by Rachel Reid
Fabian pressed his lips together. His eyes were stinging. It was true, Ryan hadn’t fought him. Why hadn’t he fought him? Not for Fabian’s sake, surely.
“Come on,” Tarek said, covering one of Fabian’s hands with his own. “Let’s get out of here, huh? I think there’s karaoke happening tonight at the Lighthouse. I could see if Vanessa—”
“Thanks,” Fabian said. “But I think I’d like to go home.”
Tarek nodded, then stood. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
Ryan had left his apartment the moment he’d gotten the message.
Fabian: Please come over. I know it’s late. I know we said tomorrow. But I need to see you.
It had been a long fucking day, and Ryan’s mouth was swollen and sore, but if Fabian wanted to see him, Ryan was there.
Fabian was standing outside his building when Ryan arrived, which he didn’t like seeing at all. “What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be—”
But Fabian cut him off by engulfing him in a fierce hug.
Ryan didn’t understand what was happening, so he just wrapped his arms around Fabian and held him tight. It wasn’t until he heard Fabian sniffing that he finally asked, “What’s wrong?”
Fabian’s reply was so muffled, Ryan couldn’t make it out. Fabian’s fingers dug into Ryan’s back, and Ryan was getting scared. He’d never seen him so upset.
“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s okay. I’m here. What is it?”
Fabian finally loosened his hold and looked up at him with damp eyes. “I watched the game.” He reached up and brushed his fingers very gently against Ryan’s split and swollen lip. “I saw what happened.”
Ryan swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. “I wish you hadn’t.”
“You didn’t fight him.”
“No.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you do?”
Ryan cradled Fabian’s face with one palm. “I didn’t want to.” He stroked Fabian’s cheek with his thumb. “I don’t think I want to fight anymore.”
Fabian covered Ryan’s hand with his own. “Then don’t.”
“I don’t know if I’ll have a choice. Coach was pretty pissed with me.” What Coach Cooper had said was that he had plenty of decent fourth-line defensemen he could call up from the farm team, and all of them were younger and faster than Ryan. If Ryan didn’t want to do his job anymore, he could be easily replaced. But Ryan didn’t need to tell Fabian any of that.
“Are you all right? God, your mouth must hurt.”
“It doesn’t feel great, but nothing is broken or anything.” Ryan attempted a smile. “Didn’t lose any teeth.”
Fabian squeezed him again. “That was so fucking scary. I hated it. I don’t want to watch hockey. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” Ryan actually didn’t like the idea of Fabian watching him play. And he especially didn’t like the idea of him watching him fight. Ryan wanted to take care of him, for them to take care of each other. Fabian would make him laugh and try new things, and Ryan would make him feel safe and loved. Because those were things that Ryan could do. Effortlessly.
If Fabian wanted that.
“We should go inside,” Ryan suggested. Fabian nodded against his chest, then pulled away with another sniffle.
When they were inside the apartment, Fabian said, “I can’t watch you get hurt. How do all those hockey wives do it?”
“They’re tough. I think the season is harder on them than the players, honestly.”
Fabian smiled at that. “Can you imagine me sitting with the wives at the games?”
No. For lots of reasons, Ryan couldn’t imagine that at all. “I would never expect you to do that.”
“I know. Of course not. And,” Fabian’s cheeks colored, “I’m not comparing myself to your teammates’ wives. I’m not that delusional. We’re not even—” Fabian crossed his arms, hugging himself tightly, and pursed his lips as if to stop his words from escaping. “Do you think—?”
Ryan sat on the end of the bed so they could be closer to eye-level with each other. “Think what?”
Fabian reached for Ryan’s hands and held them. “Would I be out of line if I asked if I could be your boyfriend?”
Ryan’s heart bounced excitedly. “You want to be my boyfriend?”
Fabian stared down at their joined hands. “I know that our schedules are very hectic, but yes. I’d like to explore this. If you’re willing.”
