by Avon Gale
“I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming.” Gabe shook his head. “Would you two sit down? I’m happy for both of you, and lord knows I’m open-minded, but we really don’t have time for the PDA you two look like you’re three seconds from indulging in.”
With a sheepish smile, Shane returned to his seat. That was probably true, though Shane definitely planned to yell at Troy before he blew him. Definitely.
“So, we’re agreed that Shane will sit out the season—”
“No,” huffed Troy, his legs straight out in front of him, arms crossed again. “I’m still objecting.”
Shane threw his hands up in the air. “I’m fine with it, but what does that matter? Apparently Troy can’t hear a goddamn—er, sorry—word I’m saying.”
“I can hear you just fine,” said Troy. “You’re not using your inside voice.”
“You don’t even have one,” Shane protested and kicked out at his ankle.
“I never said I did. And I’m being honest here. I’m objecting to Shane missing the rest of the season because of stupid Quinn’s dumb plan. My God. I bet he even drew this thing out on a dry-erase board, and it still sucked.” Troy aimed a mulish look at Gabe. “But you can’t make me not object, Bowie. So there.”
Gabe didn’t appear to care if Troy objected or not. He rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Cally, get over it or I’ll suspend you for insubordination and you can join Shane in the press box.”
“And who will coach the team? Quinn? My God. Not only is he a blackmailer, he has the worst ideas for offense in the history of the goddamn sport. Besides. He doesn’t talk nearly as loudly as I do.”
“No one talks as loudly as you do,” said Shane.
“I’ve coached before,” Gabe reminded them with a pointed look at Shane. “I can do it.”
“You’ll spend the whole time worried about net-front defense, and the offense will go to shit,” Troy informed him, which… if there were anyone on earth born to be a coach, it was Troy Callahan.
If he and Troy were up in the press box together, Shane was absolutely certain they’d end up giving each other a quick handie. Probably not the best timing, what with everything else going on. “Just be quiet and give in. I don’t want to have to sit next to you if you’re watching someone else coach the team anyway.”
“If you’re done blustering, Troy, I’ll continue.” Gabe waited patiently, and after a few long seconds, Troy muttered fine, and Gabe continued. “All right. Here’s the plan. We’ll reconvene at my house after the game tomorrow night. Troy, don’t act any different than you would with Quinn—”
“Umm, impossible. I hate his fucking face,” Troy interjected.
Gabe didn’t even miss a beat. “Suck it up for the game, kiddo.”
“Oh my God. You can’t call me kiddo.”
“Watch me. And Shane, sit in the press box and look… well, like you’re irritated to be there. We don’t want to tip Quinn off that we’re up to anything.” Gabe raised his eyebrows. “I can tell you’re dying to say something, Cally. What?”
“Maybe you should suspend me instead of Shane. That way, Shane can play his last game. He should get that, Gabe. You used to play. You know how important that is.”
“You’d really let Quinn coach just so I could play?” Shane asked, incredulous. There was no way that would work. Troy would shout plays down from the press box and end up ejected. “Because that means we’d lose, and we need the points too much if we want to make the playoffs. I’ve played a lot of hockey, Troy. Besides, I thought I put up some good numbers that last game.”
“Your plus/minus was shit, North.”
“Don’t blame me for that. I didn’t cause a single fucking turnover, and you know it,” Shane argued hotly and pointed at Troy. “Our defense falls apart under sustained zone pressure when it’s man-to-man in practice, Cally.”
Troy let Shane finish, and there was a small smirk on his mouth that told Shane he’d walked right into some kind of trap. It was confirmed when Troy ignored the opportunity to bitch about the Ravens’ passing and said, “Gabe, that reminds me. Before I had this shit come up with Quinn, I wanted to make a recommendation for our coaching staff next year.”
“Troy,” Shane hissed. “Not the time.”
“North? I’m the head coach and if I want to discuss staffing with the GM, I’ll do it whenever I’m goddamn good and ready. You’ve basically been the assistant coach this whole season, and you know it.” Troy looked very smug as he settled back in his chair and laced his fingers over his knee. “You heard him just now, Bowie. That’s a hockey coach, right there.”
