by R J Scott
My son had a future as a skater. One day he’d be that left wing people talked about. Hell, if Ten stayed healthy—And, why wouldn’t he? After all, not everyone had a fucked-up heart like me—then Ryker might even play on Ten’s wing.
It was possibly the best night of my life.
And from the way Ryker and Ten were currently rolling around on the ice with tears of laughter on their faces and Ryker giving Ten a snowy face-wash, I thought they might feel the same too.
The great Jimmy Everett, fabled left wing and star of the Red Wings back in the seventies, turned up halfway through morning practice, the last before our short Thanksgiving break. We were lucky this year—no game on turkey day, and the day off before and after. Win/win. Going to Ten’s family’s place was going to be a good use of the break, or so I kept telling myself.
But first I had to deal with Ev.
Coach called me over, inclining his head to where Ev stood talking to management. What the hell he was even doing this close to the Railers was open for debate. I’d seen him chatting to Ryker, but that didn’t last long, with Ryker’s body language screaming discomfort. Don’t get me wrong, Ev was an okay grandpa as grandpas go, but he was also so focused on Ryker making the NHL at the earliest moment possible, and to the best team out there, that I think even Ryker was sick of it.
Ryker, in one of my Railers’ hoodies, was next to Ev at that moment, and he looked like he was going to explode. Ev was chatting away to half the management team, who in turn fawned over him like he was freaking Gretzky or something.
I caught the end of some impressive backpedaling.
“What I mean by that,” Ev was saying, with accompanying hand movements, “is that Ryker is certainly good enough for original six.”
“Grandpa,” Ryker hissed, scarlet with mortification.
“I see him back in Canada myself,” he added. “So, I wasn’t meaning to offend with my O6 comment.”
“No offense taken,” our marketing director lied. She exchanged looks with me—long-suffering and getting impatient type looks. “Anyway, please feel free to tour the rooms, and we’ll meet back for lunch at one. Will that suit?”
Ev nodded. “I don’t eat shellfish,” he pointed out.
Abruptly, I pictured accidentally-on-purpose pushing Ev’s head into a bucket of shrimp cocktail, and the image was so good I knew I would want to share it with Ten later.
“Ryker, you want to come with me?” I asked.
Ryker was at my side immediately, and I corralled him into the changing area, where I removed my skates. We shared the area with the team, the only demarcation between coaching staff and players a small wall at waist height. I loved this practice arena, just because I felt like I was inside the team, like there was no barrier.
Unfortunately, Ev followed us, looming over me.
“Patrick McNulty wants to talk to you. I gave him your number,” he announced, his voice loud enough that everyone could hear. McNulty had a lot of the big guys, but I knew from experience that most of them wanted out.
“McNasty?” I began patiently. “The agent? The one whose blackmailing tape of that Leafs kid went viral?”
Ev huffed. “He’s the best in the business, and I want him for Ryker.”
“Fuck, no.”
“Well I gave him your number.” Ev crossed his arms over his chest like this was a done deal. “You’ll talk to the man.”
“No.”
Ev turned to Ryker. “I’m trying my best for you, Ryker, but see what I have to put up with? Your father is like a brick wall here.”
I slipped on my shoes—funny how I felt more settled knowing I had them on and could safely kick Ev’s ass without breaking a toe—and stood up.
“For the last time, Ev. Ryker is too young for an agent. He is staying at school, he is finishing, he will join his eligible draft, and he will not burn out. At eighteen, his mother and I will go with him and interview as many goddamn agents as it takes to make sure he has the best representation, and it will be his decision.”
Ev turned a funny shade of purple, and I could see the headlines now—Hockey Player Stands Up To Pseudo-Father-In-Law And Kills Him—but it wasn’t a coronary, just a fit of temper, and fuck he’d been keeping it inside for a long time, because it hit me with the force of a tornado.
He leaned right into my space and he spat the words out like machine gun fire. “You think I don’t see you pulling my grandson into your degenerate ways? You think I don’t know about you and Rowe? Ryker stays with you, and I know for sure you and Rowe are probably fucking right in front of my grandson.”
