13. Mads #2
At home? That was a different matter. Everything flooded out on the day off after our latest win. We’d woken up, made love as usual, eaten breakfast like every other day, drunk coffee, talked shit… we’d even shared a shower and some pretty freaking awesome kissing.
But when it came to deciding what to do with our day, a toss-up between going out for lunch or staying in and watching cheesy movies that we could ridicule, Ten was clearly agitated.
He couldn’t decide; he wouldn’t decide. He had no opinion on what we should do, and he began to pace.
I contemplated going out for a walk, giving him some space to let him get everything out of his system on his own, but it seemed he wanted to talk.
“I’m not ready for the first line on this team,” he announced on his twenty-something pass of the sofa in front of me.
Ah. So that was what was up.
“Yes, you are,” I said, and I believed it.
I wouldn’t lie because, like I said, you have to be honest in hockey.
I’d never blown smoke up any player’s ass; I wasn’t going to start now.
Ten had to know I was being candid, right?
Only his next words showed he thought very little about what I was saying at all.
“You’re just saying that because we’re together.”
“My dick up your ass doesn’t mean I’m lying,” I said crudely, and saw him wince.
That had been harsh, and I realized I needed to lose my coach persona and really find my inner kindness.
It came out wrong, because what I wanted to say was, Talk to me, Ten.
Let’s see if we can’t sort this, and I’ll be super supportive and boyfriend-y.
But what actually came out was, “Fuck’s sake, Ten, don’t be so hard on yourself. ”
Yep, even after all of the your-heart-is-for-shit, hockey-is-done therapy, on occasion I was still a dick who couldn’t word things the right way.
Ten sat on the coffee table in front of me, his knees bumping mine. “I wanted that first line so bad,” he admitted. “But not at Connor’s expense.”
“So, what is it? You feel guilty that Connor was injured and you took his spot?”
“Yes, no… yes… Shit, I don’t know.”
Ten looked adorably confused, and I leaned forward and placed my hands on his knees. “That’s hockey, Ten. You know that.”
He looked at me and nodded, but the worry hadn’t left his expression. “So, what if I’m better centering the second line?”
“You might be,” I said, then made sure to add the reassurance part. “But the coaches and management see a strong improvement from you on that first line, and you’ll be stronger on second when Connor is back.”
He nodded. “I wanted that first line,” he admitted in a soft voice, like he was admitting the world’s worst sin. “But I wanted to earn it. And how stupid is that? Because the game we play means we could all get injured tomorrow.”
“Exactly. Play your position, play your best. Part of the team.”
“All those years being second best behind Tate Collins, I wanted to show I was the best, but maybe I’m better off in second place.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I said, and there must have been something in my tone, because Ten smiled at me, a heart-stopping smile that reached his beautiful eyes.
I was a goner. I tugged him so he was next to me on the sofa, then pulled him close.
“And one day,” I teased, “when you’re a grown-up boy, you can be captain of your own team. ”
That was enough for him to start a play fight, which in turn led to kissing, which of course inevitably led to some of the hottest sex I’d experienced in my entire life.
He is a drug and I am an addict.
Thanksgiving isn’t my favorite time of the year.
I mean, Canadian Thanksgiving I love, but American Thanksgiving isn’t a Canadian thing.
Didn’t matter, though, because suddenly, even though half our team was non-American, it was vital to know exactly how you were going to spend the day.
Even Stan was into it, although how much he actually knew about Thanksgiving escaped me.
When I asked him, all he said was “Eat ham. Gobble Gobble”.
Seemed to me that where each of us was spending that one day was all anyone could talk about, and I’d been personally invited to four separate turkey days as the sad loner the team saw me as.
I didn’t even explain I’d have Ryker with me because his mom and her husband were on a tenth-anniversary cruise.
All I can say is thank fuck for Ten.
“Hey, Coach, Brady said you should go visit him for Thanksgiving.” Ten said, loud enough that anyone who was bothering to hang around talking post-game would hear. Subtle was not in Ten’s vocabulary.
“He did?”
“Yep. Him and Jamie will be at Mom and Dad’s, and I’m going as well. You wanna go?”
“I have Ryker,” I said, picking up my bag.
I’d already planned for the worst-case scenario of some Ten-free days, but when Casey had told me about her last-minute thing, I’d been happy to get to enjoy the day off with Ryker.
