Save of the Game

by Avon Gale

  Riley didn’t have much time to think about it, though. He had a lot on his plate with practice and their first meeting with their rivals since last season’s game seven of the conference finals. And he liked helping out at the hockey camp, even if he wasn’t nearly as good with kids as Ethan was.

  The road trip was a long one, a Wednesday through Sunday, and the whole team was ready to beat the Savannah Renegades in both of their games. First they had to go and play the Spitfires in Spartanburg, South Carolina. They had a cool logo, an old World War I fighter plane. But they were the absolute worst team in the league, and their goalie, Isaac Drake, spent most of the game yelling. At his own team. The Spitfires only managed sixteen shots on goal during the entire game, and Riley was bored stiff by the time it was over.

  Their next game, against the Athens Ice Dogs, was a little harder. They were a surprise, coming out of nowhere and going on an impressive winning streak. The Storm pulled out a win in a shoot-out, and Riley was impressed as hell by their team. But he wasn’t impressed by the attendance, which was abysmal.

  “This is Athens, Georgia,” their goalie told Riley. “It’s college football season. There’s a reason we don’t play on Saturdays. There would literally be no one here.”

  While on the road, Riley was roommates with his new backup, Vazov. They would talk about the game, and Sasha would tell him things in his broken, halting English and teach him some Russian.

  Ethan got in a fight in every one of their games, but Riley saw him by the busses, laughing and comparing black eyes with his opponent from the Ice Dogs. Ethan told him later they were both Rangers fans, and it made Riley smile. Though Riley got off thinking about how hot Ethan looked when he fought.

  Riley watched Ethan a lot during games. He was always the first person to clap or cheer when someone scored a goal, and he never complained about his ice time or lack thereof. He never complained about anything. But Riley noticed that the longer the road trip went on, the more strained around the edges Ethan looked. His eyes were almost too bright, his laugh a little too loud. He also couldn’t sit still. His hands were always twitching, his leg constantly jostling on the bench or in his bus seat.

  The Saturday-night game against the Renegades was electric, the crowd filled to capacity, and the game fast, furious, and full of the best kind of emotion. The Renegades were good and kept Riley on his toes for the whole game. If he’d been just a little slower, his flashy, highlight-reel saves would have been flashy, highlight-reel goals.

  Even Riley got into the trash talk in that game, and he yelled cheerfully at the defensemen from the Renegades who were trying to screen him. The Storm won the game 4-2. Riley got booed by the home crowd and it was great.

  Right when the road trip seemed to be on the way to a four-game winning streak, Sunday’s matinee game happened.

  Ethan skated up to Riley during warm-ups while Riley was getting settled in goal. “Who are you talking to?” he asked, rocking on his skates. “You’re saying stuff. To the posts?”

  “Lane asked me that once,” Riley said, calmly. He squirted his water bottle three times, then took two drinks, and scratched his left skate on the ice to make a triangle. There. “I’m not talking to anyone. And I’m centering myself. You know. Going from Riley Hunter to the goalie. Make sense?”

  Ethan blinked at him. “Maybe? No. I’m pretty much the same person all the time. On the ice. Off. Always Ethan.” He rocked on his skates again. “I wonder if I should try that too.” Before Riley could say anything, Ethan kicked with his skate and made a mark next to Riley’s on the ice. The buzzer sounded to send the teams to their bench for the anthems, so there wasn’t time for Riley to start his pregame ritual again. Riley grabbed his water bottle from the top of the net, and when he dropped it, he knew it was going to be a bad game.

  Thirty seconds into the first period, Riley let in a goal.

  One minute and thirty-five seconds after that, he let in another one.

  By the time Spence finally pulled him in the second, Riley had let in five goals and was serenaded off the ice to the chant “Lose-er, lose-er, lose-er.”

  The coach came to talk to him during intermission. “Happens to everyone, Hunter. Shake it off. It’s going to be fine. You played three games before this, and this schedule is insane. What the hell do they think we are? Robots? Are you a robot, Hunter?”

  “No, Coach.”

