Roughing

by Michaela Grey

  With Carmine. He was self-aware enough to acknowledge that. He wanted Carmine to touch him, kiss him absently, stroke small circles over his pulse-point with his free hand while he read.

  Carmine was speaking, and Saint made an effort to focus.

  “—AHL?”

  Etienne nodded. “I’ve got a two-way contract. We’re hoping for a more permanent contract with the Wolverines soon, but right now I’m getting a decent amount of callups, so it’s good.”

  “And the guys on the Freeze?” Saint asked, trying to stay casual. “Are they, uh, chill?”

  Etienne’s lips twitched but he nodded. “I didn’t hide Adam, but I also didn’t advertise it. Not really their business, right? But Adam pointed out that they needed to be able to trust me, so I told my line and a few others. They didn’t care. Told me it was my point production that mattered, or something like that. The whole team knows now, and it’s….” He shrugged. “It’s common knowledge, and not newsworthy. I’m lucky, I know.”

  “He’s modest,” Adam told them. “He’s worked his ass off to get here and the whole team loves him. He’s the reason they won the Calder last year.”

  “Stop,” Etienne protested, laughing as dull red crawled up his neck.

  Saint smiled, watching them, and caught Carmine’s eye briefly. Carmine smiled back at him as Adam hopped up and headed for the kitchen to check on dinner.

  18

  It wasn’t until they were back in Portland that Saint had a chance to talk to David. He finally found his opportunity after practice between games, a week into December. David was leaving the rink when Saint caught up to him.

  “A word?”

  David glanced at him. “Busy.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” Saint said, keeping the edge from his tone with an effort.

  David rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever, let’s make it fast.”

  Saint showed him into a conference room and they settled at the table. “How have you been?” he asked.

  David wrinkled his brow. “You see me every day.”

  “And I’m asking you how you are,” Saint said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” Saint watched David’s face closely, looking for tells. “You’ve been distracted. Moody. I know you’re a hothead in general, but you’ve had a shorter fuse than usual lately. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nope.” David put both hands on the table, clearly ready to stand and leave.

  “We’re not done,” Saint said sharply, and David scowled but subsided. Saint blew out a breath, praying for patience. “I know you don’t like me. That’s okay—you don’t have to. But like me or not, I’m still your captain, and I need to make sure everything’s alright with you.”

  David fidgeted but said nothing.

  Saint waited.

  It was several minutes before David cracked.

  “I’m working through some stuff,” he muttered, not meeting Saint’s eyes.

  “Okay,” Saint said.

  David shifted his weight. “It’s—look, it’s personal, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Alright,” Saint said. “But David—you’re part of my team. Whatever your personal feelings for me, I still care about your emotional and physical health. You can talk to me anytime you want, or I can set you up with the team psychiatrist.”

  “No,” David said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I don’t need that. I just—are we done yet?”

  Saint sighed. “Yeah,” he said, and David scrambled from his chair and bolted.

  “You can’t help if he won’t let you help,” Carmine said that evening as he slid a plate in front of Saint.

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” Saint muttered. He snuck a piece of asparagus to Steel under the table, feeling it lifted delicately from his fingers. When he glanced up, Carmine was watching him, an amused smile playing on his mouth. “Uh, sorry,” Saint said.

  “You’re spoiling him rotten,” Carmine said, and turned to fill his own plate.

  The meal was peaceful, Steel half-asleep on the floor between them, sprawled across Saint’s foot. The curtains were pulled back to show the setting sun over the west wall of the back garden. Fireflies winked in the gathering twilight.

  It was cozy. Domestic. Saint watched the light casting shadows on Carmine’s face and wondered what it would be like to kiss him, slide his fingers into that silky hair to hold his head still and really taste him, memorize his feel and smell and the heat of his body.

  He cleared his throat. “Why aren’t you dating?”

  Carmine’s eyebrows shot up. “Sorry?”

