Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  “Might not. Or it might. Shit!” He shoved to his feet. “I could go to Peterson, and Landon, and the Cobalt guys. Punch them around a bit. Someone would confess.”

  “Then they’d get set free due to police brutality, and you go to jail, and the recording goes out on the Net anyway.”

  “Yeah.” He went and knelt by Will’s chair. “I’m starting to think there’s no way to stop that, regardless.”

  “Other than paying up.”

  He laid his head on Will’s knee and closed his eyes. Will’s fingers brushed over his hair. He swallowed hard. “We can’t.”

  “I know.”

  “So.”

  “We’re coming out.” Will’s tone was almost serene.

  “Yeah.” He said it to the hay-scented denim over Will’s thigh.

  Will murmured, “One more night for just us. And Scott. We’ll call him after the game.”

  “I’ll talk to a couple of deputies I trust in the morning.”

  “What will you tell them?”

  He sighed. “Everything. About you and me, not Scott. But I can’t go through the day wondering who might find out what. The only reason I won’t tell the whole damned world right now is I want to catch this guy first.”

  “Will you be all right, coming out?”

  “I have three more weeks as sheriff. How bad can it get? And I’ll get to hug you in public. I’ll be fine. You?”

  “Nita’s on our side. The rest of the guys will be a mixed bag. But if we lose a couple of men, early winter isn’t a bad time, especially if Joe stays. We’ll get by.”

  “It’ll be hard on Scott, staying closeted when we’re out.” They’d beaten the choices to death in the last few days, and it never sounded less than painful. Last night over Skype, Scott had almost changed his mind, till they’d teased him through a hard-enough orgasm to leave him sleepy and satisfied, with the decision still hanging.

  Will’s finger tapped Casey’s lips. “He’s playing against the Boston Bruins tonight. He can’t come out now. He’s on his way. Seriously, rich boy, you need to get us the hockey channel on satellite so we can watch him fly.”

  Casey laughed, eyes still closed. “Our star.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “But only in public. At home he’s as bent as the rest of us.”

  Will said, “Come to bed now? Let me unwind you, and then we can call Scott and hear about his game.”

  They were fucking in the trailer bedroom, then sleeping apart. It seemed the best compromise between privacy and not letting their blackmailer know they found the bugs. But as much as he wanted to lose himself in Will’s heat, Casey said, “In a bit. You go on. I’ll call my deputies first, arrange a meeting for the morning.”

  After a silent minute, Will said, “I can’t stand up when you’re lying on my knee.”

  “I know.” But he stayed there, kneeling until his feet went numb, with his cheek pillowed on the hard strength of Will’s thigh.

  ***

  Scott took a fast, sharp breath as he followed his teammates down the tunnel. Hitting the ice in Boston was a surreal experience, looking up at the high seats and the fancy box suites and all the fans filling TD Garden. It felt like way more than double the Marlies’ crowds. He pushed off to start warm-ups and almost ran into his own center. The shove he got back was rough but good-natured. “Game’s on the ice, kid, not in the stands.”

  “Sorry.” He ducked his head and tried to pay attention.

  His warm-up was sloppy. One practice wasn’t enough to give him any sense of how he’d connect with his teammates in a game. Despite having only had a protein shake, acid kept rising in his throat. What if I screw this up? Realistically, he knew the coaches wouldn’t give him much ice time, and he wasn’t expected to work miracles. But hope and nerves turned his gut into a cocktail shaker.

  He gave himself a good talking-to as they lined up for the national anthems. Quit worrying. Play your fucking best game. His parents hadn’t been able to make the trip on such short notice, and he’d firmly told his men not to spend that kind of ridiculous money, especially with the blackmail in the air, so there was no one up in the stands just for him. No one who would care if he was brilliant or just okay. They’ll be watching on TV. This was what his folks had given a ton of time and money, second jobs and lost weekend sleep, and long hours driving to away games, to see.

  Not the point. Focus.

