Chapter 27 Skylar
TWENTY-SEVEN
SKYLAR
He’d been able to fall asleep in Adam’s arms three nights in a row, and now in Colorado, he would have traded his five-star hotel room in a heartbeat to have Adam next to him in his king-size bed instead of Brandon.
“I miss Gabe too. I get it,” Brandon said, eyes on the muted TV, after listening to Skylar complain for ten minutes straight.
“Especially when it’s new. When Gabe and I started dating, my brain was absolute mush for months.
It still is, I just know how to live with it now.
” Brandon kept locking and unlocking his phone, and Skylar saw his phone screen was a drawing Gabe did of the two of them. Tame, for Gabe’s standards.
“I can either think about how much I miss Adam, or I can think about how fucking stressed I am about the game tomorrow.”
“We still have the opportunity to go all the way.”
“That is statistically unlikely.”
“You need to be delusional,” Brandon said. “It’s the delusion that takes a team to the Cup finals. Doesn’t do anyone any good to feel defeated already. Where is your blinding confidence that was so off-putting for so long?”
Skylar took no offense at Brandon’s comment. He knew who he was.
“Having a crisis of faith, I guess. You’re right. We’re going to get out on the ice tomorrow, summon the strength born of defeat, and slaughter them.”
“There he is,” Brandon said, clapping Skylar on the shoulder.
It was late, the sun already down. They should both be asleep, but instead, Skylar decided he needed a friend.
He was grateful his attitude in the AHL hadn’t burned bridges, because having his relationships he’d started developing in the AHL only strengthen up in Minnesota felt incredible.
“I’m going to call Gabe before I go to sleep.
You should do the same.” Brandon climbed off Skylar’s bed, leaving a dent on top of the duvet where he’d been sitting.
They were both wearing old Iowa Stars shirts with their pajamas.
Skylar had enough t-shirts with hockey team logos on them to last him several lifetimes.
He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but with the AHL in the rearview, he missed a lot about it.
He was willing to admit that he missed his best friend.
Beck and the Stars were also in the playoffs, their record even with the Chicago Bobcats. They won their game that night, and Skylar had exchanged a handful of texts back and forth with him that evening. He was doing better picking up the phone and responding to texts.
Beck had finally made the call to retire at the end of the season. His knee was killing him; his spirits were low. It was time. But his season wasn’t over yet, and neither was Skylar’s.
Skylar had never understood what the word “triggered” meant until he was crushed into the boards in the exact same way that had caused his shoulder injury the season before.
They were two minutes into the third period of Game 5, tied 1–1. The Northern Lights were playing emotionally, desperation clear in the way they moved over the ice. The Range had responded, and the game had been chippy and physical so far.
Skylar had given as many hits as he’d taken, but the second he hit the ice, his full bodyweight on his shoulder, his career flashed before his eyes. He could hear Beck in his head telling him he didn’t think joints ever healed all the way.
He wanted to scream.
Someone on the medical staff came out to check on him and helped him off the ice, shoulder throbbing. He may have fallen the same way that he did when he was in Iowa, but it didn’t hurt the same way.
He kept his shoulder still as he headed down the tunnel to get checked out. The last thing he wanted was to leave the ice, but since he couldn’t snap his stick over his knee, he refocused that energy. He wanted to get back on the ice. Being calm was the fastest way.
He took his helmet off, and someone helped him remove his jersey and shoulder pads so the doctor on staff could examine him.
The doctor started by feeling around the area, and Skylar already knew that whatever happened wasn’t as bad as last year.
“Let’s check out your range of motion,” the doctor said, helping Skylar move his arm around.
“Fuck,” Skylar shouted, watching the TV over the doctor’s shoulder. The Range just scored again. Now they were down by one.
“Sharp pain?” the doctor asked.
“Sorry, no sharp pain, the other team just scored.”
“A different kind of pain,” he said sympathetically. Skylar knew most of the medical staff he interacted with got into sports medicine because they cared about sports.
“I separated my shoulder last year,” Skylar told him, in case that changed anything.
“How’s the pain out of ten?”
“Like, a three,” Skylar said. It was a hockey three, so probably a normal-person six. The doctor understood.
“Nothing’s broken, no sharp pain, regular range of motion. You can get back out there.”
“Thank God,” Skylar said, scrambling to get his pads back on. He still needed help with his jersey, but he was going back out.
They had ten minutes left. Skylar’s brain slipped into a level of focus he’d never been able to replicate off the ice. Brandon was right. He needed to harness the power of delusion.
He hopped over the boards for line change, the pain in his shoulder disappearing completely. Nothing else mattered other than figuring out how to win this game.
The ice was chewed up and slow, and Skylar’s brain was working faster than his body could.
He blocked a shot with his ankle that he knew was going to bruise pretty badly—and honestly hurt worse than his shoulder—and watched the captain of the Range clean up the rebound, tossing the puck into the net like their goalie wasn’t even there.
