Chapter 7 Skylar
SEVEN
SKYLAR
Skylar had been told before that he came on too strong.
He could see why people thought that, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
His level of interest was his level of interest. Adam’s bar was so close to his apartment that it was impossible to leave him alone.
He stopped by every day he was in town, even if it was just for five minutes.
Sometimes he brought Adam a snack. Sometimes he left a note on receipt paper for him if he wasn’t working.
And he wasn’t going to start slacking when he was on a roadie.
Along with the rest of the young guys on the team, he helped the equipment team load up the trailer after their game in Chicago, then headed onto the bus for an overnight ride to Grand Rapids.
Beck had already grabbed a seat in the back with the other vets, who had graduated from equipment duty and were setting up their poker game.
Skylar picked a seat toward the front and slid his phone out of his pocket.
Earlier that day, he’d found Adam’s Instagram profile, thanks to some diligent stalking and Grace’s recognizable hair, and had requested to follow his private profile.
When he opened his app, he saw he’d been accepted.
Adam hadn’t followed him back, but Skylar was fine with baby steps.
Adam’s account was sparse, with a handful of photos of climbing, a few photos from the bar, and an old photo of him playing guitar in a band when he was younger, which was hot. There was no reason not to double tap it. Adam already knew he was interested.
Skylar was in a good mood after a decent game, where he bolstered his plus/minus and notched an assist. He opened a DM to Adam and thought about what to send him.
The obvious choice was a bus selfie, and he included his stats from the game.
While he wasn’t expecting Adam to message him back, he was hopeful.
The bus rumbled to life, and Skylar got situated in his seat.
Charter bus seats weren’t the worst, but he always struggled to get to sleep in them.
Riker claimed the seat next to him. He liked Riker because he was quiet.
He hated Riker because he was the most direct competition Skylar had on the team.
The contentious, competitive relationship they had worked for them, somehow.
Riker was a big guy, another defenseman with a chiseled jaw, a couple missing teeth, and a grown-out haircut even shaggier than Skylar’s.
Just as they were pulling onto the freeway, Skylar’s phone buzzed in his hand.
Adam
Sounds like you’re going to have to pay for your soda next time you come in.
Skylar felt the swoop of butterflies again. The little win of the follow request being accepted, coupled with the win of receiving a message back, felt better than the game they’d won that night.
The next morning, after not enough sleep, Skylar headed down to the hotel ballroom for team breakfast, Beck still half asleep on his heels.
They grabbed plates and went through the buffet line, and it barely took any time to hear that Riker got called up.
One of the Northern Lights’ D-men got suspended for a couple games.
And Skylar was staying in Michigan.
“They’re just replacing a righty with a righty,” Beck said in his ear from behind him in line as his thoughts narrowed to anger. He hated being so quick to anger. Hated feeling out of control of his feelings.
He stretched his shoulder when they picked out a table to sit at, his injured joint stiff from sleep. While he was diligent about his PT, he was still healing. He couldn’t decide if climbing with Adam earlier in the week had been a great or terrible idea.
Thinking about Adam loosened something inside of him though, softening the sharp edges of his feelings. He was breathing more slowly without even trying.
He worked over the thought of Adam in his mind, turning him over to look at every side, collecting a list of questions he had.
What was his favorite song? Favorite season?
Could he tell birds apart like a weirdo?
If Skylar ever saw the inside of Adam’s home, would all flat areas be covered in a niche collection?
He thought about Adam’s broad shoulders and wry smile and wondered how early was too early to bother him.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Beck asked, snapping his fingers in front of Skylar’s unfocused gaze.
“You’re going to make fun of me.”
“I don’t want to hear about a bartender,” Beck said, correctly assessing the situation.
Under the table, Beck was trying to stretch out his own injured joint.
One that he’d banged up a few times in his career.
Skylar hated seeing him wince through it.
“You need a hobby, kid. Have you ever considered taking a college class here and there like Rando?”
Skylar missed Brandon Gatlin, affectionately nicknamed Rando for the middle letters in his first name. He took one class every semester, hoping to have a degree by the time he couldn’t play hockey anymore.
