Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  In the locker room, Coach blistered their ears over the screwed-up passing and told the defense finish their checks and shake the puck loose, goddamnit. Scott hunkered down, sucking in the Gatorade and catching his breath, rubbing the bruise on his hip where he’d caught a butt end from a Rafters stick. As the team left the locker room, he hung back and touched the coins again before heading back out for the third period. He’d never tried it during a game, but hey, why not?

  Third period opened with the Leafs center being shoved into Agapov by a Rafters defensemen. The next time the center came back on the ice, a check along the boards escalated to dropped gloves and fighting major and minor penalties for both teams. Things went downhill from there. Fifteen minutes into the period, the score was still tied at zero, but the penalty minutes were well into double digits. Both teams were spending more time shorthanded than at full strength.

  Scott ended up in the sin bin himself at 15:07 for a tripping call that was totally a theatrical dive from the Rafters right wing. Muttering to himself, he watched the teams play four-on-four. The Leafs had three good shots on Agapov but couldn’t score. Play was fast up and down the ice. The Rafters got their fifth man back twelve seconds before Scott was out. As he pushed off with his first stride, the puck came loose from the scrum down in the Leafs end and squirted his way.

  Spinning, he snagged it and took off for the Rafters’ goal. Agapov waited for him like the great wall of China. Scott could hear the other players behind him. He finished his breakaway with his very best shot, high to the stick side. Agapov got his blocker on it, but the rebound came back to Scott. To his left, he saw a flash of blue and white, and went for the pass as a Rafters defenseman took him hard into the boards. Behind him, he heard the goal horn go off.

  The defenseman jammed an extra shoulder into Scott’s chest after the horn, then skated off. Scott found himself getting fist bumps and helmet taps from the Leafs first line, guys he’d looked up to for years. He couldn’t hold back a wide grin, turning to stare up at the crowd as he skated to the bench. How about that, Dad?

  The last three minutes of the game, the Rafters couldn’t keep the play in the Leafs zone for more than a few seconds at a time. They managed to pull their goalie in the last twenty seconds, but the Leafs defense closed the door. The Leafs couldn’t get the empty net goal either so the final was 1-0.

  Scott was already flying high when the offensive assistant coach grabbed his arm, as the team headed down toward the locker room. “Wait up. You’re one of the three stars.”

  “Shit!” He bit his lip. “I mean, yay!”

  The coach snickered. “You’re third star. Go get ready to skate and wait for the announcement. Are you gonna pass your stick over the glass?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He was glad of the reminder. Focus, or you’ll probably bean some fan with it and get sued. Not even the snark could make his heart beat slower.

  Colored lights hit the ice and the announcer intoned, “Final score, Toronto Maple Leafs one, Portland Rafters zero.” There was a rumble of discontented booing, although the stadium was already beginning to empty out. “Shots on goal, for the Rafters six, for a game total of fifteen. For the Maple Leafs, eleven, for a game total of twenty-seven.” Low on both sides, although they definitely should be thanking Agapov for keeping it close. He tensed and put a hand on the boards as the spotlights swooped over his way.

  “Now here are tonight’s three stars of the game, as selected by Rafters broadcasting. The number three star, with one assist, from Toronto, number 38, Scott Edison!”

  He pushed off across the ice to the tinny blare of a musical riff. The boos of the crowd made the moment sweeter. There was a clump of Leafs fans with signs and jerseys over near the blue line. He stopped there to carefully tip his stick up and over the glass to them, then circled back to get off. Behind him, as he headed down the tunnel, he heard his center called for second star, and then cheers for Agapov in a rare first star for a losing goalie. Not that the bastard didn’t deserve it.

  In the locker room, he was greeted with shin taps and slaps on the back, and someone dumped a bottle of water over his head. He’d pulled off his jersey and began toweling his hair when an assistant stopped at his elbow. “Hey, Edison, you’re wanted in the press area.”

  “Seriously?” He’d had a couple of brief interviews in Toronto as a new face on the team, but attention on the road was a surprise.

  “Yup. Move it.”

