by RJ Scott
As long as it’s near Benoit.
Where had that thought come from? We’d only been an official couple for two short weeks, but I was addicted to him, and he seemed more than just interested in me, and I wanted it to last past this final year of his at Owatonna. I guess that if the thought of being near him was that close to the surface, then maybe I should listen to my brain and begin making plans.
After today, after this awkward conversation with Coach Quinton.
“So you’re not leaving Owatonna.”
“No.”
He looked confused. “But you don’t want to work with the team anymore?”
“No, I mean, yes, I want to work with the team. Look… can we take this to your office, Coach?”
He led me through the double doors, past the gym, and up the stairs to his office, which was in a small section that jutted out over the ice. From his window, he could see the skaters, and right now, there was a group of little kids sliding around with their tiny sticks while a tall guy, on bended knee, guided their movements with gentle encouragement.
“That’s Scott,” he said and gestured at the man on the ice.
I knew Benoit’s best friend worked at the rink, with the kids, and all the way up to the twelve-year-olds. I didn’t know much else, because despite Scott being Benoit’s best friend, he hadn’t introduced us. Not that it was important, given we’d spent what little time we had together getting our sexy on, and kissing made talking difficult. I think we were in that selfish first flush of whatever we had going on because Benoit never talked about his friends much, let alone having a few moments for me to meet them. Hell, I didn’t even know if the team knew about us. I didn’t want to shout it from the college roof or distribute leaflets or stand on a corner and wax lyrical about what I and Benoit were doing, but the odd friend would be good.
After all, Brady Rowe was on speed dial, and he was my oldest friend in the world, and I couldn’t wait for him to meet Benoit. I really needed to call him, but I knew I was putting it off while I thought long and hard about my future. I could imagine what he’d say; he’d push for me to go back to Boston, I knew it.
What would I do without the team? I’d been one of the lucky ones. I’d only played on one team other than Boston, and that had only been for a couple of years before I’d gone back. I liked to think I made a difference to that team, and I missed the guys so much it hurt. I’d left behind a family, and that was where my head was: grieving. The away games, cards on the plane, the charity events, the camaraderie that marked every single day, and knowing I could depend on the guys for anything, and all of that was gone.
For a few seconds, my nebulous decision to give it all up seemed the absolute worst thing I could do with my life.
“He’s a good player,” I commented when Coach looked at me expectantly.
“Yeah, he works well with the kids. He’s a natural,” Coach Quinton continued. “Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”
I took the chair opposite the desk, and he sat in his own, and this felt better. This was less, Bob Quinton a friend, and more Coach Quinton, my sort of boss, who deserved honesty and respect.
“I wanted to talk to you about Benoit,” I began, and he leaned forward in his chair.
“What? Is he okay? What’s wrong? Is there something—?”
“Nothing’s wrong, sorry,” I interrupted.
He let out a strangled noise and sat back in his seat. “I’ve already lost Scott. I’m not sure I can handle losing my starting goalie as well.”
“It’s not that. It’s a more personal thing.” I steeled myself for explaining and then bit the bullet. “I’ve been seeing Benoit.”
“‘Seeing’?” He was confused.
“Seeing,” I emphasized, and his eyes widened. “In fact, Benoit and I are in an exclusive relationship, and I wanted you to know so you can decide what you do next.”
“‘Next’… ‘do’…” he repeated random words and then scrubbed at his eyes. “Okay, I can’t see that…” More scrubbing, and then he pulled thick books from his shelf, the NCAA Ice Hockey Rules book and the NCAA Ice Hockey Officials' Manual. He flicked through the index and muttered to himself.
“Strive to have a positive relationship with players. That is all it really says, without going into detail. You’re not a paid coach, but you still have a responsibility. So, okay, there’s nothing in there that… really, you and Benoit?”
“Really.”
“Well, that’s not something… we’ve… you’re not an official coach. He’s a grown man, and I can’t see how this will be against the team ethics, but I do have one concern.”
“You’re worried that if anything went wrong between us, that it will mess with his head and the team.”
He smiled at me, then shook his head. “Not wholly the team thing. I like Benoit, and he’s going to go far. He has sheer determination and a focused will. I’m more worried that if anything happens to end what you have between you, that it will impact his future. He’s destined for big things, becoming an NHL starter. He has that in him.”
That was something I could get excited about. “I see Benoit picking up the Vezina Trophy by the age of thirty.” I was confident that would be true. There was something about Benoit, a beauty in the way he connected with the ice in the same way as some of the best goalies in the game. All he needed was a good team in front of him, and he could be a hall of famer.
He could go all the way.
“Agreed.” Coach pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Okay, this is no one’s business but yours and Benoit’s, so you’re covered, and he is too. What I suggest is, you put this in writing, and Benoit does too, separately, and I’ll respond officially on behalf of the team and college. There might not be anything endorsed in the NCAA guidelines, but I want to cross all my T’s and dot all my I’s. Two grown men have their own business to attend to, but we have to be sure, with you being in a position of influence, albeit in an unofficial capacity.”
“I can always stand aside.”