  “You’ve been here since September,” Saint forged on. “You said you’re single. Are you not dating because—” He floundered. Because of me, he wanted to say, but that felt too arrogant. “Because of our living arrangement?”

  Carmine’s eyebrows somehow notched higher.

  “Because if you want to bring someone home, you can,” Saint said desperately. “Like, preferably not a one night stand or anything, but if you know them and you trust them and you want to—”

  “Saint,” Carmine said, and Saint shut up gratefully. “I’m too busy to date right now. A lot on my mind. It’s nothing to do with living here, okay? The season’s not really a good time to get into the dating scene, in any case.”

  Saint nodded silently and applied himself to his steak.

  “So I’ve been thinking,” Carmine said a few minutes later. “Felix and Roddy said you guys usually cater the Christmas dinner, but I’d like to do the cooking for it. Would that be okay?”

  Saint tensed at the reminder but nodded again. “Um, yeah, that’s fine. If you’re sure—there are a lot of hungry rookies.”

  “I can handle it,” Carmine said, smiling. “The question is, can you?”

  Saint stared at his plate. “Sure.”

  “Really?” Carmine pressed. “Because every time I’ve mentioned it, you freeze like a deer in headlights.”

  Saint sighed. “What do you want me to say? I hate this, okay? I hate having people here, I hate my stuff being touched, I hate the mess they leave behind. But I can handle it, I always do. Just… give me some time.”

  Carmine watched him, dark eyes unreadable. “How can I make it easier?” he finally asked softly.

  “You can’t,” Saint snapped. Hunching his shoulders, he tucked his chin to his chest. “Sorry. Sorry, I—there’s nothing anyone can do, okay? It’s something I just have to get over.”

  Carmine just nodded. “If you think of something I can help with, all you have to do is ask.”

  19

  The day of the Christmas party, Carmine was up early, in the kitchen making cardamom bread when Saint stumbled in.

  “Morning,” Carmine said, pulling the first pan out of the oven and putting the next in. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll have breakfast ready for you.”

  Saint slumped at the table, cradling his coffee to his chest as Steel rested his chin on his thigh. Carmine set the plate of sausage on the table and pretended not to notice when Saint broke off a piece and slipped it to Steel.

  The cardamom bread followed, wrapped in a towel to keep the heat in. Then spinach and leek quiche and cranberry orange mimosas. Saint’s eyes got bigger and bigger as Carmine brought dishes to the table.

  “Do you always go this all out?” he asked, tearing off a piece of cardamom bread and popping it in his mouth.

  “When I can,” Carmine said. “I didn’t get to do it in Boston very much—kitchen was too small. But when I go home, Ma and I like to spend days at a time just cooking anything and everything.” He sat down opposite Saint and began putting food on his plate.

  Saint looked more alert as he followed suit, nibbling the quiche suspiciously and then humming with surprised approval and taking a bigger bite. His shoulders were tight but he wasn’t too jumpy yet, Carmine thought. Although that would probably change when the first guest knocked on the door.

  “How m
any are on the list?” Saint asked, not meeting his eyes.

  “Most of the team,” Carmine said. “Coach might show up for a few minutes. Velvet’s bringing her wife. The others all have the option to bring a plus one but they’ve been briefed on where they can go in the house, that kind of thing. And Roddy’s bringing his kids, is that okay?”

  Saint nodded, grip tight on his fork. “They’re good kids.”

  He insisted on helping clean up but Carmine could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He jumped at every sound until Carmine finally rescued the glass he was clutching a little too tight and set it aside.

  “Saint. Hey.” He waited, but Saint wouldn’t meet his eyes, shoulders notched up around his ears. Carmine chewed his lip, not sure what to do. “What is it really?” he asked softly.

  Saint shot a look at him through his lashes.

  “This thing about your house,” Carmine said. “What is it that bothers you so much? Wait, don’t answer yet.” He circled Saint’s wrist with loose fingers and pulled him gently into the living room. Saint tucked his feet underneath him on the big couch and Carmine settled near him but not close enough to touch. “Okay,” he said when he was comfortable. “Can you tell me?”

