Chapter 5 Skylar
FIVE
SKYLAR
All Beck needed from the grocery store was deodorant. Skylar didn’t know what he needed, but figured he would get a spark of inspiration while he was there.
“Do I need one of those ice cream makers everyone has?” Skylar asked, pulling Beck and his single stick of deodorant down yet another aisle. They didn’t have many appliances for sale, but they had a few.
“You don’t even own a coffee maker. I’m not sure you own a pan. Just get a pint before we leave,” Beck said. He was right. Anything Skylar bought in Iowa would need to be hauled up to Minneapolis one day. Soon, hopefully.
“It’s good to keep someone in their thirties around,” Skylar said.
“Are you going to get anything? Why did you want to come with me?”
“Because it’s a fun thing for friends to do together.”
“Because you didn’t have any other social plans, and the thought of being alone makes you want to scratch your skin off?”
“Yes.”
“Last roadie you said you were almost out of toothpaste in your travel kit.”
“I love you,” Skylar said, thankful as always for Beck’s eternal kindness. They wound their way through kitchen supplies and baby items back to personal care, and Skylar grabbed the same sensitive toothpaste he always used. Then they headed to pick out a pint of ice cream.
“Maybe I should get some ginger ale. And some grenadine too,” Skylar said, picking out an ice cream flavor that had too much going on in it. Pretzels, potato chips, fudge swirl, and cookie crunchies. He couldn’t wait.
“What’s the grenadine for?”
“The ginger ale. Like a Shirley Temple.”
Beck gaped at him. “That literally is a Shirley Temple.”
“I thought Shirley Temples were Sprite.”
“They’re both.”
“Huh. Adam made me one the other night, and it was delicious.”
“Who? A hookup?” Beck scanned the ice cream options and landed on cookie dough. He always got cookie dough.
“Not yet,” Skylar said. “I’m working on it.”
“And why is he giving you fun little drinks?”
“He’s a bartender.”
“Did he overserve you?” Beck’s protective streak was always adorable to Skylar. He may act annoyed, but Skylar knew Beck loved him.
“No. The time before I needed to be walked home.”
“Jesus, kid,” Beck said, steering Skylar away from the aisle with the grenadine and toward the checkout lanes with one big hand on his shoulder.
“He walked me home again the night he made me the Shirley Temple, even though I was totally fine.”
“You playing hard to get, or hard to get rid of?”
“Har har,” Skylar said. Few people could make that joke and have it not hurt his feelings. Beck was one of them. “Hopefully, I’m playing fun to get.”
“Not sure that’s a thing, but use protection.”
“Always,” Skylar promised, and then took Beck’s pint of ice cream and one stick of deodorant and bought them for him. For the trouble.
He hopped easily into the passenger seat of Beck’s Bronco as they drove back to Beck’s apartment.
Skylar missed living in the same building as him, but he’d been so sure he would be in the show this year that he hadn’t bothered to renew his lease.
He’d had to find a new place when the season started up again and he was still in Iowa.
A little chaotic, slightly embarrassing, and wholly based on a foundation of deep belief in himself.
Beck stretched out his knee after every step they took up the stairs to his apartment. He had the kind of big body that was more reminiscent of a football player than a hockey player. Denser, broader.
“Knee flaring?”
“I’m not convinced joints ever fully heal,” Beck complained as he unlocked his apartment door. Skylar had a key for emergencies, and he had been using up a lot of willpower being respectful about it. “Every year I think I can make it through an entire season, and I don’t know if I can this year.”
“Of course you can. You can’t hang up the skates yet.”
“I’ll wait until you get called up,” Beck said with a heavy eye roll. Skylar fished Beck’s stick of deodorant and their ice cream out of their single grocery bag and followed Beck into the kitchen for spoons.
“You’re very considerate. What are you going to do when you retire?”
“I don’t fucking know. Learn how to weld.” Beck collapsed into a kitchen chair, his whole body as resigned as the look on his face.
“I don’t think that’s any easier on your joints.”
“Fuck. You’re right. Maybe I’ll go to school.”