  “Me neither, Hunter. Me neither. Now you’re gonna put on one of those ugly-ass teal hats with that stupid, angry water thing, and show your support to Vazov, since this is his first professional game. And our team is gonna go play like tired motherfuckers who are not—who are not what, Hunter?”

  “Robots, Coach.”

  “Right. Robots. If we were, we’d be killer robots, and they’d all be in trouble, ’cause we’d have badass space guns. With lasers.” Spence gave him an encouraging slap on the back. “Let’s go.”

  Ethan moved down to sit next to him the second the teams were back on the benches to start the third period. “That was my fault, huh,” Ethan said, eyes wide. “I messed up something. Didn’t I? Oh man, Hunter. I’m sorry.”

  He looked so sincere that Riley wanted to tell him it was okay. But he couldn’t, because it wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. It would be. That’s how the game went, and that’s how Riley was. He’d get over it. He’d be back on the ice, and it’d be a learning experience. Just not yet.

  It wasn’t Ethan’s fault. But Riley was superstitious for a reason, and clearly it was a sign he needed to change up his pregame ritual. That was last year’s, and they were playing last year’s champions. He should have known better.

  The Storm lost, 6-2. It was a rousing defeat, and the bus was quiet for the three-hour trip back to Jacksonville.

  Vazov handed Riley his headphones. “In Russia one time. The goals, of nine I gave up. This is part of game. I know.”

  Riley took the proffered headphones gratefully, giving his backup a tired smile of gratitude. “Sorry I left you with that hole, though.” He was too. No one wanted to make their professional debut down by five. It sucked.

  “Is okay. I see before game. The one who has fists, the loud one. He kicks at your marks. This is not good.” Vazov nodded, his icy eyes determined. “I will tell him. You are goalie. The crease. This is yours.”

  Riley watched as Vazov made his way up the aisle toward Ethan’s seat. He leaned his head against the glass, closed his eyes, and let the music wash over him.

  Except it was Russian techno music, so it pelted over him instead.

  Chapter Five

  ETHAN FELT horrible.

  Horrible.

  He should have known better. This wasn’t his first hockey team, for fuck’s sake. Goalies were superstitious, every single one of them. What was he thinking? Riley was his goalie. Riley was his friend, and Riley—

  Riley was a good kisser. Ethan kept remembering that, being flipped on his back and do you feel better now?

  Ethan was always yelling at everyone to stay the fuck away from his goalie, and what had he done? Fucked up Riley’s pregame ritual.

  He’d been on edge during the game, and it translated into him playing like a moron. And after he tried to jumpstart the bench with a fight in the second, it ended with him getting his ass kicked.

  “Man, I expected better after yesterday,” Jace Wynn said. “That was barely worth the fucking effort.”

  It wasn’t, and Ethan knew it.

  Then he got a very serious, well-meaning, and utterly incomprehensible lecture from the Storm’s backup goalie on the way back to Jacksonville. For three hours.

  And Riley, by himself in the back of the bus, was quietly listening to headphones with his eyes closed.

  “You heading home?” Riley asked him when Ethan packed up his gear and went out into the cool, October evening.

  “Do you mind giving me a ride?” Ethan winced, aware he sounded like an idiot. They lived together, and Riley might be mad, but he wasn’t so much o
f an asshole that he’d leave Ethan stranded in the arena parking lot. “Riley, look—”

  “Could you be quiet on the way home, please?” Riley sounded eerily calm, almost too polite. “I would really appreciate it.”

  Ethan nodded miserably. He tapped his fingers on the door, he shifted in his seat, and he was glad the ride wasn’t longer than it was because he could tell Riley wasn’t in a good mood.

  When they got to the apartment, Ethan put his gear away, had a smoke, and then went inside to shower. Then he pulled on jeans and a shirt and went to find Riley.

  As Riley stretched in the living room, Ethan went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and got him a coconut water. He held it out like a peace offering. “Here.”

  “No, thank you,” Riley said, politely.

  Ethan peered at him. “Uh, Riles? We’re not at the game, you know. Right? I mean. You can yell at me for being a moron.” He leaned down and put the coconut water on the floor.

