Chapter 18 #2
Dabbs wasn’t a Trailblazers top scorer—that title tended to alternate between Sandro Zanetti and Billy Honeybun—but he could deke opponents at high speeds and was aces at creating scoring opportunities for his teammates.
He was also charismatic, and Ryland wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Exhibit A: a sign that read Dabbs, call me! followed by a phone number.
Exhibit B: a sign that read Dabbs, I’d make a better Thanksgiving date than Ryland.
That one made Ryland laugh.
Exhibit C: yet another sign. This one read Dabbs, we’re neighbors!
Okay, that was concerning. Ryland made a mental note to tell Dabbs about it later, although he was sure someone on the Trailblazers security staff had already noticed it.
With Miles and Honeybun in the face-off circle, Ryland stood next to Bellamy, ready to catch the puck if it came his way.
Bellamy nudged his elbow. “Do I get a thank-you?”
Incredulous, Ryland stared at him. Did he want a thank-you for this shit-show of a game? It wasn’t the Trailblazers causing trouble—that blame rested squarely with the Pilots. The Trailblazers were only responding to them.
Kind of like how Bellamy had only ever responded to Ryland’s bullying.
The irony was not lost on him.
“Thank you for what?” Ryland asked.
“Inviting you to stay over to take care of Dabbs while I was on the road with the team. I hear some fun was had.”
Well, damn. He did owe Bellamy thanks, didn’t he? Snorting a laugh he didn’t quite feel, Ryland shook his head. “We definitely had fun. I mean, we named a pumpkin after you.”
The puck dropped, and Ryland chased after it.
The Pilots earned themselves yet another penalty late in the third period.
Given that they were down by two—the Trailblazers had scored right after intermission, bringing the score to 4–2—they couldn’t afford it.
With the Trailblazers on the power play, it was everything Ryland and his teammates could do to defend their net.
And fuck, it was exhausting. These were the Stanley Cup champions—they knew what the fuck they were doing. He’d known playing against them wouldn’t be a cakewalk.
That didn’t make Ryland feel any better.
What did make him feel better was that the game ended with the Pilots still down by two—and not by three.
“We played a good game,” Ryland told the media afterwards.
“Sometimes you play a good game and you still lose. This is the Trailblazers—they’re not cup champions for nothing.
This was never going to be an easy game.
But don’t discount the fact that we managed to keep them from scoring every time we were down a player. That’s a win in my book.”
“What was it like playing against your boyfriend?”
Ryland forced a smile and lied through his teeth. “As fun as you’d imagine.”
Later, he dragged his feet to the players’ exit, his mind as exhausted as his body after that clusterfuck of a game.
His family waited for him when he arrived, along with Denver—and other players’ friends and families.
His nieces, Callie and Tasha, rushed toward him, adorable in their matching Ryland Zervudachi number 29 jerseys.
Arms out, Ryland bent just in time to catch them as they launched themselves at him, and he kissed the tops of their heads.
“Sorry you lost, Uncle Ryland,” Callie said.
“Thanks, munchkin. It always sucks to lose.”
“But he tried his best,” Brie, his sister, piped in with a warning look over her kids’ heads.
“And he had fun doing it,” Ron, her husband, added.
“What they said.” Ryland winked at his nieces and whispered, “But it still sucked.”
They giggled.
He hugged everyone, and when it was his dad’s turn, Dad said, “Thanks for organizing the friends-and-family suite.”
“Anytime. I hope you enjoyed yourselves even though we lost.”
“Ry.” Dad squeezed his shoulder. “I didn’t come to watch you win. I came to watch you do what you love.”
Why Ryland got choked up over that, he couldn’t say. “Thanks, Dad.”
Dad hugged him again. “We’ll talk soon, okay? Love you, kiddo.”
Everybody left, leaving Jason and Denver behind.
“You good?” Jason asked. “Shoulder okay?”
“Yeah, it’s back up to snuff.” Ryland rotated it. Even though it felt good, he’d purposefully stayed out of all the brawls tonight so he didn’t re-injure himself.
“Glad to hear it,” Jason said.
“Thank you both for coming.”
“You can thank them—” Denver dipped his shaved head in Jason’s direction. “—for letting me crash.”
Ryland gently punched him in the arm. “It’s the friends-and-family suite, dumbass.”
Jason’s expression lit up at something over Ryland’s shoulder, and Ryland didn’t have to look to know it was Bellamy.
“Hey.” Bellamy sidled up to their little group and landed a quick kiss on Jason’s lips.
Ryland had to admit that before he’d ever seen them together, the thought of Jason and Bellamy in a relationship hadn’t made sense. Not only that—it had sparked jealousy so fierce that Ryland hadn’t recognized himself there for a minute.