Star Wars movies and a huge amount of over-eating on anything but turkey were in the plans.
Ten had walked in on the conversation last week, so he’d known I had Ryker, but neither of us had made anything like a plan.
“Yeah, Mom said Ryker should come too.”
Which was how we’d got to the place where we were now.
Sitting on a bench and lacing up skates at the Railers practice rink.
We weren’t in Carolina yet. This was the prequel to the Thanksgiving fun; Ryker had come up early, and he’d talked non-stop about going skating with me and Ten.
The facility was closed, it was eleven at night, the lights were low, it was just the three of us, and I was going out on the ice for the first time with Ten.
Well, not the first time, but the first without my coach’s hat, and maybe the chance of some two-on-one keep-away. I still had moves. My heart might have let me down, but muscle memory and the joy of skating were right there, front and center.
Ten and Ryker were chatting faster than I would have thought humanly possible, but every so often I saw Ten’s eyes glaze over. Keeping up with my seventeen-year-old son was clearly wearing.
Then we were on the ice, and I watched with no small amount of pride as Ryker pushed with his foot and found a skating rhythm that was fast and accurate, finishing the push with some backward crossovers and lazy circles around me and Ten.
Ryker pushed off again, taking a puck with him and warming up with a few slow passes to himself off the boards.
“He’s good, and I’m not just saying that as his dad,” I said. “He’s better than his age dictates; Ev already wants him tied up to an agent.”
Ten glanced at me, then back to Ryker. “No,” he said. “Not after what happened to Brady, remember?”
I remembered all too well; the scumbag who’d screwed Brady over had made it difficult for him to get away from the minors and almost fucked up his chances in the draft we shared.
“Ev will start in on me again. He’s visiting.”
“He’s here?” Ten looked around, horrified, and I had to laugh. Ev and Ten hadn’t exactly spoken other than a handshake on meeting, but Ten had certainly heard all the horror stories I’d told him.
“Tomorrow. Something about local business support, fuck if I know, but he has his finger in every pie that’s remotely connected to me.
” I couldn’t help the irritation in my voice, and it didn’t stop.
“And he’s aware Ryker is with me for Thanksgiving, so I knew to expect his ass up in my space.
Apparently, he wanted Ryker with him—something about me not being emotionally available, whatever the fuck that means. ”
Ryker came to a stop in front of us, throwing up snow. “Hey, old men, wanna skate?”
Ten straightened beside me and chuckled darkly, “You are so gonna pay for that, kid.”
Ryker grinned like he’d expected nothing less and backed away from Ten, balancing a puck on the end of his stick. One knock from Ten and the puck landed on the ice, bouncing on its end, and Ten stole it from under him.
The two of them were a beautiful thing to watch.
The two men in my life, laughing and teasing, then getting oh so serious.
Ryker didn’t stand a chance against Ten most of the time, but every so often—well, twice to be exact—coming up on Ten’s left side, he would take the puck and he would make Ten work.
I joined in, playing my lone defenseman role, stealing the puck, pretending to check Ryker into the boards.
My breathing was fine, my heart was fine, but I couldn’t keep up with Ryker, and there was no hope in hell of getting anywhere near Ten.
I’d come to terms with the age gap in my love life.
Those extra years were nothing, and I loved Ten so much it hurt, so I forgot everything in that love, but in hockey terms, a decade was an eternity.
Added to which, I wasn’t as toned and fit as I used to be.
I kept up pretty good, but I called time first. I skated to the boards and hoisted myself up, sitting there and watching Ryker and Ten dart around the ice.
My son had a future as a skater. One day he’d be that left wing people talked about. Hell, if Ten stayed healthy—And, why wouldn’t he? After all, not everyone had a fucked-up heart like me—then Ryker might even play on Ten’s wing.
It was possibly the best night of my life.
And from the way Ryker and Ten were currently rolling around on the ice with tears of laughter on their faces and Ryker giving Ten a snowy face-wash, I thought they might feel the same too.
The great Jimmy Everett, fabled left wing and star of the Red Wings back in the seventies, turned up halfway through morning practice, the last before our short Thanksgiving break.
We were lucky this year—no game on turkey day, and the day off before and after.
Win/win. Going to Ten’s family’s place was going to be a good use of the break, or so I kept telling myself.
But first I had to deal with Ev.