Shane was both annoyed at Troy and pleased with the compliment. “I can’t believe you.”
Gabe took the chance to speak again, before Troy could say anything else. “As a matter of fact, Shane, I was going to ask if you’d be interested in joining the coaching staff. It was something I mentioned to Stu Hargett as a possibility when I signed you, and that was before you and Troy went and made my life difficult by being perfect for each other.”
Troy’s smirk flashed immediately into a scowl. “Gabe, take your goalie stick and shove it up your—”
“Thank you,” Shane said loudly as he stood up. He reached out a hand toward Gabe. “Really. For everything. I feel like I should apologize for… uh. Deciding maybe I liked this guy.”
“You love me, North.”
“Not right now,” Shane muttered.
Gabe didn’t even try to hide his laugh. “Wow.” He shook Shane’s hand and then placed a hand over both of theirs and patted gently. “I know you didn’t come here with the intention to seduce my head coach. No one likes Troy that much when they first meet him.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an acquired taste like that Pappy Van Periwinkle of yours.” Troy went around Gabe’s desk and, to Shane’s surprise, engulfed him in a very tight hug. “Thanks, Bowie. You could probably fire me for this.”
“I could definitely fire you for this,” Gabe agreed and hugged him back. “But I knew you’d make things difficult, Cally, because that’s literally all you do. I still remember how annoying you were in drills. This asshole ran me in goal once, Shane. During a game. And we played for the same team.” Gabe chuckled. “Can you believe that?”
“Yes,” said Shane. “I absolutely can. And I bet he somehow blamed the forechecking.”
Gabe’s laugh told him he was right. “All right. Get out of here and have a moment or whatever you need to do. I’ll call Monica and see you both later.”
Troy was in a mood when they left the arena. They’d driven separately, and when Shane’s car wouldn’t start—again—Troy went on a very long rant about how Shane should buy a pair of squeaky roller skates because they would be more reliable than his Rabbit. Shane told Troy that the Rabbit was made for warmer climates, so if they got in and Troy kept talking, the hot air would be enough to get the car going.
“Are you coming over?” Troy asked, though as usual, it sounded like more of a dare. “I’ll make dinner.”
“Okay.” Shane paused. “I’m going to go home and grab a few things. A suit for tomorrow, and I think I want to call Alani. I’ll come over when I’m done.” He smiled and shook his head. “She’s going to say, ‘I told you so’ a lot.”
Troy stepped closer and reached out and smoothed a hand through Shane’s hair and down the back of his neck. He gave a gentle squeeze. His expression was fierce, but not with anger, and there was enough sincerity in his voice to make Shane’s insides feel stupid and warm. “I wasn’t lying when I said you’d be a great coach, Shane.”
“Yeah.” Shane let himself relax into Troy’s touch. “I know. Don’t worry. If I think you’re being an abrasive asshole… well, wait. You’re always an abrasive asshole. But I’ll call you out if I think you need it.”
Troy rested his forehead against Shane’s. “That’s exactly why you’d be a great assistant coach. It makes you an annoying as hell boyfriend, though.”
Sha
ne grinned. “You said ‘I love you’ and used the word ‘boyfriend’ first.” No need to point out that Shane had been thinking of Troy that way for a while. He threw his hands in the air and made a noise that was a fairly decent impression of a goal horn.
“Yeah, well, I believe in calling a spade a spade, and a boyfriend a boyfriend.” Troy kissed him. “I’ll pick up some of that bitter shit you call beer and make you spaghetti.”
“Ain’t love grand.” Shane watched Troy stride away toward his car and appreciated the way he attacked the pavement as though he were marching off to war. Shane shook his head, got in his car, and drove home.
He called Alani the second he got in the door. “Okay, first,” he said, before she could say anything, “I want you to just get the ‘I told you so’ out of your system. So. I’m waiting.”
“What’s it for this time?”
This was not the time to ponder the many and varied times Alani had been right about something. “Guess,” said Shane dryly.
