Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  He dug his biggest roller bag out of the closet. When Casey found him an hour later, he was packing it with any clothes he might use.

  He didn’t look up, but his breath hitched and caught. Casey folded him into an embrace Scott couldn’t break, despite his size. After a moment he gave in to it.

  “I have to leave. I have to play. For now. Maybe later… maybe soon. Oh, God.”

  “Shhh.” Casey rubbed one of his wide hands over Scott’s head, pressing him in close. “We know. You were born to play the game. We want you to.”

  “Casey’s right.” Will came up beside them. “I think it’s the right choice for you, for now.”

  “I’m scared,” Scott admitted. He felt sick.

  “You’ll do great in the NHL, and we’ll manage the rest of it too.”

  “Not that.”

  Casey let him go, and he stepped back to face them. He figured he looked like crap. He’d bet his eyes were red. He wanted to tell them what he’d really meant, that he was afraid they wouldn’t still need him. But if he told them, they would promise they did. And then they’d stick to that, later, even if it turned out not to be true. They’d fake it, for his sake. And that would be worse than anything.

  “Just fuck me,” he said. “Hard, so I feel it. Will and then Case, both of you. Please.”

  Will moved close to kiss him.

  Casey slid a hand across his chest to tweak his nipple. “We can do that.”

  All the next hour, while they tumbled, rough and eager and sweat-slicked together in the bed, he tried to let it be enough. He took each moment, each openmouthed kiss, each stroke and bite and thrust as if time didn’t exist. Buried his face in skin and hair, inhaling musk and sweat, every molecule familiar. Tried to hold off coming, until Casey’s thick cock pounding inside him and Will’s long fingers on his aching erection dragged an orgasm out of him at last, his body clenching, shaking, trying to turn itself inside out.

  His ass was almost sore enough when they were done. He wanted to feel it for days— hell, for weeks. As he lay catching his breath in Casey’s strong hold, Will kissed him softly, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled free and jumped to his feet. “I’m done.”

  “Huh?” Casey reached toward him and he stepped back.

  “Just don’t— I can’t do this if you touch me any more.”

  Will sat up, his expression sober. “Tell us what you need.”

  What I need… What he wanted was to dive back in between them and never let go. And also play hockey. God damn it to hell. “I need to get out of here before I change my mind.”

  “Okay.” Casey got out on the opposite side and stood, wonderfully solid, naked, strong legs planted, arms crossed over his hairy chest instead of reaching out.

  Scott clenched his fists at his sides and jerked his chin up. “I need to shower and dress and leave. I want to do our little bromance breakup scene out there and not— not say a real goodbye.”

  “Use the master bath,” Casey said. “Will and I can go down the hall. We’ll meet you out there?” The faint rise of his tone made that a question.

  “Yeah. Yes.”

  Without a word, Casey grabbed up his clothes, strode to the door, and went out. Will stood slowly and glanced at Scott before following.

  Scott’s eyes stung and his throat hurt. I could chase after them, get one more kiss, a hug, something to last. He told himself to stick to the plan. Planning was one of his strengths, a skill, reading a situation and knowing what would work. It made him a playmaker on the ice, the captain of their little threesome— oh, hell.

  The shower was big for one man. He soaped and rinsed slowly, deliberately rough cleaning his asshole, letting the soap sting. Good. I deserve that. Casey and Will would be drying off, dressing, going outside. He went to his room, put on travel clothes, and gathered up his bags, hauling them downstairs. The big suitcase clipped the drywall at the bottom of the banister.

  Someone else will have to fix that.

  His sneakers were on the tray by the door. His jacket would be too warm in the car, but he zipped it up to his throat now. He grabbed Casey’s scarf off the shelf and took a pair of Will’s gloves out of one of the coats. He wouldn’t touch his men again, but he could wear them. He opened the door.

  Out in the yard, Casey and Will stood with Joe and Nita, discussing something. Casey gestured vigorously, Will shrugged. Scott wanted to watch longer, just a moment more. Stick to the plan.

