The Play of His Life

by Amy Aislin

  “I bet Sam makes better donuts,” Sylvie said.

  “She does. But still.” Riley shrugged. “Timmies.”

  “These crepes taste like yours,” Christian said to Riley before stuffing another bite in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” Riley said. “Because we use your mom’s recipe.”

  Christian’s eyebrows went up. “No shit? Mom, you’re famous!”

  A scramble came from underneath the table and then Trevor ran to where the open kitchen doorway and started barking at nothing.

  “Trevor!”

  Sylvie’s yell stopped the barking, and the dog looked from the hallway to Sylvie and back. Finally, nails clicking on the kitchen tile, he trotted back to them and settled under the table again.

  Christian peered down the hall as if the explanation for Trevor’s weirdness would be written on the wall.

  “They say dogs can see ghosts,” Riley said.

  The color drained from Christian’s face and his eyes went so comically wide Riley could see the whites of his eyes. Swallowing his laughter, Riley reached out and squeezed Christian’s thigh.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m wrong. It’s not dogs. It’s…”

  “Cats!”

  “Cats,” he repeated, sending Sylvie a mental thank you. “It’s cats. My mistake. Sorry, T.”

  Riley had to wonder if Christian would ever be able to sleep in this house without one eye open ever again.

  * * *

  Tucked into a corner of the couch in the family room hours later, feet on the coffee table in front of him, Christian ignored the impromptu holiday party happening in his mom’s living room and watched the Supernatural marathon on TV with the subtitles on. Riley was fast asleep, his back to Christian’s chest, legs taking up the rest of the long couch. Christian had one arm wrapped around Riley’s torso, his hand underneath Riley’s hoodie to rest on his stomach.

  It was three in the afternoon and Christian was honestly surprised Riley had stayed awake as long as he had. He’d looked tired as shit last night; this morning the bruises below his eyes were more pronounced. He’d fallen asleep on Christian almost an hour ago, sleeping through the doorbell, knocks, exclamations of surprise, shouts of “Merry Christmas!” and, now, the din of the crowd in the room across the hall.

  At a population of two hundred thousand, the Town of Oakville—it should really be renamed the City of Oakville, but Christian could only imagine the huge pushback the town would get from…well, probably everyone who lived here—wasn’t one of those towns where everybody knew everybody else. But in downtown Oakville and this small residential neighborhood south of Lakeshore all the way to the lake, between Navy Street to the west and Allan Street to the east, where families had lived for generations… It was like a mini village within a larger whole where everybody was up in each other’s business all. The. Time.

  He was glad his mom had all these people around her. With him living all the way across the country, he didn’t want to think of his mom out here all alone. But she had a big group of friends and still worked part-time and was part of a whole bunch of clubs. They were what had made it okay for him to head back to Vancouver after his dad died.

  Christian must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he suddenly became aware of a whispered conversation next to him.

  “Are they back together?”

  “Aren’t they just the sweetest?”

  “Well, I don’t know about back together, but at least they’re friends again,” came his mom’s accented English.

  Christian would’ve sworn he heard the distinct snap of a phone camera.

  “Do you think Riley knows how tightly he’s holding on to Christian’s arm, even in sleep?”

  “I think they’re both too dumb to know anything.”

  “Oh, Sylvie, dumb’s a harsh word.”

  A huff of breath. “You’re right.” Silence for a second, then, “What’s the opposite of perceptive?”

  “Obtuse?”

  “Yes! That’s a good word. Obtuse, both of them.”

  Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Christian lifted his head off the back of the couch and looked at the four women huddled together on the other side of the coffee table. Not a guilty look among them for spying or gossiping without remorse.

  “He thinks he’s scary when he scowls like that,” his mom whispered loudly to her friends.

  All four of them giggled under their breath before shuffling out of the room.

  Jesus. The humiliation he subjected himself to for his mom’s amusement.

  Trevor padded into the room, looking like he’d gotten into the keg at a doggie party. Hair standing straight up all over his small body, dog collar askew, he fell onto the rug in front of the fireplace with a tired sigh.