“Hot Coach McDirty Texts?” At his noise of assent, she squeaked. “Ha-ha! You guys are totally in love, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Shane winced and held the phone away from his ear at her happy shriek. He couldn’t help but add, “Wait until I tell you how he totally said it first too. In front of our boss.”
Shane told her all about the blackmail attempt while he packed up some clothes and a few toiletries. He put the rest of the Miller Lite in a bag for Troy—hey, now that he was done playing, he could drink IPA all the goddamn time if he wanted—and threw away some lunch meat that had grown another life form on top of it.
Alani was, as Shane expected, disgusted and not surprised by Quinn’s behavior. “I told you that guy was a creeper. I can’t believe he thought that would work. Ugh. So you’re just gonna what? Stop playing forever?”
Shane rolled his eyes at her dramatic turn of phrase. Apparently everyone thought it was a way bigger deal than he did. “Yeah, basically. And I’m going to come out too. Even if Quinn keeps his mouth shut about this, which he probably will, I’m ready.”
“Aw, good.” Alani sounded pleased. “I hope it goes as well for you as it did for me.” Her parents had been fine with her coming out, but they wanted her to find a nice girlfriend so one of them could maybe be convinced to bear them some grandkids. “Wait. So Troy was really going to let Quinn make him leave the team? For you?”
“He knew I’d never go for that,” Shane assured her. “So don’t say it’s romantic.”
“That’s why it’s romantic. Duh.”
“Umm… what?” That shit made Shane’s head hurt.
“That he knew you well enough to know you’d never let that happen. Aw.” She sighed happily. “I can’t say I’m not going to miss you like crazy, but….” Her voice wavered suspiciously. “Ugh, Shane.”
“Alani,” he warned. It’d been an emotional day. He’d quit his job, confessed his love to a man for the first time in his life, maybe scored a coaching position, and he had just told his best friend he wouldn’t be coming back.
“It’s just… you found this place you feel safe, you know? And I… I’m really, really happy for you, Shane. I admit I worried sometimes with you in that hypermasculine sport, that you’d never… never get to be yourself. And now you can. That’s just so great.” She sniffled.
Fuck. Now he was sniffling. “Stop it. I hate when you do this, you know.”
“Make you cry because I’m happy for you?”
“Say things like this,” he said desperately. “So, yes.”
“You’re such a boy, Shane. Anyway, I’m coming to visit, so tell Hot Coach McDirty Texts he better have a guest room. And does his car heater work better than yours?”
“Yup.”
“Good. I’m in. So, wait. If you’re not playing next year, what are you going to do?”
“Coach, apparently. I guess that was sort of the plan all along? Like, Gabe wanted to bring me here, have me play a year, and hopefully transition me onto the coaching staff.” Shane still wasn’t sure how he felt about that or if he believed Gabe.
“Oh my God. You’d be so good at that.”
Shane frowned and walked over to stare out of the window into the parking lot. As much as he loved the idea, he couldn’t shake the feeling he didn’t deserve the opportunity. “Yeah.”
Alani caught the tone in his voice. Of course. “Are you—you don’t want to? Honestly that sounds perfect. Why aren’t you more excited?”
“Because how do I know….” Shane swallowed hard. He felt stupid, and he knew it was old self-doubts flaring up. But, hell. If Troy still had insecurities over what happened with St. Savoy, Shane couldn’t be expected to immediately get over his own. Right? “How do I know I’m not getting this job because I’m fucking the head coach?” he blurted. It sounded dumb when he said it out loud, especially knowing Troy as well as he did.
“Shane, would you stop worrying about what everyone else thinks, for five minutes?” she said bossily. “Do you think you’d like it? Coaching, I mean. I already know you like fucking the head coach.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do. Like the coaching, that is. I—Troy said I’d basically been doing it all season, and honestly, Alani? My favorite part of being here hasn’t been playing hockey as much as working with the team. I think it’s perfect for me, but I can’t get over feeling like I didn’t really earn it.”
“You’ve played this sport for sixteen years, Shane. How is that not earning it? Did that other guy play professional hockey for sixteen years?”