  He hauled his bags down the steps toward the rental car, popping the trunk.

  Casey turned his way. “Hey, Scott. Leaving?”

  “Hell, yeah. For good!” He took a breath and channeled all the anger he had. Fucking motherfucking not fair! “You fucked me over with all your lies. I’m not sticking around here to be laughed at!”

  “Who’s laughing?” Will asked.

  “Everyone will be.” He let his tone get acid. “They’ll say, ‘Edison was hanging out with two queer guys. How the fuck did he never notice?’ They’ll say we’re all queer. They’ll say you were perving on my ass.”

  “Calm down.” Casey was using his cop voice. “What Will and I do is none of your business, or theirs.”

  “The hell it’s not!” He heaved his bags into the car, pretending he didn’t see Joe’s cold gaze, or Nita’s open mouth. Lewis was watching from over by the barn, too far to see his expression. It doesn’t matter. It’s part of the plan. “You two bastards make me look like shit! I’m in the goddamned NHL! You think they’d give the Calder to a guy they think might be gay?”

  It was Joe who said slowly, “You’re sounding like a bigot, Edison.”

  “I’m not, okay? I don’t care if they fuck each other up, down, and sideways. I don’t care if they get gay-married.” His breath hitched. Without me, they could— “But I can’t stay here. I can’t keep hanging around them, unless I want the whole Internet on my ass.”

  Casey said, “You care about the Internet?”

  “My fans do.”

  “Ooh, your fans!”

  “And my boss and my coach and the two-hundred-pound guys who want to smear me across the boards do. You guys can stay here and be as gay as you want. But I won’t hang out and let you make me look stupid.”

  “You know what makes you look stupid—?” Casey began.

  “No!” Scott slammed the trunk shut. “I’m done. You two can mess around on your rainbow ranch like no one cares. I’m going to play fucking hockey and find some straight fucking friends and keep my fucking distance. And I hope—” Words choked him. God, I hope— Casey had his poker face on. Will stared at the ground. I hope we all make it through, oh please, someday, it won’t have to be like this. He clenched his teeth, cleared his throat. “I’m done.”

  He turned his back on the two men he loved. Got in the car. Slammed the door. Revved the engine. And then he left them.

  Chapter 10

  Casey was glad to be heading back to the cop shop at ten that morning, even though it meant facing his deputies and leaving Will on his own. Harry was gone, paycheck and bad attitude stuffed in his old Chevy truck, no doubt to spread ill will at the nearest bar or diner. Will could handle the rest of the hands—hell, he could’ve handled Harry, even if Casey was glad to do it for him. What Casey couldn’t handle was looking at Will and seeing the empty space next to him where Scott ought to be.

  It was the smart thing to do. Not like he’s around much during the season anyway. He could lie to himself and say this time wasn’t that different, but it was. What if we can’t mend this later? What if he moves on, now he’s a big-shot star? He knew he was borrowing trouble, but he couldn’t help it.

  Focus on the job.

  He headed in the side door with a stiff nod to Joanne, covering the front desk. “Is Peterson’s lawyer here yet?”

  “No, sir. Peterson changed his tune and asked for a PD, but no one’s showed up yet.” She sounded as respectful as ever.

  “Right.” He hoped he’d hidden the way his breathin
g eased at her tone. And hey, Peterson, good luck with the PD. After years of tax cuts and budget cuts, the Public Defender’s Office was as shorthanded as every other public service. Some of the local PDs were handling five hundred cases a year. All most defendants got was a twenty-minute appearance in front of the Judge and directions to take a guilty plea or whistle for further counsel. He wouldn’t mind one bit if Peterson pled out and saved Will and him from standing up in court and explaining that blackmail. “I’ll be in my office. Let me know if anyone turns up.”

  “Sure, will do.”

  The station was otherwise empty. First shift was out on patrol, second wouldn’t show until time for their briefing. He sat down at his desk and pulled up the reports from the night before.

