Risking the Shot (Stick Side Book 4)

by Amy Aislin

  Double fuck. Triple?

  Five thousand at this point. The email from his building manager was the cherry on top of a craptastic afternoon.

  He didn’t want to move out of Dean and Grey’s. He hadn’t had a roommate since his AHL days, and he missed that. No doubt Dean and Grey couldn’t wait to get their space back, though.

  Ignoring everything, he went into his texts and pulled up the one from Dakota from just before lunch. You got this!

  He grinned even though he had absolutely nothing. Still, Dakota had his back, and it made his day brighter knowing someone was in his corner.

  He was still reeling from last night. He’d thought for sure Dakota was going to kick him out. Had braced himself for it while Dakota’s I’m in love with you, wrenched from his throat, had echoed in his mind, playing on a loop. The expression on Dakota’s face had been a mix of awe, devastation, and frank vulnerability, and what was Tay supposed to do with that?

  Dakota was fucking brave for not letting his insecurities get the best of him.

  And then he’d asked Tay to stay the night with him and Andy. Straightening out of his slump, sun streaming through the windshield, Tay smiled.

  He went to call Dakota but found a new text from Calder. Got any plans for Dakota’s birthday?

  Tay froze, panic squeezing his chest. No!! Seeing as I don’t know when his birthday is!!

  Calder: Relax. April 12.

  Oh, thank God. It was still almost a month away.

  Tay: Can you keep him occupied for a couple of hours that afternoon? Take him out? Maybe.

  Calder: Maybe?

  Tay: I have an idea but I won’t know if I can pull it off until I know whether or not we make the playoffs and I get the game schedule.

  Calder: Okay. And you need him to be out of the house?

  Tay: Yup. And I need access to his house. And also Andy.

  Tay: Never mind, I’ll talk to Dakota about it.

  Clearing the rest of his notifications, he got out of the car, went back into the building, and found his instructor in their regular classroom, sitting behind the wide counter at the front of the room, a stack of papers in front of him. Tay knocked on the doorjamb.

  “Taylor.” Professor Lai waved him in. “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s just Tay,” he said automatically, sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter. “Listen, I know I’m basically failing the practicals—”

  “What makes you think that?” Lai peered at him over his rimless glasses.

  Tay rubbed his hands over his thighs. “I keep choking.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  “I—Oh.” At a loss as to what to do with that, he stared at the professor.

  Lai stared back, patiently waiting for Tay to tell him why he was there.

  Clearing his throat, Tay shifted on the stool. “I’ve realized, lately, that being a paramedic isn’t for me. I’m not sure I’ll be continuing after this year.” One shoulder twitched in a half-hearted shrug. “I just wanted you to know.”

  “I appreciate the heads-up. The others weren’t so considerate.”

  “Others?”

  “You’re not the first, nor will you be the last, to drop out.”

  Drop out. Ugh. Tay scratched his eyebrow to hide a wince. “I didn’t realize there were more.”

  “Every cohort sees its share. There’s no shame in it. Paramedicine isn’t for everyone, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s better to realize it now than after four years of hard study, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Right.” Tay stared at the countertop, drumming a finger on his knee. He supposed it was a good thing. Wouldn’t it have been better to realize that earlier on, though? Sighing, he stood and tossed Lai a flat smile.

  “I almost quit too, once upon a time.”

  Tay fell back onto the stool. “You did?”

  “My first ever ambulance ride-along was to the home of a teenager who’d committed suicide,” Lai said. He removed his glasses and gestured at Tay with them. “I was left to sit with the boy’s father—a single parent—in the living room while the senior paramedics looked after the boy. It is singularly the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. And trying to console a grieving father when I was in my early twenties and had virtually no responsibilities? I was convinced I wasn’t cut out for it.”

  “What made you stay?”

  “The advice of a senior paramedic who told me that not every day was like that. And he was right.” Lai slid his glasses back on his nose. “The percentage of life-threatening or soul-crushing calls is very, very small. But I don’t think that will convince you to stick with it.”

