by RJ Scott
“Get some sleep asshole,” I added with the authority of being older and wiser than Adler Lockhart.
“You’re just jealous of me and Layton,” he murmured, and settled back in his seat.
Jealous? What did I have to be jealous about? Yeah, Adler and Layton were into each other in a big way, but I had some of my own.
I sort of had Ben.
Ben, who was, I-think-could-be more than a hookup, but of course way less than a boyfriend. A friend with benefits, where benefits were confined to fucking.
Sadly not including post-fuck cuddling.
“Look!” Stan hovered next to me and thrust something in my face, and abruptly I had a lap full of drawings. “Help make choice,” he ordered.
I realized you didn’t argue with Stan. Not because he was intimidating, but because once you went down the rabbit hole of trying to understand what he was saying, it was ten minutes you’d never get back.
I looked at the sketches, clearly for a helmet design, and they were gorgeous. There was the Railers logo—the old steam engine, with steam curling around the sides, and iron and steel crossed. There was also snow and other things that were, I assumed, Russian.
“Pick,” he said.
“You want me to pick one?” I wasn’t sure how I’d earned that right, and I wished Adler would come out from under his cap.
“All plane pick one,” Stan explained.
Thank God. I wasn’t sure I could handle the responsibility of making a monumental decision about a goalie’s helmet design. I looked at them again and noticed the sheet held the logo of the designer, the same guy I knew my fellow Railers went to for their tattoo designs. Gatlin Pearce. His stuff was pretty cool, and I made a mental note of his name to contact him about some tattoo ideas of my own.
“I vote this one,” I said, and pulled out the most vibrant of the three sketches.
“Good for final,” he said. Took the paper and frowned at Adler. He was contemplating waking Adler up, but I shook my head subtly.
I was actually quite happy Adler was asleep—that meant quiet for me—and Stan moved on to Ten, who was in the seat in front of me.
My cell vibrated, and I checked it quickly.
All okay, Ben wrote. Minimal damage, and dogs are fine. Security guy here on a checkup, which is lucky.
I hit reply, then contemplated the correct response.
Okay.
That was always a good place to start. I added a smiley face, then backspaced. This was more of a thumbs-up situation, and speaking of thumbs, mine were way too big for the damn tiny phone keys. God knew how I hadn’t thrown the thing out of a window before now. It took me so long to write anything at all. This was why emojis were such a good thing. I added the thumbs-up, then considered how to phrase the fact I wished we’d managed a cuddle that morning.
Jesus, if any opposing hockey team could see me now, they wouldn’t be fearing the Railers’ big bad D-man at all. They’d be laughing.
“D-Man wants a cuddle.”
“Look at him, poor Maxxy Waxxy needs a huggy wuggy.”
I could imagine the chirping and felt myself go scarlet with embarrassment at the thought of someone seeing that far into my soul. I ended the text with a generic, see you soon, and turned off my phone before I could think of the kind of shit I might get if anyone found out about my soft side.
The flight was short, the hotel gorgeous, the views over the city worthy of a picture. Which I didn’t send to anyone or share with anyone. Just as my mom didn’t completely understand my sexuality, she sure as hell wasn’t interested in what city I was in. Which pretty much covered how my sisters felt as well.
Never mind, not like any of that mattered anymore.
I could send a picture to Ben?
Send a picture of a city to a man who is a casual hookup? Yeah, right.
We lost one to Washington and won one. God knows how we won anything at all because both games were one penalty after another on both sides. Only Stan in the net was enough for us to have the edge, and we took that win home with us, leading this round three games to their one.
The mood on the plane home was euphoric. If we could win the next games, we could sweep Washington out of the race. The thought of it was enough to have us standing most of the flight, shooting the shit and making so much noise it was a wonder the pilot didn’t tell us to shut the hell up.
Only as we neared home did we all quiet down after all, we’d meet the same team in two days on our ice.