“Fabian. Look at me.” That was probably a mistake because Ryan forgot how awful his mouth looked. He noticed Fabian’s flinch when he turned his eyes up. Ryan tugged him closer. “My life is a fucking mess, but the one thing I know for sure is that I like being with you. And I would like to be with you as much as possible.”
Fabian squeezed Ryan’s hands, and his lips curved up into an adorable smile. Ryan decided to say the rest.
“I’m happy when I’m with you. This probably sounds ridiculous, but I haven’t felt happy in so long. I can’t even remember. So...yeah. I want to be your boyfriend.” He huffed an embarrassed little laugh. “I can’t believe I finally got to say that out loud after all these years.”
He held his breath and waited for Fabian to respond. For a long moment, Fabian didn’t say anything, and Ryan was worried he had come on too strong. Maybe he was putting too much pressure on him.
Then Fabian said, “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
Ryan’s heart soared. “Me too.”
As a compromise, Fabian retrieved one of his hands from Ryan’s, kissed the tips of his fingers, and pressed them gently to Ryan’s lips. It was one of the sweetest kisses Ryan had ever received.
They ended up spooned together in bed, snuggled under the blankets. Ryan thought Fabian had fallen asleep until he heard him say, “There’s always been something about you. I’ve always been drawn to you. Is that weird?”
Ryan considered it. “I don’t know. But I feel the same way.”
“When you walked into the store where I work, I was shocked. And then...” Fabian turned in Ryan’s arms to face him. “I had this overwhelming feeling of relief. Like this was what I’d been waiting for. This was what was missing. You.”
Ryan stared at what he could see of Fabian in the dark, completely speechless.
“Sorry. That probably sounds nuts.”
“That’s how I felt,” he said quietly. “Like I’d finally found you. I didn’t know I’d been looking but...I found you.”
Fabian smiled so brightly that Ryan could see it even in the darkness. “Then we’d better stick together.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryan groaned as a ball sailed over his leg and into the back of the net behind him.
“Not as easy as it looks, is it?” Wyatt said gleefully.
Ryan stood up with some effort. He wasn’t used to having giant goaltender pads on his legs. Around him, the kids were laughing and cheering—it had been their idea for Ryan and Wyatt to switch roles for today’s floor hockey match. Ryan had let in about a million goals.
“All right,” Ryan grumbled. “I think I’m done.”
“You’re like the worst goalie I’ve ever seen,” Xander said.
“Yeah, well.” It was the best comeback Ryan could come up with. In truth, he had expected to be better at goaltending. He was a defenseman, after all. It wasn’t that different.
He removed the glove and blocker, and then the mask. His hair was embarrassingly sweaty for a friendly floor hockey game against a bunch of kids.
“What do we do at the end of the game, kids?” Wyatt said loudly.
“Hug the goalie!” the kids all yelled back. And then Ryan was nearly knocked over by a tidal wave of young people hugging anywhere they could reach. Wyatt piled on at the very end. It was ridiculous, and Ryan loved every second of it.
“All right, we’ve gotta get going,” Wyatt announced when Ryan had finally been released. “Ryan has to ice his fractured ego.”
Ryan snorted and shook his head.
“What are you actually doing tonight?” Wyatt asked as they were walking to his car.
“I, uh.” Ryan couldn’t fight his dopey grin. “I have a date.”
Wyatt looked delighted. “Yeah? With that same guy?”
“Yeah.” They got to the car and Ryan said, “His name is Fabian.”
“Fabian, eh? What’s he do?”
“He’s a musician.”
“What, like, in a band?”
Ryan shook his head and opened the car door. When they were both seated he said, “He’s a solo musician. His music is really good. You can buy it online.”
Wyatt backed out of the parking space, then said, “How did you meet him?”
Ryan chewed his lip, unsure of how Wyatt would react to this. “He was actually the son of the family I billeted with. Back in Halifax.”
“No shit? And you just started dating now?”
“We reunited in October. Here in Toronto.”
“That’s cool.” Wyatt pulled out of the parking lot onto the street. “I still talk to my billet family from junior. I lived there for four years, so we got pretty close.”