The goal horn went off, and the Range celebrated on the ice like they had already won the game. They pretty much had. The Northern Lights were down by two with three minutes left.
He gave Gus a tap on his pads to let him know it wasn’t his fault and skated back to the bench.
Every time his emotions wanted to bubble up and explode out of him, he remembered that Adam was watching the game at Grace’s apartment.
It was bad enough that Adam had to watch him lose the game.
He didn’t need to watch Skylar throw a temper tantrum too.
Time ticked down, and Skylar didn’t make it back out onto the ice. The crowd exploded as the seconds counted down to zero.
The Northern Lights were officially eliminated from the playoffs.
“Listen up, boys,” Jackson said, standing in the aisle of the plane, a half hour away from Minneapolis.
“The first step is making it to the playoffs. The next step is getting beyond the first round. We shouldn’t feel defeated tonight.
Be proud of yourselves, because I’m proud of you.
I’ve been playing with a number of you for many years, but we have a lot of new blood here too.
I’ve loved playing with you all this year.
We have something great to build on next season. ”
The team clapped. “We’re proud of you, too, Harp,” Meeks yelled from the back of the plane.
Jackson rolled his eyes but smiled as he made his way to his seat in the back.
Brandon, sitting next to Skylar, held his fist up for a bump. A silent endorsement of the work they’d be doing next season, and of course the work they’d be doing over the summer.
Skylar and Walker had carpooled to the airport with Jackson, and Skylar knew he was sulking on the way back to the house.
He had a handful of consolation texts on his phone that he was ignoring.
They had locker cleanout the day after tomorrow, and after he did his end-of-the-season media soundbites, he’d be off to Iowa immediately.
Even Jackson was quiet as they pulled into the garage. Skylar had the brim of his snapback pulled over his eyes. It was nearly three a.m. He wanted to belly flop onto his bed and get a good ten hours of being comatose.
Skylar anticipated Ryan being awake and the big, consoling hug he pulled Jackson into as soon as they came into the house. What he wasn’t expecting was a second person in the kitchen, a cup of tea in front of him.
“Adam?” Skylar asked, dropping his duffel and pushing past Ryan and Jackson to launch himself at Adam. “Why are you here? How are you here? You are actually here, right? I’m not hallucinating?”
“I called Ryan, asked if I could come see you. I left right after the game was over.”
“Thank you,” Skylar said, burying his face in Adam’s neck and holding on to him like a vise grip.
“I figured you could use a hug.”
Skylar knew Adam hated that this was happening in front of other people, so he didn’t kiss him the way he wanted to.
“I could use a hug. Is there a third hot guy who can pop out and hug me?” Walker asked, suitcase still in his hand as he stood awkwardly in the kitchen with two embracing couples.
Skylar let Adam go, and he and Jackson and Ryan pulled Walker into a group hug.
“We love you, buddy. You played well tonight,” Skylar told him as they dropped their arms.
“Are you staying?” he asked Adam, then turned toward Ryan and Jackson. “Can he stay?”
“Of course,” Jackson said. “I know you like the hotel situation when he comes up for privacy, but he’s always welcome.”
“All right, I’m tired, I’m sure Adam’s tired, everyone’s tired.
Lola didn’t even get up off the couch, so she needs to go to bed.
See you all in the morning.” He swiped Adam’s cup of tea off the kitchen island, took his hand, and pulled him upstairs to his room.
As soon as the door was closed behind them and the tea was safely on the dresser, he pulled Adam into another hug.
“Thank you so much for coming. I know the drive this late must have been brutal.”
“I hope I never have to do it in the middle of the night again, but it was peaceful. I can’t imagine staying in Iowa when I had the option to be here with you.”
“When do you have to go back? You’re down to just Grace and Willa, right?”
Adam sighed. “Willa also found another job. Grace and I decided to throw in the towel and call it quits.”
“Today?”
“We’ve been closed for a few days. I didn’t want you to worry about me when you had hockey to worry about.”
Adam’s deep brown eyes looked exhausted and sad. Skylar could relate to that.
“I am so sorry,” he said, finally pressing a kiss to Adam’s lips. It wasn’t sexy, it was just comfort—the reason Adam was here.
“It was time. We knew it was a possibility. But that means I don’t have to rush out of here. You can do your locker cleanout, and then we can look for an apartment?” Adam’s voice was so tentative, like he was still waiting for Skylar to decide he wanted to live alone or something.
Skylar did not do well living alone.
“Duh, we need an apartment,” Skylar said. “We also need to sleep.”
They rushed through a clumsy bedtime routine, and Adam shut the lights off as Skylar climbed into bed.
“This is what I imagine when I’m trying to fall asleep,” Skylar said, his head on Adam’s chest, his fingers combing through his hair. Some light hair play could make him fall asleep in seconds.
“Yeah? It’s what I imagine too.”
“Falling asleep and waking up next to you feels so absurdly good, I can’t even explain it.”
“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Adam said as exhaustion finally swallowed them.