I took the time to re-read the message I’d received from Ben, timestamped just after we’d won the second game.
Congrats, was the single word. I kind of wanted more but settled instead for holding that single word close.
I fist-bumped teammates as we disembarked, hugged the bemused flight attendant, laughed, grinned, and got into the cab I’d ordered with one express purpose. To see Ben.
When Ben opened the door to his place, yawning behind his hand, adorably mussed and warm from bed, I stepped in, closed the door, and pulled him into my arms.
He came willingly, all soft and tired, and I held him for so long I knew he would want to know what the hell was going on.
“You won one,” he murmured against my throat.
“We did.”
“But you’re hugging me tight.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I held him even tighter and loved that he let me. “I needed a hug.”
He laughed then, a soft sound that I felt run through him. “Happy to help.”
We hugged it out, too tired to fuck, content just to snuggle in Ben’s huge, soft bed, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
It was the best win I’d had in a long time, because getting that hug was an even better feeling than beating Washington.
What woke me, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was Ben moving, or the sound of his cell phone, or maybe the urgency of his tone. All I knew was he wasn’t in my arms, and when I focused on him in the half-dark, he was getting dressed.
“What time is it?” I tried to focus on my watch to see the time.
“Four,” he said, curtly, fearfully, and I was instantly awake.
“What?” I sat upright in bed and pulled off the covers, dressing as fast as him.
“A break-in at the shelter. The cops are there, and they have the guy. I’ll drive," he added, and I wasn’t going to argue seeing as I didn’t have a car there and I didn’t really drive anymore.
I followed him out of the house, and we arrived at the shelter in the space of ten minutes to flashing lights and two cops. I was ready to get out of the Jeep and take on whoever had been messing with Ben, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t drop gloves on someone outside the rink. I had to keep my cool.
“It wasn’t me!” someone shouted. A kid in a coat stared up at the two cops looking right back at him. He was visibly shivering, despite the coat, and I knew how he felt; it was freaking cold out.
“Shit,” Ben cursed, and broke into a jog to get to the cops.
“It’s okay, he’s okay,” he said, and moved between the cops and the boy.
“Sir, the alarm was triggered, and on arrival we found this young man and these.” Cop one held up what looked like a pocket knife, and when the light of the street light hit the metal my temper boiled over. Now it was my turn to get involved.
“What the fuck?” I said, all up in the kid’s face. He stumbled back and away, and Ben had to catch him and stop him from falling.
“Max, leave it,” he said, and his tone didn’t leave any room for discussion or disapproval.
“DK? What are you doing?” Ben asked, his hands on the kid’s skinny upper arms.
“You said if I needed you I could come, and I tried the key in the gate, and it didn’t work so I tried to pick the lock, and I’m cold, Ben, and I needed you.”
I listened to the boy, this DK, who seemed to know Ben. Who needed Ben.
Ben turned so that DK was behi
nd him and it was him facing the cops. “I’m sorry to waste your time here officers. DK is my nephew.”
His nephew? That would explain why I wasn’t allowed to pummel him, I guess.
“We’ll require a statement,” Cop two said, with cop one sighing noisily.
“Tomorrow, okay?” Ben waited. Behind him, the kid was shivering, and I didn’t know what the hell to do.
The cops conferred with each other, called the situation in with a string of codes, then drove away.
Which left me, Ben, and DK, standing at the front gate and looking at each other.
“Coffee.” Ben said, entering his passcode into the new security keypad and walking inside. As soon as the door closed behind us, all the bravado disappeared from the kid and he slumped in the nearest seat.
“Talk to me, DK,” Ben said, and went into a crouch in front of him. I backed away a little and filled the coffee pot, all the time with an ear on what was being talked about.
“Dad went crazy,” DK murmured.
“Crazy how?” Ben asked.
“He was… It was…” DK stopped and scrubbed at his eyes, as though he was trying to clear tears.