“Hockey relationships are weird. Right now, you’re my favorite person in the world, and I can’t imagine a day when I don’t get to bother you. Next year, you could be in college.”
The thought broke Skylar’s heart, and by the earnestly sad expression that flashed momentarily over Beck’s face, he thought the feeling was mutual.
“You’ll still find people to bother. You have a bartender to annoy now, right?”
“I think I’m getting under his skin,” Skylar bragged.
“And next year, he’ll still be a bartender…”
“It makes me sad to think about that.”
“Really? You’re the Jedi Master of the short fling. No attachments.”
Skylar stabbed his spoon into his ice cream. “Sure. But when hooking up with someone is easy, it’s forgettable. Any relationship, really. When you look at us, it took an entire season before you loved me.”
“I love you?”
Skylar kicked him under the small kitchen table. “I like a challenge. Plus, hooking up is just sex. Sometimes I just want to hang out and chat with someone. You know I like to talk.”
“No one knows that better than I do. I know there’s nothing I can say to make you take some caution here.”
“Correct.” Skylar was already trying to figure out his next move. He wanted to kick his feet when he thought about Adam’s grumpy scowl.
He ate half his pint and stuck the rest in Beck’s freezer, then grabbed a blanket from a basket in the corner. Living in a different building from Beck would not stop him from taking a pregame nap on his couch like he used to.
Skylar was dialed in. When he was having a good game, he could feel it.
The electricity on the ice. The way he didn’t have to think about anything, he just reacted.
When he was younger, he’d loved playing forward.
He’d loved the thrill of scoring goals, of board battles and getting pucks deep.
But his coach in college had seen something in him, put him at the blue line, and he’d shined there ever since.
Being a top-pairing D-man was a point of pride for Skylar. He loved blocking shots, stripping the puck off of someone’s stick, and being the best on the ice at skating backward. He also loved a good slapper from the blue line.
Their power play had been hot all night, and it had felt good to watch the puck leave his stick and make it to the back of the net—his first of the season. Even if Winnipeg's goalie was having a bad night overall.
He flopped back on the bench, his breathing ragged after nearly a minute and a half on the ice, and asked one of their equipment guys if he could grab a puck for Skylar to commemorate.
It wasn’t a notable goal, so no one scooped the puck up after he scored, but he told the equipment guy his grandma was asking for a puck he scored with.
Grandmas could have whatever they wanted.
He left that night with a new bruise on his leg from a blocked shot and a puck in his pocket that made him look like he had a tin of dip.
“Hey, man, I’m going to go right to sleep when I get home,” Beck told him as they got back into his car. Skylar knew that meant he wasn’t welcome to come loiter in Beck’s living room until he either fell asleep on the couch again or got an Uber home at three a.m.
“Can you drop me at Heathens?”
“You need one of those kid drinks again?”
“I’m going to go celebrate my goal.”
Beck sighed heavily but dutifully dropped him at the front door of the bar. He was probably glad Skylar wouldn’t follow him home this way.
Skylar had at least one literal butterfly in his stomach at the thought of seeing Adam again.
If he was being honest, he didn’t think Adam would actually take him to bed, and he wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Falling in love in Iowa was not happening.
He was just grateful to feel something that wasn’t frustration with hockey. He loved the thrill of the chase.
It was a Sunday evening, and the bar was…sparse. He shouldn’t be celebrating a slow night for Adam, who he assumed would prefer as many paying customers as possible, but he hoped it meant he’d get more attention than normal.
Grace with the purple hair saw him and turned to say something to Adam, who sighed and met Skylar at the end of the bar at the spot he was beginning to think of as “his spot.”
“I scored a goal tonight,” Skylar said without greeting, fluttering his eyelashes at Adam. “You owe me a soda.”
Adam’s hesitant scowl broke into a reluctant, though tiny, smile.
“What do you want?” He grabbed a glass and scooped ice into it, grabbing the soda gun.
“I want another one of those cherry ginger ales. Your signature drink.”
Adam poured the soda, then grabbed a bottle of grenadine. “You know, grenadine isn’t cherry flavored.”
“Of course it is,” Skylar said. Adam slid him his drink, and he mixed it up with the tiny cocktail straw Adam put in it.