  Maybe in another life it would’ve. It should’ve been reassuring. If anything, it cemented his decision. “It won’t.”

  “Like I said, that’s okay.” Lai’s smile was the most patient Tay had ever seen it. “It’s like being two years into a psychology or journalism or business degree and realizing it isn’t for you. This is the same thing.”

  Huh. When he looked at it that way, it didn’t seem so bad. He wasn’t the first university student to change directions or reevaluate. As Lai had said, he wouldn’t be the last either.

  “Thank you.” Tay stood and held out his hand. “I was feeling pretty shitty about this. The talk helped.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Lai shuffled the papers into a neat pile and nodded at the door. “Let me walk you out and you can tell me what you plan on doing instead. Other than hockey, that is.”

  “Oh, um . . .” Ambling toward the exit side by side, passing students half bent over their phones or shoving each other good-naturedly, Tay balled his hands in his pockets. “I think I’m going to focus on my art.”

  Lai turned to him, eyebrows flying up. “You’re an artist?”

  “Ah, sort of, yeah.”

  “Neat.” At the exit, Lai hung a left and started down another hallway. “Good luck with it. And tonight’s game. See you in class?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be finishing out the semester.” Given the time, energy, and money he’d invested in it, it’d be stupid not to. “Thanks again, professor.”

  Blowing out a breath, Tay slumped, letting his head fall back. So. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting exactly, but that certainly wasn’t it. Relief made his muscles weak and he sucked in a deep breath. God, he couldn’t wait to tell Dakota about this conversation.

  First, though, he needed to get to the arena, and for the first time in recent memory, he drove away from campus without a cloud of bleakness over his head.

  He arrived at the arena early, but so did everyone else, excitement evident in the choice of music booming in the locker room—some dance number Tay didn’t recognize—the wired undertones to his teammates’ voices, and the banter that flowed freely. Sitting in front of Stanton’s cubby was the box of Sour Patch Kids that had made an appearance in the locker room several weeks ago. Stanton himself was speaking to Staples near his locker.

  Tay found Dean and Grey after he’d changed into his workout gear. Their cubbies weren’t next to each other, whether unintentionally or by design, Tay didn’t know, so he went to Dean and called Grey over. “I got an email from my building manager today. They’re done with the hallway renovations so I can move back in anytime. I should be out of your hair in the next couple of days.”

  “There’s no rush,” Dean said. “We’re on the road most of next week. You must have other things to think about than moving out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy having your space back.”

  “We like having you around, Tay,” Dean said with a reassuring smile. “Stay as long as you need. There’s really no rush.”

  Grey swung an arm around Tay’s shoulders. “Stick around. You have interesting textbooks.”

  Tay blinked at him. “You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” Who wanted to read a course textbook? Oh, hey! Maybe he could sell it to Grey when he was done with it. Or hell, he’d ju
st gift it to him.

  As they got set up in a deserted hallway for Balls In My Court, Lacroix at the end with a whistle, Xappa nudged his wide shoulders between Tay and Stanton.

  “I like this spot,” he said at Tay’s glower.

  “Uh-huh.” Tay’s gaze trailed past him to Stanton. Definitely something other than best friend duties. Definitely cementing him as the sixth secret member of the Queer Brigade. “Methinks you like something else.”

  Xappa’s eyes widened, hand going to his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re very obvious.”

  Lips pursed, Xappa looked to his right; Stanton was wiping his glasses on his T-shirt.

  “In his defense,” Tay said, when Xappa raised an eyebrow at him, “all he notices is hockey and musical theater.”

  Xappa laughed. Lacroix blew the whistle a second later.

  “This is it,” Coach Dabrowski had said during his usual pregame pep talk. “If we win the next two games, we clinch a spot in the playoffs. Don’t fuck up.”

  So eloquent.

  But, so far, they hadn’t fucked up. Tay refused to attribute that to the puzzle piece he’d rubbed between two fingers before the game. He was not going to become one of those players who had to perform a sacred ritual before each game.