“We all grieve in different ways,” I heard Ben say.
“This isn’t Dad grieving, Uncle Ben. This is him losing his job, having no money, and if you heard some of the evil shit he screams at me. Then he…”
Ben placed a hand on DK’s knee. “Come on, DK, tell me what happened.”
DK looked right at me then, and I was reminded staring wasn’t a good thing, so I attempted to busy myself with mugs and coffee, but not before DK showed something to Ben and Ben turned on the full light. Not before I saw the marks.
A vivid scarlet on DK’s neck, a purple bloom on his arm, crimson flecks on his wrist.
I heard Ben curse in horror, and I had to physically restrain my anger. Hitting a kid?
What the fuck?
“I won’t go back,” DK snapped. “You can’t make me. I’m eighteen now, and I choose to be with you.”
Ben glanced over at me, and there was conflict in his eyes. I wanted him to say that everything would be okay for the kid, that he’d offer him a place to stay. I wanted the man who saved dogs to show the same compassion for his nephew. I needed that as much as I needed a hug, to see purity in someone who was the opposite of me.
“Okay,” Ben said, and stood. He held out a hand and pulled DK up and into a hug. “But it has to be above-board. I have to talk to your dad.”
DK looked shocked, then shrugged, which looked to me like evidence of self-preservation. Maybe he shrugged off everything in life?
“Dad can’t do anything about it. He can’t make me go home.”
“I know,” Ben whispered.
Then DK’s tears broke free, and he leaned in to Ben. “Why did Uncle Liam have to die?” he said on a sob.
I watched, frozen on the spot as Ben held his nephew. I swear I saw tears on Ben’s face as well, but in this light, I couldn’t see for sure.
Why wouldn’t a widower cry with his husband’s family?
I was a voyeur; the worst kind of watcher, seeing this naked grief I understood but couldn’t handle. Instead, I lined up the coffee on the side, took mine, and left the room, following the corridor to where I knew the pups were.
Standing watching them, all curled up together in a heap of fur, I attempted to find some kind of peace, or understanding, or hell, compassion that I could give Ben with this.
How the hell had this uncomplicated thing we had between us become so complex with need and, hell, grief?
I didn’t have time for this. I had enough of my own grief banked behind a wall in my head, and I wasn’t pulling that out to examine it any time soon.
“I’m taking DK back to my place,” Ben said from behind me. I could see his reflection in the glass, and he hovered there, not coming close to me.
“So that’s your husband’s…” I left it open, waiting for Ben to elaborate, although I hadn’t really earned the right to know everything.
“Yeah. My husband, Liam, his brother has three sons. DK is the youngest. Poor kid got caught up in the family reaction when Liam decided to marry me. Then when Liam changed his will and left me everything, the dislike for me turned to hate. Hell, he wasn’t even happy for DK to visit, even though DK used to work weekends here as his part-time job.”
“But you are letting him stay with you now.” I needed to know that was real, for the kid with the tears and the bruises.
I’d hurt people worse than the marks I’d seen on DK’s skin, but never off the ice. Never in a temper so great I could hurt a kid, or my own son. I hated that doubt about what Ben would do crept into my tone, and I saw my words hurt a little from the way he stiffened.
“He’ll always have a place with me.” His voice was clipped, and I knew I’d fucked up.
“I didn’t mean anything by that. I know you.”
He turned to leave, but I swear I heard him mutter that I didn’t know him at all.
Great, now I was the one feeling hurt. I caught up with him and grabbed his sleeve, pulled him to a stop, and kissed him, soft and insistent, until, with a sigh, he linked his hands around my neck.
“You don’t need to be worrying about this,” he said, his dark eyes brimming with emotion.
“I didn’t before,” I admitted. Honesty was one of my strong points, after all. “But this is a vulnerable young adult, here, and hell, you make it damn hard for me to walk away and not care.”
