by RJ Scott
“Ben, buddy, we need to do this. That loss last night was…”
“Demoralizing?”
“Well, yeah, but this will help get our heads on straight. Look…” He sat up and gazed down on me. “Neither of us is where we need to be mentally. I miss Jacob so much it hurts, way down deep in my soul, and I know you’re trying to juggle this thing with Ethan.”
“How do you know about Ethan and me?” We’d been super secretive, keeping our public personas as friends only.
“Dude, everyone on the team knows. I mean, the way he looks at you and how you gaze at him whenever you’re both in the same room or on the ice? A man would have to be blind not to see it.”
“Great,” I huffed, covering my eyes with my forearm. “It’s supposed to be on the down low because… well, for a lot of reasons.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying you’re tangled up as I am. Dad got us tickets. Let’s take a day off from hockey, romance drama, and fucking essays and just go to the big city for some fun. Dinner after the game with my dad and Ten? A night at a hotel in St. Paul, train back tomorrow after brunch? Sounds pretty tasty, eh?”
“We’ll miss all our Monday classes,” I reminded him.
His face screwed up. “You sound so much like Jacob at times. Fine, let me lay this out in front of you. You’ll be right behind Stan’s net for two periods.” My arm slid off my eyes. Ryker was smiling down at me. “Yeah, that’s right. You can sit there and study one of the greats. Maybe even sit down with him and talk goalie stuff over dinner, so this would, in all actuality, be a work trip.”
“What, you planning on claiming it on your taxes or something?”
Ryker snorted and slapped me hard on the chest. Bare palm to bare chest, the slap hurt like hell. “I just might. Are you in? Come on, say you’re in. Scott and Hayne are coming…”
Getting a chance to watch Stan Lyamin do his thing? Yeah, there was no way I could turn that down. I nodded. Ryker hooted, then shoved a stinky sock into my face before springing to his feet and racing to the shared bathroom to shower and use all the hot water first.
Three hours later, the four of us were seated at the away end of the Minnesota rink, right by the glass, surrounded by fans in evergreen jerseys while we were in dusky blue. No one had tossed beer on us or hurled a hot dog in our direction, but we did get some dank looks. I left my seat during warm-ups, as many did, and pressed my nose to the glass, eager to watch Stan preparing for the game. A girl with blue hair who was maybe sixteen was beside me, waving at Ten every time he skated past. Finally, just before the teams left the ice, Ten picked up a puck on his stick and tossed it over the glass to her. She cried. I mean, literally wept while holding that puck to her breast.
“The girls do know that Tennant is gay and married, right?” I asked Ryker when I was back in my seat, unable to really home in on Stan as there were too many screaming Ten fangirls to contend with.
“Oh, yeah, sure. Want a nacho?”
I shook my head at the proffered box of cheesy corn chips. I glanced past Ryker at Scott. He and Hayne were smooching, not a care in the world that people were milling around them. I was beyond confused as to how to proceed with life. The game pulled me out of my internal melodrama, the Railers crushing the home team with a shutout for Stan and four points for Ten—two goals and two assists—in the 5-0 trouncing. We waited outside the away locker room, in a small office, until Jared and Ten poked their heads in. Ryker gave his dads a hug, we all shook hands, and then we were carted off to a luxury hotel with a personal driver Ten had arranged, as he and the team were on a charter bus.
The afternoon tourist traffic was thick as we left the arena. The hotel was a towering building. I glanced upward as we lingered on the sidewalk, soft flakes of snow drifting down to land on my cheeks. Flags from around the world snapped overhead. Ryker tugged me indoors, and we hustled to the dining room to wait for the team. It was a huge room with soft blue walls and tables already set up for the Railers. The double doors were wide open in anticipation. Servers hustled in and out from a side door, setting up tables with glasses, dishes, and flatware. The rich aroma of beef cooking filled the private dining room. Sipping soda and chewing on crackers, we passed the time talking about the game. When the guys appeared, the lobby kind of went from mundane to hectic, fans milled around the players, shoving papers and hats at them.
