Where’s Shannon going?”

  Adrian frowned. “I have no fucking clue.”

  ~~~~~

  Practice went by in a blur, so did the hours before the game. Adrian saw Shannon once in that time and that was only a glimpse of the back of the other man as he joined the other players who would be sitting out and watching the game from the upper level players’ box.

  Adrian did his best to focus on the game, but it was a struggle. He missed shots and passes and was called off-sides twice. He couldn’t shake the sensation of Shannon watching him playing and hating on him. It felt like a curse had been cast on him, affecting his play. Fortunately, Baltimore was a middling team struggling to maintain a wildcard spot, so the Kraken beat them easily even with Adrian playing a subpar game. He was grateful when the final period ended and he could tromp off the ice.

  The scratched players were waiting for the team just inside the doors of the locker room. Adrian perked, looking for Shannon in the line. When he saw him, his dark hair and blue eyes contrasting beautifully against his light gray suit, Adrian’s traitorous heart—and dick—gave a happy twitch. But one look at the other winger’s grim, closed-off expression and Adrian knew any attempt to make nice with him would fail horribly. Still, he held out his glove as he passed, hoping for the same congratulatory fist bump that Shannon had given their teammates. Instead, Shannon lowered his hand and turned to talk to one of the other players, leaving Adrian hanging.

  He yanked his gear off and tossed them into his stall. The press coordinator asked if he’d be willing to be available to the press for the post-game interviews, but he surprised the guy by declining. He wasn’t in the mood to offer canned excuses about his play or worse, explain how he felt about the delay of Shannon’s debut with the team. Stripped naked, he grabbed a towel and stormed into the shower room.

  At the last minute, he glanced over his shoulder—and could have shit himself when his gaze collided with Shannon’s, who immediately scowled and turned his back on him. The press swarmed him a moment later. Confused, Adrian found a showerhead and lost himself beneath its spray.

  There were few times he disliked what he did for a living. Usually those times were associated with losses. A bad loss could make him, in the heat of agony, wish to quit playing altogether. Sometimes a bad mood came after uncomfortable questions from the press or aggressive fans who’d lost sight of the boundaries. Very, very rarely was he unhappy because of a teammate. He always found a way to bridge the differences between them. He liked people and he enjoyed their company.

  It was apparent that more than their rivalry had dug the chasm between him and Neil Shannon and Adrian was going to get to the bottom of it.

  It was freezing outside as the team filed onto the bus. Adrian was on a mission. With a smile, he waved off a couple of teammates who invited him to sit with them, making a beeline for the back of the bus where a dark-haired figure sat alone, staring out a window.

  Adrian dropped into the seat beside Shannon. “Hey, what’s up. Thanks for saving a seat for me.”

  The other man’s shoulders drew higher, but he didn’t turn his head. Adrian wasn’t deterred and kept his smile on his face as he stared at Shannon’s glowering reflection in the window.

  “What’d you think of the game? Not my best performance, but the rest of the boys were great, don’t you think?”

  “You don’t know how to take a hint, do you, Magnusson?” Shannon finally muttered.

  “I guess not. I like people being upfront with me, that way I can fix whatever I did wrong. So why don’t you tell me what I did wrong and we’ll work it out.”

  Shannon turned. “You really have to ask?”

  They sat close enough that Adrian could count the lashes ringing the other man’s eyes and see the shadow of his evening stubble growing along his jaw and cheeks through his pale skin. Shannon was as masculine as any hockey player, but Adrian had to say, the man was a beauty.

  “Tell me,” he urged as the bus lurched into motion. “It’s the trade, isn’t it? It upset you.”

  Shannon leaned forward, his woodsy cologne rising between them, daring Adrian to close the gap. But the expression on Shannon’s
face wasn’t as inviting as his scent.

  “You tore me from my team,” Shannon accused. “You fed into the media’s bullshit that I’m this fallen from grace player who needs a team willing to take pity on me and give me a second chance. That’s a shit narrative. There’s nothing wrong with my play and I sure as hell don’t need to be saved from anything, least of all by you and your fat ego.”

  Adrian couldn’t believe what he heard—but after a few seconds, he realized how obvious it should have been to him. He mentally kicked himself for not reading the situation the way Shannon had.

  “Hey, look, this trade wasn’t about my ego,” he said quickly, “nor was it about feeling sorry for you or thinking you needed some kind of help.”

  “Right, that’s why the offer you made Colorado was so pathetic. So damn humil—” Shannon broke off, bleakness darting across his face before his expression hardened.

  “I had nothing to do with the terms of the trade, Shannon. All I knew was that our team could use you and yeah, I’ll admit it—I wanted you on my team because you’re a damn good player and yet a whole lot of people seem to have forgotten that.” Adrian poked him in the shoulder. “You’re here because I want to win, and you’re the player who’s going to help me do it.”

  “So you admit that this was all about you.”

  “This is about the team. This is about winning the Cup. You want to win it, too. I know you do.”

  “I was working on that with my team. The one I took to the Finals last year.”

  “Let’s be honest here. Things weren’t working out with them this year. You were the heart of that team and they lost confidence in you.”

  Shannon looked away, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “No, they didn’t.”

  Adrian spared his ego by not arguing the point. “This team wants you and needs you. How can that be a bad thing?”

  Shannon shook his head, refusing to admit to anything. Something was in his eyes that Adrian didn’t understand. Was it fear? What would such a great player have to fear? Adrian didn’t get it.

  “You want to put all the blame on me?” he asked, trying a different tack. “Okay, go right ahead. You’re right. I did ask Frank to make the move for you. I told him we could get you for cheap.”

  Shannon’s lashes flickered. Adrian regretted he’d admitted so much, but it was too late now.

  “I want that Cup, Shannon, and you’re going to help me get it because I trust you as a player. You’re going to get the job done for me.”

  “Is that so.”

  Adrian didn’t flinch from the fury in his eyes. “It is. You’re experienced and you’re a pro, and as my linemate you’re going to bust your ass as much as I will. You’re going to pull your weight.”

  Shannon was too smart to buy into the challenge. Adrian could tell he saw right through the ploy.

  “If I play, I play for me,” he told Adrian. He stood up and shoved past him. “You may have bought my contract, but you sure as hell didn’t buy me.”

  Adrian dropped his head back against the chair rest and watched Shannon stumble up the moving bus to the next available row with two empty seats.

  He’d screwed up. Shannon had taken the trade personally but for all the wrong reasons. Instead of being flattered, he was insulted.

  Warning him about the trade before it was made might have helped. Adrian regretted keeping silent. But he’d felt like he’d involved himself too much as it was. Giving Shannon the heads up might have come across as him calling the shots...even if, admittedly, that was the case.

  Maybe I did act selfishly here. He hated the feeling that he’d made a mistake.

