Buzzed on You (The Call-Ups #2)

Chapter 1 Skylar

ONE

SKYLAR

Skylar Coburn was back in action. His lungs were on fire from the cold arena air as he hopped off the ice and down the tunnel to the locker room.

After a season of hope, then injury and months of recovery, he was still in the AHL.

Last year’s goal of making it to the big show had burned to the ground.

But his injured shoulder was strong now, and this was going to be the season he finally made it to the NHL.

Every year his journey got delayed brought on the same existential crisis he knew every pro hockey player went through.

They had a short window of time before announcers started calling them ancient, and at twenty-five, Skylar was already feeling like the Crypt Keeper.

Jealousy ate him alive every time someone younger than him made it up to the Minnesota Northern Lights from the AHL team Skylar found himself still playing for, the Iowa Stars.

Getting assigned to the Stars for another year after what he thought was a strong development camp had pissed him off though, and he knew he was rocking a chip on his shoulder.

“Stop frowning, we won,” Beck said from next to him, peeling off the jersey with his captain’s C on the shoulder.

Danny Beckett had already had a full and beautiful NHL career and now was in his twilight years, at the geriatric age of thirty-four, playing in the AHL.

He had a contract that meant he couldn’t be called up to the big team, and somehow it didn’t seem to bother him at all.

Meanwhile, Skylar was burning with indignation. There were guys playing up in Minnesota right now who Skylar knew he was better than.

“You had a good game. You know you have people watching you. When they have an open spot, you’ll get called up,” Beck said.

Beck was not only his road roommate, but also his best friend.

He was shorter and stockier than Skylar, with thick dark hair, hazel eyes, and a very obviously once-broken nose.

They had nearly ten years between the two of them, and Skylar was glad he’d snuffed out the little crush he’d had on Beck his first year in the AHL, because his friendship brought wisdom.

Not that Skylar would ever tell him that.

Plus, befriending a vet who would never take a spot on the Northern Lights away from him meant he didn’t have to worry about jealousy, which was unfortunately something he struggled with a lot with the guys his age.

Skylar wasn’t looking to put down roots here. Iowa would be a transitory stop for him. His roommate from last season, Brandon Gatlin, was already up in Minnesota. Unfortunately, as the one other friend he’d made in Iowa other than Beck, Skylar had to be happy for him. It was difficult.

Since the first game of the season was in Chicago, the whole team went out to dinner before going back to the hotel.

Skylar had been called up the previous season, before he had gotten injured, and the hotels they put NHL players up in were premium.

And you got your own room. He knew that having his own room was one thing that Beck missed the most about playing in the NHL, so Skylar tried to be extra obnoxious.

He flopped down on the bed closest to the window. Not only did he know Beck preferred it, but he also knew Beck would end up with it.

“Ahhh, so comfy,” he said as he bounced on the stiff mattress. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much better than the one he had at home.

Beck tossed his duffel directly at Skylar, who caught it and dropped it onto the bed as he rolled off.

“Nothing like the true comforts of the road,” Beck griped.

“You should have stayed up in the NHL if you wanted to travel in style.”

“Oh, no. Clearly, I prefer hours-long bus rides to a quick flight on a private jet. Listen, kid. Someday you are going to find yourself at the other end of your career, and you’re going to be grateful for any opportunity to continue playing this game, all right?”

“Yeah yeah, old man.” Skylar ducked into the bathroom to pee and fix his hair.

He put his pajamas on while he was at it.

No offense to Beck, but he couldn’t imagine ever being as old as he was.

Thirty-four. Ancient. Skylar needed to focus his concern on getting to the big league before he could think about what came after.

He was at the beginning of his adventure. Beck had already had his.

Beck had been his anchor the year before when he was working his way back from an injury, all alone in Iowa, and he knew Beck would be his anchor this year too.

He was grateful he didn’t have to worry about Beck getting called up instead of him, but he was even more grateful to know that Beck would be there with him for every Stars bus ride and hotel stay.

His couch would be there when Skylar couldn’t face an empty apartment, and their text thread would continue to be a river of every thought Skylar had in his head, with Beck’s one- or two-word answers speckled through.

“This is my year to make the show,” Skylar said, climbing into his bed and grabbing the TV remote. “What are you accomplishing this year? Is it finally time for you to settle down?”