  Then the teams were leaving the ice, and he found his way to the end of the bench, and hockey took over his whole attention. The level of play was one notch up from the Marlies, the guys bigger and a half step faster. The Marlies were the best in the AHL, riding the top of the standings, but this was the real thing.

  He leaned forward, intent on his teammates. He needed to know how the lines moved up the ice, who was likely to be diving into the corners for the puck and who hung back in good position for the pass. Every team had its rhythm, and despite watching game films and occasionally from the stands, he didn’t know enough about the Leafs yet.

  Boston came out physical, hitting hard. Mostly clean checks, but one of their defensemen was getting in a bunch of slashing off the play, away from the refs’ attention. Scott figured it was only a matter of time before one of the Leafs enforcers taught him better manners, even though the instigator penalty meant they’d be risking giving Boston a power play opportunity. Before that happened, the coach tapped Scott’s shoulder. “Get out there for Jonasson.”

  Heart racing, Scott stood and got ready, clearing the boards as soon as Jonasson’s skates left the ice. The change on the fly put him in the middle of a Bruins rush into the Leafs end, and he put on his best speed to catch up to the play. He was on with the fourth line center and right winger, the guys he’d spent the most time with in practice. Yes! Go!

  It was all instinct in the next few seconds, as their own defenseman stole the puck off a Bruins’ stick behind the net and sent it back toward center ice. The Leafs’ center snagged the pass and they wheeled to go on the attack. Scott took a sloppy pass he had to reach for and flicked the puck back an instant before a Bruins defenseman nailed him hard against the boards. The elbow into his ribs was a bonus hit that made him gasp. He managed to keep his feet and shove hard before they broke apart to follow the play. When a whistle for icing stopped the clock, he headed to the bench feeling high as a kite. I can do this.

  He dropped onto the bench breathing hard. His hip should hurt from contact with the boards, and he probably had a big bruise on his calf from a slash, but all he could feel was delight. The coach tapped the back of his shoulder pad in passing, and the gesture felt bigger than the MVP trophy he’d won in Juniors.

  The teams went into the locker rooms scoreless after the first period. Scott kept to himself as he stretched and rehydrated, listening to the chatter and chirping around him. No one spoke to him, for good or bad, but that was okay. He was the newbie, and they were playing the Boston fucking Bruins! He’d been working since he was six years old for this.

  The second period was even more physical than the first. Penalty minutes began to add up but neither team could connect on the power play. Scott got a few more shifts, which included getting slammed pretty good along the boards more than once and taken off his feet by a late hip check. He had a suspicion his defensemen were hanging back. On the Marlies, he’d been the high-scoring forward, and the D-men had stepped up to protect him. The Leafs seemed to be letting him fend for himself.

  They want to know what I’m made of, whether a big hit will make me back off. It was only reasonable. He kept his head up, his eyes on the play, and tried to hand out some solid checks of his own. He wasn’t small or scared of getting physical. At some point in the next few games, he’d probably have to drop gloves and fight, just to show he wasn’t afraid of that. Things would settle down.

  With four minutes left in the game, the Leafs were down a disappointing 3-0. Scott was sent over the boards as they lined up for a face-off in the Bruins zone. The
Leafs won the draw, and the puck came to Scott on the second pass. He cut sharply back toward the blue line, tipped the puck past a Bruins defenseman, and saw his center heading for the corner of the crease, momentarily open. It was the kind of pass he was known for on the Marlies, sharp and precise. His center barely had to turn his stick to tip it up past the goalie’s blocker.

  He heard the goal horn from flat on the ice, where the defender had put him a microsecond after that pass. Holy shit! An assist! Fucking yes! He scrambled to his feet, to join in the celebratory hug. As they headed for the bench, the center swung past the goal, scooped up the puck, and came back to hand it to him. “Not bad, Edzee. We’ll make a Leaf of you yet.”

  This time his walk along the bench to his end spot was accompanied by a few congratulatory taps and some good-natured chirping. He was pretty sure his grin could be seen from space. One more shift ended with him flattened by two hundred forty pounds of Bruin, and a 3-1 final score, but that couldn’t dampen his mood.