  He tugged a ball cap over his wet hair, draped the towel around his neck, and followed over to where a couple of reporters with mikes and camera were waiting. The short, dark-haired front man said, “Scott Edison? Mike Valdez of KLVV TV. Thanks for taking the time for us.”

  Scott grinned. “Thank you for interviewing me.”

  “You were third star tonight. Was that your first star points?”

  “At this level, yeah.”

  “And how does it feel?”

  “Feels great!” He tried to give it the right amount of enthusiasm. “Especially since my dad and mom are in the crowd seeing me in the NHL for the first time.”

  “You gave them a nice show.”

  “I may have to get them to come to all my games.”

  Valdez chuckled. “You’ve had an assist in each of the five games you’ve played since moving up to the Leafs, two of them on game-winning goals. If you can beat that, the team might even spring for their trips.”

  Scott tried not to wince at hearing his streak described out loud. I hope he didn’t jinx me. “They live in Florida, so I don’t know about that. It’s cool they were able to make it to this one.”

  “You almost had your first NHL goal. Were you tempted to take another shot when the puck came back to you on the rebound?”

  “The pass was the better move.”

  “And one you made quick and clean, under pressure. Congratulations.” His tone made it clear the interview was done.

  Scott ducked his head, hoping he’d said the right things. “Thank you.”

  As he moved away, he heard Valdez say, “That was Scott Edison of the Maple Leafs, a rookie we’ll all be keeping our eyes on.”

  But no pressure. Then he was ashamed for putting a negative spin on a great night. He ought to celebrate.

  As he changed out, his mind kept going to his phone. Normally, he’d be texting Will or Casey as soon as he had a chance, touching base with his guys. Then later, he’d call them and talk about the game until it cleared out of his head. Casey would pretend to critique, but without his dad’s level of knowledge it was more joke than anything. Eventually they’d find privacy and time and—

  Stop. They hadn’t talked in the five days since he left, although Casey kept sending him these banal texts he couldn’t quite interpret, and Will sent him pictures of the horses and dogs, and a few of Casey sandwiched in there.

  Wish you were here. He was caught by a sudden ache in his side that shortened his breath. He didn’t wish he was there this moment, or anywhere but in this spacious visitors’ dressing room with his team changing into their game-day suits and heading out. But what he’d have given to have his men here in the stands tonight? That didn’t bear thinking about.

  His parents were waiting for him outside. His mom wrapped her arms around him, even though they’d seen each other right before the game. “Oh, Scott, I’m so proud of you, and you look so nice. It’ll be wonderful to have some time together for Christmas after all.”

  He hugged her back, surprised at a rush of emotion. Blame it on the holiday.

  His dad thumped his shoulder. “Good game, son. That was some very solid passing, and you almost scored on Agapov. Your wrist shot has definitely improved. Well done.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” His eyes stung and he blinked hard.

  His mom linked her arm though his. “Now come on, we parked over that way. I have a nice meal waiting for you at the rental unit, and you and your dad can check out the replay of your game. It’ll be just like old times.”

 
; His phone buzzed in his pocket on vibrate, but he couldn’t reach it without pulling free from his mom. Later. For now, for one evening, he was going to let himself be the young player whose mom cooked for him, whose dad praised his shots and critiqued his drop passes. A guy whose life was no more complicated than realizing he still had to buy gifts for his folks in a strange city on Christmas Eve. “Yeah, mom. Old times.”

  ***

  Will pushed a holiday package closer to the wall under the evergreen garland and stepped back. It didn’t look like much of a celebration, with five assortedly wrapped boxes beneath a drape of pine boughs. They’d put a real tree up in the bunkhouse as usual. Annmarie had always insisted on going all out for the hands.

  Of course, she’d have had a tree in the big house living room too, a spruce that scraped the ceiling and could hold all the ornaments she’d accumulated over the years. Will knew where those boxes were— the glass bells and balls and ceramic dogs, and the angel topper and the strings of lights and the fake-snow tree skirt… He hadn’t even opened that closet.

  Casey came in, stamping snow off his boots. “Looks like we just got a dusting. Plows won’t even have to go out.”

