Harrisburg Railers Box Set 3

by R J Scott

  He drew in a shaky breath. I heard my mother cough discreetly. A bird sang out in a nearby oak.

  “I was lucky. I didn’t have to cross the globe or traverse jungles to find that most sought-after trove… true love. It was right there, looking at me, and I knew right then that even if I never won a championship, or signed a billion-dollar contract, or never wore one of those big, blingy rings, I’d still be rich beyond measure because I’d found you. Our love is a treasure. It’s the most precious thing in my life. How lucky am I to be able to have found your love so soon? How lucky am I to be able to wear our adoration as a king wears his crown jewels? How lucky am I to have found you, Jared Madsen? And how damn lucky am I to be able to call you my husband, my lover, and my best friend? I love you.”

  With that, I pressed my lips to his.

  “We’re not to that part of the ceremony quite yet,” the officiant said with humor.

  “I know, but it had to be done,” I replied as my gaze rested on Jared’s face.

  “Always the impatient one,” Jared whispered and gave my knuckles a kiss.

  The rest of the ceremony went quickly, the words kind of blurring a bit until we got to the power-vested-in-me and the I-now-pronounce-you-husband-and-husband and the you-can-kiss-now bit.

  Jared pulled me into his arms, lowered his head, and kissed me with such love and passion I felt it down to my toes. Applause filled the warm summer air. We were still kissing. Hoots and hollers broke out. We were still kissing. Laughter broke out, and yes, we were still kissing.

  “Okay, save it for the honeymoon,” I heard Brady say, and that kind of dulled the lust. A little. Pulling back an inch, I smiled at my husband. He smiled back. We were pelted with bird seed and good wishes as we dashed past our guests, hand in hand.

  “We did it,” I panted, yanking Jared to the nearest tree, then kissing him again. His hands roamed over my back, pinning me to him “We did it. We got married. Would it be rude to ditch the food, dancing, and drinking in favor of the honeymoon sex? I’m asking for a friend. His name is Dick.”

  “Ass,” Jared laughed, pressing his lips to mine for another moment.

  Sadly, it was just a moment because the wedding party and the planner arrived, as did the photographer. The happy couple was then made to stand here, then there, and then over here at least forty-five thousand times. I kept eyeing the massive white tents billowing in the warm wind, knowing that the food and the band were awaiting us. We’d not leave the grounds for at least six hours, so obsessing over getting Jared naked wasn’t going to do much for me, aside from leaving me with a half-hard dick to contend with. Instead of dealing with a chub for the entire reception, I threw myself into the madness of the moment, letting Trent lead me around like a prize pug on a glittery leash.

  “Mother of the groom! We need the mother of the groom over here by the azalea!” Trent shouted and clapped to be heard over the band warming up a few hundred feet away.

  “Which groom?” Jared yelled back, and we all snickered.

  Trent waved him off with a swirl of the black-and-white-checkered taffeta scarf hanging artfully around his neck. And here all I’d worn as a decoration for my tux was a green rose boutonnière.

  I posed with my mother, my father, then my mother and father together, my brothers, my sisters-in-law, my nieces, my husband, my husband and Ryker, and my best friend. Oh, and then Jared and I posed with the team. Layton buzzed around, taking pictures for the official Railers Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram pages. Trent flitted around like a well-dressed hummingbird, sipping some sort of sweet-looking melon-colored drink from a tall skinny flute, his white sunbonnet never leaving his head despite a few good gusts of wind.

  “Did he staple that hat on?” I asked Dieter as we were waiting for all the guests to find the food/bar tent—aka the Big Top—so we could be announced and Stan could give his best friend speech.

  “He has tricks,” Dieter replied with a shrug. “Lots of goopy hair stuff and bobby pins, I think? I don’t really know. I just kind of give all the stuff on the bathroom counter a wide berth. The last time I tried some of his pomade crap, my hair kind of cemented into a solid block that required some sort of relaxer and a pair of clippers to remedy.”

  “Oh damn, I remember when you went buzzed that time!”