“I’m not smart like Rando,” Skylar said. “Plus, the best part of being in the NHL is not having to finish college, you know what I mean?”
Beck sighed. He hadn’t gone to college at all. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. But learn to whittle or something.”
Skylar laughed at him, and the two focused on their breakfast and fueling up for their doubleheader in Michigan.
Not even the world’s most balanced breakfast could make their team good, though, and after dropping both games that weekend, the bus ride back to Iowa was an endless purgatory.
“You’ll love him,” Skylar said confidently as he and Beck headed into Heathens. Beck grumbled next to him. One long road trip of telling Beck every thought he had in his head about Adam, and Beck decided to come check him out.
He didn’t see Adam behind the bar, but Tanner was there, and he said he’d go tell Adam that Skylar was there.
“They know you here.”
“It’s a small staff. And a small clientele. And I’m always here.”
“You shouldn’t be spending so much time in a bar.”
“Thanks for your concern, Dad.”
Adam popped out of the back room, smiling while trying not to smile, until his gaze scanned from Skylar to Beck.
“Hey, welcome home,” Adam said, his voice weirdly neutral. He’d stayed behind the bar and picked up a glass to prompt a drink order.
“You got Guinness?” Beck asked, and Skylar almost laughed at him. He was a Miller Light guy usually.
Adam poured him a Guinness, then turned to Skylar.
“Surprise me,” Skylar said, already leaning over the bar like the thirsty bitch he was. Adam carefully made him a G&T with the best gin they had.
“Do you have time to hang out?”
“Do you need the company?” Adam asked, flicking a gaze over to Beck.
“This is Beck. Sorry. My teammate I’ve probably mentioned a thousand times.”
The rules of polite society would have required a handshake, but neither of them made a move for it.
“Sure, I can hang out for a bit.”
He poured himself a club soda and came out from behind the bar, meeting Skylar and Beck at the booth Skylar thought of as “their booth.” Or, the one Adam was usually in when Skylar came to bother him if he wasn’t working behind the bar.
Skylar slid into the booth first, and Beck slid in after him, claiming the spot next to him. That was okay. He wanted an excuse to sit close to Adam, but this way, he could look at him while they talked.
“Beck is the person who brought me to Heathens first,” Skylar said, sensing the tension in the booth.
“You play hockey,” Adam said. It was not a question.
“Yup. You…run a bar.”
“Adam owns Heathens with his niece, Grace. She has purple hair, if you ever come back,” Skylar explained. He bounced his knee and stabbed his little cocktail straw into the ice at the bottom of his glass.
“I was telling Burnsie that he shouldn’t be spending so much time in a bar,” Beck said, tone chilly. Skylar shot him a look.
“He mostly drinks soda.” That wasn’t true, but he appreciated Adam sticking up for his autonomy.
“That’s not good for him either.”
“You’re talking about me like a dog someone is trying to feed a grape to,” Skylar said, kicking Beck under the table.
“Ow!” Beck reached down to rub the side of his shin.
“Be nice,” Skylar demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Beck said, not sounding sorry.
Sure, he and Beck bickered all the time, but it was sibling bickering.
It had always held the undercurrent of love and trust they had for each other.
Lately, though, it felt like pulling the curtain back on their bickering revealed… not much of anything at all.
“It’s been fun getting into hockey,” Adam said, still awkward but clearly trying. Not like Skylar was about to kick him under the table or anything.
“Oh, cool,” Beck said, then asked a question about Adam’s favorite restaurants around town.
Skylar felt like he was going to liquefy and become a puddle on the floor. Every second was like pulling teeth.
Skylar didn’t mean to keep one eye on the clock on the wall, but barely seven minutes had passed before Beck excused himself.
“I have an appointment I forgot about,” he lied, and Skylar let him.
“All right, man. Beer is on me.”
“See ya tomorrow.”
Adam subtly lifted his gaze over the back of the booth to watch Beck walk out the door.
“So it wasn’t love at first sight,” Skylar joked. He hoped Adam wasn’t feeling chilly because of him.