  “That’s good.” If the driving got nasty, Casey was likely to have to head out on duty to deal with it.

  “I hate how damned dark it is already.” Casey hung his parka by the door and padded over to Will in his socks. “Hey, stranger.”

  Will kissed him but eased back from Casey’s attempt to up the heat level. “Get your fascist oppressor stuff off and come have some food.”

  “I should never have introduced you to my mother.” Casey laid a hand on his arm. “Everything okay?”

  “I guess. Pretty feeble attempt at Christmas, right?” He waved at the pathetic corner display.

  “We could still do a tree.” Casey eyed him. “One bonus of owning a ranch this size— we’re not short of pine trees.”

  “Nah, I didn’t mean it like that. Just—” He rubbed his mouth with the tips of his fingers. Casey massaged his shoulder.

  Probably Casey was remembering Scott’s condo last year, with the fake tree covered in cheap tinsel and mostly cowboy ornaments, because Scott and Casey had a warped sense of humor. But Will had spent the early part of the night right here in this room, listening to Annmarie sing along to Christmas carols while Graham smiled at her. Will’s fingers itched for his guitar, except he’d played accompaniment for Annmarie, and he couldn’t bear to touch it tonight. “Kind of wish we could go out somewhere.”

  “Want to spend the night in your trailer?”

  That suddenly sounded like a great idea except, “I haven’t turned the heat up in days.”

  “You don’t think we can keep each other warm, old man?”

  “Who’re you calling old?”

  “The guy who kissed me like I was his grandmother?”

  Will tugged Casey close and put some effort into fixing that idea, except somewhere along the way he ended up with his head tucked into Casey’s shoulder, breathing the smell of his skin.

  Casey tugged at Will’s hair. “Why don’t you go crank the heat in the trailer. We can have dinner here, since I smell something good, and by then it’ll have warmed up some.”

  “It’s stupid. Our bed here is bigger.”

  “It’s not stupid if it makes you less sad.” Casey gave him a shake and stepped away. “I’ll get changed and meet you in the kitchen. Go, Will.”

  Funny how he valued his independence, but felt good being bossed around by Scott and Casey. As Casey headed upstairs, Will stepped into his boots and slung on a jacket. The air outside was dropping from brisk right down to arctic, now the sun had set. Overhead, the stars were thin and distant in the dome of black sky. He let himself into the trailer, turned the thermostat from 45 to 70, and waited for the click of radiators coming on.

  As he stood in the cramped hallway, his phone beeped in his pocket. Scott. He’d finally done the personal ringtone the guys used to rib him about, to not miss a Scott call. “Hey, man, how are you.”

  Scott said, “Okay. Stuffed. Mom outdid herself cooking.”

  “Your mom?” He headed out across the frozen yard toward the house, the wind nipping at his bare fingers. “Are you in Florida?”

  “Huh? No, Oregon. My folks came to see me play against the Rafters and rented a place to hang out for the holiday.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a brief silence between them, like the realization of how far out of touch it was possible to get in just a few days.

  Scott cleared his throat. “Yeah. It was a good game for them to watch. I was third star.”

  “We did see that.” He heard the edge in his own tone.

  Scott said, “Will, um, how’re you doing?”

  “Okay.” But then because it was still Scott, he said, “Not so hot. But Casey just got home, and the snow’s holding off, so he should be in for the night.”

  “That’s good. That he’s home safe.”

  “Yeah. Let me get out of my coat.” He set the phone aside as he pulled it off, then headed into the kitchen with it.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “Getting ready to eat. Just stew in the crock pot. Nothing like your mom probably made.”

  Casey came into the room and raised an eyebrow. Will put his phone on the counter and clicked it to speaker.

  “I wish I was there.” There was a rasp to Scott’s voice. “It’s great seeing Mom and Dad and all, but you know I wish I was home.”

  “We know,” Casey said.

  “Hey, Case, merry Christmas.”

  “To you too, brat. What’s that about your folks?”

  While Scott told them about his parents’ visit and mad shopping in Portland, Will gave the stew a stir and got down plates.

  Casey said, “How’re you holding up, Scott? Your stats aren’t too shabby.”