  ~~~~~

  He stewed in his head for the remainder of the drive and was last off the bus when they reached the hotel. A couple of guys invited him to the bar for drinks since the team wouldn’t be catching a flight until the morning, but Adrian begged off, claiming he wanted to take a walk and ruminate on his performance in the game. His teammates knew him now and understood that no one held him to a higher standard than he did.

  It was a convenient excuse. His confusion and frustration with Shannon’s reaction had morphed into a restless anger. He couldn’t take it out on the other winger or on any of his other teammates, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he engaged physically with someone. He checked the time. It was late, not late enough for comfort, but he was desperate. He'd risk it.

  After changing out of his suit into something casual, he took one of the taxis parked out front and gave the driver an address. The taxi dropped him off two blocks from his real destination by design. Tugging his baseball cap lower, Adrian walked through the shadows of downtown in search of a specific unmarked door.

  It was a weeknight, so the streets were mostly empty. When he found the door and let himself inside, he found that the dark main room was equally quiet. Only a handful of men were at the bar, with one seated in a booth. All eyes swung to him, checking him out, and for a sphincter-clenching moment that specific terror filled him that someone would recognize him and everything would fall apart.

  But none of the men seemed to react to him except as a fresh piece of meat. He knew the difference between a fan’s admiration and that of a man who wanted his body. Breathing a controlled sigh of relief, he slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a beer.

