Roughing

by Michaela Grey

“Of course. But he’s convinced he let me down.”

  “Was his girlfriend—what’s her name—there? Supportive?”

  “Nadia.” Saint sighed. “She was there.”

  Carmine pulled into the drive-through and quirked an eyebrow at him. “That doesn’t sound encouraging.”

  “I’m sure she’s a very nice person,” Saint said, and both Carmine’s eyebrows went up.

  “That bad?”

  “Not bad,” Saint said hurriedly. “Just sort of… impatient? Like she wanted him to get over it faster because she was tired of hearing about it.” He squirmed. “I just made her sound like a total bitch.”

  Carmine looked disapproving. “It’s his first game with this team, and especially playing with you. He froze when he had a chance at a goal. He’s allowed to take as much time as he needs to deal with that.”

  “I told him that,” Saint said. “He’s gonna need a little more attention from us for a bit, I think.”

  “Not a problem. What do you want?”

  Saint blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Coffee,” Carmine said, lips twitching. “What do you want?”

  “Right!” Saint directed his attention to the menu, keeping his thoughts very firmly away from what he wanted.

  The problem was, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did he want? The answer to that question was sitting in the seat beside him, currently charming the drive-through employee into extra whipped cream. He caught Saint’s eye and grinned, unrepentant.

  “I’ll work it off at the rink today.”

  Saint tried to look disapproving but had a feeling he missed the mark, judging by the way Carmine’s smile widened.

  God, that smile was a lethal weapon. It lit Carmine’s agate eyes from within, set them to dancing, and when he tucked his tongue into his cheek and that dimple appeared—

  “Incoming!” Carmine said, and shoved a drink holder into Saint’s hands. “That one’s yours,” Carmine added, tapping one of the lids.

  Saint made an appreciative noise and balanced the drinks as Carmine left the parking lot and headed for the house.

  He was developing a crush on Carmine. This was bad. This was very bad. Fraternizing with a teammate was the worst idea ever, even assuming Carmine was queer, let alone interested.

  At the house, Carmine parked and took the tray from Saint. “It’s okay if you need to hide in your room for awhile,” he said.

  “Hmm? Oh.” He thought Saint was being quiet because of their guests. Saint mustered a smile. “I’ll be fine. Do you want me to help make breakfast?”

  “Well, I want it to be edible,” Carmine said, dimple flashing. “So that’s a no.”

  They were laughing as they stepped from the car. He could do this, Saint told himself, following him inside. Carmine never had to know about Saint’s stupid crush. All he had to do was keep his feelings locked down, which wouldn’t be hard—he did that anyway.

  Lavender had the coffee maker reassembled and it was gurgling happily on the counter when they came into the kitchen.

  “Oh,” Saint said, looking down at his cup and then up at Carmine, who laughed out loud.

  “Clogged pipe,” Lavender said cheerfully. “Which one’s mine?” She plucked the cup Carmine indicated from the tray and took a sip, sighing in appreciation.

  “I’m on breakfast duty,” Carmine said. “Saint and I have to go to the rink this afternoon, though. Game tomorrow. How long are you guys staying?”

  “Well, we’ll stay for the game at the very least,” Diana said. “We’ve already booked a hotel for tonight.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to—” Saint protested.

  “Nonsense,” Diana said firmly. “We’ll sleep better there anyway. And I want to meet your teammates.”

  “I’m not introducing either of you to the team,” Carmine said. “You’ll just corrupt their innocent minds.”

  Saint laughed at that blatant falsehood and both women snickered.

  10

  The morning passed peacefully. Lavender and Diana left to find a farmers’ market and explore the city, and Saint curled up on the couch, Steel beside him. Carmine made disgusted noises about dogs not being allowed on furniture but Saint gave him pleading eyes and Carmine subsided, muttering.

  “You’re going to spoil my dog rotten,” he said, stretching his legs out.

  “Maybe he deserves it,” Saint countered. Steel’s ears were silky-soft and he made little grunting noises in his sleep. It was possible Saint was a little bit in love.