  That’s what you get for not being able to hold your liquor.

  The thought made Christian snort. Fuck, he must be tired if he was imagining canine keggers.

  He watched the last few minutes of the Supernatural episode playing on TV and was halfway through the next one when Riley finally stirred, thank God. Christian had been in the same position for over two hours. His left asscheek was numb, the arm around Riley was sore, he needed to stretch out his knees, and Riley’s body heat was making him sweat.

  “Is this the same episode?” Riley’s voice was deeper, rumblier, with sleep. It reached right into Christian and made him shiver.

  “No. There’s a marathon on.”

  “A Supernatural marathon on Christmas?” Riley chuckled. “Sure, why not?”

  Riley moved so that he was lying fully on his side on the couch, head on Christian’s thighs. It was enough that it let Christian shift position so that he wasn’t uncomfortable anymore and he could remove his hoodie, leaving him in a simple T-shirt, without disturbing Riley.

  “Why do you watch this if you’re afraid of ghosts?”

  “I’m not afraid of them.” Christian scoffed and ran a hand through Riley’s dark blond hair. “I just don’t like them.”

  “Uh-huh.” Riley’s voice sounded drowsy. “You won’t even come into my grandparents’ house. And you’ve taken the Oakville Historical Society’s ghost tour. You know all the Oakville ghosts are friendly.”

  “Lies.”

  Riley’s laughter rumbled against his thighs.

  “I can switch this if you want,” Christian offered, nodding at the TV. “We can watch a movie.”

  “No, this is good. I missed a few episodes last season. I think this might be one of them.”

  “You still watch this?”

  “Of course. Sam and Dean.”

  That was really all the explanation needed, though Christian wanted to think that Riley had kept up with the show because it used to be their thing. They used to watch it together every week growing up. Even in university they’d watch while Skyping each other. The fact that Riley had kept watching over the past few years made Christian smile. He wrapped an arm around Riley’s torso, resting his hand on Riley’s stomach. In a move that made Christian’s heart melt, Riley twined their fingers together.

  “I guess Warm Glow is closed today?” Christian asked.

  “Yeah. Tomorrow, too.”

  “Tomorrow? But it’s a huge revenue day with the Boxing Day sales. You’d get a lot of foot traffic.” The look on Riley’s face a few days ago when Christian had asked him if the bakery was having financial difficulties had set off alarm bells in his head. It was why he’d started working on Warm Glow’s website this morning. Why he’d put feelers out for advertisements to local newspapers. Why he’d reached out to some of the Greater Toronto Area’s big-name bloggers and created a Facebook page.

  “Yeah,” Riley said, “but most of the stores on Lakeshore will be closed so Sam and I didn’t see a point in opening.”

  “Is the store doing well?” Christian was dying to know. “It seems like it is based on the amount of people I saw in there when I came by.”

  Riley didn’t say anything for a minute, and just when Chr
istian convinced himself he wasn’t going to answer, Riley sat up and tucked his right leg under himself on the couch so that he faced Christian. His eyes looked clearer and more alert, the lack-of-sleep gone from his face. The scruff on his jaw and cheeks was sexy as hell and Christian didn’t bother resisting the urge to reach out and run a palm over it.

  “I don’t know if I should be worried,” Riley said, tilting his head so Christian had better access. “The shop’s not doing bad. In fact, it’s doing really well even though we’ve only been open two and a half months. But it’s not paying for itself yet, which… I don’t know. Everything I’ve read and heard says that that’s normal, that it takes a while.”

  “It does.” Christian removed his hand from Riley’s face and placed it on Riley’s knee.

  “I have money saved up.” Riley’s smile was rueful and he glanced away to play with Christian’s fingers. “I played for the NHL for three years, so it’s not like I’m counting my pennies. And sometimes I think I should just use my savings to cover any deficits with the shop. And I have been doing that, but I can’t do that for the long haul. That’s not a very good business model.”

