by R J Scott
“No need to pretend that we’re suddenly this incredibly demonstrative family,” he mumbled under his breath, but he did offer me his hand. I took it, and we shook. Jess must’ve gotten her hug-it-out attitude from some potential emotional gene from a bygone ancestor because she sure as hell did not get it from either side of her parental tree.
Someone cleared their throat, and both Garrett and I glanced to the right. There stood Bryan, in soft fleece pants, ratty sneakers, a tank top that showed those magnificent shoulders and arms to the world, a wickedly dark love mark on his neck, and some incredible bedhead. So yes, the most beautiful man in the world was giving me a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, sorry. Bryan Delaney, this is my older brother, Garrett.” I motioned to Garrett, who then walked to Bryan and offered him his hand. “Garrett, my boyfriend, Bryan.”
Bryan threw me a shy smile. We’d not really used such a formal label before now. It felt right.
“Nice to meet you. Gatlin talks about you all the time. Are you coming for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow? My parents are flying in for a couple of days.”
My brother checked back with me, his hand still in my lover’s. I nodded. Garrett gave me a soft inclination of his head.
“I’ll be coming alone. My wife is in Nantucket with her grandparents. Oh. I should pass along the invitation to Jess.” Garrett released Bryan’s hand. I glanced up at the ceiling and rubbed at my chin whiskers and heard Garrett’s long-suffering sigh. “She’s been invited already, hasn’t she?”
I started to say something. Bryan did as well. Garrett shook his head and chuckled. I gave him a shit-eating grin.
“Bring some of that expensive cold duck that you horde like Scrooge does halfpennies,” I said.
Garrett rolled his eyes, and I knew then that things were okay between us. We might not be the sibling ideal, but at least I knew he cared, in his cold-fish sort of way. Some famous Greek, Prometheus maybe, said that big things have small beginnings. Perhaps my brother and I were destined for big things.
The Raptors had flown into town.
Since Stan had been in net the previous night against New Jersey, and because Bryan knew the team so well, my man was between the pipes. He’d fallen into this kind of eerie calm before leaving for the game. Unable to describe it any other way, I felt he had gotten into the place that goalies go before a game where it is mental preparation. Sitting in a lovely spacious seat called the “Steamers Section,” I had some corporate types on either side of me, which was fine. Me in my Delaney jersey, tattered jeans, and beat-to-hell shitkickers didn't stand out at all among the expensive suits. Nope. Not at all. Garrett would have felt right at home.
As soon as the puck drop at center ice started the game, things got intense. Both teams had that edge, and every chance to finish a check was taken. Usually, this kind of aggressive play was reserved for those interstate rivalries or playoff games. Big men were slammed into the boards by other big men steadily. Small scuffles broke out here and there, shoving around the nets or discussions that lasted after lines changed.
The fans loved it. Hell, I loved it. If my man had been out there taking a beating, I might not have, but he was safely in the net. Although he too was a little more prone to shoving and using his stick to slap at Raptor players than usual. The first period was tight, not too many shots on goal but lots of end-to-end action with physicality galore. A fight was in the air. You could smell the simmering aggression as easily as you could smell popcorn popping, malty beer, and hamburgers frying.
So, when the fracas broke out along the boards to the left of Bryan, no one was surprised. We all might have leaped to our feet and cheered when big Adler Lockhart took a swing at equally big Petrov Egorov, a Raptor defenseman, after Egorov had gotten away with an uncalled slash on Lockhart. Bodies converged, and the fans went wild.
Of course, Tennant Rowe leaped into the melee in an attempt to pull one of the Raptors off one of his fellow Railers. What happened next occurred in a split second, but it was one of those sights that everyone who witnessed it would carry with them forever. Someone grabbed at Rowe’s head in the mash of men and sticks and striped shirts. Later, on a thousand replays, we would see that the tug on Tennant’s helmet was accidental. A Raptor just pawing at the horde and accidentally getting Ten’s helmet. Off popped Rowe’s skid lid, and into the mob flew Aarni Lankinen. Maybe I focused in on that fuckwit because of my in-depth knowledge of his abusive ways and his sick hatred of Tennant Rowe. Bryan had whispered things to me in the night. Things that made me start searching the For Sale ads in the papers for a trash truck. I yelled at Tennant to watch out. As if he could hear me over the other eighteen thousand rabid fans screaming for blood.