Truth was, Jason and Bellamy fit in a way he’d never seen Jason fit with anyone. Who was Ryland to get in the way of that? His hang-ups were exactly that—his. If he couldn’t get out of his own way and let Jason be happy, did he even deserve Jason as a brother?
“Coming over tonight?” Bellamy asked.
“I thought I would,” Jason replied, looping an arm around Bellamy’s waist.
“Ry,” Miles Sheppard said, joining them. “We’re due on the bus in a few.”
Ryland nodded. “Thanks. Hey, you remember my brother, Jason, and my best friend, Denver? You met them the one time you visited me in Maplewood.”
“You haven’t come back,” Denver commented, and was that interest that gleamed in his eyes? Denver had crushed on Miles hard when Miles had visited several years ago, but then Miles had gotten married, and Ryland had assumed Denver had gotten over it.
“Yeah,” Miles said with a laugh, pulling on the cuff of his blazer. “There wasn’t much to do there.”
Ryland was about to tell him that there was actually tons to do in Maplewood, when Denver said, in a dangerously flirty voice Ryland had heard once or twice before, “Well, next time you visit, you can do me.”
Ryland rolled his lips inward so he wouldn’t laugh, because Jesus, that was forward.
Jaw dropping, Miles stared at him, a flush rising up his neck.
Denver winked at him, then hugged Ryland close. “Catch you next time, Ry.” And he was gone, heading down the hallway toward the public exit with a swish to his hips.
Miles watched him go. “Uh . . . ”
Ryland did laugh then. “Did you swallow your tongue?”
“And every good sense in my head, I think,” Miles muttered.
“Sheppard, Zervudachi,” Assistant Coach Murtagh called. He held the door to the parking garage open for a departing Pilots player. “On the bus in three minutes.”
“Sure thing,” Ryland said as Miles scuttled off without a backward glance.
“Hey,” Bellamy said to someone behind Ryland. “See you at home?”
“Maybe” came Dabbs’ smooth voice.
Ryland whirled . . .
And swallowed his own tongue.
Wearing a royal blue suit with fitted pants that he’d paired with a white shirt and a brown leather belt and matching shoes, Dabbs was resplendent.
And he was looking at Ryland as though he wanted to eat him up.
Fatigue vanished as Ryland’s entire body went on red alert. That hungry look from Dabbs should come with a warning sign. He stepped away from Jason and Bellamy and hooked his fingers in the front of Dabbs’ blazer. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Dabbs said, his smile full of heat.
“Your place or mine?”
Bending closer, Dabbs whispered, “Depends,” in his ear, making him shiver. “How loud are you going to be?”
* * *
The door to Ryland’s hotel room had barely closed behind Dabbs before they were on each other.
“What—mmf.” Ryland swallowed his question, Dabbs’ lips on his more important than anything else.
Dabbs walked him backward, his cool hands finding the bare skin of Ryland’s back.
“You’re naked,” Dabbs growled against his mouth.
Half-naked, technically. Ryland still wore his pants. “Figured I’d get a head start while I waited for you.” He attacked Dabbs’ shirt buttons. “What took you so long?”
“Two of your coaches were in the lobby.” Dabbs yanked off his blazer and shirt in one go. He must’ve removed his tie in the car on his way here. “Had to sneak around them.”
They crashed back together, already breathing hard. Already desperate. Already wanting more, more, more.
Dabbs’ lips were hungry and eager on his. Moaning, Ryland touched him everywhere. Dabbs was big and muscled, his shoulders broad. His skin was hot to the touch. Ryland gave him a gentle shove backward until Dabbs was splayed on his back on the bed, then sat on his thighs.
Dabbs sat up and captured Ryland’s mouth again in a hard kiss.
“Fast now,” he murmured. “Slow later.” Lying back down, he unbuckled his belt, lifted his hips, and pushed his pants and underwear off, revealing an erection that was long and thick—proportionate to the rest of him—that made Ryland’s mouth water.
Ryland climbed off him to undo his own pants. “I’m going to suck you off so hard later your brains are going to leak out of your ears.”
Dabbs’ grin was very naughty. “Promises, promises. Where’s the lube?”
“There.” Ryland nodded at the nightstand as he shucked his pants and underwear.
Dabbs regarded the lube and condoms and raised an eyebrow. “Came prepared, did you?”
Chuckling, Ryland climbed back on top of him, the sensation of skin on skin making his head swim. “Are you telling me you didn’t?”
Dabbs clamped his hands on Ryland’s hips. “There may be supplies in the pocket of my suit coat.”
Ryland crawled up Dabbs’ body and nipped at his chin. “Get the lube.”
Everything happened fast after that. Dabbs prepped him until he was a boneless and needy pile of hormones, and then he was pushing into him, looking like a god among men above him, all sweat-slicked and massive and looking at Ryland like he was perfect.
Under this man’s gaze, Ryland felt perfect.