  Saint’s phone dinged, the distinctive sound of the NHL app updating, and Carmine’s did the same, beside him. They both pulled them out and Saint’s eyebrows climbed at the headline.

  TORONTO WOLVERINES FORWARD ADAM CARON COMES OUT AS GAY

  “What the shit?” Carmine said.

  Saint started reading. Adam Caron had called a press conference to announce his return to the Wolverines after an injury at the end of last season.

  “He nearly went blind,” Saint mumbled.

  “There’s a video,” Carmine said, and held up his phone. Saint scooted over so they could both watch the small screen.

  Adam was sitting at a table filled with microphones. He had dark hair swept back off a high forehead and blue eyes full of fear and determination, and Saint couldn’t breathe.

  “Thank you for coming,” Adam said. “I have two things to announce, and then we’ll have a few questions.” He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. Beside him, his coach had his arms crossed, looking formidable but content. “The first thing is that I’m happy to say I’ve signed a deal with the Wolverines for two years, so I’ll be in Toronto a while longer.”

  Everyone clapped, and Adam ducked his head, smiling. When he looked up, the smile was gone, replaced by determination.

  “The second thing is… I’m gay.” The words fell into silence. Adam shifted his weight, glancing at his coach, who didn’t move.

  He did it, Saint thought. He was dizzy, Carmine’s shoulder comfortingly solid against his own.

  “I’ll take questions now,” Adam said.

  Carmine turned the video off and Saint sat up, recalled to himself.

  “We’re playing them next month,” Carmine said.

  “I want to talk to him,” Saint said.

  Carmine nodded. “Of course.”

  “Dinner. Maybe? Not here. But, um. We could… go out.”

  “Sure, whatever you want.”

  “Will you come?”

  Carmine’s eyes snapped up to his. “Me? But—”

  “Please,” Saint said. “I’m not—you know how I am with people. You… you’re good with them. You charm them. Adam will like you. I just—I want to talk to him.”

  “Yeah,” Carmine said softly. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

  “Okay.” Saint nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to get ready for practice.”

  They walked to the rink together in comfortable silence, although Saint could feel Carmine sneaking glances at him.

  “Spit it out,” Saint finally said, sighing.

  “Just making sure you’re actually okay about my parents being here,” Carmine admitted.

  Saint stopped, irritation prickling his skin. “I’m not a child,” he said flatly.

  Carmine blinked. “No, I know, but—”

  “But nothing,” Saint interrupted. “Listen, I freaked out a bit. It’s not a big deal, I got over it. You helped me, and I appreciate it. But you don’t have to baby me, and I swear to God if you try to shelter or protect me—”

  “Yeah, no,” Carmine said, holding up his hands. “We’ve had this conversation. I remember. I didn’t mean it that way, okay? I just—they can be a lot, and I’m already imposing on your hospitality.”

  Saint studied his face. Sincerity shone from it, and Saint chewed his lip.

  “You’re not imposing,” he finally said.

  Carmine snorted rudely. “Yes I am.”

  �
�No, you’d be imposing if I didn’t want you there,” Saint said, and immediately regretted it.

  Carmine’s eyes went wide. “You—wait, what?”

  Saint hunched his shoulders and started walking. “Forget it.”

  “Yeah, that’s not happening,” Carmine said, grinning. He fell into step beside Saint. “So first I’m more team than David and now you actually want me in your house?” He nudged Saint with an elbow again. “It’s okay to admit you’re falling for me, man. Really.”

  “Fuck off,” Saint said, ducking his head to hide the smile. “God, you’re awful.”

  “Yeah, and you like me,” Carmine said cheerfully.

  I really do, Saint thought, and lengthened his stride. This, of course, did not deter Carmine, whose legs were longer than Saint’s, and he kept pace effortlessly, still chortling occasionally.

  At the rink, the players were gathering in the meeting room. Saint and Carmine were greeted loudly, and Saint’s eyes went straight to Kasha, sitting in the corner. He glanced at Carmine, who nodded fractionally, and peeled off to go talk to him as Carmine stopped to speak to Felix.