  “It’s fucking weird. Like I’m two people. Out on the ice, I’m playing the best I ever have. It’s all coming together and I feel great. Then I leave the arenas and all I want is to go home to you, and it’s like there’s this giant hole in my chest.”

  Will thought that wasn’t a bad way to describe it. He felt hollowed out too, except the ranch was no escape because the empty space for Graham and Annmarie lurked around every corner. Thank God for Casey. He stepped behind Casey and wrapped his arms around five-nine of rock-solid man.

  Casey said, “For what it’s worth, one of my deputies did ask how it felt to fuck an NHL star. I told him I’m not fucking any hockey players, but he was welcome to go ask Sidney Crosby for a fuck and report back.”

  “Hah. Although I wish you were,” Scott said. “Plus, that’d mean I was a star, so win-win.” His chuckle was thin.

  “Regrets, Scotty?” Casey asked softly.

  “Hell, yes. But no, not yet. Maybe when things die down on your end we can go back to being on the down low? Maybe I could even come out to some of my team and just fly under the radar. It’s not like we don’t all know at least one guy who went home to his boyfriend for the holidays.”

  “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell sucked.”

  Will asked, “Worse than this?” Casey had spent years under that axe.

  Casey leaned back against him. “It was lonelier. But no.”

  Scott said, “Talk about something else. How’s it going nailing Peterson? Is the douchebag going to end up in prison? Did he know about the Slaters?”

  “He’s copping a plea.” Casey pulled the phone closer. “We had an undercover officer get close to him, and we searched his phone and bank records, the works. It doesn’t look like he was involved in the hit-and-run, just counting on the ranch sale. So the DA and his PD will work out a deal. He might not even get prison time, just probation. It’s out of my hands anyway.”

  Scott grumbled. “I guess that’s something. Not enough. But if he didn’t hire the truck driver, then…”

  Casey pulled free of Will’s arms to turn and look at him. “Yeah. Land
on goes back to the top of our list. I have some ideas about how to nail him but—”

  “Stop.” Will was surprised to find his voice shaking. “Not tonight, all right?”

  “Sure, Will.” Casey’s hands on his arms were warm anchors, holding him still.

  “Annmarie would hate this.”

  “Okay.”

  “Graham always said maybe Landon would have a k-kid who loved the ranch.”

  “Will, baby, breathe,” Scott said. “Casey, you got him?”

  “Holding on tight.”

  “We’ll get through this.” Scott’s voice had that firm optimism he’d always channeled for them. “Right now it sucks, like the supervacuum of a Megatron cleaning robot.”

  Will hiccoughed. “A what?”

  “Like a giant sucking thing. Stay with me, William. But I’ll hang on to hockey, and you guys hang on to each other, and I swear next year will be better.”

  Casey pulled Will closer and murmured against his hair, “Yeah, it will.”

  “I’m coming out next year, no matter what.”

  “Don’t make promises,” Will said urgently. “Don’t box yourself in.”

  “It’s not a box, it’s a rocket launcher. But okay, no specifics yet. Just, it will be better.”

  “Love you, Scott,” Will told him. “You too, Casey.”

  He didn’t have to listen to know they said it back.

  Chapter 11

  Casey sat at the kitchen table, pretending to scan the news on his phone, but the words blurred. One of their top mares had lost her foal, and Will was out in the barn taking care of her. Christmas had sucked worse than even Scott had found words for, and New Year’s ended up just as bad. Scott’s team was on a rare West Coast loop, well out of any kind of driving option, stuck in Vegas for New Year’s Eve. They’d managed a brief late-night Skype, not even at midnight in any of their time zones.

  Not that Casey could’ve gone far on New Year’s even if Scott had been closer. Three deputies were out sick, and a brief storm had dumped snow on the roads. He’d be heading back for the late shift again later on. For the third night in a row.

  And the Slater case still sat on Casey’s shoulder like a carrion crow. He took another big mouthful of coffee and looked up as Will came in the room, gladly tapping out of his phone. “Hey, there’s a pot of the good stuff keeping hot.”