“Jesus, Grandpa,” Ryker tried to interrupt, but Ev had a full head of steam and there was no stopping him.
“The moment you ruined my daughter I knew you were trash, and your deviancy is polluting everything that could be good about Ryker.”
The words slid over me because they meant nothing, but the reaction in the room was very different.
The whole room, I mean.
The coaching staff and the entire Railers team were in this space, and Ev was losing his shit in front of an audience and outing the fact that Ten and I were together at the same time. Jesus Christ, this wasn’t happening. I placed a calming hand on Ev’s arm.
“Let’s take this somewhere else.”
“Mr. Everett, could we ask that you leave the area.” This from Coach Benning, who moved closer.
Ev rounded on him and shook off my hand at the same time.
“Do you realize what kind of man you have working for you?” he asked Coach.
“A good man,” was all Coach said. I could have kissed him.
His words didn’t defuse the situation. Instead, Ev got louder. “He’s sleeping with one of your skaters. You understand that, right? He’s destroying your team like he’s destroying Ryker’s chances.”
Then everything went to shit. Shit of unimaginable proportions. Stan gripped Ev’s upper arms and bodily lifted him away from me as Ryker slipped in between us.
“Make Hulk,” The big goalie said, and deposited Ev behind him, blocking him. I looked at Ten, I looked at the team, then at the coaches.
“I can explain,” I said. I’d take the blame, resign, tell everyone this was nothing, that Ten was a good guy and they shouldn’t trade him or fucking lynch him or anything.
Ten ruined it all. He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed me. Nothing too X-rated, just a soft kiss, then he backed away and turned to face the team. Some of the guys looked shocked. A couple were exchanging money. I only saw one really unhappy face, a new guy just traded in. Adler Lockhart, all mouth and attitude up in everyone’s faces. He didn’t seem happy at all.
“I’m in a committed relationship with Mads,” Ten announced.
Ryker stood the other side of me, and I felt like the strongest and luckiest man on Earth.
“So yeah,” I said a little late and with a whole lot of lame. “I’m with Ten.”
Ev let out a snort of disgust. Stan simply picked him up in a fireman’s carry and exited stage right. The coaching staff melted away, and Ryker went with them like he knew me and Ten needed to do this alone with the rest of the team.
“Guys?” Ten asked.
“Well, you sure like to make things hard for the team,” Adler Lockhart laughed. “Can’t we forget this happened? We don’t need the stress of who checks out whose cocks in the dressing room.”
“Fuck you Lockhart,” Arvy snapped.
“Got no problem with you and coach being a thing,” another voice said.
Even Adler finally murmured agreement after everyone stared at him.
Then Connor, who’d been watching practice from the bench and was now sat back in his stall, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly.
“This doesn’t leave the room,” he said firmly.
I bristled. Hell, I could feel myself getting defensive.
“You want to talk to me alone?” Ten said from next to me, sounding more worried than I liked
to hear. I clasped his hand; he wouldn’t be doing that alone.
“No.” Connor frowned. “Just, if you’re keeping it on the down-low, you don’t want the idiots in this room flapping their gums. We’ll back you when you make it public. Okay?”
He wasn’t asking us if that was okay, he was asking the team, and to a man they said yes.
Then he sighed noisily and hobbled over to us. “But seriously, guys, you might want to put a gag order on Everett.”
I nodded. That was a given.
Now more people knew about our being in love.
And it was a good feeling.
Fourteen
Tennant
Stepping off the plane at Myrtle Beach International Airport, I couldn’t believe how cold it was. I burrowed down into my Railers hoodie.
“Christ, it’s freezing,” I complained while Mads, Ryker, and I disembarked. “It must be like fifty or something.”
“Sissy beach boy,” the Canadian behind me chuckled.
Giving him the bird as a reply was my first thought, but since there were a couple old folks in front of me, I gave him a dark look over my cold shoulder instead.