“I don’t think that is something you have to do right now.”
I pulled out the letter I’d already written and handed it over. The letter had been Downer’s idea, my fellow coach thinking it a good idea to get those same I’s and T’s attended to that Coach had talked about.
“That’s my letter. I’ll let you go to Benoit direct, but right now, he wants what we have kept on the down low, wants to focus on his studying and his hockey.”
Coach Quinton nodded. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his seat. “Now, back to hockey. From a defense perspective, tell me what you think about Ryker Madsen. I’m having a hard time matching players to his speed for his line, and his wingers are vulnerable to other teams’ D-men. I’d like to hear your thoughts on how we get him to slow down a little while not taking the shine off of what he can do.”
Asking Ryker Madsen to slow down was like asking Downer not to keep reminding me of the embarrassing stories of when I was eighteen. Still, we managed to look at Ryker from a defense point of view, talked about Benoit, the D-corp, the forwards, and before I knew it, two hours had passed.
By the time I left the office, we’d hashed out a plan for Ryker, a solid defense plan for the team, and a promise I’d work with Downer on strategy. I still refused to be officially hired. I was there as a volunteer, and that was the way I wanted it to stay. I worked the same hours as Downer did, I was here at the rink more often than not, but that final tie was something to avoid.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do next. I just knew it could possibly involve following Benoit to whatever city he ended up in.
I have it so bad.
I had to stop for a breather. If I’d still been an NHL player, I would’ve been working on my strength, not losing the edge, but I wasn’t going back, and my muscles were telling me I was turning into a lazy ass.
If by lazy, I mean not training six hours a day and instead spending only an h
our in the gym trying to do as much as I could with my leg still in a cast.
“Are you sure this is a Canadian tradition?” I was tired from crutching all the way to the top of this damn hill in Mineral Springs Park. Not that I could blame Benoit. After all, he’d asked me on more than one occasion if I was okay with this, but damn my hockey player’s idiocy because I told him every time that I was fine. The cast was coming off this week, and then it was down to one hell of a lot of PT and repairing muscle wastage, but for now, I was on the crutches, with my decorated cast, wrapped up against the Owatonna cold, and celebrating Thanksgiving.
American Thanksgiving. Which to me is one whole day of food, drink, football, and vegging on the sofa nursing a beer.
But this was not what Thanksgiving was, it seemed, if you were in a relationship with an ornery Canadian who had decided that this American Thanksgiving would be done in a Canadian Thanksgiving style.
Which apparently meant a walk.
“I told you, we don’t really do much celebrating. It’s more about being thankful and getting out in the fresh air.”
A walk. For fuck’s sake. I grumbled and cursed at him, but secretly I enjoyed following him up the hill and staring at his ass for forty minutes.
“Yeah, well, next year we’re doing it my way,” I groused, and he sent me a look that spoke volumes.
Next year? We gonna be a couple next year? Will I be playing in a city a thousand miles from you? How will this work? The thoughts hung unspoken between us, and finally Benoit changed the subject altogether.
“This entire park was carved by melting glaciers,” he announced, striding to the edge of the tree line and onto a small viewing platform.
“I did live here you know, but carry on.” He shot me a grateful look.
“I love it up here. Scott and I would walk this way when we first came to Owatonna, but you know, studying, hockey, it’s all too much now to fit in walking with no purpose and staring at a pretty view. Come see.”
“I think the view from here is gorgeous,” I teased as he turned to find me staring at him.
“Get your ass next to me,” he ordered, and I crutched over to stand next to him and looked at the park. It was lovely up there, not Grand Canyon impressive or Pacific Ocean expansive. It didn’t have tall monuments or anything super dramatic to break the wash of greens and blues, but what it did have was peace that I could get used to. Of course, having Benoit at my side was part of that peace.
“So, you want to hear the legend? About how the town got its name.”
“As I said, I did live here, but you know what? I’d listen to you recite a shopping list,” I teased, and we knocked elbows.
“Well, I think it’s kind of cool. A tribal Chief had a daughter, Owatonna, but she was ill, like fading away kind of ill. So, he’d heard about some healing waters, and he moved his entire tribe to the site of the natural springs. Right there on the banks of Maple Creek.” He pointed down at the ribbon of water that ran straight through the park. “They say that she drank from the springs and was all healed, and the legend is that her spirit is here on the banks of the river and welcomes travelers from all over.”
“That’s pretty much what I know as well.”
“That’s the legend, but actually Native Americans camped near the river, and they called it ‘Ouitunya,’ which means ‘straight’. I kind of like the daughter story, though.” He took my hand and laced our fingers, and I shuffled my foot a little to stand firm. “I’m sorry I made you listen to me tell all that, and come all the way up here.”
“I’m enjoying you talking.” We stood in silence a moment or so more, and I leaned on him more so I could stay standing. He took my weight and held me steady, and we kissed a few times, talking softly in between about the daughter and the river.
“I gave my letter to Coach Quinton,” he announced on the way down. I was trying hard to stay upright, so didn’t have a lot to say to him about that, but his tone implied he wanted to talk about it, and as soon as we were out of the cab and back in my house, I opened a conversation right up.