  “Yep, that was why. Of course then I got a lecture on the abuse of his expensive pomade and how only those who are skilled in the arts of the coiffure should be using such advanced hair care products,” Dieter said warmly, the love he had for Trent obvious in the way he was always seeking his man out among a crowd, and how his gaze softened when he looked upon Trent.

  “Okay, people, the band is ready, and the appetizers are about to be served. I need the ushers and the wedding party front and center. Oh nice, lovely. Bring on the wives and little ones!”

  Jared slid up beside me, gave my neck a nuzzle, and grabbed my hand. My family and his filed into the huge tent to loud applause.

  When the band began to play Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s Crazy in Love, we were shoved forward. Everyone stood and clapped as we danced into the tent. I was glad to see that Trent had used our song list as we’d asked. He’d not done much else that we’d suggested, but the tunes had been a solid must-have for me. Also, I did have to confess that Jared could shake his ass with the best of us. Not a bad move to be seen.

  After a short series of bows, we made our way to the main table, a long thing draped with white cloth that had huge glass urns of blue, silver, and white flowers every five feet or so. The other tables each had one centerpiece, as did the food tables and the bar, which was hopping still, as well as the small bandstand to the left.

  Stan rose from his seat next to me. He embraced me, kissed both my cheeks, and then did the same for Jared before motioning for us to sit. We did and were given flutes of bubbly pink champagne.

  Stan lifted his glass, then coughed, only once. Silence fell. I guess no one wanted to upset our gentle giant. He did know people, after all.

  “Is for my great honor to be chosen to be best official friend for Tennant and Jared’s wedding,” he said, his booming voice carrying well, so he had no need for the microphone lying on the table. “My speech is good speech. Working hard with my beloved and my children Eva, Pavel, and Noah, we craft best speech ever for wedding.” The kids all gathered around their fathers, Eva blushing when I glanced at her, Pavel climbing into Erik’s lap, and Noah skittering under the table to join Brady’s twin girls in a game of hide. No seeking was taking place yet, just lots of giggly hiding.

  “In speech making, I discover many feelings come to the top of my emotion wall. Like water in big storms, my feeling run over the top and make wet messes of villages below. I think of many things to talk of and why my flood happens. Tennant was first person on team to be friend with me, true friend. We eat many Big Macs together, and he show me how to capture Pokémon. Tennant make feel not just part of team but part of team family. Not outsider Russian looking in but now insider sitting at popular table.”

  I got a little teary then, recalling how much Stan’s friendship had meant to me as well when I’d first come to Harrisburg. Our bond had grown tighter over the years, and now he was more like a third sibling, his children my godchildren, our homes and lives tangled up in that wild, messy way families are.

  “… times he tells me juicy things about romance times with Jared that I cannot say now for tiny ears are poking into speech.”

  I blinked. Ah man, what had I missed? Given the snickers of those under the big top, it was something pure Stan.

  “I am happy to give my friend Tennant to my other friend Jared. They are handsome couple, loving and true, rising above hatred to lead way for other gay or bisexual or trans players to speak up and come out if they wish. Courage fills their hearts, and pride fills my breast. I am honored to call them my brothers. Now we drink! Lift high the glasses!” He turned to us, the sequins on the lapels of his tuxedo glittering brightly. “May stars of fate that br
ing together shine forever on much blessed happy union. May you and many future children have great happiness, wealth, and health. May great love carry on good times and very bad, and keep you warm on coldest of nights. Let us drink to love. Gorka! To the newlyweds!”

  We smiled at our guests as they drank to our marriage.

  “Ah! Is good. Now, we eat!” Stan bellowed, and the servers in their blue shirts, black slacks, and tidy white aprons began moving through the crowd to allow one table, then the next to go to the buffet tables, but only after our table had made the trip first. Our plates were piled high with braised beef tips over noodles, herbed chicken, mashed potatoes, broiled cod with lemon, and several vegetable side dishes. Rolls, butter, and a dark red soup that Stan slurped up while making deep yummy sounds. The band played as we ate, easy rock ballads mostly.