  “I don’t want to yell at you.” Riley sank gracefully down in a stretch.

  “What can I do?” Ethan asked, still down on his haunches. “I feel really bad about what happened.”

  “You don’t have to.” Riley turned his head. “I let in five goals. Not you.”

  “But I messed up your goalie thing.” Ethan watched as Riley smoothly moved through his stretches. He wanted to shake him or punch him. Anything to make him angry… like Ethan deserved.

  “All right.”

  Ethan stood up. “So that’s it?”

  Riley looked up at him. “That’s it, what? You don’t have to do anything, Ethan. You can’t. I should have had my head in the game, and I didn’t.”

  “Because I wouldn’t let you get it there to start with,” Ethan muttered, arms crossed. “You can say it.”

  “Ethan, yeah. You messed up my goal marks. Maybe that didn’t help. And fine, maybe it did make me let that first goal in. But the other four? Those were all my fault. I need to be able to get my shit together after that happens. And tonight I couldn’t.” Riley rose gracefully from the floor. “This is what it’s like to be a goalie. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  “Cool.” Ethan watched him as he started toward his bedroom. “But what about right now?”

  “What?” Riley turned around and sighed. “What do you mean, right now? Right now I feel like shit, and I’ll get over it.”

  “How?” Ethan kept thinking about that bad game folder and about Riley getting off in his bedroom, alone, in the dark. He didn’t like that idea. It made him restless and agitated. “Because I feel like shit too.”

  They stood and stared at each other. “You shouldn’t. I don’t want you to. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Ethan just shrugged. He was tense, all wound up, and he felt like he did right before he got in a fight. He took a step closer and he heard Riley suck in a sharp breath. “I just want to make it up to you.”

  Riley made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a growl, and it made Ethan feel a low, warm burn in his stomach. “You really don’t have to do that, Ethan.”

  Just like on the ice, Ethan knew Riley wouldn’t give an inch. Ethan stopped when he was right in front of him. “I want to, though,” Ethan said, and then kissed him.

  This time neither of them were drunk or half-asleep. They weren’t hidden in darkness or shadow, and there was no way either of them could claim they weren’t aware of what they were doing.

  Which was kissing, hotly, like they’d done it a lot more than once. It was also rough, exactly what Ethan wanted. Like fighting, but being turned on too.

  They pulled away to catch their breath, and Ethan tried to think of something to say. But everything he came up with sounded lame. “Umm?” Great, that was brilliant. “Does that? Make you feel better?”

  Riley’s dark eyes were wide and blurry. He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. We could keep doing it?”

  Riley nodded again. “Maybe not in the hallway.”

  Ethan looked around, like he’d forgotten where they were. “Oh. Right. Where…?”

  They both looked at Riley’s bedroom door, then back at each other. That seemed a little daunting.

  “Living room?” Ethan suggested, just as Riley said, “Sofa?” and they both laughed nervously and went to sit on the couch next to each other.

  Now it felt like they were on a date. Maybe the bedroom would’ve been better. Thinking about that made Ethan hot all over and restless again. “I liked it, when you—” He couldn’t say it. Got on top of me. He’d never had a problem being vocal about sex in his life.

  Wait. What the hell was he thinking? This wasn’t sex. This was kissing. Never mind that he hadn’t stopped at kissing since he was seventeen.

  Riley was watching him with his usual patience. Ethan gave him a look that clearly said “I don’t know,” and Riley leaned in and kissed him again.

  “What did you like?” Riley asked, his voice rough. “When I did what? Tell me.”

  “Got on top of me,” Ethan said without hesitating, and his breath caught on a moan when Riley moved with his usual fluid grace and straddled him on the couch.

  “Like this?” Riley was still giving him that sharp, intense look. The goalie stare. But there was nothing cold about it. Not now.

  Ethan made a noise and kissed him, because that seemed better than responding with an embarrassing squeaky noise.

  “I haven’t done this before,” Ethan said when they pulled apart. “I mean, other than the last time.”