  He was snagged at ice-side by the sportscasters after the game, finding himself in front of the cameras with his hair sweaty and a grin he couldn’t wipe off his face. He tried to say nice things about his teammates, and contributing, and how thrilled he was to be there. He hoped it didn’t sound too dumb. The final question was, “You scored a point in your first pro game. Is that a sign of things to come?”

  Don’t get cocky. “I sure hope so. I hope to make the team happy they called me up.”

  He clomped off to the sound of someone telling their audience the weeks to come would show how well he could play with the big boys.

  Just watch me.

  As soon as he was done showering and dressing and accepting the teasing congratulations of his new teammates, he found a quiet corner of the hallway with his phone. There were a dozen texts on it, from Marlies teammates to Casey and Will and his dad. He called his folks first.

  “Hey, son.” His dad’s familiar rumble took him back years to his first games on the road as a teenager, calling home to check in.

  “Hey.”

  “Congratulations. Now we’re even more sorry we couldn’t make it to your game.”

  “No worries. Hopefully there’ll be more.”

  “If there’s any justice, there will be.” His dad cleared his throat. “Although you shouldn’t be getting a big head. You were damned shaky the first period, barely better in the second, and you missed a couple of good passes.”

  “Thanks for unswelling my head, Dad,” he said, mostly joking. Dad wouldn’t be Dad without hockey words of wisdom.

  “You know what I mean.” Dad paused. “Your mom wants to say hello. You know I’m proud of you, son. Again. Not just for the assist, but for making your dreams come true.”

  Scott blinked hard. “Your dreams too, Dad.”

  “You’re the one doing the work. Keep it up. Just don’t let those defensemen catch you with your head down. Here’s Mom.”

  Mom came on and talked nonstop for two minutes about the game and his performance, and how some of the neighbors in their retirement complex had come over to watch it with them. “Although it’s Florida, so they think hockey is like basketball on ice. I swear, Mrs. Sherman called the puck a ball all night.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you got to watch.”

  “We have every sports channel your Dad can get down here. Of course we watched. Now tell me about your new teammates. Are you getting along with them okay? At least you’re already in Toronto so you don’t have to move.”

  He let her chatter on, chipping in with a few noncommittal phrases when she paused for breath. Eventually she said, “I should let you go. I’m sure you have better people to celebrate with than your old mother.”

  “You’re not old, Mom.”

  “Thank you. Have you decided if you’re going to make it down here for Christmas this year? There won’t be affordable tickets if you don’t buy one soon.”

  “I don’t know.” He’d ducked out of it last year, claiming their game on the 26th meant no chance to travel that far. Then he’d done red-eye flights to see Casey and Will. A twinge of guilt went through him, but this year, especially, he was going home, and that didn’t mean Florida. “We only get three days off.”

  “Well, remember we’d love to see you, even if it’s just for a couple of days. Hey, you can afford it now, right?”

  “Right, Mom.”

  “Now go have fun with your team.”

  “I will.” He hung up and hesitated about calling Casey and Will. Better to do that from his hotel room. Except fuck, he had a roommate who might not be as predictably absent as his AHL travel buddy. They’d flown in to Boston in that afternoon, dumped their stuff in the hotel, and barely had time to eat and get to the arena. He wasn’t even sure whose bag had been on the other bed. There was probably a list somewhere. Average salary of three mil and they make us share rooms. Although just the first three years, these days.

  It was no big deal, except it made his hotel the wrong place to call the two guys he loved and have a heart-to-heart. Or a hand to dick. There’s got to be somewhere.

  He jumped as one of the assistant coaches peered around the corner and called, “Hey, Edison! You riding the bus back to the hotel?”

  He clutched his phone. “No. Thanks! I’ll catch a cab later.”

  “Your call.” The coach disappeared.

  Boston in December was too damned cold to walk outside. A security guy tried to stop him as he doubled back toward the stairs, but his ID got him past. He ended up finding a quiet corner up in the high seats. He still wouldn’t dare get sexy with his guys there, but he could see anyone coming so it was private enough for conversation. The cleaners were working down below. He’d have a little time.