I glanced from the hubbub to Ryker. “Someday, that will be us,” I said to Ryker, and he nodded, his expression one of guarded optimism. Scott muttered something that Hayne kissed away, and although I wanted to ask, I didn’t because I suspected Scott would always have some regrets about leaving the sport. Or maybe that was me projecting.
Within minutes, the dining room was packed with hungry hockey players. Food was being brought out and placed into warming bins. Rare roast beef, seasoned chicken, sour cream and onion mashed potatoes, green beans, bowls of fruit, cottage cheese, and massive platters of raw veggies with small dishes of dip. Water, soda, or coffee were continually filled by staff in white slacks and red tops. I returned to the table to find Stan seated beside my empty chair, his husband on his right. Ryker was still at the buffet tables, chatting away with Adler and Jared. Ten roamed up and down the food tables, picking and choosing, laughing at something Dieter had whispered to him as he had passed.
“Come sit, we make goalie talk while we eat,” Stan called, patting my chair. I sat in a hurry, eager to make any kind of goalie talk I could. “Ryker tells me you have bad time with focus and concentration,” Stan said as he buttered a round wheat bun.
“Oh, well, of late yeah.” I placed my plate on the table and tugged my chair closer. “How do you do it?” He shoved the roll in, his cheeks round like a chipmunk, and stared at me as he chewed. “How do you put aside the life stuff when you’re in the net? I thought I was on top of my game, but something sort of happened, and now I’m… it’s hard to juggle it all. But you do, and I mean, you’ve got a husband and three kids. I’ve only got me and school. I guess I’m just…” I sighed and picked up my knife and fork. “I’ve got to win the Frozen Four this year.”
“Is making big weight for carrying on young shoulders,” he replied after he swallowed. “Winning is not just job of one player. Is all.” He used his buttery knife to motion at the loud dining room. “Goalie mindset is tight, yes?” He tapped his temple with the knife. I nodded as I began cutting up my roast beef. “Good, then you must put other life things into places. Like nooks. Do you have nooks in brain?”
“I, uhm…”
Tennant, Ryker, and Jared sat down around us, Ryker steamrolling the goalie talk with the tale about Jared and the dishwasher repair job that had gone horribly wrong. Guess Stan and Erik hadn’t heard it. Jared was less than impressed to be reminded of the smoke that had rolled and the sparks that had flown when he’d tinkered. And how we now had a brand-new dishwasher.
“Okay fine, so my skills lie in other areas,” Jared finally said over the howls of laughter.
“I can second that.” Ten chuckled with a wink and a kiss to his husband’s cheek. I sat back, trying to figure out if nook meant something different in Russian than it did in English, and ate in silence, my gaze steady on Ten and Jared. They touched now and again, nothing too overt or over the top, but enough to let people know they were a couple. It was tasteful, not in your face. Subtle yet making a statement that observant eyes would pick up. Could I have something like that with Ethan? Could we be out and not outrageous? I roamed around inside my head for a long, long time.
“Hey, you going to eat that pudding?” Ten asked, jarring me out of a mental ramble.
“Fuck,” I huffed, aggravated with myself that I missed everyone leaving the table to go back to their rooms and that I’d let myself drift so far from reality. Ten drew his hand back from the small dish of tapioca, smiling sheepishly. “No, hey, it’s fine. Go ahead and eat it if you want.”
“Actually, I’m full. I just came back because the team has retired, and you’
re sitting here looking like someone stole your dog.”
I sighed and shoved the pudding to the center of the table. Servers were clearing off dirty dishes. Had I really drifted that long and that far? Obviously. No wonder my game was off.
“Stan said I need nooks in my head,” I blurted out.
“Sounds like some of his advice. He probably meant you need to learn to compartmentalize.” Ten leaned back in his chair, his green eyes warm. “Or he could mean you need to think like an English muffin. Hard to say at times.” I snorted lightly. “Look, I know this isn’t my place, but Ryker said you’re seeing Ethan Girard but hiding it, and you’re having a bit of a struggle on the ice.”
