Chapter 11
ELEVEN
SKYLAR
After a cushy few days in the NHL without any travel, being back on an AHL bus was no fucking joke. When they got to the hotel for check-in, Skylar found out that rooming assignments had been switched up. Beck had a different young gun to mentor now, and Skylar was with Walker Riley.
It was Walker’s second year in the A, but Skylar still didn’t know him well. As a native Minnesotan, Skylar knew Walker had a head start toward fan favorite once they both made it up north permanently.
“I like the window,” Walker said, elbowing past Skylar after Skylar opened the door to their room. He dumped his bag on the bed, then sat to untie his shoes. He had a fresh haircut and absently pushed hair that didn’t exist anymore out of his eyes.
Beck got the bed by the window because of seniority, and between Skylar and Walker, Skylar was the one with seniority. He bit his tongue. Or tried. Like every emotion, he had a hard time concealing it, a noise of annoyance coming from his throat.
“If you don’t like it, you can say something.”
“Generally, seniority determines bed choices.”
“Fine.” Walker tossed his bag onto the bed by the bathroom.
“I didn’t say I wanted the bed by the window.”
“You know what? You need to figure your shit out. You act like you’re the only person here trying to make the NHL, but guess what—we all are.”
“I fucking know that.”
“Then get your fucking temper tantrums in check. It’s embarrassing. We’re all going through shit. No one is out here only worried about hockey. We all have lives too. We all want this more than anything.”
Skylar didn’t know what to say. Walker was a quiet, head-down guy who put the work in. On some level, Skylar wished he could be like him.
Walker grabbed his toiletries and headed into the bathroom. Skylar felt like an asshole. He knew he’d been grumpy on the bus ride, lamenting the fact that the D-man who got suspended two games and made the opening for him went right back in after those two games.
Coach McCoy had welcomed him back to Iowa by letting him know he was proud of him, and it sounded like he did mostly a great job, but he needed to remember to remain professional.
Instead of flopping onto the bed by the window, he sat in the chair by the desk and closed his eyes.
He wanted to be as chill as Jackson Harper.
Calm and confident on the ice. Harper was a forward, but Skylar had watched every one of his shifts from the bench, trying to figure out how he got his body to move so gracefully on the ice. Someday, Skylar wanted to be a leader.
He wanted to be someone Adam could trust.
Might as well start working on that now. He counted his breaths in and out, trying not to be bored with it.
He was embarrassed, which made him defensive. Attempting to clear his mind and push thoughts away was impossible. After ten minutes in the bathroom, Walker finally exited. Skylar let out his final deep breath. He wasn’t a meditation expert, but his heart rate had calmed.
“I’m sorry, man. You were right. I have no business being a dick to you. You can have the bed by the window.”
Walker raised an eyebrow. “Did you call your therapist or something while I was in the bathroom?”
“No, but I should probably get one of those.”
“They can be helpful,” Walker said as their conversation settled into something civil. Walker placed his bag back on the bed by the window, accepting Skylar’s apology. Skylar tossed his stuff on the other bed and went to brush his teeth quickly and put pajama pants on.
“You’ve done it before?” Skylar asked when they were both tucked into their beds, scrolling on their respective phones, AC blaring, both of the layers of curtains closed, the only light in the room coming from the lamp between them.
“Done what?”
“Therapy.”
“Yeah. A couple of times. After my parents got divorced when I was a kid. And a little last year.”
“What happened last year?”
“You saw the thing with my dad.”
Skylar sucked in a breath. Yeah. He’d gotten into a screaming match with one of the assistant coaches after a game. It wasn’t pretty.
“My dad is no longer allowed in Wells Fargo Arena. Management was not impressed. As part of my ‘show of commitment to the team,’” he said, “I agreed to see a sports therapist for a bit. It’s annoying that it actually was helpful.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you had shit going on in your life.”
“We all do. And it doesn’t have to be equal shit. It’s not a competition for who has it worst. But keeping in mind the fact that everyone has something else they’re worrying about might help you treat people better.”
Skylar felt like shit. He knew he had a bit of an I’m not here to make friends issue. He knew he got attached to people too quickly if he wasn’t actively pushing them away. This situation was already a lot less temporary than he thought it was going to be. Maybe it was okay to get attached.
“Walker?”
“Mmm?”
“Thanks for calling me on my shit.”