  When the food was cleared away, we did something called Russian ‘bread and salt’ that our goalie had insisted must be part of the festivities. A huge loaf of bread was presented to Jared and me. We both ripped a hunk off the crusty, soft loaf. The person who had the biggest chunk was the boss or something along those lines.

  Then the puck-shaped cake was rolled in. Jared and I both grinned at the Mr. and Mr. topper with the crossed hockey sticks. We sliced into the cake, Jared’s hand on top of mine, and then things kind of slipped into chaos. All decorum was lost. I jammed my slice into his face. He crammed his slice up my nose. Everyone laughed and clapped as we wiped our faces clean, then shared a soft, sweet, icing kiss.

  Dessert was served to the guests, and everyone chatted and laughed, throwing good natured insults our way. It was perfect.

  “Yes!”

  The voice echoed in the big tent, louder than the hubbub of talking, and I looked over to see Dieter on his knees, or one knee at least. Trent had been the one to shout yes, and the ripple of congratulations began to circle toward us.

  “I think Dieter proposed,” Jared murmured and gripped my hand.

  “I think you’re right.”

  Dieter stood up, and pulled Trent into a deep kiss that seemed to go on for ages. Then in one smooth move he swept Trent up in his arms and strode out of the tent, applause following them.

  “You know what we should do?” Jared mused, “We should organize Trent’s wedding for him.”

  I looked at him aghast, “You’re joking?”

  He snorted a laugh, “I think he’d be pissed if we booked an island wedding just for the two of them, and ordered a puck shaped cake.”

  After food was cleared away, the bar got busy, as did the band. Jared led me to the dance floor, a huge wooden deck that had been laid down on the lush green grass. I stepped into his arms as the lead singer slid beautifully into Walk with Me, one of our favorite songs by Matt Alber.

  “Someone is waiting for their dance,” Jared whispered beside my ear. I nodded, kissed his cheek, and walked to my mother.

  Her eyes grew dewy as I held out my hand for her. “My baby boy,” she said so softly no one but us could hear it. She laid her head on my shoulder, the warm flowery aroma of her perfume blanketing me with love and comfort. She hummed along to You’ll Be in My Heart as I led her around the dance floor. “Tennant, I’m so happy that you found Jared.”

  I kissed her soft cheek, then glanced at my husband.

  “I am too, Mom. I am too.”

  Jared

  We spent most of the flight from Harrisburg to Philly with caps pulled down over our heads. There were too many orange jerseys on the flight for our liking, well, two anyway. On this short hop, there wasn’t exactly a first class where we could hide, and Ten was the Tennant Rowe, skating phenom, blah, blah. He was also my husband, and the wedding had made it to social media a few hours ago.

  The kids in the seats in front of us kept peering over, and even though this was only a fifty-minute flight, by the end of it, the nearest seats to us were all very much aware that there was a hockey player in seat 23A. Not only that, but a skater for one of Philly’s biggest rivals.

  “We should have driven,” I said and slid down farther down in my aisle seat. Ten had the window, and I was at least some kind of barrier between him and anyone who decided that it was entirely his fault we’d won all four matchups against Philly this season.

  Which it was of course. There was something about those statewide matchups that had tempers flaring, and Ten had been a star in all of them.

  By the time we were done with that first part of our journey, Ten had signed his name to everything from the two Philly jerseys to one woman’s shoulder. I was at least thankful she hadn’t pulled her stretchy top even farther down and asked him to sign her boob. Seemed she was going to get the signature tattooed in place, and went away happy with a recommendation for Gatlin.

  Philly airport was another exercise in staying on the down low, and we’d spent most of our three-hour wait for the first class long-haul flight to Greece in a VIP lounge.

  “Mr. Rowe?”

  I’d been lulled into a false sense of security when a woman stopped right in front of Ten.

  Ten and I exchanged glances, and he sat up in his chair, expecting a request for a photo or an autograph. He was used to it, didn’t actively seek out the attention, but also dealt with every request with good humor. He’d become an ambassador for the sport, as long as the person he was talking to wasn’t one of the good ol’ boys who thought being a gay hockey player meant Ten should be removed from the Railers.