“No. No, he didn’t,” Shane admitted. “I think he played in college.” Or maybe he just went to a few games. Shane had started to doubt that Quinn had ever held a hockey stick in his life.
“So you don’t think, oh, I don’t know, maybe you’re a better coach because of all that experience?”
Shane frowned. “You can lay off the heavily ironic tone of voice, Al. I get it.” He expelled a breath. “And I know you’re right. It’s just… old habits die hard, I guess.”
“I know. Well, fuck ’em, Shane. Your last career was all about what everyone else expected, so make this new one just about you.” She paused. “You and Hot Coach McDirty Texts.”
He hadn’t thought about it that way, that maybe he’d let the personal narrative about his career define him, instead of the other way around. Alani was right. It was time to write a new narrative, and he was the one with the pen. Or something. “Alani. His name is Troy.”
“Okay. But I’m kind of fond of Hot Coach McDirty Texts.”
It felt good to laugh, even if it made Shane realize how very much he would miss her. “Good. So am I. And hey, I’ll bring him with me when I come back to get my stuff. How’s that?”
“Deal,” she said. “Now tell me that I-love-you story again. I got fifteen minutes until I gotta go hit the beach, and there’s nothing good on television.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE MEETING at Gabe’s house was quick. Monica teased Troy about Shane for five excruciating minutes, as he expected, and then they got down to business. Gabe planned to have a long conversation with Stu Hargett, and Monica gave them some pointers about how to deal with the next few weeks and drafted a press release that would go into effect as soon as Quinn was out of the picture.
It basically said that Shane North, former Ravens player, was retiring to take the vacant position of Assistant Coach, previously filled by Brian Quinn. They’d say that Quinn left for personal reasons, and if Quinn went through with his plan to denounce Troy for his relationship with Shane, the spin would write itself. At least according to Monica, it would.
Troy hoped it didn’t come to that. He wanted Quinn gone, but he didn’t have any deep-seated need for revenge. Quinn had made a mistake, and he was going to pay for it. That’s all that really mattered as far as Troy was concerned. Gabe also seemed to think that, when presented with his options, Quinn would see he wasn’t going to get anything he wanted and would choose to save
his own skin and simply vanish.
Shane was quiet when they left the Bows’ and only responded to Troy’s attempts at banter with slightly acerbic barbs. Something was wrong. So when they got home, Troy grabbed a couple of beers and said, “Let’s go work on the puzzle.”
Normally that would make Shane complain, but he acquiesced way too easily. Something was definitely wrong. Troy wanted to push, but in the end, he opted to work on the puzzle and let Shane speak up when he was ready.
Sure enough, after muttering, “This fucking thing is stupid, and I hate it. Also I think you’re hoarding all the edge pieces,” Shane finally admitted what was bothering him. “Troy, what do we do if Hargett fires you?”
Troy shrugged. “I’ll get another job. But I don’t think that’ll happen. If it were a possibility, I think Gabe would have suggested another route. I know him. Sneaky goalie. You can keep jamming that piece in there, Shane, but it’s not going to make it fit.”
“If you come up with some kind of corny puzzle metaphor, I swear I’ll hit you.” Shane tossed the piece away. He stared down at the table. “What if we don’t work out, Troy? You and me, I mean. What if we’re really terrible at being in love?”
“Well, I think we’re both too contrary to give up. Don’t you?” Troy smiled at him even though Shane didn’t meet his eyes. “But if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.”
“It’s a risk, though. You know?” Shane looked up. “Coaching together, being together. What if too much togetherness drives us both crazy?”
“You already drive me crazy,” Troy said.
“I meant in the not-fun way,” Shane clarified.
“Who said I didn’t?” Troy laughed at the heated glare Shane shot him across the table. “If I need some space, I’ll tell you, and vice versa. Honestly, Shane? I’ve never been in a relationship before because they always seemed to take too much work. But despite what anyone might think after being around the two of us for more than ten minutes, it’s not that hard with you.”
Shane stared at him, and then he smiled. His smile turned into a grin, and then he laughed. “Wow, Troy. Wow. You really are like two seconds away from a corny puzzle metaphor, aren’t you?”