Adam’s shoulders relaxed and he sank back against the padded backing of the booth seat. “Guess not.”
“I don’t know what even happened there.”
“I could have been friendlier,” Adam said, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked tired.
“No, Beck is being a bitch lately. I don’t get it. I guess it’s the reason I’m here so much.” He meant to say it in a joking way, but the words fell flat.
“I know you said you’re not into him...”
Skylar rolled his eyes, heart pounding at Adam being territorial over him. There was no other way to interpret that. “He’s not into me either, I promise. It’s not me being oblivious. It’s not him being secretive. He’s a straight man, even though that’s gross.”
Adam laughed and glanced over at the bar to check in. “Looks like Tanner’s getting overwhelmed. I should go help. Feel free to stay, and I might come sit with you soon.”
“I should get going. Have to hit the gym. Do my PT for my shoulder.” Skylar wasn’t naturally great at the maintenance of life, but anything that was between him and hockey was something he could figure out how to do, and he was very consistent with his shoulder PT.
The memory of going down on the ice the season before was sharp in his mind—both the physical pain and the emotional distress of getting set back again.
“Drinks are on me,” Adam said. Adam didn’t give out free drinks for no reason. He was being kind because he could see Skylar was still upset at how badly the meeting between Adam and Beck went.
“Thank you,” Skylar said. They both slid back out of the booth, and just as Skylar was about to head out the front door, Adam caught him in a quick hug. A hug so brief Skylar barely had the opportunity to enjoy it.
“See you later, Sky.”
It was enough to give him a bounce in his step.
The one-on-one conversation he’d had with Adam after Beck left was good. He didn’t quite know why Adam and Beck were instantly oil and water, but he knew Adam wasn’t mad at him.
It only made sense to head over to Beck’s apartment because he knew Beck had been lying about the “appointment” he had.
Skylar stopped at Chipotle to pick up dinner, their orders so rote at this point that he didn’t have to think as he went through the line, making sure Beck got guac and he got cheese.
Apology burrito bowls. Even though he was the one who deserved the apology, he couldn’t have his emotional support veteran angry with him.
He parked on the street outside Beck’s apartment building and headed inside, buzzing Beck’s apartment number.
“Hello?” Beck’s voice cracked over the intercom.
“Hi, it’s your favorite person. I brought you dinner.”
“Burnsie. I told you I had an appointment.”
“Yeah, and you were lying about it.”
Beck sighed heavily, but the door buzzed to let Skylar know it was unlocked, and he let himself in.
He didn’t even knock when he made it to Beck’s place. He knew Skylar was coming up. Why bother knocking?
“Hey, I brought—” he started, confused to see their coach at Beck’s kitchen table.
Beck sat across from him, arms folded over his chest. Each of them had a beer in front of them. And Chipotle already. Beck arched an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, Coach,” Skylar said. He pulled Beck’s food out of the bag and held it up awkwardly. “Uh, I guess I’ll put yours in the fridge and get out of here.”
He fumbled a bit getting Beck’s food into his fridge—luckily Chipotle was good as leftovers—and then headed toward the door.
“Wait,” Beck said with a sigh, turning to address their coach. “Give me two minutes to go talk to him.”
He slipped on a pair of slides and followed Skylar out of the apartment and down the stairs to the lobby. It was cold out, and Beck hadn’t put a jacket on. They stood awkwardly in the vestibule.
“Look, I’m sorry I was a dick at the bar. I’ve got a lot on my mind lately. I’m not in the mood to make new friends, but it still wasn’t right to be a dick like that.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It was nice of you to bring dinner.”
“Didn’t realize you hung out with Coach outside of the rink.”
“It’s not really hanging out, but maybe keep that to yourself.”
Skylar nodded. He’d take whatever secrets Beck had to the grave if he had to.
“I know we haven’t had a quality hang lately. I promise to be better about it.”
“Good,” Skylar said. He grabbed Beck’s hand and pulled him close, and they patted each other on the back.
He felt only microscopically better as Beck retreated back into his building and Skylar headed home to eat his dinner alone.