  With four minutes to go until the end of the third period, they were up by two and Montreal was floundering. All they had to do was continue to run circles around Montreal and they’d have this in the bag. Toronto’s goalie had only let in one goal all night. Desie was going to get plied with drinks when they went out to celebrate later.

  The energy of the crowd was infectious. Tay’s blood buzzed in his veins, his face flushed, as he awaited his next shift. Next to him, Stanton tapped the end of his hockey stick against the floorboards.

  On the ice, van Kooten passed to Lacroix. A Montreal player by the name of Kogan, bigger than Ashton Yager even, checked him into the boards, stole the puck, and sailed down the rink. Ahead of him, one of his teammates tripped Dean—who’d been standing between Kogan and Desie—from behind.

  “Oh, fuck,” Stanton muttered, quitting his stick tapping.

  If asked later, Tay would swear it happened in slow motion. Dean fell, his stick tangling in Kogan’s teammate’s skates. He too fell, on top of Dean. Kogan wasn’t able to avoid them both; his skate hooked into his teammate’s stick and he skipped over the ice to regain his balance, plowing into Desie before he was able to stop.

  Tay’s goalie went down, bringing the net with him, Kogan on top of him.

  “Oh, fuck,” Stanton shouted.

  Desie’s knee was at the wrong angle.

  “Desie!” The crowd had silenced to a murmur, Dean’s shout echoing throughout the arena. He shoved the Montreal player off him and crawled to Desie.

  Before he’d thought it through, Tay was over the boards and at Desie’s side. Dean had already thrown Kogan off him with a muttered “Jesus Christ” when he got a look at Desie’s leg.

  “Hey.” Sitting at Desie’s head, Tay tore his gloves off and cupped Desie’s face. Desie’s teeth were gritted, a muscle jumping in his jaw, whimpers escaping lips pressed together, eyes squeezed tight in pain. “You’re okay.”

  A crowd had gathered behind them, Montreal and Toronto players alike. Grey kneeled on Desie’s left to grab his hand, Dean on his right. Lacroix and Collet hovered in Tay’s periphery, and beyond them was most of the rest of the team.

  “Shit,” Kogan said, regaining his feet. “Shit, is he okay?”

  Growling, Collet shoved him.

  Ignoring it all, Tay held onto Desie and talked to him, keeping his voice steady and calm, until their medical team arrived with a stretcher.

  They won the game, but there was no celebration afterward. The mood in the locker room was somber, the air thick as they sat after their showers, talking quietly or responding to social media messages while they waited for Coach.

  On Tay’s far left, Grey fawned over his husband. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Promise.” Dean squeezed his hand. “Just bruised.” He rubbed a palm over his bearded jaw. “I should’ve done more.”

  “This isn’t your fault.” The fierceness in Grey’s tone had several guys glancing over. “You couldn’t have known that asshole was going to trip you from behind.”

  “He’s right,” Lacroix said on Dean’s right. “This isn’t any of our faults.”

  Tay sat next to Stanton, dug out the puzzle piece that was obviously not a good luck charm, and called Dakota.

  “You okay?” Dakota’s voice was smooth and concerned in his ear.

  Running a thumb over the puzzle piece, Tay blew out a breath. “That sucked.”

  “How is he?”

  “We’re still waiting for word.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” He dug a nail into the edge of the puzzle piece. “I wasn’t even on the ice.”

  “Mentally, I mean. You kept your head out there.”

  “Yeah.” It’d occurred to him while he showered that two years of paramedicine training had kicked in, instinct had taken over, and he hadn’t panicked. Something to think about later. “I can’t bring myself to be happy about it, though. Not like this. Andy didn’t see, did he?”

  “No, he’s been asleep for a couple of hours.”

  Sighing, Tay’s eyes drifted closed. “Good. I’ll let you get to bed too. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Come over?”

  Tay’s eyes popped open and he smiled at his toes. “If you want.”

