Harrisburg Railers Box Set 2

by R J Scott

  “Cool,” Tennant added to the conversation. I looked from Ryker to Ten. “Happy…see…you.”

  “I’m happy to see you too. Look, I uh, I won’t take up much time. I’m sure your parents and brothers are going to be here soon.”

  Tennant nodded and then grimaced. Ryker sat up sharply when Ten winced, then relaxed back into his seat when the pain eased off Ten’s young face.

  “Mom…cookies.”

  That made me smile. I recalled my mother’s cookies and how when I’d been a child, and in need of comfort, they always made me feel better. Sometimes I missed my parents terribly.

  “Then I’ll be quick.” I shrugged off my backpack and dug into it, extracting my sketchpad, then walked closer to Ten. The machines he was attached to beeped steadily. “Not sure if you know this, but Bryan has a nasty scar on his back from a fall through some glass.”

  “Inked…it.”

  I nodded at Ten. “Yeah, we did ink it. And we made something he felt was ugly into something beautiful. When you’re better, I think we can do something for your neck.” I glanced at the thick white gauze wrapped around his throat. My mind dredged up Jared’s words the night of the injury as I stared at those sterile bandages and tape. One millimeter to the side and Ten might have bled out. Time was so short with those we loved. Life was just a fucking crapshoot, so play the game all out, right? “I spoke with your brother Brady, who’s quite the family historian. He informed me that your family dates back to the days of the Norman conquest of England. According to Brady, the early Rowe’s held a family seat in Norfolk, which was a gift from a duke for their allegiance in the Battle of Hastings.” I paused to see if Ten was growing tired yet, but he seemed alert, so I carried on.

  “Brady sent me an image of a coat of arms for the Rowe family. The central animal of the Rowe coat of arms is a lion, which is a symbol of courage, bravery, strength, valor, stateliness, and nobility. All attributes that you have and will show to the world as you battle back from this injury. So, if you’re into all of this so far, I thought we could ink a golden lion over that scar. This one…” I flipped the page to show him the sketch of a lion from the Middle Ages, “is a close interpretation of the one on your family coat of arms. I've just drawn him standing on his rear legs brandishing a sword because, let's face it, a lion wearing a crown and swinging a big ass sword in the air is just fucking cool.”

  Both young men grunted in agreement.

  “With him upright, he’ll cover the scar completely. What do you think?”

  Tennant’s emerald eyes flared.

  “Dude,” he groaned, and I wasn’t sure if that meant he was happy or in pain or what.

  “Do you need the nurse?”

  He shook his head gingerly and smiled. Ryker sat up, coffee in hand, and echoed Ten’s “dude” comment.

  “I can do something else…” I tried to flip the sketchpad shut, but Tennant grunted at me.

  “Give it…here,” he said, his words still slow and slurred.

  Ryker took the page after I tore it from the pad. “We will totally be in to get inked as soon as he’s able. Yeah, Ten?”

  The reply was slow to come, but the “Totes” from Tennant was worth the wait.

  I passed Mr. and Mrs. Rowe on the way out of Tennant’s room. True to her word, Tennant’s mother had a tin in her hands. Igor never stopped me as I left, which was beyond unsettling. Hoisting my backpack higher on my shoulder after a fast trip to the bathroom, I came upon Jared and Ryker huddled together in an alcove by a soda machine, their conversation floating down the still corridor. They must’ve vacated so Ten’s folks could be with him for a bit.

  “…isn’t happening. I can’t get my head around this.” Ryker coughed. The kid had looked more than a little shell-shocked. “Dad, what the fuck will Ten do without hockey?”

  “Okay, no one has said anything about him not being able to play again, and we’re not going to allow that kind of thinking to enter our minds.” Jared cupped the back of his son’s head lovingly but firmly.

  “Yeah, right, okay. I know, sorry. I just…this is freaking me out. I sit there and look at him…I have to go play for that team when I graduate. Dad, I hate the thought of being a future Raptor. Why was it that fucking team that drafted me? I just…this whole thing is fucked. I was so excited to be picked up and now…”

  “I know. We’ll worry about later. Right now, we focus on Ten, right?”