  “Madsen-Rowe,” Ten corrected simply, and I sat up with a start. I’d always assumed we would change our surnames, meld the two into one, Rowe-Madsen or Madsen-Rowe, but to hear Ten say it was hot and moving, all at the same time.

  “My apologies,” she checked the sheet in her hand. “Mr. Madsen-Rowe, I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes?”

  “Is there a problem?” I asked, assuming my bodyguard protector role again.

  She smiled at me. “Not really a problem, but there is a young man who saw you come in here, said he was on a connecting flight from Harrisburg but didn’t want to bother you himself. He is wondering if you could spare him a few moments, but he understands if you can’t.”

  Ten didn’t hesitate; he stood and followed her, and there was no way I was letting him go alone. Why was it that at the arena in front of eighteen thousand fans I knew he was safe, but the minute we stepped outside, I started to see danger everywhere.

  She showed us into a small side room with a glass wall full of puffy sofas and a view over the concourse. Alone, looking lost and small, a kid of around fourteen or so, skinny, in scuffed sneakers and a Railers’ hoodie, sat on the very edge of the chair near the door. He shot to his feet as soon as we entered, and then stared at Ten, his mouth dropping open.

  “Hi, I’m Ten,” Ten said and extended his hand.

  The kid took the hand and shook it briefly. “I know, I mean, oh god, I’m… Joe. My name is Joe Reeves. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  Ten sat on a sofa, and I glanced at the clock on the wall; we had maybe an hour before we needed to board our flight to Athens.

  “Everything okay?” Ten asked offhand, as if it wasn’t the most important thing he needed to ask.

  Joe nodded and then stopped nodding and instead shook his head. Finally he held out his hand and pulled up his sleeve, where a tattoo of the number 97 sat under the Railers’ logo. Was the kid old enough to have a tattoo? Jeez, why am I turning into my dad?

  “Mom and Dad didn’t want me to bother you, but they don’t understand. They’ve been the best, they love me, but they want to keep me safe. They agree maybe I should stop playing.” He pinched the top of his nose. “I need to start again. One day I want to play the same as you.” Joe frowned. “Not the same as you, obviously. No one is like you, but I want to play hockey because I can play hockey, you know?”

  There was more to this than met the eye, and I sat down on the other side of Joe.

  “What position do you play?” Ten asked.

  “I’m on the
wing at the moment. I shoot left, but there’s been some… trouble.” Joe turned to face Ten. “All I need is for you to tell Coach that what the other kids say isn’t right and that even if I’m different, I can play. Okay. Because Coach said maybe I should give hockey a miss, and some of the others on the team say they don’t want me playing.”

  “Why?” Ten asked, but he didn’t need to. We could both see where this was heading.

  “They hate me, now they know I’m gay. Not all of them of course, but they don’t listen when I tell them that Tennant Rowe is gay, and he’s the best player in the world.” He leaned in. “Some of them are Philly fans.”

  Ten dipped his head—he always did when someone said things like that about him. He had no idea how to react to that at the best of times, but this was different.

  “I can help,” Ten said. “You want to give me all the details, and I can come visit, talk to the team? Maybe bring some of the other Railers with me?”

  I suppressed a laugh. Ten didn’t even know where Joe played. It could be Alaska, Hawaii, or Europe even, but it didn’t matter to the man I loved, who pulled out his phone and exchanged details with Joe.

  By the time we left that room, something wonderful had happened. Joe’s parents were outside waiting for him, hugged Ten and me. Then the three of them left for their Dallas flight. Ten was a little subdued until we were in our seats on the plane that would take us the ten hours or so to Greece, but by the time the plane landed and the heat of a Greek summer hit us, we had a whole new idea. An education program, something structured with Ten as the figurehead, school visits, a sponsored competition, logos, a mission statement, and of course, it would all start with a visit to Joe’s school in Dallas.