  “Me neither,” Riley said, and he got up on his knees and bent down to kiss him again.

  Ethan’s instincts were to start touching, and his hands went to Riley’s chest like they were programmed to do so. It made him pull away from their increasingly heated kisses when he touched… well, not what he was expecting.

  “So, that’s different,” Ethan said, feeling stupid.

  Riley looked down at Ethan’s hand on his chest, braced like he was going to shove Riley off him. “Is that seriously how you touch girls? Because wow.”

  Ethan was surprised into a laugh. “I’m used to, uh. Something else being there.”

  “But do you just put your whole hand there like that? I mean, I’m not saying you don’t have game, because I remember hearing you with the girl who liked computers. Is that a specialty thing?”

  “Computers?” It was the weirdest moment of Ethan Kennedy’s entire life.

  “No,” Riley said, and he looked amused.

  “I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re saying,” Ethan said bluntly. “Can we just go back to the kissing?”

  “Sure.” Riley started kissing him again.

  Ethan wondered if Riley was hard. Ethan was, and he didn’t know what to do about it. It seemed obvious, like he should be hard if he was kissing someone and into it. Which he was.

  He wanted to pull Riley down on top of him, so he could find out if it was just him. But that seemed like a pretty advanced move. Maybe they weren’t there yet.

  “Do you—should we stop?” Ethan hated how uncertain he sounded.

  “Do you feel better?” Riley asked, head tilted. “You still look tense.”

  “Because I’m making out with my roommate?” Ethan took a deep breath. Maybe kissing your roommate was a thing all guys did at some point or another, and they just didn’t talk about it. Like singing along with power ballads in the car, or getting teary eyed at the end of Disney movies. “I guess I feel better about the game, but it might be because I’m in shock about the making out, so I don’t know how to answer that.”

  Riley nodded very seriously. “I can work with that.” He leaned down, but instead of kissing him on the mouth, he kissed Ethan’s neck instead. “Do you like this?”

  Ethan’s hips bucked up sharply. “Yeah.” All the words were vacuumed out of him in a sweet, hot rush when Riley’s mouth moved closer to his ear. Ethan tilted his head so he had more room, even though it felt too good to be anything but a really bad ide
a.

  Riley bit gently at his ear. “Don’t think so much.” He kissed Ethan’s neck again. “Just relax.”

  “I don’t—okay, yeah.” Ethan rested his head back on the couch. His face was flaming red, but he moved his hands up and down Riley’s back. Ethan started to relax into it. He moved his hands with a little more confidence and curiosity and felt Riley’s muscles twitch in response.

  They kept kissing, and it was getting fairly heated when Riley suddenly shifted his weight and settled on top of Ethan. The mystery of whether Riley was hard or not was solved beyond a shadow of a doubt, because Ethan could feel him, pressing against him and…. Oh, fuck.

  It felt good—better than kissing. Ethan bucked up hard against him, and that felt better, so he did it again, and that made them both moan.

  That’s when they stopped. Because kissing was one thing, moaning was something else. Moaning was a sex thing. No one moaned when they were just making out.

  Riley sat next to him on the couch, and they both stared straight ahead. Ethan wanted to go jerk off. He wanted Riley to get on his lap again. He wanted to see what would happen if they kept doing that, grinding on each other. Maybe without their pants on.

  Ethan made a sound, and Riley jumped off the couch. “I—why don’t we—five minutes. Come back in five minutes, and we can play Grand Theft Auto.”

  “Done,” Ethan said and went to his room. He checked the time on his phone as his other hand fumbled to get his jeans off. It wasn’t going to take him five minutes, but he couldn’t go out there first or he’d look like a loser without any stamina.

  Ethan got himself off thinking about Riley on top of him, grinding and kissing his neck, and do you like this, and… yeah. That was all it took.

  They each came back in the living room exactly seven minutes after they left it. Riley grabbed two coconut waters out of the fridge, and a Pepsi that he wouldn’t let Ethan have until he finished his water.

  They played Grand Theft Auto and then both fell asleep on opposite sides of the couch, watching some movie with explosions and very little plot.