  I lowered my head and lifted a shoulder to make myself invisible. Not that I had to worry about being seen. Jared and Ryker were hugging each other and oblivious to one inked-up dude passing by.

  I drove home, eager to grab a bite to eat and then get to work.

  My brother and Jess were sitting on the couch when I ambled into the shop, having what seemed like a tea party. I quirked an eyebrow at them and the teapot on the floor as I made my way to the fridge under the counter to see if there was anything not moldering inside that I could eat.

  “I ate the chicken that was in there,” Jess called out. I closed the door, straightened, and gave her a dirty look which she smirked at me. “It was dry. I did you a favor.”

  “Right. So, who is who?” I asked, leaning on the glass counter as I eyed my relatives. “Obviously Jess is the Mad Hatter.” She tapped the pink top hat on her head. It matched her pink skirt and black shirt well. Garrett checked his watch. “And you’re the White Rabbit.”

  “Said the March Hare,” my brother replied, then took a sip of tea.

  “Ha.” I left them to their tea and chitchat and went into my workspace, stomach rumbling, and sat at my desk. A craving for sugar cookies with frosting overwhelmed me. My gaze moved over the stuff on my desk, the bills and the books, the sketches and ideas, an empty coffee mug and a spattering of pencils, old and new. My glasses lay beside my laptop, which solved one question. And back in the corner, shoved behind several issues of a monthly magazine for tattoo artists and a box of tissues, was a picture of my family.

  I nudged the tissues aside, pulled the picture over the magazines and studied it. Mom, Dad, Garret, who was a teenager, me and Gina. Gina was just a toddler. She was seated on Mom’s lap, and us boys were on either side of my mother, with Dad directly behind her.

  Things had been good then. Before Gina had died. Back when they’d still loved their middle child. If I was sick like Tennant, would they come to see me? Would she bake those cookies with the sugary frosting? Would they sit by my side? Would they forgive me? If I asked, would they forgive me for letting my sister die alone?

  My phone was in my hand. I don’t recall dialing, but I must have because it was ringing, and then…then my mother was asking who was calling.

  “Mom.” The word was gritty and thick. I sounded like Tennant, forcing each thought into a word that I hoped I could pronounce properly. “It’s me…Gatlin.”

  “Gatlin.” I waited for something, not sure what. “It’s been so long. Why did you stop calling? We’ve been worried. Is your brother okay?”

  “Yeah, uh, yeah, Mom. We’re both fine.” I spun around in my chair, and there he stood, in the doorway, his face set, so no emotion was showing. Typical Garrett. “We're fine. Is Dad okay?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. He’s outside puttering.”

  That made me smile and tear up, but mostly smile. Puttering. A word only a mother would use.

  “Mom, if I were sick in the hospital, would you bring me sugar cookies?”

  Garrett’s brow furrowed like a newly worked field.

  “The ones with the frosting?”

  “Yeah, those.”

  “Of course. Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m not sick just…I’m sorry about Gina, Mom.” It sort of tumbled out of me, as toast crumbs that flitter from your lips to your shirt. “I know you and Dad blame me.”

  A long silence on the other end. I blinked at the tears. Garrett’s eyebrows were set into a deep ”V.”

  “No, Gatlin, we were wrong to take it out on you. We know it wasn’t
your fault.” And then she began to cry. “We miss you boys, more than you will ever know. I’m sorry for making you…”

  And then she kind of broke down, and I had nothing to say because I’d never planned for this. Calling her had been a wild spur of the moment sort of lunacy, brought on by the Rowe’s and their adoration for their youngest son.

  “She misses us.” I coughed as my mother worked out her stuff on the other end of the line. “And she’s sorry.”

  Garrett’s face went blank. That was exactly how I felt. “Well, that’s a start.”

  Yes, yes it was.

  Fifteen

  Bryan

  The game was a mess. We’d started out with the best of intentions, but we learned the hardest lesson of our careers that night. We relied too much on Ten, and with him not there, we were an unfocused mess. The team was too emotionally vulnerable and losing Ten was losing the heart of us.