“I only lived with the Salahs for one season. Then I was traded.”
“Jesus, Pricey. Have you ever played anywhere for more than one season?”
Ryan huffed a laugh. “A couple of places.”
“So where’s your date?”
“Just dinner somewhere. Maybe go for a walk.”
“Well, I hope love can keep you warm. It’s supposed to be freezing tonight.”
Ryan’s stomach flopped. Love. “I’ll wear a hat.”
“You gonna bring him flowers?” Wyatt asked. “Do guys do that?”
Ryan hadn’t thought about it. Should he bring flowers? “We can do that,” he said. “Men can like flowers.”
Wyatt seemed to consider this. “Y’know? I would love to get flowers. Why don’t men ever get flowers?”
“Because the world is stupid.”
“No kidding. Hey, let’s stop at a flower shop and we’ll both impress our sweethearts, huh?”
Ryan smiled. “Okay.”
* * *
Fabian sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at his laptop screen. The blinking cursor in the YouTube search box dared him to type the words he had promised himself he wouldn’t.
Nothing good can come from this, he told himself. Then he shook his head and typed Ryan Price fight.
God, there were so many results.
Price Destroys Comeau.
Ryan Price Top Fifteen Fights.
Ryan Price Most Devastating Fights.
Ryan Price Gets Revenge.
Price vs Harvey... BRUTAL!
Fabian looked away. He couldn’t click on any of them. He didn’t want to know this side of Ryan.
But it was a side of Ryan. A big side. The only side that most of the world knew, apparently. Shouldn’t Fabian face it?
He took a shaky breath, and clicked on the Top Fifteen Fights video.
It opened with Ryan wearing a red jersey—Fabian wasn’t sure which team it was—and circling another player in a white jersey who was several inches shorter. Both players had their gloves off, and the shorter guy was removing his helmet. He gestured to Ryan to do the same, and Ryan smiled at the guy before removing his own helmet and letting it fall to the ice. It wasn’t a warm smile, and it wasn’t the sweet, shy smile that Fabian loved. It was a cold, mocking smile that looked all wrong on Ryan’s face.
In the video, Ryan kept circling the other man, waiting and watching, fists raised like a boxer’s in front of his face. The other player finally lunged at him, and Ryan hit him hard with three quick punches to the side of his face. The other man was swinging wildly, but almost nothing landed. A second later, he was on his back, and Ryan was on top of him. Then the refs came and broke it up.
Cut to the next clip where Ryan was wearing an orange jersey. He was glaring at his opponent, his face showing real anger. There was no fanfare before this fight; Ryan just grabbed the front of the other guy’s jersey and started punching the guy’s face. When it was over, the camera showed a close-up of the defeated man’s bloody face, and then Ryan’s bloody hand as he skated to the penalty box.
Fabian closed the window. He couldn’t watch any more of this.
But he had to, didn’t he? He couldn’t pretend this part of Ryan’s life didn’t exist. He couldn’t tuck himself against Ryan’s strong body at night, and kiss his sweet smiles, and shiver under the caress of his enormous hands, without accepting that those hands, and that body, were also used for...this.
He couldn’t be with a man if he only allowed himself to see the best parts of him. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryan or to himself. If he was serious about this relationship—and he was—he had to be brave enough to take the rose-colored glasses off.
He tried to psych himself up. He could do this. Maybe he could even try to find it...sexy? He had friends who were very hot for professional wrestling and MMA fighting. This wasn’t any different, was it?
He was about to reopen the browser and watch another video when his phone lit up with a text. Fabian realized his eyes were wet when he tried to read the blurry message. He quickly wiped them.
Ryan: Hey. I’m here. Early. Sorry.
He checked the time and saw that Ryan was almost an hour early for their date. Fabian wasn’t ready at all.
Fabian: You’re outside?
Ryan: Yes.