  Casey answered on the first ring. “Hey, Scotty, how was the game?”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “They had the Chicago game on.”

  Will chipped in, “Casey was not pleased.”

  He had to chuckle. “We lost 3-1 but I got an assist.”

  “Congratulations!” Casey’s approving shout was loud enough to make him wince.

  “Thanks. It was good. Great, really.”

  “Any stitches? Lose any teeth?”

  “C’mon Casey, don’t sound so eager.”

  “I’m not,” Casey said. “I like your pretty face.”

  “Pretty. Hah.” There was a lump on his nose from a high stick back in peewees, and a ridged scar under his chin from hitting the boards three years back, although he did miraculously still have all his teeth.

  “You’re a very pretty man, and you know it. So, tell us about the game.”

  He rambled on, reliving the highs and lows. Casey would understand, Will maybe not all the details, but they both wanted to hear what was important to him. He broke off telling them about a rough check to say, “I’m crazy about you guys, you know that.”

  “That was out of left field. Or should I say, left wing,” Casey said.

  Will murmured, “Love you too, man.”

  Casey said “Yeah.”

  “Wow! Are you drinking?”

  “Might’ve had a little. We’re celebrating dating a successful NHL player.”

  “Don’t jinx me.”

  “Okay, we’re dating a cute NHL player, who’s apparently been subbing for defenseman Doms all night.”

  Will laughed in the background.

  Scott said, “The next guy who crosschecks me, I’m telling him I’ll sic my cop boyfriend on them.”

  “You do that. Cop and Marine. Lay it on thick. I’ll come up there and protect you.”

  “Oorah!” he hooted, then looked around quickly but the cleaning staff were still safely distant. He lowered his voice. “Any more word from you-know-who?” Casey cleared his throat and Scott’s stomach lurched. “What?”

  “Yeah. We got another love note. The money drop’s tomorrow. Or else.”

  “What? You heard from him and didn’t tell me?”

 
“I’m telling you now, dumbass. You had a game to play. We weren’t about to break your concentration.”

  “I don’t need you guys to baby me.”

  “Some baby. Anyway, it just came this afternoon. ‘Hand over the hundred grand or the sex tape goes public.’ He says it’s going on YouTube, although Max says no way there’s video. The bugs were audio only.”

  “How’re you going to stop him?” Casey would be planning something, Scott had no doubts. Even if he’d been infuriatingly vague so far.

  Will said, “He’s—”

  “Got a plan,” Casey cut in. “Trust me, Scott. It’ll be okay.”

  Scott pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Tell me, Will, is he going to get his ass shot off?”

  “Scott,” Casey said. “In the first place, there’s no evidence this guy is violent. Even if he was the one who caused the Slaters’ death, he farmed out the actual deed. In the second place, it’ll be a police operation. I’ll have backup. If…”

  When the word had hung for a moment, Scott prompted, “If what?”

  “If I tell them enough of the details to make it happen.”

  “What details?”

  “Like who’s being blackmailed and why.”

  He’d had the feeling this was coming, but it still dropped the bottom out of Scott’s evening. “Like, you plan to come out to them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m done lying to them. If we catch up to this guy and he spills the beans, I don’t want my deputies caught by surprise. Plus I don’t want the legality of the case damaged by me having kept it secret. It can’t look like I tricked my guys into helping with a personal vendetta.”

  “Oh.” He could imagine Casey telling his deputies flat out, This is how it is. Now we’ll all go do our jobs. But would they? “Aren’t you worried they might not back you up? Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait, in case they, like, hate the gay?”

  “I hope not. I’ve tried to weed out the bigots over the last four years. But either I try to handle this alone, or I have to tell them.”

  “Ah. Will? Are you okay with that?”

  “Yeah.” Will’s voice was soft. “I’m not ready, but I was never gonna be, and I don’t want to have Casey hunting down a blackmailer solo, just for me to stay in the closet. The Slaters knew. Everything else I can handle.”