He rested his head on my shoulder, and I heard that sigh again, as if the weight of the world sat on him, heavily. I was a big guy, and I had the space to take some of the worry away from him. It’s kind of my thing. Protection. Being the brick wall.
“But you want the worry now? After…what? A couple hookups?”
I tried for lightness in my reply. “I have nothing else to do outside of hockey.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I tapped my head then, “Been hit in the head too many times.”
I was joking. It was what any hockey player would say.
But the truth of it was acid inside me.
I did what I do best. I ignored the twist of blood vessels in my brain and carried on.
Chapter Seven
Ben
Harboring DK was making me a nervous wreck. I loved him, and his brothers, but knowing DK’s dad, Rolf, was going to roll up at any given time, bubbling with vitriol, had me on edge. He’d never approved of me marrying Liam. He’d boycotted the wedding and taken half the family with him. Of course, he’d turned up at the small reception with its open bar, causing chaos with his prejudiced views. I’d wanted him gone, but the sadness in Liam’s eyes had made me hold my tongue.
I hated him, and I didn’t have the capacity to hate anyone, so I didn’t know where it came from.
Mostly he scared me.
Added to that we had the vandalism, and I’d told the staff at the shelter that no one was to be alone on the premises at any time. We double-checked all locks before leaving for the night.
Home was…well, home was a nest of porcupines.
Glenna and Carol had had to be informed of the situation because Rolf knew where we lived.
My great-aunts had gone off the deep end when they’d seen the bruises on DK’s pale skin. It had taken all my persuasive powers to get them not to call the police. Firstly, the cops would likely not send out a patrol car to sit outside our place and protect us. That probably only worked on TV shows and in neighborhoods far more affluent than ours. Secondly, DK—or David Kenneth as Liam liked to teasingly call him, since the kid hated his first name for some reason—was legally an adult. Sure, he could press assault charges, but he refused to do so. And it would be his word against Rolf’s, and who would believe a kid with some red on his ledger? Small potatoes. Teen stuff. Tagging old houses, mostly. Stealing a candy bar at a corner store. Same kind of thing that any inner-city kid does—trust me, he could have been doing much worse—b
ut DK never could avoid getting caught.
When the offer to attend the fifth game against Washington came from Max, I hesitated.
“Max, I really appreciate these,” I said as I gazed at the tickets he’d just placed in my hand, right in the middle of my office.
“But?”
“But I’m not sure I should leave the house. What if Rolf shows up?”
Max studied me closely. “Ben, you can’t hide the kid in the house forever. And in all honesty, you look like hammered shit.”
“Thanks.” I scowled, then ran a hand over my face. “I feel like hammered shit.”
I hadn’t slept well since DK had shown up, and my stomach was an acidic mess. Stress did not sit well on me.
“Come to the game. Bring DK. You need to unwind.” He slapped a big hand to the nape of my neck, rubbing and pulling me closer. I let him do both because I really needed a neck rub and the feel of his arms around me. Max was slowly becoming a staple in my life, that thing you awaken and look for, or find yourself reaching for in the night. We hadn’t yet even had a true date or spent the night with each other. I longed for those things. Maybe I needed to stop waiting for the things I wanted. God knows life can be short. Horribly short at times. Eyes slipping shut as his fingers worked the hard muscles of my neck, I let the words slip out.
“Bet Washington win.”
Max laughed softly. “What kind of bet you have in mind?”
“If they win tonight, you come home with me after the game and spend the night.”
The neck rubbing stalled. My breathing stopped as well.
“Hey, I need you to look at me.” I opened my eyes and found myself staring into gold-brown eyes that burned with emotion. “Is this something you really want from me?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I spend the night if we win?”
The Railers had charbroiled my team the game before. I mean, they’d burned Washington as if they were cheap chicken legs on an open flame.
“You want to?”
“Yeah. I do.”
I sucked in a deep breath before I fainted. “Okay then. I’ll find an extra toothbrush and put it next to mine.”