  With absolute focus, Stan had led us out, cries of ”For Ten” echoing in the locker room as we left. If the words were forced, if the intention was muddied by our worries, then we ignored it all.

  We could do this, we could go out as a team, and we could take a win tonight without Ten. Our focus was filling that gap, closing ranks, holding a steady course.

  But Stan wasn’t in the right headspace. He cracked his stick over the net halfway through the second period, after letting in four goals. I hoped to God Coach didn’t put me in, and after a heated debate with a determined Stan and with the score at four-nothing, I think Coach thought it didn’t matter. Or maybe that it mattered to Stan too much, and he didn’t call for me to replace him. I think he saw that Stan needed to work out his aggression, and the rest of the team pulled together a little more to have the game finally and painfully ending at the same score, four to nothing.

  We only had two more days to get our heads around what had happened, and to play hockey the right way, but how we would get there, I didn’t know.

  The crowd was subdued as well, a lot of signs with Ten’s name on them, some tearful interviews on social media, and of course the big one, Jared missing from the bench.

  Then there was that demonstration outside, the one that had started way before we’d arrived for the game. Some church using what had happened to Ten as proof that God hated gays. That’s exactly what the signs said. I wanted to go over there and tear them out of their hands. Ten wasn’t just a hockey player. He wasn’t just gay. Those things didn’t define him. He was a human, and they were stripping that humanity from him. Stan actually walked their way, but Pete, our security guy, was a brick wall, and he used his words to get Stan to listen to him.

  They weren’t there when the game ended because there’d been trouble, loyal Railers’ fans, and even fans of the opposing team, causing a scuffle which ended up with the police dispersing the crowd. Of course, that didn’t stop the waiting TV crews capturing it all, which meant the headlines changed from 'injured hockey player' to 'injured openly gay hockey player' in an instant.

  “You can talk to me if you want,” Gatlin murmured. He was the big spoon to my little spoon, curving around me, his hand over my waist, his breath tickling my neck with every exhale. We’d been lying like this since I’d come home to his place. He’d taken one look at me and encouraged me into bed, and he hadn’t asked me one question or demanded I explain why I was so quiet.

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” I replied from the heart.

  He pressed a kiss to my neck and snuggled closer, drawing the blanket right up around my throat.

  “I’ll be here when you do,” he murmured.

  I was happy here, far away from the hateful mobs who wanted me and others like me to burn in hell, safe from having to consider that the Railers were broken right now. My eyes burned, and my chest ached, and I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream or rail at the unfairness of what had happened. The outlook wasn’t good. There wasn’t only a skull fracture which had caused internal bleeding, but there was swelling pressing on his spine. He’d lost the feeling in his legs, and no one could say when he would be out of the hospital.

  “Can we go and see Ten?” I asked, twisting in his hold until I faced him.

  “Always.” He sounded confused, maybe thinking why I would be asking something like that.

  “Now. I mean, like, right now. I know Jared isn’t sleeping, and he’s there, and I’d like to take him something, coffee, food, anything.” I realized I sounded on edge and more than a little desperate but watching the Railers fall apart tonight and still feeling as if this was all my fault, I needed to be doing something to scratch away the terrors in my mind.

  To his credit, Gatlin never blinked. He kissed my nose, a small kiss, nothing but a reminder of what I was to him, and then he slid out from under the blanket. Only when he had his jeans on did he turn to face me, realizing I was still in bed.

  “Now is fine, Bryan,” he said.

  Had I been waiting for him to say that? Did I need his permission? Jesus, how fucked up was I? Dressed, he headed to find jackets and keys, and all too soon we were at McDonald’s drive-through, picking up food and coffees. Because of media attention and the increased risk, this morning they’d moved Ten to a private space with security. I didn’t know the two guards, but they recognized me.

  Even so, they couldn’t let me in. They said I was on the approved list, but at midnight, it was protocol not to let anyone in.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “I just wanted to—”

  “Bryan, Gatlin,” Jared said from behind us, coming out of the hospital, rubbing at his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “We should be asking you that,” I blurted out and thrust the bag of burgers at him. He took the bag, and I handed him the coffee, so he was juggling everything. “Sorry,” I apologized and went to take it back, and the coffee slipped from our joint hold. Only Gatlin scrambling for it saved the situation from being an unmitigated disaster. I’m so fucking clumsy.

