CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
You wanna watch the final with me today?
Sebastian squinted at the text from Crawford on Sunday morning, his wet hair dripping onto his chest. He’d slept in a little, gotten a run in, and had just hopped out of the shower.
He’d been planning to run out and grab something for breakfast—brunch, maybe at this point—and do some admin work today.
The offer was tempting though …
Technically, we didn’t watch most of the semi, he sent back, then set his phone on the bathroom counter, warming up some curl product for his hair between his palms. Why he bothered if he was even thinking about going over to Crawford’s place was beyond him. The man always messed up his hair.
Sebastian used his fingers to twist and shape the curls, ignoring the buzz of his phone.
Is that a yes or a no? he read when he finally checked.
He sent back, Maybe. What time?
Puck drops in an hour.
And there went Sebastian’s day if he said yes.
Because he’d love to tell himself that he could go over to Crawford’s, watch some hockey, get laid, then come back and work, but realistically, if he went over there, he’d probably never get around to work.
But … wasn’t he trying to carve out a little bit of a social life in the midst of all the work? Even if he wasn’t sure if watching hockey with the dude he was in a … situationship or whatever with really qualified as a social life.
Besides, his car was still parked in front of Crawford’s house. He’d still felt a little high when he left there Friday night, so he’d taken a rideshare home just to be safe.
He’d meant to swing by yesterday, but the shop had been unexpectedly slammed. He’d collapsed on the couch before he remembered, then sent a text late last night asking if it was okay if he waited until Sunday.
Crawford had said sure and they’d ended up texting until Sebastian’s eyes were drooping and he’d finally said goodnight and headed to bed. He didn’t even know what they’d fucking talked about. Bullshit hockey stuff and some music mostly, until it had turned into sexting.
Which had led to jerking off.
It had been fine. Kinda enjoyable, really. But Sebastian didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on now. Why Crawford had apparently decided that they should spend time together. Why they were talking so much.
Because it kinda felt like they’d suddenly crossed some weird, invisible threshold.
But Sebastian wasn’t sure what that threshold was. Crawford had been very clear that he wasn’t looking to date. And God knows, of all the people in Boston that Sebastian could date, the man was pretty much at the bottom of the list.
Besides, Sebastian didn’t have time for it.
Today though … yeah, fuck it. He’d grab something to eat, then head over there and watch hockey. He’d get his car after and have a relaxing day.
It wouldn’t kill him to take a little more time off.
Yeah, gotta eat first though, he sent. He belatedly realized he should probably offer Crawford something and added, I was thinking about picking up lox & bagels. You want some?
Sure.
Might be a little past puck drop but I’ll get there as soon as I can.
He got a thumbs-up in response.
Sebastian shook his head in amusement, then stared at himself in the mirror and debated if he should shave. Nah, why bother? What, am I trying to impress Luke Crawford or something? Hardly.
With that in mind, Sebastian threw on whatever clothes were clean and handy, then dried his hair. No way was he going out in these temps with wet hair. Running had cleared his head this morning, but it had physically hurt, the air so icy that he could feel it burning his lungs with every inhale.
It had been well below freezing last night and was supposed to continue to drop throughout the day. Even his apartment felt chilly now, despite the fact that he’d cranked up the thermostat.
That was one more point in Crawford’s favor.
Might as well spend the day with a man who operated like a walking, talking, hockey-playing space heater.
Sebastian paced his apartment as he placed a request for a ride, ordered takeout at a local bagel place he’d been meaning to try, and bundled up.
He arrived at Crawford’s place with food in tow about five minutes into the first period. The score was already 1–1 and there had been a fight.
“Jesus,” he said as he stood beside Crawford staring at the TV. “They started with a bang.”
“Yeah.” Crawford said, taking the food bag from him so he could shrug off his coat. “They sure did.”
“I thought fighting wasn’t allowed?” Sebastian asked as he stuffed his hat and gloves into the arm of his jacket.
He caught a glimpse of his hair which was simultaneously smashed down and weirdly poufy and wondered why he’d bothered styling it at all. Between the hats and the inevitable destruction from Crawford, it was really a lost cause.
“Fighting isn’t allowed at the Olympics, but this is just a made-up international tournament,” Crawford said, taking the food out of the bag.
“Technically I think all tournaments are made up,” Sebastian pointed out. He took a seat on the couch beside Crawford.
“Okay, but the Olympics has some fucking history and shit. This tourney is new.”