There’s a saying about being careful what you wish for. When Lankinen reached Rowe, he slapped a hand to his shoulder and yanked him back over his extended leg. Rowe fell into the shuffling, punchy horde of skates, his head hitting the ice soundly, and he lay there. Unmoving, his head resting in an ever-increasing pool of blood, as skates danced around him.
The arena fell into silence. The Railers trainer flew over the boards and shoved his way through the men, who were only now seeing Rowe lying unconscious on the ice. I stood there high above the ice, paralyzed with fear. There was so much blood. And Rowe was not even twitching a finger. Bryan, bless his sweet and tender heart, raced out of the net and threw himself on Aarni’s back, slamming his ex’s face into the glass and pounding on his head.
No one cheered. Not one single person in that packed rink said a thing. I pushed through the worried fans, my heart in my throat, and barreled up the stairs. I had to get to the players’ area and to Bryan. Of course, I wouldn’t be allowed to sashay into the dressing room. Fuck. I spun and stared at the scene playing out on that massive screen. Players now back to their benches, a stretcher being taken out for Rowe, who was unmoving. And Aarni being escorted off the ice. Then the refs and linesmen stood in a small group by the timekeeper’s table, discussing how many penalties would be handed out. Time in the sin bin was unimportant though.
Our star player was seriously injured. It seemed to take forever for them to get Tennant secured with a neck brace and gingerly lifted onto the stretcher. I had tried to see Jared from where I was seated, but he hadn’t been on the bench. When the paramedics wheeled Ten through the Zamboni doors was when I saw Madsen, waiting for his man and taking his hand as they rushed the youngest Rowe boy out of the arena. I’d never seen a coach leave the game before, but then again Tennant and Jared weren’t engaged in your typical coach/player relationship. God, Jared must have been a wreck.
Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed in deathly silence. The rest of the game was a blur with a sickly loss for the Railers that no one would blame them for. How could a team return to playing full-bore when one of their most beloved friends was seriously injured?
It was a long, tense wait for Bryan. He and Stan exited together, heads close, and waved off the fans looking for an autograph. Erik followed Stan, his head down, and the rest of the team trickled out, none stopping for the fans this night.
“Hey,” I said when Bryan broke away from Stan. The big Russian gave me a quick hug and then hustled to his car with his lover. “Any news?”
“They’re saying it’s bad.”
“Fuck.” I wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure if we were doing that out and proud stuff. When he grabbed me and held me tightly to his chest, I embraced him back. No one would think anything of it tonight. Every player exiting that arena was hollow-eyed with grief and worry.
“He did that to Tennant because of me,” Bryan gasped, his face buried in my neck.
“No, babe, no. He did that because he’s a miserable excuse for a human being and a dirty weasel of a hockey player.” My hands roamed over his back, patting and rubbing as he battled with tears. “You want to go to the hospital?”
“Yeah, please. If that’s okay with you?”
Why was he asking that? “Of course you need to go.”
“Sorry, yeah I want to go. You don’t have to come. You can go home, and I’ll call when we hear anything.” He pulled back. “I just need to be with my team now.”
I could see him beginning to shut down. Was it shock? Or was this more personal? He’d stepped away and wouldn’t look me in the eyes. He was apologizing for not being with me, and I could see the fear in his expression.
“I’ll come with you,” I said with focused determination.
“I won’t be long,” he said, and again he wouldn’t meet my gaze.
What the hell? “Just thought you might like some company. I could fetch coffees and stuff.” I ran out of words to explain how I really wanted to be with him and the team, and how I could be useful. Maybe it was my tone or the words themselves, but something must have reached him.