Fabian closed his laptop and rushed to the door. He probably looked like shit—no makeup, eyes red, and he was wearing pajama pants and an oversized white T-shirt. When he opened the front door and found Ryan standing outside, holding a bouquet of flowers, he didn’t care. He cupped a hand over his mouth and felt fresh tears stinging his eyes. This couldn’t be the same person he’d just watched in that video.
“Hi,” Ryan said shyly. “I thought you might like these.”
Fabian threw himself into his strong arms, careful not to crush the flowers.
Ryan chuckled. “Miss me?”
Fabian’s reply was a slow nod against the wool fabric of Ryan’s coat. Ryan kissed the top of his head and said, “Everything okay?”
“I just really needed to see you. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here too.”
Fabian stepped back, and took the flowers—a luxurious bouquet of lilies and roses that, like his apartment, was a bold mix of reds and purples. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. Come inside.”
When they were inside the apartment, Fabian asked, “How was your trip?”
“Not bad. We won both games.”
“Congratulations.” Fabian glanced furtively at Ryan’s hands as he was hanging his coat on a hook by the door. They didn’t seem to have any recent bruises on them. He couldn’t shake the image of how bloody his hand had been in the video after he’d punched another man’s face in.
When Ryan shot him a puzzled look, Fabian realized he’d been standing, frozen, holding the flowers. He snapped out of it. “I have a vase I can put these in.” He laughed, and he could hear how forced it sounded. “It will be excited to be of use again. It’s been a while since anyone has given me flowers.”
“Fabian?”
“Where did I put it?” Fabian’s voice was trembling. He swallowed. “Oh, here it is.” He reached up and pulled it off a shelf over his sink.
“Did something happen?”
“Nope. No, I’m fine. I—” The vase fell to the floor with a spectacular crash. “Shit!”
Ryan was there, pulling Fabian away from the broken glass. “Sit on the bed,” he instructed.
“I have to clean it up. Fuck, I can’t believe how clumsy I am.”
“You’re not.” Ryan wrapped a hand gently around Fabian’s wrist and lifted his hand. “Look, you’re shaking.”
“I’m just cold. It’s always freezing in here.”
“Sit down.” Ryan’s voice was firm and steady. Fabian sat. “I’ll clean that up. And then you’ll tell me what’s wrong, okay?”
Fabian wasn’t used to Ryan taking control of a situation, and Ryan acting out of character was doing nothing to help how rattled he felt. He watched as Ryan cleaned up the glass, hoping to god that Ryan didn’t cut himself because Fabian didn’t think he could take the sight of blood on those hands right now.
When the mess was cleaned up, Ryan crouched on the floor in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
Fabian didn’t know what to say. Should he admit that he’d been purposely watching videos of Ryan’s fights? He knew Ryan wouldn’t like that. And if he did tell him, and Ryan learned that the reason for Fabian’s anguish was that he was horrified by what he’d seen—by what Ryan did on a regular basis—how would that make Ryan feel? Like a monster, probably.
Ryan wasn’t a monster. No matter what Fabian had felt when he’d watched those fights, he knew that for certain.
So he didn’t tell him. Instead, he sank to the floor, into Ryan’s lap, and nuzzled his neck. “I want you,” he murmured.
It was cowardly of him, but Fabian needed to erase the images of Ryan fighting from his brain. He needed to replace them with Ryan’s kisses and sighs, and the reverent way Ryan touched him.
“Fabian—” Ryan’s protest was cut off when Fabian kissed him. It only took a moment before Ryan was kissing him back, and then Fabian was unbuckling Ryan’s belt. Ryan sucked in a breath, and suddenly Fabian was being lifted off the floor as Ryan stood, still holding him. Ryan set him gently on the bed, and Fabian scooted back until he was lying against the pillows, grinning up at Ryan as he covered him. Ryan still looked apprehensive, so Fabian helped by removing his own shirt.
“Are you sure you’re—?”
Fabian slid his hands up the sides of Ryan’s broad torso, pushing his T-shirt up. “The only thing that’s wrong with me is that you’re not kissing me.”