“Yeah, fair,” Sebastian conceded, watching Tanner Clayton pester Dustin Fowler behind Team USA’s net.
“No capers?” Crawford glanced over, looking legitimately put out.
“They should be somewhere in there,” Sebastian said, peering in the bag. He rooted around until he found a container under the pile of napkins. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
They resumed watching hockey.
“Uhh, I should get plates,” Crawford said during the first commercial break, squinting at the coffee table.
Sebastian looked down at where the toppings from his everything bagel were scattered across the surface. He’d been trying to keep them contained to the napkin he was assembling his sandwich on but it wasn’t working well. “Good call.”
When Crawford returned and handed one over, Sebastian glanced up. “Are you a neat freak or something?” he asked, amused by the idea.
Before he’d come over the first time, Sebastian would have assumed the man lived in an expensive condo with no decor and shit strewn everywhere. Not that Sebastian could really judge anyone, but Crawford really was continually full of surprises.
“I keep things pretty clean, I guess,” he said as he glanced around the room. “It’s my space. Why would I want to fuck it up?”
Sebastian began assembling his food. “I just get busy. The shop’s always my priority.”
They lapsed into silence as they watched the game.
“This so isn’t on my diet plan,” Crawford mumbled a few minutes later around a bite of everything bagel smeared with cream cheese and topped with lox, red onion, and capers.
“Sorry,” Sebastian said. “I could have gotten something else for you.”
“I could’ve said no. But this shit is good.” Crawford wiped the corner of his mouth.
“It’s not a New York bagel,” Sebastian said. “But it’ll do.”
“New Yorkers are such fucking snobs,” Crawford said with a snort. “You’re convinced that city is the center of the world.”
“I mean …” Sebastian said. “If—”
“Motherfucker!” Crawford swore.
Sebastian glanced up at the TV screen to see Canada had scored and pumped his fist.
Crawford gave him a disgusted look. “Are you rooting for Team Canada now?”
“Mostly I’m rooting against you. You’re cheering for USA, ergo, I want them to lose.”
“You’re an asshole,” Crawford muttered.
Sebastian knocked their shoulders together. “You like it.”
Crawford grunted but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah, I guess you’re okay, Breckon.”
Sebastian smiled and took a bite of his bagel, watching the replay intently.
Crawford swore under his breath when it was over. “What the fuck was that, Tanner?”
“He’s way out of position there,” Sebastian said with a frown.
“I know, right?” Crawford shook his head. “Fuck. The kid is good but sometimes … I swear it’s like he fucking forgets he’s playing hockey.”
Sebastian snorted. “You don’t mean that.”
“No. But his brain really does seem to go offline sometimes.”
“Aww, cut him some slack. It’s his first international tournament, right?”
“At this level, yeah. I just … he’s better than this.” Crawford looked over. “It’s frustrating as hell because the kid has more talent in his fucking pinkie finger than I’ve ever had.”
“Well, give him time. He’ll get there.”
“Yeah, but I’m not always going to be around to help.”
Sebastian gave him a searching look. “You planning on going somewhere?”
Crawford glanced away, looking back at the screen. “Contract’s up at the end of the season and I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“Ahh.” Sebastian considered the idea. “Are you thinking about retirement soon?”
Crawford was silent and Sebastian hastily added. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. If you do want to talk about it, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone, I wouldn’t—”
“No, I know,” Crawford said gruffly. “It’s just …” He sighed and slumped back. “We’ve been in negotiations for a while now. It’s not going well.”
“Ahh. Are you thinking about leaving?”
“I’m not. I wanna stay here. I don’t know how it’ll all shake out in the end though.”
“That’s rough.” Sebastian frowned. As difficult as it was to own his own business, there was something to be said about being in control of his own destiny.
Sure, there were things he couldn’t control, like the overall economy and how much discretionary income his customers had to spend on flowers, but at the end of the day, no one else could really dictate his future.
“Yeah.” Crawford stared at the TV, his expression suddenly drawn.
It reminded Sebastian of the night he’d been in so much pain, only clearly it wasn’t physical pain causing it this time.
Sebastian had a weird urge to try to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure how. Or if Crawford would even want it. And then he thought of how easily Crawford touched him, how much he seemed to seek out that physical connection.