“Really?” he asked and finally looked at me.
Dieter brushed by. “I’ve got the room for two in the back,” he announced, and I realized we weren't standing alone. We were in the middle of a scrum of players who all wanted to know about Ten, who all wanted to be at the hospital. Suddenly I was unsure. Maybe it wasn’t my place to be there.
“But I can stay here if you think I’ll be in the way.”
Then the man I loved pushed back his shoulders, reacting to the uncertainty in my tone and becoming the confident person I know he could be.
“I want you there.”
“Let’s go.”
He pressed a kiss to my cold cheek, and then we followed the procession of players and staff cars to Harrisburg University Hospital, which was not the official hospital of the Harrisburg Railers. We were headed to HUH because they had a state-of-the-art traumatic head injury unit.
I drove while Bryan whispered soft little prayers.
Thirteen
Bryan
Something had happened back at the arena. Familiar guilt had consumed me, and I didn’t want to put Gatlin out, didn’t want him to get angry with me, and I’d felt vulnerable and raw. Expressing his own concern, that he’d be in the way, was enough to pull me back, and god, I needed that. He wasn’t Aarni. He was a man with a big heart who could see I was in distress.
I knew I was in shock. When I’d seen Aarni going after Ten, I couldn’t move fast enough. I’d tried to get to Ten, wanted to help him.
I tried so hard.
But it was too late. Ten was lying still, with blood pooling under his head. I threw myself at Aarni, punched and kicked him, pulled his body out of the melee and onto the open ice.
I saw something in his eyes as my bare hands shoved at his helmet, delight at first and then fear as I hurt him. He’d tried to shove me off, calling me a bastard, telling me I was worthless, but fuck, I made that man bleed. I didn’t know who pulled me away at first. I tried to fight them as well, but Stan’s voice finally made me stop. He gripped my hands and turned me away from Aarni and Ten.
“Dostatochno,” he repeated over and over, staring right at me, his eyes bright with emotion, holding me until I finally relaxed into his hold. “My ub'yem yego pozzhe,” he added.
I don’t know what he was saying, but I believed that whatever it was would mean Aarni would pay for what he’d done.
And now I was in this car, praying that Ten would be okay, unable to comprehend how something so stupid could have ended up with him in the hospital. Hockey was a dangerous sport, and there were often fights and scuffles. Guys coming away with split lips or bruised knuckles and grins.
Why had it all gone wrong for Ten?
The hospital came into view, and I immediately tensed at the sight of the press gathered around the gates. This was big news in our town; our superstar player bleeding out on the stark ice, playing on every phone and television, I’m sure.
A man I didn’t recognize, wearing a Railers’ hoodie, gestured for us to go to the left of the building, and I spotted Adler’s sleek car ahead. We were being herded into a separate, private, parking lot, along with several other Railers’ cars.
“Here,” Layton Foxx said as soon as we stepped out. “You’ll need these. Stay where you’re put. No talking to the press, no social media, please. Wear the passes at all times, and if you have any questions…” His voice broke, and I could see the bright emotion in his eyes. He was a man who was supposed to guide this situation somehow, but above all that, he was Ten’s friend. We all were. I wanted to say something to Layton to make it better, didn’t want him to look so broken and fearful. I couldn’t find a single thing that would work, not when I felt the same terrors I knew he had.
“It’s okay,” Gatlin offered, took the two passes, and put one around my neck. “I’ve got this.”
Layton nodded his thanks, his knuckles white where he gripped the remaining passes.
“I don’t know…” he began and then shook his head. “Shit.”
Gatlin side-hugged him. “What can I do to help? Let me do this.” He took the passes gently and then pushed both myself and Layton a little toward the door from the parking lot. “I’ve got this.”
“Only team,” Layton said, obviously torn with what he should be doing. His responsibility was to the team, but this was Ten hurt in there. “Loved ones,” he added.
“Okay yeah, I assume someone called his family? His brothers?”
“Brady is on his way. Jamie is stuck in Florida but will be here in a few hours.”