“Ryker talks too much.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know. Thing is, I’ve been where you are now, right?” He stared right at me, his gaze serious. “Scared to come out because of what may happen to your career, dating an older man and terrified of what people will say about that, afraid of doing something but horrified of not doing something. That where you’re at?”
“Right in the middle of that swamp,” I confessed, then leaned up so that a passing server didn’t overhear our conversation. “How did you handle it?”
“Man, I’m still handling it.” Ten laughed wryly. “The media attention isn’t as hot now as it was at first, but there are still some rogue asshole reporters or those with extreme viewpoints on the sins of homosexuality who pop up from time to time. Overall, though, it’s been a good experience. Most people out there are decent. You think this thing with Ethan, who is one hell of a good guy, might be something serious?”
I thought back to the kisses and whispers, the nights hidden away at his place, and nodded.
“Yeah, I think it could be if I let it,” I admitted, giving a young woman a smile as she passed by. “I’m just not sure I should. Maybe I should wait until after I’ve secured a spot on the team or won the Frozen Four or at least graduated. I just…” I blew out a sharp breath.
Ten leaned up and clapped me on the arm. “God, I recall feeling the same way. Look, I can’t tell you what to do. That’s got to be your call. For me, coming out was the only option because I didn’t want to hide what Jared and I had. For other athletes waiting until they’re more secure or retired is how they handle the whole gay player issue, as if being gay or bi or pan or trans should even be an issue when all we want to do is play…” He paused, took a cleansing breath, and then let it out as a quirky smile lifted his lips. “Sorry, it’s a thing with me. Anyway, all I can offer as advice is to follow your heart.” He thumped me on the chest, lightly, and then pushed to his feet. “Also, I changed my mind. I’m taking your pudding as a consultation fee.”
“Go for it, dude,” I replied and offered him my hand. We shook, Ten grabbed my pudding, stuck his finger in it, made a yummy sound, and ambled off to the elevators to join his husband for the night.
“Follow my heart,” I mused, staring at the flowers in the centerpiece.
The next day I followed my heart. All the way home to Owatonna and to Ethan’s front door. Hands clammy and shaking, I rapped on his front door, head up instead of tucked into my shoulders in case the neighbors saw me. It was kind of early, and Ethan tended to laze around if possible, so he was a sight for incredibly sore eyes when he opened the door. Sleep pants hanging off his hips, cheeks thick with scruff, hair rumpled from sleep, chest bare, tempting lips drawing up into a loving smile.
“Hey, I thought you wouldn’t be home until later today.” He stepped back and opened the door wider, giving the neighborhood an assessing look as I sauntered inside. “You do realize that everyone is up and getting ready for work?”
“Do not care.” I grabbed him by the back of the neck, right there in the open doorway, and pulled his mouth to mine. He was stiff at first, but then as I licked along the seam of his tight lips, he began to loosen up. His hands slid around me, palms resting on my lower back, cinching me tightly to him. He was half-hard already. I kicked the door shut. He pinned me to it, his tongue gliding over mine, his grip on my back shifting to my ass.
“What the hell happened in St. Paul?” he asked when we broke for air.
“Followed my heart,” I replied, slipping my fingers into his hair and yanking his lips back to mine. I lapped in deep, rolling my hips, my hard-on scrubbing over his now rigid prick. “Ten told me to, so I did. Also, there was talk about nooks. Oh man, I need more than this.”
“‘Nooks’?” Ethan asked as I shifted us around, using his gimpy leg as a means to lead a wobbly man to the sofa. “I’m still really confused,” he admitted as he sat with a grunt.
“Russians,” I panted, climbing over him, shoving my hands into his hair and fisting it. He arched an eyebrow as I covered his mouth with mine. God, but his taste was sublime. I sucked on his tongue, gyrating against him, humping madly until we were both on the cusp of coming undone in our pants. Ethan slid a hand between us, his blue eyes hot as he looked to me for permission to free our cocks. We’d never gone this far before. We’d kissed and petted, but I’d drawn the line at unzipping pants, hoping it would keep me on track for the really important things. Now I wasn’t sure that this right here wasn’t one of the most important things as well. It sure felt like it.