  Kasha looked up and gave Saint a faint approximation of his usual blinding smile as he sat down.

  “Hey,” Saint said. “How are you doing?”

  Kasha lifted a shoulder. “Alright. I’m sorry about—”

  “No,” Saint interrupted. Kasha’s eyes widened. “Don’t apologize to me again for last night, understand? It happened, it’s over. No one blames you.”

  “I blame me,” Kasha said miserably, folding his lanky frame in on itself.

  “I know,” Saint said. “But everyone fucks up, okay? Everyone. My first rookie game, I passed to the other team.”

  Kasha looked up. “You?”

  “Me,” Saint agreed. He was able to smile at the memory now, but at the time he’d felt flayed alive by the horrified embarrassment. “It wasn’t just an intercepted pass; that would have been understandable. No, this was me somehow managing to send the puck to a forward on the other team, and he immediately scored.”

  Kasha almost smiled. “That’s… bad.”

  “Right?” Saint said. He gave Kasha a conspiratorial smile. “If you ask Carmine, I’ll bet he’d have an even worse story about his own fuckups when he was a rookie.”

  “Worse than you passing the puck to the opposition?” Carmine asked, flinging himself into the seat on the other side of Kasha.

  “How do you even know about that?” Saint complained, but Kasha was laughing, tension bleeding from him.

  Carmine gave him a cheeky grin. “I do my homework, Saint Hockey.”

  “Well, go on then,” Saint said, fighting the warmth spreading in his chest at the thought of Carmine reading about him, searching out information to know him better. “Tell the rookie a few stories. I know you’ve got some.”

  Carmine put a pious hand over his heart. “I have never once in my life fucked up,” he intoned. “I am a paragon of virtue and purity.”

  “Where did you even learn a word like paragon?” Saint countered. “Don’t you have to be able to read to know words like that?”

  Carmine clutched his chest. “Kasha, defend my honor.”

  “You have no honor,” Kasha retorted, and that was a genuine smile on his face.

  “From both sides!” Carmine said, sagging in his seat as if mortally wounded, and Saint and Kasha shared a grin.

  Flanahan cleared his throat. “Hospital, Saint?”

  Saint nodded and stood, turning to face the players.

  “We’re organizing the usual trip to the hospital next month,” he said. “I need at least ten volunteers. If you don’t step up, you may find yourself volunteered, so I hope you like kids. Raise your hand if you want to go.”

  Several hands went up, Felix, Roddy, and Jason among them—his usuals. He was pleasantly surprised to see Carmine’s hand, Kasha waving his beside him, but even more surprised to see David holding up his. A few other players raised their hands too, and Saint made note of everyone.

  “I’ll be in touch with each of you individually,” he said. “Be prepared to spend an entire afternoon there.”

  “Now,” Flanahan said. “Let’s talk about yesterday.”

  A collective chorus of groans went up.

  “Or we could do bag-skates until someone pukes,” Flanahan said, eyes gleaming. “Which do you prefer?”

  “Talk!” came the chorus.

  Flanahan spent the next hour breaking down every play they’d made the night before. Saint settled in beside Kasha again to listen, watching the team. For all Flanahan’s bluster, the man knew hockey inside and out. Maybe he couldn’t motivate the team as much as Saint would like, but that’s what the captain and alternates were for, and he could definitely teach.

  Saint was pleased to see most of the players paying close attention to the diagrammed plays and explanations of what had gone wrong. Flanahan made sure to praise the plays that went right as well, especially singling Kasha out for his passes to Saint and the way he’d protected the puck.

  Kasha ducked his head, a blush darkening his fair skin, but Saint could see the hint of another smile pulling on his mouth.

  “Let’s hit the ice, people!” Flanahan finally said, clapping. “Those drills won’t run themselves!”

  A loud groan went up as players filtered from the room and headed for the lockers. Saint found himself beside David.

  “You like hospitals?” he asked.

  “Nah, but kids love me,” David said. He was watching several rookies with a gleam in his eye.