“Hell, we’re out in tank tops and sandals when it hits fifty in Ontario,” Mads said.
“Good for you,” I muttered.
Ryker chuckled at the banter. He was a really cool kid. I know that some people would make all kinds of snide comments about how close in age Ryker and I were when Mads and I were public knowledge… if we were ever public knowledge. Fuck the haters and everyone who looked like them.
I hustled into the terminal to avoid frostbite. My folks were right there, grinning madly. Mom got to me first, pulling me into her arms and holding me tight for a long time. I embraced her tenderly, blinking at the moisture gathering in my eyes.
“My baby is home,” she whispered by my ear. I gave my father an awkward smile as Mom clung to me like a Capuchin monkey.
“Okay Jean, we have to move. We’re blocking traffic,” Dad commented.
Mom pressed a kiss to my stubble-coated cheek. “Now it feels like Thanksgiving.”
There was so much love in her eyes I had to cough and sniffle a bit before stepping away to motion to the men who’d flown down with me.
“This is Jared’s son, Ryker.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Ryker.”
Mom hugged him as well, but not as ferociously, and then pecked Mads on the cheek. Dad clapped Mads on the back, shook hands with Ryker, and then tugged me to his chest for a sound man-hug.
“It’s good to have you home, Tennant,” Dad told me as we headed to get our luggage.
After our bags were in hand, we hustled out to the parking lot. Mom herded us into their new red Dodge Durango. We all chatted during the drive from the airport to my parent’s house.
We stepped out of the Durango and I glanced at Mads. He looked stressed, his mouth set and his eyes worried. I thought about taking him for a walk to the beach just a block away, but my mother was already pulling me toward the house.
Mads threw an arm around Ryker, whispering something into his son’s ear. The roar that rolled out of the front door when Dad pulled it open made Ryker’s eyes flare.
“Twin two-year-olds,” I shouted over the high-pitched squealy giggles that met us at the door.
Brady’s girls were dressed alike in tan overalls over white lacy tops. Their dark hair was pulled into those little Pebbles Flintstone top-of-the-head ponytails. The girls saw Ryker and Mads, then ran off screaming at the top of their lungs.
“Mom, you seriously need to hand out ear plugs at the door.”
Total bedlam erupted. Jamie raced past with one twin on his shoulders, Brady the other girl, both stopping only long enough to say “Yo” to me, Mads, and Ryker before thundering off.
“Welcome to the loony bin,” Dad chuckled as children squealed and wives shouted at husbands to stop roughhousing in their parents’ house. “It’ll be like this until the boys leave,” he tacked on, for Mads’ sake, I think.
“It’s as lively as I remember,” Mads commented while peeling off his jacket.
Mom took our coats and hung them in the hall closet, then herded us into the madness. Kids, toys, two Lisa’s, Brady’s black lab, Bourque, and my brothers. We were shoved into the melee. It felt like home. Loud, rowdy, and slightly crazed. I introduced Mads and Ryker to Brady’s and Jamie’s wives. Blonde Lisa and Brunette Lisa, respectively.
“So, am I not going to fit in here, not being a Lisa?” Mads whispered to me as we lounged on the couch catching up. That made me laugh. I wanted to pat his thigh or lean in for a kiss, but I’d not quite found the right way to tell my parents about me and Mads. I would… hopefully.
Dinner was pizza and wings that night, since Mom said she had enough cooking the next day. By the time the pizza was gone, Mads had lost some of the tension lines around his mouth and eyes. We watched old Stephen Seagal movies until midnight. Sitting beside Mads all night, his hip and thigh next to mine, but not being able to touch him had driven me slightly crazy. I’d rolled a thousand scenarios about a secret tryst around in my head, but two things stood in the way. The fact that Mads was sleeping in the man cave with his son on the pullout sofa, and the idea of having sex in my parents’ house. There was just something squicky about doing it where my mother might hear. Now doing it where she couldn’t hear…
“Hey,” I whispered to Mads after everyone had headed for their beds. “Meet me in the back yard in an hour.”