  It was all typical Saturday evening stuff. A couple of drunk drivers, brought in to sleep it off in a jail cell. A fight at Moe’s tavern. Wouldn’t hardly be Saturday without that. No one had been arrested, although Northman had handed out five citations for disorderly conduct. A stolen car, but the deputy noted the guy reporting it was high as a kite and might’ve forgotten where he parked. He’d searched the guy, found no drugs on him, and let him off with a warning. A quick pass of local streets hadn’t found the car.

  All small shit, like most nights. The kind of thing he’d spent four years of his life straightening out so the good people of Masons Crossing could feel safe. Would Kensington figure out what to let go and what to push? Would he make a note to come back to high-as-a-kite guy later and try to get a line on his source? Would he be too busy finding lost kittens to see where the meth and the opioids were taking a real bite out of public safety?

  Not my problem. He made his notes and closed out of the reports. Now, Peterson and the Slaters? That mess was still his to work on for a couple of weeks. He checked over the reports from Peterson’s booking. The health check had been clean and fingerprints hadn’t pulled up any priors. So is he willing to kill, or just a greedy sleaze? Or working with Landon?

  He was debating approaches to getting info out of Peterson when the realization hit him. He couldn’t get within fifty feet of the bastard from now on without screwing up the case. He was still the crime victim. Shit! The trap he’d set on the train should be okay— it led out of Peterson insisting he make the money drop himself. But anything after that was conflict of interest.

  “Mother-raping son of a goatfucker!” He bit the words off short and gave himself a mental bitch-slap. He usually made an effort not to run his mouth at work. Quit cussing and get creative.

  After more thought, he called his counterpart one county over. “Hey, Steel, got a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” Sheriff Steel’s voice was light and high, but the man himself was a solid six-three of Army veteran, and he and Casey got along well.

  Until now, anyway. Has he heard the latest news? Would he care? He could only plow ahead like coming out never happened. “I have a problem that might be solved with a little inter-county cooperation.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I have a suspect in custody down at the jail. We have him dead to rights on a blackmail charge, but he’s also a suspect in a murder. Right now, he’s still in holding, but he’ll go up in front of a judge Monday. We’re in a narrow window for getting someone, namely one of your men, into the holding cells undercover to see if he’ll confess anything about the murder.”

  “Why not one of your guys?”

  “He’s a local. Knows us all by sight.”

  “Okay. You think he’s dangerous?”

  “Nah. If he is involved in the murder, he contracted it out. He’s a weasel not a wolf.”

  “I might have a guy could do that. If you can cover his overtime pay.”

  Casey winced but said, “Sure. We’ll cover it.” At worst, he’d dump part of his last paycheck into the kitty. Worth it.

  “I’ll ask Deputy Reynolds, and send him your way if he’s up for it.”

  “Thanks.” Casey hesitated, then added, “He might hear that the blackmail was about an officer of the law being gay.”

  Steel chuckled. “News travels a lot faster than that, Barlow.”

  “Ah.” He wanted to know Steel’s opinion but didn’t want to ask. “Might be useful for the deputy to pretend to be homophobic. Without, y’know, actually being.”

  “If I find any of mine actually being, they’re out on their ass. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell cost me the best soldier I ever commanded, and he went the hard way. I don’t put up with it on my watch.”

  Casey had to clear his throat. “Thanks, Steel. Tell Reynolds to call me when he’s on his way.”

  “Will do. Hey, sorry you lost your vote. I hear the new guy doesn’t have much experience.”

  “Not much, no. He’s good with people, though.” He was being damned careful so no one could say he’d sabotaged Kensington.

  Steel made a dismissive noise. “I’ll miss knowing I had someone solid holding the line next door. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “You too.”

  When he ended the call, Casey paused with the phone in his hand. A touch brought up his last texts with Scott. A banal question about flights, followed by…

  ~Can’t wait to fuck u

  Scott’s usual unmistakable enthusiasm. Casey hovered his finger over it.

  After a moment he began typing.

