by Avon Gale
The Spitfires also gave him stick taps, which was not unnoticed by the crowd or the Ravens’ bench.
“Do not act impressed. They’re trying to get in your heads. You still need to score on their punk goalie and get us a goddamn win. Don’t embarrass Coach North in his first game,” Troy cautioned and fixed his team with his usual sharp stare.
Shane spent most of the game watching Troy, feeling things out, and trying to get a sense of what he was supposed to do. A few times he wanted to add something or even contradict something Troy came up with, but he didn’t think he had the experience to do that and mostly stayed quiet. The Ravens were down 2-1 at the first intermission, and as the team came out to start the second, Troy grabbed him by the arm.
“I already got rid of one coach who wouldn’t open his mouth,” said Troy. “And I know you’re good at that. What is it? You scared? Awed by my competency?”
“You’re not that competent,” Shane pointed out. “We’re losing.”
“You got some better ideas, North? Then fucking impress me.”
Shane took that as his cue—or, okay, he took it as permission—to speak up. He argued with Troy when they talked about plays, told him to stop harping so much on forechecking and to try some riskier offensive moves and generally spent the game being a pain in the ass. Or so he thought. It struck him near the end of the second period that Troy wasn’t irritated with him at all. Quite the opposite.
And the Ravens had tied the game. So maybe Shane was on to something.
“Goddammit. I want to fuck you,” Troy muttered as he followed him into the locker room at intermission. “If we didn’t have to convince these assholes to win a game, I’d bend you over my desk.”
That wasn’t exactly a surprise, Shane thought ruefully. “I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate all my arguing.”
“I didn’t know you had another setting,” said Troy. And yeah, fair enough.
Troy’s speech between the second and third period boiled down to “Go out there and score goals, run plays, keep your forechecking up. But you have to be more offense-minded this period, or they’ll run us over. Again. And I am tired of losing to these assholes. Got it?”
“Guys, I don’t want to have to buy Drake drinks again if we lose,” said Xavier.
“Not even if he’d put out?” Evan asked and then hurriedly said, “Uh, is that not appropriate locker-room banter? I mean, we all know Matty thinks Drake is hot.”
“It’s not appropriate because you sound like you’re in middle school,” Troy said. “I’m glad we’re all okay with the rainbow of sexuality in our locker room, but right now it’s time to play hockey.”
During the next period, Shane suggested a few riskier plays, and Troy vetoed all of them except for one, which he allowed just to “show your punk ass up.” When it resulted in a goal, Troy claimed that he knew it would all along and it was just a lesson. Shane burst out laughing. Loudly.
“You’re so full of shit, Coach,” he said, and Troy’s light eyes flashed at him. Shane peeked discreetly at the scoreboard and hoped the game ended in regulation with a Ravens victory. He wanted to celebrate the successful beginning of his new career with more than just a beer and maybe try out that brand-new office door.
The Ravens did win, but it took two minutes into overtime for it to happen. And it wasn’t on one of Shane’s plays, but actually had to do with the Ravens’ forechecking, goddammit. So Shane went ahead and took credit for that by telling Troy, “You’re welcome for my helping out with all those attack-angle drills.”
Troy clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re learning.”
“Bite me,” Shane said, and Troy laughed.
“Later, North. Right now we gotta go to my office and make some game notes.”
Shane would have liked to think that was code for sex, but he knew Troy well enough by then to know that he honestly meant that, about the game notes.
But after that? Hey, the possibilities were endless.
Epilogue
TROY STOOD in the center of the large, open space that would soon become The Umbrella Center, dusted his hands on his jeans, and looked around with a critical eye. He was immediately distracted by Shane, who wore a sleeveless shirt and old running shorts. When Shane leaned over to put a box down on the floor, his shirt pulled over the muscles of his back, and his tattoos were just visible beneath the soaked white fabric.
River nudged him in the side. “There’s some drool on your chin, there, Cally.”
“Well, look at him,” Troy said, nodding at Shane. “Can you blame me?”