“You know I’m not dating until I’m done here. Falling in love with an Iowan is not on the bingo card. I’m not getting stuck here. I’m going to find someone nice back home in Calgary.”

He and Beck agreed that falling in love in Iowa was a bad move. “Is this your last year for sure, then?”

“Never for sure. I’m going to ride it out until I’ve got no more gas.” He paused. “But yeah, it probably is the last year.”

Beck may be at the end of his career, but there was one thing he and Skylar had in common. They were going to squeeze every last drop out of this dream.

Skylar was good at several things. Hockey, obviously. Being on time to things. Remembering to take photos of memorable moments in his life. Sometimes he could make a solid steak, if he was focusing on it and had access to a cast-iron pan. He never left people on read.

He was also well aware of the things that needed improvement. His patience. His jealousy. His temper, sometimes. And he could always improve on being good at being alone.

The year before, he’d come home to a person.

To Brandon, who had been called up. Skylar had assumed Beck would be his next roommate, but Beck wanted his own space, and Skylar had made some poor (late) choices for housing, since he waited for an invitation to the NHL that never came.

It meant he’d had to snatch up a studio apartment.

Skylar had a choice between a big apartment or a nice building, and he chose the studio apartment in the nice building that had underground parking and in-unit laundry.

They facilitated dry cleaning, which was a service that was worth the price of rent to begin with, and he was walking distance from a handful of solid takeout options.

But it also meant that he was alone.

No roommate, no space to invite visitors over to hang out.

He rolled his carry-on into his apartment and heard the echo as the heavy door close behind him.

He’d moved in, but there was a difference between living somewhere and settling in, and he wasn’t planning on settling in.

He assumed that he would need to pack up his SUV partway through the season and move up to Minnesota.

Maybe sublet his apartment to the ECHL player who came up to the AHL to replace him.

While the sparseness of the space didn’t bother him, the fact that he was all alone did.

Skylar was extroverted and used to always being around two dozen guys.

In college, he’d lived in the hockey house with a good chunk of the team, and after he’d signed a two-way NHL contract, he’d always had a roommate.

He almost never had to be alone with his thoughts, and that was how he preferred it.

Skylar stretched his arms over his head, then got to work putting his suitcase away. After that, he tossed a meal service container into the microwave. He wasn’t even going to commit to having a pan, so someone else had to cook for him.

He filled his laundry basket with the clothes from his suitcase and the ones off his back as he jumped in the shower for a quick post-bus rinse-off. He didn’t get his hair wet, now that his loose waves were nearly shoulder length and took forever to dry.

The microwave dinged, and he grabbed his meal and a fork, not bothering to even upend the container onto a plate.

Roasted chicken and potatoes, with a side of broccoli.

No one was winning any Michelin stars, but it filled him up and helped hit his macros.

His studio was lightly furnished, but it had a couch and a bed, and that was all Skylar needed.

He flopped down on the couch and put on a YouTube video recapping the previous night in the NHL.

He was keeping a sharper eye on the NHL than on the league he was actually in, but it felt worth it to follow the league he would be in shortly more closely than one he was counting his days in.

The commentator’s voice washed over him as he let his exhausted body finally relax.

His ears perked up when the Northern Lights finally came up.

“The captain of the Minnesota Northern Lights, Jackson Harper, had a three-point game, bringing his average for the handful of games so far this season to two points per game. If he can keep this pace up, he will end the season with 164 points.”

Skylar loved early season point estimates.

Of course everyone’s production ebbed and flowed over the course of the season.

No one was serious about these estimations, but Skylar would always root for Jackson Harper.

Harper had been among the first pro hockey players to come out as queer, and he had the benefit of being so good at hockey that few could find anything about him to criticize. Not that it stopped everyone.

Skylar had spent years dreaming of being on the ice with Jackson.

When he had been called up the previous season, he’d stayed with Jackson and his husband, Ryan, during his much too short time in Minnesota, and while they hadn’t shared the ice for very many minutes, it bolstered his sense of admiration for Jackson regardless.

Skylar wasn’t out, so to speak, but he wasn’t trying to stay in the closet.

His teammates and staff knew, but he wasn’t on any public lists of openly gay players.

He would live his life, and eventually the hockey world would know he was gay, and it wouldn’t matter because Jackson was also gay.

And leading the league in assists after two weeks of games.

He got up to toss his empty food container in the garbage and his fork in the sink before he started writing fan fiction about the two of them becoming best friends.