  I was shaking inside, and Jared stared at me as if I was an idiot, or was he confused?

  “Come and join me? Everyone else has gone home, although Ten’s mom only just left. The doc was here earlier, and I think I’m processing what they told me, but I feel shaky, although I’m not sure I’ve eaten; maybe not at all today. I needed some air, but I would really like it if someone would sit and talk to me and tell me…” He stopped and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

  He couldn’t recall eating? Also, I wondered how much sleep he’d had since the accident. He was gaunt and hunched in on himself, not the strong man who could make a line of defensemen quake in their skates. Then it hit me. He needed someone else to be strong for him right at this moment. Not a neurotic guilt-ridden kid, but a man, and with Gatlin at my side, I could be that person. I felt it deeply, and it was like a fire in my veins.

  “We’d love to join you,” I said, and Gatlin nudged my arm. I like to think he was proud of me. Hell, I was proud of myself.

  We followed him past the guards, who issued us badges and ushered us into a small anteroom with a table and some chairs. The walls were a soft cream, with paintings on each of them and windows that faced a private garden area. It was illuminated from the light in the room facing it, which was a small kitchen of sorts. Jared slid into the nearest sofa that faced the door, and I watched as he relaxed inch by inch into the soft cushions. He placed the bag of food next to him and fell on the coffee as if he needed caffeine more than air.

  “I think he should eat,” I said to Gatlin, who nodded. In a smooth move worthy of Ten himself, I managed to wrangle the coffee from Jared and rummaged inside the McDonald’s bag for a cheeseburger. “Eat,” I demanded.

  For a moment I thought Jared was going to argue with me, but then he took the wrapped food and peeled back the paper. He bit into it as if he was worried it was poisoned, but after chewing for a second, he carried on, swallowed, and proceeded to eat that burger and the other we’d added just in case. Then the nuggets, then the fries. Until the bag
was empty. He interspersed the whole burger-fest with slurps of coffee, and finally, he sat back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

  “So they released the pressure on the bleed, and the feeling is coming back in Ten’s legs,” Jared said after a moment of peace.

  Hope flared inside me. “That’s a good thing, right?” I sat next to Jared on the sofa, “Right?”

  Jared opened his eyes, and they were bright with emotion. “Yes. Rehab, therapy, fuck knows what, but he’ll get up out of that bed under his own steam.”

  I don’t think I’d ever felt lighter. Ten was coming back. “He'll be on skates in no time.” I was sure of it.

  Jared nodded slowly, but there was no answering smile. “He still can’t talk properly, and sometimes when he’s trying to say simple things, he falters. The damage might be too severe to skate again. No one knows.”

  I reached out to Jared then, placed a hand on his knee briefly. “Ten is young; he’s a fighter.” I glanced at Gatlin, who smiled encouragingly. “I’m convinced he’ll be back soon.”

  Jared also smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The cops were here today,” he said, so softly I had to strain to hear.

  They’d taken a statement from me, about what happened on the roof, about the kind of man I thought Aarni Lankinen was, but who knew what would happen next.

  “About what happened on the ice?”

  “The VT is ambiguous, doesn’t show if Aarni hurt Ten worse, doesn’t matter if he’d threatened Ten. In their words, it’s hockey.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I get that. I just don’t know how I’m going to…” He scrubbed at his eyes. “Look, do me a favor, pass the word about the op to the team, let people know. I’m all done with telling the same story over and over.”

  I typed a message into the group chat but showed Jared before I hit send.

  Ten’s op went well. He has feeling in his legs.

  I wanted to add that this was fantastic news, that I was filled with hope, and that Jared had eaten burgers. Also that the cops had been to see Ten. I didn’t. I just waited for Jared to nod that the message was acceptable, and then pressed send. The Aarni part wasn’t my story to tell, and there was enough shit out there at the moment without pouring more fuel onto the flames.