“It’s pomegranate flavored.”
“I don’t believe you.” He took a sip. Maybe he was bad at tasting flavors, but he wasn’t getting any pomegranate from it.
“I’m the professional here.”
“Speaking of things we’re professionals at,” Skylar said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the puck he’d secured from his goal.
The equipment manager had put a ring of white hockey tape around the edge of it, and Skylar had written his phone number on it in permanent marker, the way milestone goals would get a date and the milestone written on it.
He handed it off to Adam, who looked confused.
“It’s not a hundred dollars, but it’s something better, right?”
“Oh boy,” Adam said as he took in the phone number that wrapped around the puck. He didn’t try to give it back, though. He set it under the lip of the bar to keep it out of sight. “Took you until November to score a goal, huh? That’s a while for a guy who should already be in the NHL.”
Skylar flushed hot at the snarky comment.
If anyone else criticized his play, he would be upset, but when Adam did it, it made Skylar want to get on his knees for him.
Maybe it was because he knew Adam didn’t care about hockey and his criticism didn’t come from disappointment.
Instead, Adam was just trying to get a rise out of him, the same way Skylar was constantly trying to get a rise out of him.
“I’m a defenseman. I know you’re not into sports, but that’s not a high-scoring position.”
Adam gave him an unimpressed look, but he didn’t walk away from him.
“Can I have your number?” Skylar asked him again. Had he already been turned down once? Yes. Would that stop him from asking? Only when Adam asked him to stop.
“No,” Adam said, grabbing a fresh glass from the dishwasher caddy. “Did you want a beer too?”
“When I finish my soda.” Skylar wasn’t about to let Adam condense down the individual interactions they could have across as many drinks as Skylar had that night.
Adam put the glass back and got him another paper boat of pretzels before heading to the other side of the bar, lifting the counter hatch and checking in with the patrons sitting at tables.
Grace was still behind the bar, cutting up lemons and putting them into a clear plastic container. Skylar beckoned her over to him.
“Need a new drink?” she asked.
“Is he single? Or am I bothering someone in a relationship?” Skylar was happy to pester a single man, but he didn’t want to create trouble for someone’s relationship.
Grace’s smile changed from a customer service smile to something genuine. “Oh, he’s single. Not sure if he’s ready to mingle.”
“What does that mean?” Skylar leaned across the bar as Grace rested her weight on her elbow.
“Listen, I don’t feel like I can share a lot of his business, but I can tell you my business.
When my dad died ten years ago, he left me this bar, but I was a child.
So my uncle”—she nodded in Adam’s direction—“came down from Minnesota to take care of the bar until I was old enough to do it myself, and he’s had his focus lasered on that goal the entire time he’s been down here. ”
“Oh, fuck. So what you’re saying is he’s in need of a good time.” Skylar raised his eyebrow in the politest way he could manage when having such lewd thoughts.
“I’m not saying anything,” Grace said, holding both her palms up at Skylar in innocence.
“This,” Adam said, pointing between the two of them on his way to loop back behind the bar, “is trouble.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grace gave Skylar a wink as she made her way to the other end of the bar before ducking into the back room to grab a frozen pizza for someone.
“You’re not harassing her, are you?”
Skylar shook his head, then dipped his voice down, quiet and serious. “But I learned you’re the best uncle in the world.”
Adam closed his eyes for a beat, taking a moment for himself.
“Anyone would make the same choices I did.”
Skylar disagreed. He didn’t know what Adam had given up when he moved to a different state to preserve the memory of his niece’s dad for her, but surely it was something.
While Skylar liked to get under Adam’s skin, he didn’t want to make him legitimately uncomfortable, and they were too close to that line for his taste.
“I’ll have that beer now.” He took the last sip of his drink, sucking air through the ice left in his glass obnoxiously. Adam poured him his usual IPA without even asking and ducked away.
Fuck. Skylar shouldn’t have overstepped. Especially someone as buttoned up as Adam was.
Grace closed his tab out twenty minutes later, and he flipped his receipt over after leaving a tip to write a note. Tell Adam I said sorry :(