“Of course not. He’s delish and you know it.” Dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt, face devoid of makeup, River was still gorgeous, and the graphic tee he wore—which featured a rainbow and a frolicking unicorn—was tight enough to show off his impressive physique. He had his hands on his hips and a proud smile on his face as he surveyed not only Troy’s attractive boyfriend, but the culmination of all his hard work with the Center.
He should be proud. The Umbrella Center had received funding from the city of Asheville and a few nonprofit organizations, some private donations via Kickstarter, and the Asheville Ravens’ general manager and head coach too. Troy had his name on a brick and had been promised free coffee for life at the little café upstairs in the loft area. Right then it was just the bare bones with a counter and some shelving and a few greasy, empty boxes where pizza once lived. And he’d rather die than drink anything hot at the moment, but he appreciated the thought.
River and Troy were both silent as they watched Xavier Matthews pull his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing his very cut abs. Troy shouldn’t look or appreciate those, but it was the off-season. Besides, Xavier worked too hard for those abs to leave them unappreciated. River leaned in and whispered dramatically, “I’ll open six more of these if it means I get all these cute, sweaty hockey players to carry boxes full of books about the joys of gay sex.”
Troy snorted a laugh. He liked River, and he and his boyfriend, the tattoo artist Ben, had become good friends over the last few months. “They can’t only be books about gay sex,” he said. “I know you’ve got other stuff in there.”
River gave a little flourish with his hand. “Yes, but let me have my moment, Cally.”
River had adopted Troy’s nickname, despite Troy not coaching him in anything other than what pizza to order for his hungry pack of athletes. “Have all the moments you want, Riv. This place is going to be great.” Troy loved the idea of the Umbrella Center, which was part bookstore, part café, and part queer youth center. He’d gladly signed on to contribute as a monthly sustaining member and was pleased that Shane had too. Even if they hadn’t been friends with Riv and Ben, they would support this sort of place because it was important for the community.
Gabe made sure the Ravens organization contributed both monetarily and with reduced sponsorship rates, and he was already planning outreach activities for the next season. There was even talk of a Ravens jersey with the traditional logo—the eponymous bird with wings outstretched, claws extended, and grasping a puck—and adding a bit of a Pride flair by making the puck rainbow hued.
Troy wanted to get one and send it to Denis St. Savoy.
“Coach, where does this box go? It feels like books.” Cory Martin, who looked like the epitome of a straight dude bro in his running pants, tank top, and bandana, was breathing hard and waiting for instructions with a box in his arms. Troy wondered if they really were books about gay sex, and he had to stifle a grin.
“They’re all books, dude,” Evan Snyder said. Behind him, his girlfriend, Ava, was also carrying a box. “It’s a bookstore.”
River smiled beatifically at them. “Boys, just put those down wherever unless the box has ‘upstairs’ or ‘café’ written on it.”
“That means you have to read, Marty,” said Evan. “I know that might be hard, so I’ll help.”
“Mine says it goes upstairs,” said Ava. Troy wasn’t an expert on women, by any m
eans, but she was gorgeous—tall, long-legged, with thick hair pulled back in a ponytail. He had no idea how Evan had impressed her enough to date him. “Just anywhere upstairs, River?”
River nodded, and Ava turned toward the staircase. Evan hurriedly deposited his box and went after her. “I can carry that, Ave.”
“Evan, seriously. I’m here to help. I can carry the box. Go get another one. Okay? I got this.” She watched Evan grumble and head back out to the truck. Then she giggled. “Don’t tell him, but this box I think has like, napkins or something.” She tossed it lightly in the air and caught it with a grin.
Well, her sense of humor was a lot like Evan’s, so maybe that’s what she saw in him. Troy shook his head and went to help Shane arrange the boxes by type. They hauled a few around and rearranged some until Troy glanced at him and said, “You’re all sweaty. Maybe you should take that shirt off.”
“No way. You can’t control yourself, and we can’t have sex in here.”
“I really don’t think Riv would mind,” Troy murmured.