  Saint heaved a sigh. “It’s stupid.” He scraped a thumbnail over the warp of the upholstery.

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?” Carmine asked. “Try me.”

  “I don’t like things being out of my control,” Saint said. “My house—it’s mine. It’s my safe space, you know? I know where everything is. No surprises. No changes to my routine. It’s a—a controlled environment, I guess. When there are other people here, it—I can’t predict what will happen. It’s… I told you it’s stupid.”

  Carmine’s heart ached. He’d known for awhile how big a deal it had been for Saint to let him into his life the way he had, but the reminder of the trust Saint had placed in him was humbling. “It’s not stupid,” he said quietly.

  “No, it is. I know that. I just… there’s so much I can’t control. The other team, the way the puck bounces, all the random stuff in life. Here, this is where I have control. This is where I’m safe. And I’m letting these people in, I’m allowing them into my world and what if something happens, what if—” His breathing shortened and Carmine caught his hand, squeezing.

  “I won’t let it,” he said.

  Saint coughed a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t—”

  “I can and I will,” Carmine said. “Nothing will happen to your house. I’ll clean up the mess when they’re gone. If anyone breaks anything, I’ll replace it. If you get overwhelmed, you can go to your suite to recharge; I’ll handle everything.” He patted Saint’s hand and straightened. “I’m good at hosting, you’ll see.”

  Saint’s eyes were dark, lips parted. “Carmine—”

  Carmine smiled at him. “All you have to do is smile and look pretty. I’ll do the rest.” Saint’s mouth fell open but Carmine just winked and stood. “I have more baking to do, but first—be right back.” He hurried for his room and the present he’d carefully wrapped the night before. Saint’s eyes went wide when Carmine came back out holding it.

  “Oh—oh no, I don’t have your present yet—”

  “Shut up,” Carmine ordered. He set the box on the couch and sat down again. “You’ve given me a lot. This is my small way of showing you how much I appreciate it.”

  Saint bit his lip. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me until you know if you like it or not,” Carmine said. “C’mon, open it!”

  Saint pulled at the paper until it came free, revealing the books Carmine had spent hours deciding on. Saint picked up Gardening for Beginners, smoothing a hand across the cover.

  “You got me gardening books,” he said, voice choked and low.

  “I mean, you don’t have to use them,” Carmine said hurriedly. “I just thought—maybe you’d like to read them, and if they give you any ideas, things you can do in your garden, well—that’d be nice, right? And look, I got you some gardening-themed mysteries, too. This one is a woman who solves murders while raising prize-winning roses. Maybe you can read them on the plane or something.”

  A smile crept across Saint’s face. “Gardening books.” He gathered the books into his lap, tracing the titles with a finger, and then looked up. “Thank you. I—it’s perfect.”

  Carmine grinned at him, finally relaxing. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  “I’ll probably… just read for a bit,” Saint said, and his focus was already on the open book in his lap.

  He spent several hours in the living room, curled up in the corner of the sofa as Carmine bustled around the kitchen. Saint surfaced once to find a mug of apple cider beside him, next to a plate of sugar cookies—he hadn’t even heard Carmine come in.

  When it was time for the guests to start arriving, the panic tried to rear its head, but Saint took a deep breath and shoved it down, locking it away. Carmine’s here. He’s going to take care of it. Of you. The doorbell rang and footsteps came from the kitchen. Carmine put his head in, looking at Saint.

  Saint met his eyes and somehow found a smile. The answering smile he got was worth it as Carmine withdrew and went to answer the door. Saint picked up his books and set them on the mantel, turning in time to greet Roddy and Naomi, their children trailing behind them. Naomi was a lovely, statuesque white woman with tumbling brunette hair and sharp brown eyes. She was holding Annika, six months old and still mostly bald. Naomi took Saint’s hand and went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, soft and dry.