  “You need to do more marketing. Better marketing.”

  Riley rolled his eyes. “Yes, you weren’t exactly subtle this morning when you were knocking my website.”

  “The new one will help,” Christian promised. Riley didn’t look convinced but Christian knew what he was doing.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon tangled together on the couch watching a sometimes-scary, sometimes-corny, always-awesome sci-fi show with a pair of hot actors. They only moved to reposition themselves, get food, or go pee. Eventually his mom’s friends left and Sylvie joined them in the family room. They switched from Supernatural to The Descendants because his mom had an obsession with Golden Globe winners.

  It was relaxing and pressure-free and the best Christmas since Christian’s dad died.

  The sleepover at Riley’s didn’t happen until a couple days later. They spent Christmas night at Christian’s mom’s because Christian didn’t want to leave her alone on Christmas. So they behaved themselves in Christian’s bed and kept things mostly PG-rated.

  Boxing Day saw them at Glen Eden in Milton for some snowboarding. A fact that Riley was sorely regretting the next day on his walk home from Warm Glow after the day from hell. He knew he should’ve skied instead, but it just wasn’t as much fun as snowboarding even if snowboarding made his injured knee ache from being kept in the same position for hours. Added to today’s full day on his feet serving customers and his knee felt about the size of a basketball and as sore as a hockey puck to the teeth.

  He needed an ice pack. An anti-inflammatory. A painkiller. Someone to kiss it better.

  Someone named Christian.

  Gritting his teeth, Riley made it to the stop sign before he had to stop and breathe through the pain. He’d overexerted himself the past couple of days, he knew it. His knee hadn’t hurt this bad since physical therapy.

  He almost texted Christian to cancel their plans for tonight because the thought of standing in his kitchen to make dinner made him want to whimper pathetically. But Christian would see right through him, would know that Riley was cancelling because he hurt—he’d seen the winces Riley hadn’t been able to conceal on the drive home from the slopes last night—and would immediately blame himself for ever having suggested they go snowboarding in the first place.

  Or, Riley could call Christian now, tell him to borrow his mom’s car and come pick Riley up at the corner of Lakeshore and Thomas. Then he could let Christian take him home where Christian could fuss to his heart’s content. Which would help assuage any guilt Christian would unquestionably feel for something he perceived as his fault.

  Option two, please.

  At least it wasn’t too cold out while Riley waited for Christian to come get him. In fact, it had warmed up considerably over the past couple of days, the temperature hanging somewhere just below zero. It was snowing big, fat, lazy flakes that settled over old, dirty snow, giving downtown Oakville a postcard-perfect feel, especially with the Christmas lights glowing in storefront windows and the old-fashioned streetlamps decorated with wreaths and tiny white lights.

  Snowflakes landed in his hair and he blinked some out of his eyes. Cars passed him on the street, none of them Christian. That was okay though because he didn’t mind the cold, never had, not like Christian, and he was happy to let the cool air numb the pain in his knee slightly.

  A car pulled up to the curb minutes later, four-way blinkers flashing. Before Riley could take a single step toward it, Christian was already out the door and two-timing it toward him.

  “I can walk,” Riley grumbled.

  “Shut up and lean on me,” Christian said. With an arm around Riley’s waist, Riley was able to lean on Christian as he hobbled to the car, saving him from putting his entire weight on his right knee. He settled into the passenger seat of Christian’s mom’s SUV and watched dumbfounded while Christian went so far as to lean in and buckle Riley’s seatbelt.

  “I’m not an invalid,” Riley joked.

  “Shut up,” Christian said again.

  In the yellow glow of the overhead light, Riley could clearly see the lines of strain bracketing Christian’s eyes. His lips were so tightly pressed together they were edged in white. Before Riley could address Christian’s whole public-enemy-number-one schtick and kiss away his self-recriminating frown, the door closed and Christian was rounding the hood to get in on the driver’s side.

  Pulling away from the curb, Christian said, “We’ll be there in just a minute,” with a tight voice as if Riley didn’t know it only took about thirty seconds to drive home from here.