  A guy approached him a few seconds later—slender and slightly geeky, not exactly his type—but Adrian spent a few minutes talking to him anyway, glad to engage in conversation that had nothing to do with hockey or sports in general. The guy turned out to be friendly and interesting, but Adrian hadn’t come here looking to make a new buddy. He had come for something specific, and this man wouldn’t be capable of providing it.

  After he finished his drink, he bought a round for the other man before excusing himself to look around. The club—a generous term for the place—was laid out so that the private stuff occurred in a separate room. That way anyone who opened the main door by mistake wouldn’t get an eyeful of something unexpected.

  The second room wasn’t darker, but the owner had replaced the pot lights in the ceiling with red bulbs. Maybe it was for ambiance, but it made Adrian think of seedy sex clubs. Maybe that was the intention. Except sex wasn’t happening here. A bored-looking DJ sat on a stool behind his turntable in the corner behind a half-empty dance floor. A dozen or so men were scattered throughout the booths, engaged with a partner or holding court, hoping for someone to approach. Adrian glimpsed a few heads in the hallway leading to the restroom. There might be some fooling around happening inside, but the restroom was circular with all the urinals open. Anyone getting action in there was doing so in full view of anyone who used the facilities. Some might get off on that, but it wasn’t Adrian’s thing. He knew of a hotel close by that he could take a man to if it got that far.

  It didn’t look promising, though. His eye didn’t hang on anyone despite him being desperate enough to lower his standards significantly. At this point he needed to get out of his head, press a body beneath him and feel them give way and give in to his will. He needed that touch of control because he felt like he’d lost it with his machinations to get Shannon on the team. The situation wasn’t playing out like he’d planned.

  Frustrated, he re-entered the front room again, telling himself he’d stick it out for one more beer. But the thought drained out of his head when he saw the newcomer sitting at the bar with the geeky guy Adrian had been talking to earlier.

  It was Neil Shannon.

  Adrian didn’t think. He could only walk forward, eyes wide, and place his hand on Shannon’s shoulder. The other winger wore a leather jacket with the collar hiked up, like it provided any sort of disguise or concealment, as though anyone who watched hockey wouldn’t immediately recognize that chiseled jaw and deep blue eyes that went perfectly round with terror when they looked up at Adrian.

  “Hey,” Adrian said.

  Discovering what Shannon looked in a state of pure panic wasn’t something Adrian was p
roud of. He sympathized completely, which was why he immediately said, with conviction, “It’s okay. I’m here, too.”

  I’m here, too. The two of them were in a gay bar, cruising for action. The two of them had just outed themselves in the most blatant way possible. For Adrian, there was incredulity and a bright, piercing joy entwined with relief. Shannon is gay! I’m not alone!

  But his exhilaration faded quickly as Shannon continued to stare up at him as though his entire world had just collapsed.

  The geeky guy was still there, looking curiously between them. Adrian grabbed Shannon by the arm, unsurprised that he offered no resistance; he acted as though he were in a state of shock. Adrian pulled him to the booth in the corner and shoved him in, sliding in after to make it difficult to escape.

  Sitting down seemed to jar Shannon into consciousness. “No, I—I can’t—”

  “Sit,” Adrian ordered, keeping hold of the other man’s bicep just in case he tried to bolt. “It’s okay, Shannon. The world isn’t ending. We’re in the same boat, if it is. We’ll survive it.”

  “Don’t you think you should call me by my first name at this point?”

  “Neil,” Adrian said, the name unfamiliar and yet fitting so well on his tongue. “Neil, it’ll be okay. Trust me.”

  Neil leaned forward, still looking wild. “No, it won’t. I don’t know why I’m here. I just—it was a mistake. I didn’t mean—”

  “We both know it’s a gay bar and we both came here because it’s a gay bar, so save your breath.” Adrian released his arm, unable to help dragging his hand down Neil’s sleeve as he did. “Fuck, I had no idea.”

  “No one does!”

  “And yet in hindsight, it’s all so obvious,” Adrian mused, beginning to grin. “I mean, come on, taking your sister to every event? Biggest red flag right there. No girlfriend, great hair, you never grow out a playoff beard—yep, my gaydar should have been blaring.”

  Neil glared, which was better than the sheer terror he’d been wearing. “I’m careful because I’m not an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not. Not until tonight.”