  ~Miss you but let these scroll off the screen

  ~Good luck with your future endeavors

  ~Sorry things worked out like that

  ~I hope your folks show up to a performance

  ~I’m keeping the useful TV channel

  ~I hope it’s as cold in Toronto as it is here, you bastard. After a moment’s thought, he erased that one without sending. What he’d meant as secret encouragement might come over differently to Scott, all alone in an airport with a bag full of stuff that should still be in his room here at home. He substituted…

  ~I hope you’re not getting the icy roads we are.

  ~Safe travels.

  ~Keep in touch.

  When he sent that one, the dangerous lines had scrolled well off the screen. He flipped to his contacts and changed Scott to “Robin Locke” and switched his ringtone to a generic crystal sound. Deleting the Hockey Night in Canada theme shouldn’t have made him take a breath, but it felt like one more line being drawn between Scott and them.

  ***

  Scott suited up for the last game before the Christmas break on automatic pilot. The locker room was noisy, with the team riding a three-game winning streak and looking forward to a rare stretch of three practice-free days with family. Those who had family.

  Well, he was getting that too, and he tried to be happy his parents had finally made it to one of his NHL games, even if they weren’t the family he truly ached to see. The Leafs were playing an away game against the Portland Rafters in Oregon, and the odds were good for a win— he quickly knocked wood to avoid jinxing them, even in his thoughts.

  It would be cool to have his dad up in the stands, cheering him on. His mom had found a local Airbnb with a kitchen, so he was in for three days of traditional family recipes too. The Leafs’ nutritionist admitted Christmas was a losing battle, and Scott could almost taste Mom’s cookies and pie and rich eggnog.

  It would be sweet and familiar, even if Portland’s green December was strange. Good strange, of course. Better than freezing his ass off. Back on the ranch, the snow would be thick on the fields and Will would be up breaking ice out of the watering tanks every morning. Casey would look like a bear in his official winter parka, bitching about the slippery roads and the way people drove like they’d never seen winter before. The horses would kick up snow, galloping and playing when they were turned out, and Casey would yell at them not to be jerks and break a leg on the ice—

  He jolted as one of the defensemen slapped his arm. “Hey, Edzie, those skates won’t lace themselves. Got a hot date after the game?”

  He managed a grin. “Don’t talk about my mom that way.”

&
nbsp; “Ooh, dreaming about home cooking?”

  “Pie. Cake. Cookies. Turkey. Stuffing. Sweet potato casserole. More cookies.”

  “Think she’d adopt me?”

  “Not on your life. No animals in the house.”

  The defenseman smacked him again, a bit harder. “Just for that, gonna let those Rafters smear you into the boards.”

  “If they can catch me,” Scott said cockily.

  He bent over his skates, fixing the laces. Mind on the game. The Rafters might be the worst new expansion team in the league, but Scott was still fighting to earn his spot on the Leafs’ fourth line permanently. He needed to play sharp and hard every game, to make all the sacrifices worth it. I’m in the NHL, and I plan to stay here.

  Reaching into the small pocket on the side of his bag, he touched the two coins he kept there. A penny Casey’d flipped to him with “Penny for your thoughts” the day he got up the nerve to suggest a threesome, and a quarter Will had once slipped into his back pocket with a rare joke about tipping the pole dancer. Rituals were rituals, and this one had brought him luck from his first game back with the Marlies after surgery. Bring me some luck now. His mind wanted to add “or maybe endurance” but he squashed that thought firmly away in a mental box. Hockey. That’s what matters.

  The game started out as boring as hockey could get. As a second period of dogged, scoreless play wound down, he was glad his dad was enough of a technical expert to appreciate his hard work, even if nothing was going in the damned net. The Rafters had solid defense and a goalie like a brick wall. They had no offense to speak of, so their shots on goal were far more pathetic than the Leafs’, but neither team had managed good scoring chances. As time went by, the physicality ramped up, but even on a couple of power plays, they couldn’t find the net past Agapov’s goaltending.