“And his parents?”
“On their way as well. We have a driver picking them up from the airport. Anyone who wants in that you don’t know, call me, okay?”
“Will do.”
Fear curled inside me at this question and answer conversation. Gatlin was so calm, but parents and siblings, that made everything so real. Layton looked from Gatlin to me and then strode into the hospital and vanished from view.
“I’m staying out here, Bryan, okay?”
“Huh?” I closed my eyes briefly and cursed my vision and the things I'd seen tonight. This could be it for Ten. Over. He had such a brilliant future ahead of him, and because of me, he’d been hurt. I’m so cold. Why am I so cold?
Gatlin cradled my face. “I’m staying here as point man,” he said and moved his thumbs across my cheekbone briefly until I was aware and focused. “Is that okay with you?”
“What?”
“This is how I can help.”
“Thank you. I think Layton needed to be in there. His team is…” Fucked? Destroyed? Ten is the heart of this team. We’re finished. Ten’s finished—
“Stop it, Bryan,” Gatlin was firm. “That is your team as well. So whatever you’re thinking. Stop it. You need to go in there and share this with your hockey family, and as soon as I can, I’ll come in.”
That fear inside became something else, a panic that I couldn’t stop.
“I can’t.”
“Breath,” Gatlin instructed. “In. Out.”
I focused on his voice, and somehow, miraculously, the panic subsided. I reached up and gripped his hands.
“I love you,” I said because it needed to be said at that moment.
“I love you, too,” he replied, smiled at me and then gave me a gentle shove toward the door. There was a car at the barrier being let through. “This is me getting to work,” he explained, and then, with a wink, he walked over to issue security passes.
When I got inside, an administrator showed me to a private room. The label on the door said incident room. I guess this was a place they used in emergencies, the only place for a large team of hockey players to sit and wait things out in private. I thanked him, entered and stood uncertainly, not knowing where to sit or wait. Should I go to Stan, as my fellow goalie? Was I good enough to stand with the forwards? Did I have friends here who needed me?
Then I saw the very thing I’d missed. There were no groups here. No one had their backs to me or to anyone else. There was a loose circle of men chatting softly. No one was angry; no one shouted. The circle widened a little, and Dieter gestured me in, so I stepped forward, and a couple of the guy
s nodded at me.
They wouldn’t show any kind of compassion if they knew this was my fault. I should have told Ten that he was on Aarni’s shit list. I should have said something to Jared…
“Way to go whaling on that asshole,” Erik said and clapped me on the shoulder. “Stan said you were stuck to him like superglue, making that fucker bleed.”
I smiled at Erik, as if that would stop him and anyone else talking, but no, I was coming off as the hero of the fucking hour, just for wanting to kill the man who’d made me so freaking fragile and needy.
When the fifth person told me the same thing, I snapped, and it wasn’t pretty.
“It’s my fault he went for Ten. He threatened him when Ten pulled him off me, and now Ten could be dying, so stop congratulating me for fucking everything up!” My words were staccato sharp and painful to say, and for a second everyone stared at me, a couple with their mouths open.
“What?” someone finally asked. I didn’t know who, I couldn’t tell, and I steeled myself for the anger.
Connor moved first, closing the door to the room and leaning on it. “Start from the beginning, Bryan.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and tipped my chin to at least look like I had a backbone.
“It’s my fault,” I began again, but Connor held up a hand.
“Ten had to pull him off you?” He prompted, and I was lost for words.
“I let myself get into a stupid situation,” I said, admitting to my part in it. “If I hadn’t gone up on the roof, then Aarni wouldn’t have had a chance to get in my face and try to… y’know.”
“Wait, Aarni wanted to hurt you?” Connor asked as if I hadn’t already explained everything once.
“That’s irrelevant. It’s my fault—”
“Enough,” Connor snapped.
I winced and waited for a punch.
Stan pushed past the others and stood in front of me, blocking my view of Connor. “Not shouting at little B,” he said, his stance wide. He was protecting me.