  “No pranking the babies,” Saint said automatically, and David scowled.

  “It’s a perk of being a vet, Cap, c’mon—”

  “Not unless Felix asks for your help,” Saint said flatly, leaving no room for argument. “No one on this team pulls the slightest trick without his knowledge. You don’t like it, take it up with him.”

  David made a face. “He doesn’t like me.”

  Can’t imagine why not.

  Saint said nothing, walking a little faster until he was beside Felix. “Don’t let David help with any pranks,” he said in French, keeping his voice low.

  Felix didn’t look at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  True to his diabolical threat, Flanahan bag-skated them until a rookie threw up, and then refused to let them leave the rink until he’d shouted at them a while longer about their miserable defense and how Felix couldn’t carry it on his own.

  “I try,” Felix sighed, somehow able to talk despite being as wrung out as the rest of them. “But I am just one man, no?”

  “Shut up,” Carmine wheezed, hands on knees. “I’ll show you defense, God.”

  “I wish you would!” Felix shot back, grinning. Carmine shoved weakly at him and Felix shoved back, making Carmine slide sideways on the ice.

  “Enough!” Flanahan ordered. “Get showered, get the fuck out of here. Be here in the morning for skate—not optional. I’m shuffling the lines and if you’re not here, you’re not playing tomorrow night.”

  “Yes Coach,” a few players mumbled, and they were free.

  Carmine found Saint leaning against the wall after his shower, playing on his phone. He looked up and smiled, shoving it in his pocket as he straightened.

  “Ready to go?”

  Carmine groaned. “I just got done being tortured by a sadistic mastermind in a bad suit and now you’re going to make me walk home?”

  “Poor baby,” Saint said, entirely unfeelingly, in Carmine’s opinion. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

  Carmine whimpered and followed him out of the barn and into the daylight, where he squinted as Saint pulled open the door of a waiting car.

  “Hop in,” he said, jerking his head.

  “I could kiss you,” Carmine said fervently, and Saint coughed a laugh, dusky skin blushing as he followed him into the car’s backseat.

  “It was self-serving, I assure you,” he said, buckling. “I didn’t want to walk e
ither.”

  They had dinner with Lavender and Diana, Carmine grilling steaks on the patio with Steel happily roaming the huge yard. Carmine kept an eye on Saint, watching for signs of stress, but Saint’s eyes were calm when he came out to check on him and bring him a cold beer.

  “Doing okay in there?” Carmine asked, flipping a steak.

  Saint nodded. His hair was rumpled, like he’d run his hands through it, and Carmine wondered if it was as soft as it looked. “Lavender’s doing most of the talking.”

  “She’ll do that,” Carmine said, grinning.

  “I like it,” Saint said. “She has a lot of opinions and she’s funny. Plus she doesn’t demand interaction, she just… carries the conversation. She asked if she could weed the garden out back.”

  Carmine nodded. “Give her five minutes in any new location and she’ll have located the patch of ground most suitable for growing something.”

  “Well, she asked if I wanted to help her, so I did.” Saint looked faintly surprised at himself.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “I didn’t expect to,” Saint admitted. “I was mostly just doing it to be polite.” He returned Carmine’s grin. “But… yeah. It was actually really relaxing? It felt good. Like I was accomplishing something. She said she was planting sunflowers and she’d tell me how to take care of them.” He gave Carmine another smile. “I should get back in there.”

  No sooner had he disappeared than Diana stepped outside. She slipped an arm around Carmine’s waist and he draped his over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  “Hey Ma.”

  “I like Saint,” Diana said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Carmine said. “Didn’t really expect to, honestly.”

  Diana hummed thoughtfully. “You’re careful with him, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” Carmine said, nettled. “He won’t let me do much, but I try, okay?”

  “Good.” Diana squeezed his waist. “He likes you very much.”

  Carmine poked the steak, absurdly pleased and trying to hide it. “I’m a likable guy, Ma.”

  Diana laughed out loud. “You pick fights just to watch the fallout, don’t try that shit with me.”