“Russian nooks? I’m still not following, but if it led us to this point, then I’ll fill my house with Russian nooks, whatever the hell they are.” I snickered and thrust against the back of his hand, my mouth gliding over his rough jawline, my lips abraded by his whiskers. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure.” I pumped into him, nipping at his throat, my fingers wound tightly in his hair. “Touch me now.”
Him tugging down my zipper sent shudders through me. In no time he had us both in hand, his cock pressed tightly to mine. My eyes drifted closed as he began to work us. When we needed slick, it was me who drew back to spit in his palm, my gaze dropping down to the sight of his fat dick and mine gripped tightly in his big hand. We were both cut. He was thicker, but I was a little longer. Pale and dark, slick cockheads resting side by side.
“I’m close,” I growled, dropping my brow to his, eager to watch our cocks pumping out ribbons of semen as we bucked and snarled. Didn’t take long. I shot before him, the heat rushing through me, out of me, all over his scarred fingers. The spunk eased the friction, made things wetter and noisier. Hotter.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, biting down on my collarbone as his orgasm ripped him into bits. I held his head to my throat, my hips moving convulsively. He made some wonderfully sensual noises, low thrumming growls that pulled more wild tremors from me. Soon, though, the madness subsided, and his lips were roaming over my Adam’s apple, his fingers easing up, our wet cocks growing soft. “You okay?”
“Mm, yeah, I think I am now.” I leaned back a bit and gazed at him, my hands still in his unwashed hair. “This is what I want. Us, together. I don’t want to hide it, but I don’t want a presser to announce it either. I just want to discover us, play hockey, and try to graduate. Can we just be us until May? Are you okay with that?”
“Ben, I’m okay with anything that makes you happy and keeps you in my arms.”
I smiled and kissed him hard and long. There was no guarantee that me taking this road would work out. We might crash and burn in a month, or we might go on to be something great, like Ten and Jared. Whatever happened, at least we’d be a couple, and we’d work through shit together.
“So, how about we shower and have something to eat? I’m so hungry I could eat… well, you.” Ethan buried his face in my throat, bit down softly, and began giggling against my damp skin. “You up to being my next meal, human?”
“Shh, zombies don’t talk.”
“I’ll die again if I can’t talk.”
“Don’t think you can die twice, silly zed.” I slid off his lap and helped him to his feet.
“Fine, I’ll eat you quietly,” he said as he led me to the bathroom.
H
e wasn’t quiet when the feasting began, but then again neither was I.
Eight
Ethan
Coach Quinton was proving to be damn elusive, almost as if he knew I wanted to talk to him, but after attempting to pin him down three times this day alone, I finally cornered him by the gym doors.
“Do you have a minute, Coach?” He’d said I should call him Bob, but my entire life had been hockey, and you never disrespected Coach by using his first name under any circumstances.
He gave a full-body sigh and shrugged. “I guess,” he said and then waited for me to talk. There was no way in hell I was going to do this outside where anyone could walk past.
“Can we talk in your office?”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I knew this would happen.”
“You did?” I couldn’t help sounding bewildered. He somehow knew I was going to talk to him about Benoit and the whole Benoit-Ethan thing?
“Is it Boston? Did they call you back to coach? I heard Vancouver wanted you as well, but that’s just what the forums say, although there were others who said you’d be a perfect fit in Florida. That would be good, working with the other Rowe brother, but if I was you, and I’m not, obviously, I would stick with Boston because they know you there, and…” He shrugged again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. Then it hit me what he’d said. “Wait, Vancouver want me on their coaching team?”
“You can’t always trust forums, but Slider98—he’s a user from the West Canada group—says he heard his brother’s friend…” He sent me a sheepish smile. “You don’t need to know how I heard.”
“Leaving Owatonna right now is not on my list of things to do.” I spoke with complete confidence, although once I’d told Coach about the thing, then he might well consider a move to another country a good idea. Of course, if Benoit ended up where he wanted to be, then maybe I’d be joining Edmonton in some capacity or taking up a role within commuting distance. Hell, maybe I could even fully retire, live off my savings, and spend all my time fishing.