One five-day roadie later and Skylar had maybe made a friend. Beck teased him about it at practice, and then during their game that night when Skylar turned the puck over at an inconvenient time, he took a deep breath and didn’t break a stick over his knee.
He probably shouldn’t be proud of himself for that at this point, but having the presence of mind to recognize the ugly feeling that was rearing its head before it became a problem was something to celebrate.
It also didn’t hurt that he redeemed himself and scored a goal in that same game.
They came back to a frosty Iowa, and Skylar drove home from the rink in the middle of the night and collapsed into his bed in his empty studio apartment to catch a few more hours of sleep.
They mercifully had the day off, and by the time he got up at eleven, he knew it was the perfect time to harass Adam.
He sent what was functionally a “U up?” text and got a phone call in return.
“Hi,” Skylar said, stretching his limbs out under his sheets, still not quite ready to pull himself out of bed.
“The schedule Grace keeps reminding me of suggests you might be back in town.” Adam’s warm voice was soothing like honey, and Skylar wanted to bathe in it.
“I might be.”
Adam laughed. “What’s on your agenda?”
“I want to take you out.”
“It’s fucking freezing out,” Adam said, annoyingly avoiding the real ask of Skylar’s statement.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“All right, Sky. Let’s hang out.”
“What are your bar responsibilities today?”
“Very few. I’m going to help open in about an hour, and I’ll be free by three.”
“Can I take you to lunch?”
“At three p.m.?”
“I forget not everyone eats six meals a day.”
“I’ll still let you buy me food, but just come over. Bring takeout. It’s too fucking cold to do anything.”
“You’re a hermit.”
“I’m an introvert.”
“I’ll see you a little after three.”
“Park behind the bar.”
Skylar stopped at a cafe and got three kinds of soup and four sandwiches. It was a comfort food kind of day, and he had an easy time imagining Adam enjoying soup.
He drove carefully on icy streets, grateful for all-wheel drive and heated seats. It just kept getting colder. The wind whipped lacy wisps of snow around his SUV as he drove. The parking lot behind Heathens was microscopic, but there was a space open for him.
Adam ushered him inside his little upstairs apartment, and Skylar put the food down so he could take his boots off and put them on the shoe tray.
When he stood back up, Adam had a tiny little smile on his face.
The reluctant one. The one just for Skylar.
He had a black-and-red plaid flannel shirt on, unbuttoned to reveal a worn screen-printed t-shirt.
His dark hair was messy but his beard was neat, and Skylar wanted to kiss him.
Instead he settled for a hug, folding Adam into his arms and tucking his face down into Adam’s neck. He smelled so good, musky and wintery. So much better than his teammates, who smelled like sweat and expensive cologne trying to mask the smell of sweat.
“You’re freezing,” Adam said, warm hands framing Skylar’s face before covering his ears to warm them up.
“It’s fucking cold out.” Skylar laughed, slipping his hands up the back of Adam’s shirt. Adam nearly jumped out of his skin and took a step back. Shit. It was hard to curb the instinct to bother Adam, and it had cost him the closeness he’d been craving.
“Let’s eat this food, then. Soup?” Adam asked hopefully, taking a peek in the bag that Skylar brought. They spread it all out on the coffee table as Adam turned the volume down on the crackling fire flickering on his TV.
“How was your road trip?”
“It was fine. I got a new roommate assignment, which was a bummer because Beck is my emotional support veteran, but I might have made a friend.”
“How aren’t you already friends with all the guys on your team?”
Skylar shook his head. “When I’m in focus mode, I’m not always my friendliest self.”
“I honestly can’t imagine that.”
“I thought…I would be down here for such a short time, and all of these guys are my competition. But I’ve been here a while, and it’s hard to be a person who doesn’t like to be alone ever when the only person I want to talk to is Beck.”
“That’s… He’s still just…”
“Beck is the most platonic friendship I’ve ever had,” Skylar said, warm at the thought of Adam being jealous. “I know you two didn’t click right off the bat, but he’s a good guy. He also thinks he’s my dad and worries a lot.”
“Speaking of worrying about you, tell me about your gay hockey players in Minnesota. I like that you have guys looking out for you up there.”
“You’d like them. Ryan makes a mean cheese plate, and Jackson is the kind of leader I want to be someday.”
“Do you get mentorship stuff from them?”
“Like?”
“Sound financial advice? Help you set up an IRA or something?” Adam wanted him to open up a retirement account. That’s what having a crush on a thirty-five-year-old got you.
“You and Ryan would get along.”