“I would mind.” At Troy’s disbelieving stare, Shane gave a sheepish grin and raked a hand through his hair. It was longer than he’d worn it when he was playing, and Troy liked having more to grab on to. So he didn’t tell Shane he liked it, for fear that would make Shane cut it off. “It’s too hot anyway. Why did they want to move in the summer? Ugh.”
“You didn’t complain this much when you moved in with me,” Troy pointed out.
“That’s because I had, like, two boxes of stuff and a surfboard. And it was the end of May.” Shane glanced at him warily. “Go ahead and say it. I know you can’t help yourself.”
“Three fucking points,” Troy muttered as he nudged a box into place with his foot a little harder than strictly necessary. That was how many points the Ravens missed the playoffs by, and he thought it was a sign of maturity that he could mutter instead of shout it. That took a while. They’d been so close, but… ah, well. With a competent assistant coach from the get-go, they’d be sure to make it to the playoffs next season.
“You did win the Brophy Award,” Shane pointed out proudly. “With a unanimous vote and everything.” The Brophy Award was given to the coach who was voted as having the most positive impact on his team, and while Troy didn’t really care that much about individual accolades, he was pretty proud of that one.
Naturally all he said was, “That’s because the rest of the ECHL was just glad we weren’t going to potentially injure their players on purpose anymore.”
Shane shook his head and laughed. “You’re such a cocky bastard and impossible to compliment. Why is that?”
“You could always compliment me by sucking my—”
Xavier Matthews appeared with a box before Troy could finish that sentence. “Hey, Shane? Does this say ‘upstairs’? I can’t really read River’s handwriting. I think he was tired of labeling boxes by the time he got to this one.”
That was probably true. The first few boxes were more legible. The boxes Ben had labeled were all in neat block printing, in the same place on each box. Troy liked Ben a lot, even if he’d never heard him say more than three sentences when they all hung out. Though with River, Troy, and Shane in one room, he’d have to work pretty hard to get a word in at all.
“Yeah, it does. Here. I’ll take one side and help you, if you want,” Shane offered. He gave Troy a heated look and winked. Then he took a side and maneuvered toward the stairs with Xavier.
“How’s Captain Hottie doing?” River asked as he deposited a box of his own. His dancer’s body meant he had upper-arm strength that put nearly everyone else’s to shame, professional athlete or not.
“Better.” Troy heard Xavier’s low laugh and saw Shane smile as they progressed to the loft area. “He and Shane hang out a lot, since he’s local and in town for the summer.”
“That poor kid,” River said as Shane and Xavier bounded down the stairs, free of their box burden and headed back outside. The truck had to be nearly empty. “You know who his parents are, right?”
Troy knew in a vague sort of way that the Matthewses were bigwigs in the local fundamentalist church scene, which was all he needed to know to not care. “I know they refused to let Xavier around his sister unless he prayed the gay away, or some shit.”
River shook his head, and his expression went from playful to serious. “There was this scandal a few years ago where Bill Matthews—Xavier’s dad—got caught having an affair with a youth minister who was like, half his age.”
“A man?”
“Oh, honey, he’s not that interesting,” River drawled. “Anyway, it was a big deal because you know how that type likes to pretend to be perfect and judge everyone else. Then, when they get caught, that’s when the ‘forgiveness’ talk starts.” River rolled his eyes. “He went up on stage in that “Six Flags Over Jesus” church of theirs and ‘repented’ with a lot of crying. Or whatever. I’ll tell you something. Even I didn’t sell it to a crowd that much, and I was a professional ballet dancer.”
“Riv, how did you learn any of this?” Troy asked, amused despite himself. River hadn’t lived there that long, but he seemed to know everything and everyone.
“At the bar, honey. Where else?” River breezed. He waved a hand. “Either way it was a scandal, so I’m sure they flipped when Xavier came out.”
Troy didn’t talk to his players about personal issues unless they impacted the team or their play on the ice, but he’d never seen Xavier’s parents around, despite the family being local. “Bowie mentioned something about it. Yeah.”