  “I want. I always want. I’ll wait up for you.”

  “’Kay,” Tay whispered. “Love you.” Stanton was smiling at him when he hung up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Stanton popped a Sour Patch Kid in his mouth. Something else that clearly wasn’t good luck. “Just glad things worked out between you and your guy.” There was a wistful quality to his voice Tay had never heard before.

  Across from him, Xappa was staring at Stanton with the softest expression Tay had ever seen on his face, all droopy-eyed and openmouthed. He caught Tay staring and frowned at him, brows bunching, before going back to his phone. A moment later, a croony ballad played over the speaker system.

  Tay squinted, running the voice against the database of musicians in his head.

  “Is that Tenor Jones?” Stanton said.

  Ah. That was why Tay recognized the voice. “I don’t know this song.”

  “It’s his upcoming single,” Xappa said.

  “How’d you get it?”

  Elbows on his knees, Xappa smirked. “We’ve been best friends since elementary school. I get all of his new stuff first.”

  “You have friends?” Tay quipped.

  Xappa flipped him off.

  “Wait, I thought Stanton’s brother was your BFF?”

  “There were three of them,” Stanton grumbled, digging into his candy bag for a particular color. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen three eighteen-year-olds do coordinated backflips on graduation day.” He jerked his chin Xappa’s way. “This one tripped on his gown and broke his leg.”

  Xappa’s scowl was fierce. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  It cut through some of the tension in the room, laughter breaking out among the guys who’d been listening.

  “Seriously, though.” Tay sat forward. “Who do I have to blow to get a backstage pass to Tenor Jones’s next concert?”

  Xappa’s eyebrows went up. “You’re that big of a fan?”

  “I like his stuff.” Tay took one of Stanton’s candies and threw it at Xappa. “Dude, hook me up.”

  Stanton hugged the bag to his chest, glowering at Tay. “Asshole.”

  “I can introduce you next time we play Vancouver,” Xappa said. “He’s attended all of our games there.”

  “He has?” Tay thought back, but nothing stuck out. “I don’t remember hearing anything about that.” Usually, when there was so
meone famous in the crowd, the team heard about it before the game and said famous person eventually ended up on the jumbotron.

  “He hides away in the suites,” Xappa said. “To avoid being mobbed.”

  Tay punched Stanton in the shoulder.

  The bag fell out of Stanton’s hands. “Hey!”

  “I can’t believe you never told me you know Tenor Jones.”

  “I didn’t know you’re that big of a fan either. Besides, I wouldn’t call us friends. My brother’s seven years older than me. His friends were never my friends.”

  That made Xappa’s brow pinch.

  “Is Tenor Jones his real name?” Tay asked. “Seems a little too convenient.”

  Stanton blinked. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

  “That’s a no, then.”

  The mood in the locker room turned strained and dense when Coach walked back in, expression set into unreadable lines. Tay clenched the puzzle piece in his fist.

  Dean stood. “What’s the verdict, Coach?”

  “They’re taking him into surgery.” Hands planted on his hips, lines bracketed Coach’s mouth. “We don’t know the status of his leg yet, or how much physical therapy he’ll need to get back on his feet. But it’s safe to say he won’t be back before the end of the season, which means you’re up, Dahlberg.”

  Dahlberg, the backup goalie, nodded once.

  “Go home, guys,” Coach said. “I’ll have an update at tomorrow’s practice.”

  Taking him at his word, they dressed in coats and scarves and filed out of the locker room.

  Dakota walked into The Loose Moose at one and spotted Tay right away, sitting at a table near the window with his back to the room. The Loose Moose was a cool place. Lots of wood paneling, exposed beams, low lighting, and good food. Their scotch selection wasn’t anything to write home about, but they had sixty-five beer varieties on tap. It wasn’t far from the arena either—and thus Dakota’s office—which he was sure was the reason Tay had originally chosen this place for lunch.

  Unbuttoning his coat, he sat next to Tay.

  “Hey!” Tay’s grin took over his face. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”