Sebastian slid closer, bumping his shoulder against Crawford’s. “Hey, I know you run at like four hundred degrees at all times, but I’m fucking freezing. Warm me up.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie, he did feel a little chilly, but he also knew that much like the night of Crawford’s injury, he wouldn’t want to admit that he was the one who needed this.
Crawford glanced over. “There are blankets, you know.”
“I know,” Sebastian said, snagging one from the back of the couch and spreading it across his legs. “But you’re a fucking space heater so I might as well take advantage. I mean, at least then you’ll be useful for something.”
The chirp worked.
Crawford’s tense expression softened and he slung an arm over Sebastian’s shoulders. “Yeah, alright. Will this shut you up?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “But it’s a fucking start.”
Crawford laughed and the mood lightened. They resumed watching hockey. It was still 2–1 so they hadn’t missed much.
Trevor Underhill drew a penalty and a Canadian player went to the box.
Sebastian held his breath as Team USA drove toward Canada’s net, applying offensive pressure.
Dustin Fowler barreled down on Jesse Webber, but the netminder snatched the puck out of the air like he was just playing around in practice or something.
The camera zoomed in on his face to show him smiling widely. He winked and tossed the puck to the nearby ref.
“Damn it, Webby,” Crawford muttered.
“He’s pretty good, huh?” Sebastian asked with a laugh. “It’s kinda nice to be able to cheer for him for once.”
Crawford just grunted.
The game ended with Team Canada winning 3–2 in OT. Luke grumbled under his breath as the teams shook hands at center ice following the defeat.
Sebastian laughed, nudging Luke’s ribs with his elbow. “Good game, huh?”
“Yeah,” Luke admitted a little grudgingly. It had been a good game. A tight, high-paced, high-energy game.
There had been a handful of fights, plenty of scoring chances, and some really tight defense. In the end, Jesse Webber had simply been the better goaltender.
“Well, at least we get Webby back now,” Luke said with a sigh.
“Yeah, Kady seems like a great guy and a decent backup but he’s not …”
“He’s no Webby,” Luke agreed. “It’ll be good we have him back in the lineup going forward.”
“So how many jokes did the team make about the groin sprain he had?” Sebastian asked.
“So many,” Luke said with a laugh. “We gave Connor so much shit. The man was redder than his fucking hair by the time we were done.”
“Is it a good locker room?”
“Yeah,” Luke said with a small smile. “The fucking best. Connor’s really … he’s better now, with Webby. He wasn’t bad before but he’s—he’s really become the captain we needed.”
“I wonder what that would feel like to play for a team where the captain’s queer,” Sebastian said.
“Not just the captain,” Luke pointed out. “The GM, the yoga and Pilates instructor, a forward, half the fucking D-corps … and don’t forget the media guy.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian said with a soft laugh. “All that. And I guess the GM is a big factor too. But I just … I wonder what that would have been like.”
“You miss it?”
“Yeah.” Sebastian had his head tucked into the crook of Luke’s neck, so he couldn’t see his face but there was something weird and tight in Sebastian’s voice.
Luke reached out, wrapping one of Sebastian’s soft, springy curls around his finger and playing with it.
“Yeah, I miss it a lot. I made the right decision. I believe that. I love the flower shop, love being my own boss. But, you know, watching shit like this is hard. Wondering what it would feel like to represent my country.”
“I get that.”
“You ever wish you got invited?”
“All the time,” Luke said. “I’ve always known I’m not the player they’re going to invite to the Olympics and shit. There’s no fighting. I don’t have a role there.”
“You’re still a really fucking solid shutdown defenseman,” Sebastian argued.
Luke smiled because it was funny—but kinda nice—to hear Sebastian hotly defend him instead of call him a shitty player.
“Yeah, but there are other guys who are just as good if not better,” he admitted. “I did think maybe I’d get invited to this tournament though. I’ve had a really good season and I kinda thought …”
“Yeah?” Sebastian settled a hand on his chest.
“Yeah.” Luke cleared his throat. “But it didn’t happen. Instead, I’m fucking stuck in Boston with you.”
“Could be worse,” Sebastian said, his voice light again. He craned his neck to look at Luke and he was laughing.
Luke smiled too. “Could be worse,” he agreed.
Sebastian reached out, pulling Luke’s head down to kiss and Luke let himself be drawn in. It was no hardship to slant his mouth over Sebastian’s to kiss him.
In the distance, he could hear the medal ceremonies taking place, but he was too focused on the way Sebastian was working his hand under his shirt to care.