“Well, hopefully he’ll come here and meet some cute boy and tell his parents to fuck themselves.” River raked a hand through his blond hair, which was shaved on both sides and in the back, but long on top. Troy could never have pulled that off, even when he was younger, but it looked good on River. Stylish.
River leaned up and kissed Troy on the cheek. “Thanks for all your help, Cally. And I don’t mean just for bringing a bunch of cute jocks to carry boxes or for donating—though obviously I love you forever for that. I really appreciate that you’re supporting the mission of the place and doing it publicly. It means a lot, and I’m sure it’s going to help us achieve what I want to do.”
Troy hoped River couldn’t tell he was blushing or that he would blame it on the heat of the day and the building’s air conditioner not being powerful enough to make up for the open doors and sweaty people. “Thanks for doing this,” he said gruffly and clapped River on the shoulder. “It’s important to have safe places.”
“Indeed it is.” River nodded at Shane, who was coordinating a few of the guys and telling them where to put their boxes. “You two, by the way.” He shook his head. “Watching you fall in love at the bar was amazing. I’ll miss that now that I’m not there anymore, you know. All the drama.”
“Come watch us coach a hockey game together,” said Troy wryly. “Trust me. You’ll get plenty of drama. Let’s go tear down some boxes.”
SHANE CARRIED in what he hoped to God was the last box of books, deposited it next to the others, and tried to catch his breath. His hands were on his knees and he winced at the sweat in his eyes as his muscles trembled from exertion. River had given him a rainbow bandana a few hours earlier, but he’d long since sweated through it.
“You retired and you’re already out of shape, huh, North.” Xavier threw a grin over at him. His own face was ruddy and covered in sweat, his shirt soaked through with it. It was sleeveless, and Shane could see Xavier’s new tattoo on his bicep. He’d gotten it at Ben’s shop shortly after the season ended, and Shane had gone with him for first-tattoo moral support. It was a stylized raven—at least, Shane assumed it was a raven—with its wings spread and a cage with an open door and a broken lock behind it. It was a pretty badass tattoo, and Shane had not one single problem admitting to Troy later that it was hot as hell to watch Xavier get it inked.
“I’ll… make… you… skate laps… for that,” Shane wheezed. “
Just you wait.” He gratefully took the bottle of water Xavier tossed him and twisted the cap off. It was probably the thirty-sixth one he’d had that day, but they were just about finished unloading the truck. Shane drank half his water in one swallow. “This place will be cool.”
It was a great space, just a few doors down from Ben’s tattoo shop and not very far from Contacts. The main floor was large enough for an extensive bookstore, comprising what felt like a million books, a lounge area, and the checkout counter. There was a large loft space for another comfortable seating area and a coffee shop and even a private room that could be used for meetings or special events.
“Yeah.” Xavier fiddled with his water-bottle cap. “It will be.”
Shane leaned against the exposed brick wall, grateful for the cool stone against his back. He eyed Xavier questioningly, but Xavier didn’t say anything. He drank his water and stared at the bricks. It was half-finished, as River slowly got the contributor bricks engraved and then laid into the wall. Xavier smiled and tapped one that had recently been added. “Shane North, Assistant Coach, Asheville Ravens.”
Shane shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “I wanted to help out. Riv said I could keep it anonymous if I wanted. But hey, I figured why not.” He’d come out without too much media attention—he was a retired minor league hockey player, so he didn’t expect a lot. Other than a few annoying “think pieces” on the NHL Network, no one had tried to connect his career to his sexuality. Which, of course, was because that had always been Shane’s hang-up, not anyone else’s. He was glad to have come out, and his parents were supportive, though a little bemused by Troy—not because he was ten years older than Shane, because the age difference wasn’t really that apparent. It was mostly just because he was Troy.
Troy’s parents, on the other hand, loved Shane. And they let him drive the golf cart, even though Shane privately agreed with Troy that The Villages was creepy as fuck.