  “Hi, honey,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Hey Naomi,” Saint said. The butterflies calmed further and his smile was real when he turned to greet Roddy.

  “Don’t look now, Roddy,” Carmine said, appearing behind Naomi in the doorway, “but your kid has no hair. What’s up with that?”

  “She’s a baby, you idiot,” Roddy said without heat.

  “Where’s your bathroom, Saint?” Naomi asked. Saint pointed, and Naomi pushed Annika into Saint’s arms. They regarded each other dubiously.

  “Hi,” Saint finally said. “Remember me?”

  Annika pushed a fist into her mouth and said something unintelligible around it as the doorbell rang again.

  Guests trickled in in ones and twos over the next hour, until the living room was filled with large hockey players and their partners. Kasha had brought Nadia, a leggy blonde with unhappy eyes and a sour set to her mouth. David was there with a girl Saint had never met. She’d made a beeline for Saint, arms open to hug him, baby and all, and been smoothly headed off by Carmine, who shook her hand and introduced himself and steered her toward the wet bar.

  Saint shifted Annika’s weight and headed for the kitchen. Naomi was on the couch, talking to several other wives, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to have her baby back, and truth be told, Saint kind of liked the solid feel of her in his arms. She babbled to him happily as he carried her through to find food laid out on all the counters.

  “Look at all this,” he told Annika. “Can you eat solid food yet? I’d maybe better not give you anything yet, I don’t want your mom to kill me. Can you believe how much Carmine cooked?” He found an open bottle of wine on the counter and poured himself a glass as Annika smacked his sweater with slobbery hands and bounced up and down. Saint rebalanced her and took a sip, then another. “Wait until you’re old enough to drink wine,” he said, resting his hips against the counter.

  Annika made a lunge for the glass and Saint laughed, holding it out of reach. “Not yet!” He looked up to see Carmine in the doorway, watching them with dark eyes. “Hey,” Saint said, smile widening. The wine curled warm in his belly and loosened the knot in his chest as Carmine took a step forward.

  “Doing okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah,” Saint said, faintly surprised to realize it was true.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “That’s probably Felix,” Carmine said. “He texted me he was runn
ing late.”

  “We’ll get it,” Saint said. He drained his glass and they headed for the front door.

  Felix was wearing a dove-gray sweater and black pants that suited his rangy form well, standing alone on the front porch.

  “No date?” Saint asked.

  “Not this time,” Felix said. His smile was almost genuine, but there were shadows in his eyes.

  Saint frowned. “Come on, get in here.” He met Naomi coming down the hall and handed Annika off to her, waving goodbye before grabbing Felix’s arm and steering him toward his suite.

  “The others—” Felix protested halfheartedly.

  “Can wait,” Saint said. “What’s going on with you?”

  Felix rubbed the back of his neck. “You have to be so perceptive, cher?”

  “Fee,” Saint said softly. “Are you okay?”

  Felix shook his head. “I’m—Saint….”

  Saint pulled him to the bed and sat him down, settling beside him. “Talk to me.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

  “I met someone, few months ago,” Felix said. “Start of the season, yes? He didn’t want to be serious, so I tried—I tried not to—but—”

  “You fell for him,” Saint said quietly.

  Felix ducked his head, hair falling in his face. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

  Saint touched his arm. “That’s not something we can really stop, is it?”

  Felix shook his head and tilted sideways, pressing his face to Saint’s shoulder. “He’s perfect,” he said in a muffled voice. “And he doesn’t want me.”

  “Obviously he’s not perfect,” Saint pointed out, rubbing Felix’s bony back. “Or he’d want you back. Only an idiot wouldn’t want you.”

  Felix laughed, the sound a little wet, and sat up, swiping at his eyes. “Sorry, cher. I didn’t mean to—how are you? You don’t seem so panicky. I thought you’d be a wreck.”