  Determined to replace Christian’s furrowed brow with a smile, Riley said, “Shut up and let me groan in pain.” And proceeded to groan so theatrically it sounded like he was either being rather epically murdered in a Greek tragedy or having the orgasm of his life.

  It made Christian laugh. Mission accomplished.

  He shoots, he scores!

  Threading his fingers with Christian’s over the gearshift, Riley smiled at him. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

  Christian’s answering smile was strained, but at least it was there. Riley was glad he hadn’t sucked it up and tried to walk home. Firstly, he didn’t think he would’ve made it without succumbing to tears of pain. Secondly, it was worth it, making himself vulnerable to make Christian feel like he was helping to fix something that he blamed himself for.

  Once parked in Riley’s driveway, Christian made him wait in the car until he could come around and help him out, then up the walkway and up the one stair onto the porch and into the house. Christian seemed to forget all about his fear of ghosts as they took off coats and boots in the front hallway. Then he helped Riley into the kitchen, sat him at the kitchen table, took an ice pack out of the freezer, wrapped it in a dish towel, and handed it to Riley along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain meds sitting on the countertop.

  Yes, feared ghosts. Please. Riley could smell a lie on Christian a million miles away and I’m not afraid of ghosts, I just don’t like them was one of them. Christian was afraid of ghosts like other people were afraid of heights. It was irrational—there was no such thing as ghosts—and Riley had no idea how this fear had started or why—wasn’t even sure Christian knew—but there it was. And Riley’s house—formerly his grandparents’ house—was so not haunted, thank you very much. It was an old house: it creaked, it moaned, it was drafty. Riley had grown up a few houses down and he’d spent a lot of time here growing up and had seen nary a single ghost.

  Because they didn’t exist. But try telling Christian that.

  He watched Christian take off his watch, wash and dry his hands, then remove the cream, cheese, garlic, and chicken breasts from the fridge.

  “I was going to make fettuccine alfredo with chicken,” Riley said from his perch on a kitchen chair, ice pack on his knee.
<
br />   Christian’s answering expression said, duh. What else? As if he hadn’t figured it out based on said ingredients sitting in the middle of the fridge when he opened it up.

  Riley just grinned at him.

  Watching Christian cook was awesome. Riley knew he had a goofy grin on his face, but the meds were making him kind of high and he didn’t care. Wearing jeans and a zip-up sweater, Christian worked the kitchen like he was a Master Chef. Riley watched him grate cheese, mince garlic, and measure out cream until the pain in his knee started to recede. When the ice pack soaked through his jeans, he got uncomfortable and stood to—

  “Where you going?” Christian zeroed in on him like a coach assessing his players’ skills.

  “To change?” Riley said, feeling a little off-kilter at having all of that sudden Christian-attention on him. His eyes raked Riley up and down like he could see everything that hurt.

  “I’ll help you.” Christian moved the pan off the burner and put the chicken breast package back in the fridge.

  “I can make it down the damn hallway.” Riley knew Christian was going to fuss, but his bedroom was only fifteen feet away.

  “Shut up.”

  Man, Riley was going to have to teach him some new words.

  Christian hovered, sharp eyes on Riley while he changed into a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt, never ogling for more than a few seconds, making no attempt to get frisky. It showed how much Christian blamed himself for Riley’s current predicament.

  “You know,” Riley said, fed up with Christian’s pity party, “I didn’t have to go.”

  “Go…change?”

  Riley snorted a laugh despite himself. “Go snowboarding. This is my own damn fault. I didn’t have to say yes when you asked.”

  “I shouldn’t’ve asked,” Christian said, wincing. “I forget sometimes that you can’t do some stuff like you used to. You’re just so…whole. So healthy. I forget.”

  That was possibly the nicest compliment anyone had ever paid him. He didn’t want people to remember him as the goalie who had to retire due to injury. He’d worked really fucking hard to keep in top shape, both mentally and physically.