His eyebrows knotted.
“Just do it.”
I jogged up to my old bedroom and spent the next hour reading over some old comics from a box in my closet. When my phone alarm sounded softly, I grabbed a Railers hoodie from my bag, tugged it on, and slipped quietly past all the sleeping Rowes, then down the stairs, carefully avoiding the sixth step, which creaked loudly. Mads was standing in the kitchen in nothing but fleece pants and a tank top, his shoulders looking so much broader than his lean waist. Yeah, I needed me some of that.
“Come on,” I whispered, then carefully unlocked the back door. Out I went into the night. “Fuck, it’s cold.”
“Tennant, what the hell is this all about?” he asked when we were standing under the old oak that stood in the center of my father’s well-groomed backyard. I waved a hand over my head. He glanced up. “It’s a treehouse.”
“Yep,” I said, then scurried around him to climb the boards that served as stairs. “And we’re going to get jiggy in it. That is the term you used back in your youth, right?”
“Christ, you’re a smartass,” I heard him comment.
Flipping the trap door up, I shimmied through the opening, which had gotten much smaller since I was ten, eyed the low ceiling, then wiggled aside so Mads could try to get in. His shoulders almost stopped the whole secret tryst thing, but we wiggled him free and up into the cobwebby little box with windows.
“I remember this place being bigger,” I mumbled while using my flashlight app to check out the place. The old Marvel posters still hung on the wall. As did one of Wayne Gretzky. “And not nearly as cold.”
“And you expect us to do what in here, exactly?” Mads asked. I doused the light and crawled over to where he was seated beside one of two windows.
“I told you. We’re going to sneak in a screw,” I replied as I began peeling my clothes off. “Shit,” I shivered when I was nude. “I’m going to freeze my nuts off.”
“We can just go back inside and get back into our warm beds and fuck when we get home,” he stated, but his hands felt all kinds of into the sex thing when I slithered over his lap and sat on his thighs. He was all touchy feely, his fingers roaming over my chest and shoulders as a lone beam of moonlight peeked through the window, throwing Mads and me into dappled ivory light.
“Or we can stay here and fuck now,” I moaned when his touch traveled downward, his rough fingers gliding over the head of my cock.
I rocked against him, linking my fingers behind his head
. He rolled his hips upward. I smiled at the hard length of him sliding up against my ass. I lowered my head, my mouth traveling over his rough cheek to his lips. He thrust his tongue in roughly, tangling it with mine as he gave me one long, hard stroke. Oh yeah, he was into this big time. His kiss was aggressive, demanding, exhilarating.
“Did you bring stuff?” Jared panted after leaving my mouth to chew on my neck like a playful tiger cub.
“What kind of tryst master would I be if I didn’t bring stuff?” I asked while reaching for my hoodie.
I got his cock out of his sweats, then made fast work of the condom and lube so I could get myself seated on him properly. Knees tight to his hips, fingers locked behind his head, his hands on my hips, I eased myself down onto him. The burn and stretch stole my breath.
“Easy, go easy. Slow. Damn it, Ten. Just… shit, damn it.”
I chuckled at his loss of words. I would have said something, but; I was struggling with my words too. Instead of talking, I just moved. That seemed to be the best reply. Long, slow, circular rotations of my hips that got him deeper and deeper and deeper still...
His fingers bit into my hips. With each roll of my pelvis, his cock bumped my prostate. Each bump pulled a groan from me. Each groan of mine got a matching moan from him. It was a fast, heated coupling. I came with no other stimulation than him being inside me. Mads ground his hips up into me as I rode out my orgasm, his grip almost painful. One huge thrust upward sent him over the edge as well. With his cock kicking inside me, I covered his mouth with mine, sucking on his tongue as he bucked underneath me.
I collapsed into him, my lips moving across his cheek to his neck. “God, that was epic,” I murmured over his jugular. He continued to keep me in place, his fingers still firm on my hips.