“Was it okay? Writing the letter I mean?”
He grinned that wide sexy grin of his that never failed to make me want to kiss him so damn bad. “It’s all good.” Then he leaned into me but nowhere near close enough to kiss, and I wasn’t going to close the distance unless he wanted me to. I’d lost count of the days we’d been a thing, but every single hour with him, I wanted to touch him, kiss him, make him smile. I didn’t want him to get bored with me or my kisses. It would’ve broken me if he ever turned to me and said he was done with me; that was how bad I had it. I changed the subject.
“So what’s next today on this American-Thanksgiving-the-Canadian-way?”
“Ryker has this thing,” Benoit murmured, “if you’d like to go. Would you? Everyone will be there. My friends, I mean, not his dad and Ten, because they’re on the West Coast, but you’ll meet Hayne and Scott, and I want you to meet Scott.”
“I’d love to—”
“I get that it’s hard, that you’re a coach, and you know the guys in that capacity, well, Ryker at least, but Scott, I’m sure you’ve seen him out there, and they’re my friends, and I want you to meet my friends, properly, off ice.”
I summarized what he was asking. “You have an event that is something to do with Ryker, and everyone will be there, and you want me to go, or us, as a couple maybe.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “You want to do that?”
“I said I’d love to.”
“Really?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” It seemed this wasn’t a question I was getting an answer to, because Benoit leaped to his feet. He held out a hand to help me up, which I took because, sue me, I might have been able to stand on my own, but I’d have done anything to hold his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Now?” I looked down at my muddy jeans and thought about how my beanie had made my hair stick up like a porcupine. Not to mention I hadn’t shaved. “Can I just have an hour to make myself look…”
He knocked shoulders with me. “An hour in the shower sounds good.” He walked away toward the bathroom and glanced over his shoulder at me. “I’ll wrap your leg,” he said with a wink.
I’d never moved from my kitchen to the bathroom as fast as I did, losing the crutches and hobbling. Benoit and water, maybe a blow job? Yep, I was all over that. I wrapped my cast in a haphazard fashion and climbed in. When he went to his knees, staring up at me, his eyes wide with passion and his lips wrapped around my cock, I didn’t close my eyes but watched every wet, erotic, moment, his hands on my hips helping to hold me steady. I pushed him away at the last moment, wanting to see myself coming over his dark skin, and I couldn’t help the words that slipped out, even with how hard I’d been trying to wait.
“I love you,” I said, and then I closed my eyes because it was too early, and he’d just stare at me as if I was fucking mad.
Only he didn’t.
He stood, pressed his weight into me, slotting his hard cock against my thigh and sliding it in the tight space between us, and he stared at me, didn’t take his eyes off me, groaning at his release, kissing me hard, and pulling back a little.
“Well, shit,” he said, “I love you, too.”
“Too fast for you?” I asked because he needed to know that I was worried.
But he smiled at me, kissed me, and we stood under the warm water.
“When you know, you know.”
Nine
Benoit
I was more than a little nervous about bringing Ethan to the house. It was one of the heaviest things that I’d been carrying around. Ethan and my friends, hockey, school, and the arrival of another one of those pink envelopes yesterday. I’d found it propped up inside my cubicle in the Eagles dressing room, resting inside a spare helmet, inked-on eyes staring at me from within the confines of my headgear. It scared the living shit out of me. Even with a room full of burly men, I felt exposed, alone, and terrified.
I didn’t open it. I threw it into my bag, hiding it among papers and notes, unsure how to deal with the situation. Was it someone on the team? It had to be, right? Who else had access to my stuff, to this area, unless it was another player? But the notes felt personal. Really personal. As if this sick person and I had history. But that was impossible. I hadn’t dated anyone on the team or any other sports team on campus. A couple of girls here and there, but women weren’t allowed in the locker room so…
Just when I thought I’d gotten past the worst stuff, this started. Inhaling deeply, I pushed the worry into a dark place, as I had all the notes, and focused on the current worry, which was Ethan and my housemates.
Not that I thought he’d embarrass me or anything like that. It was more how Ryker, Scott, and Hayne would react to him and me as a couple.
“Are we going in anytime soon?” Ethan asked, his words clouds of steam that blew away on a crisp Minnesota breeze. “Not that I dislike admiring doors. This one is a particular beauty, late nineteen eighties if I’m not mistaken. Eggshell-white with a lovely set of brass hinges and—”
“Okay, smartass, I get it,” I said with an eye roll, then threw the door open. He maneuvered his way through the door, I followed, and we both sighed at the smell of roast turkey.
“This is going to be so good.” Ethan grinned as we peeled off our coats and boots. “Did I mention that I hold the Owatonna County Fair record for pie eating?”
“You did not mention that,” I said, motioning him toward the kitchen at the back of the house. There was a lot we didn’t know about each other. Had we rushed into saying that L-word too quickly? Maybe we should have waited? Perhaps it would set us up for failure, confessing such deep emotions when we’d only been together such a short time?