3. Xander #2
When I came out he sent me a simple text telling me he was there if I wanted to talk.
I sent a thank you but since that day something between us had changed, and now we barely talked about anything at all.
A hello if he saw me in passing, that ritual fist bump if he was watching a game, but I avoided him, and it wasn’t as if he was demanding to see me.
Probably for the best.
Mason had been out for years. It had taken me longer as a professional athlete to work up the courage to step out of the closet, and no one had known.
He was probably as pissed as Eli had been when I told him, but whereas Eli was pissed I hadn’t confided in him, which quickly turned to complete support, Mason probably saw me as a coward for hiding as long as I had.
Now whenever I saw him, and that was all the damn time as I was always at Eli’s place, this pulse of desire began to throb and beat between us.
At first, it freaked me the hell out and still did to some extent.
Eli would come unglued if I touched his baby brother.
My bedding Mason could ruin a lifelong friendship and possibly seep into the locker room.
“You look as if you just licked the bottom of a dumpster.” I pulled my gaze from Mason to find Brady standing beside me holding a can of soda and sporting a spiffy gold and black Rebels sling for his injured shoulder.
“Just thinking about shit. When are you going in for surgery?” I jerked my still hairy chin at his left arm.
Most of the guys had removed the playoff beard, but I was clinging to mine for some reason.
Not ready to move on yet, I guessed. Also, the dark beard looked good on me, I thought.
And with no special someone to complain about it, I’d just trimmed it up this morning instead of shaving it off.
“Two weeks. This is my fourth surgery in what? Three years?”
I nodded. His shoulder issues were well known.
Of course, he wasn’t a spring chicken as my mother would say.
He was closing in on thirty-four now. Hockey was hell on a body.
I could attest to that. My knees ached on rainy days, and I was still a mass of bruises from blocking shots and knocking heads in the playoffs.
“You’re a tough nut though. Heal up over the summer and when training camp opens you’ll be out there skating rings around the young pups,” I said with a smile.
He made a sound into his soda can, taking a drink before replying.
Someone tossed a lawn chair into the pool.
Eli blew a gasket at them from the shadows where he’d been chatting up some girl.
“Maybe, I’m not so sure, Holdy.” My gaze flicked from the lawn chair floating in the pool to Mason, his gaze boldly touching then holding mine. Why is he looking at me that way? “I might hang up my skates. The wife is worried, the kids are worried, my family is worried. I’m worn out, you know?”
Hearing the captain talk this way was shocking as was the fact that Mason was still staring at me.
I wasn’t sure which was more bewildering.
Brady was supposed to be my captain for much longer.
He was still so young. And Mason had never spent so long looking right at me. What the hell was going on with him?
“Come on, you don’t mean that.” I chose to focus on Brady for now and after Mason returned his attention to Becca, I turned to look at my captain. “You’re just in pain, Brady. Once you’ve had the surgery—”
“They’re saying it might not heal as well this time.
If not, it’ll be a complete overhaul with a new shoulder replacement as I busted up the last one.
” His handsome face was tight with worry and a sad sort of resolution.
“I’m just… ” He glanced skyward. “I’m tired.
My body is worn out. I miss my wife and kids.
Then there’s the rumors about the team trading me—”
“They’re just rumors—”
“Can you imagine starting now at another team? In the kind of pain I’m in? I just… well, I guess I’m just at a crossroads.”
“Shit,” I murmured, tossing back a large gulp of my drink.
I’d always thought Brady Rowe would be my partner forever.
We just clicked. From the first time we’d played together seven years ago when I’d come to Boston fresh from college.
God above, how the time had flown. I’d be thirty in a month and still living alone.
No partner, no kids, not even a damn dog.
“Shit, man, I just don’t know what to say. ”
He nudged me with the sweaty can of lemon-lime soda in his hand. “Don’t say anything to the other guys. I’m just talking. I know what I say to you is locked down tight.”
“Totally. Always. You know that.”
He gave me a wobbly smile. “And if I do decide to retire, for what it’s worth, I’ll support you for the captaincy.”
“I—”
He didn’t let me speak. “No, don’t act up about it. You’ve really matured into a great alternate, and your drive and dedication to the sport and this city will be a boon to the club. You’d make a great captain. Not as good as me of course, but… ” He went to shrug then grimaced. “Shit that hurts.”
“Ass,” I teased, patting him on the biceps. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I think there are better players on the team than me, but if I were to get the C, I would be deeply honored.”
“Yeah, I knew you would be. So, I’m slipping out before any more furniture ends up in the pool and it all gets out of hand.
Call me later.” He made the hand gesture for calling, handed me his unfinished soda, and then snuck off into the night.
Home to his beautiful wife and children and his old dog named Bourque.
I drained the soda into the flower bed, finished my drink, and made to exit the same way Brady had, but I took a quick detour into the pool house to use the bathroom before I made the thirty-minute ride back to my condo on Beacon Street.
I’d been in the pool house a hundred times over the years so finding the bathroom in the dimly lit home was like finding my face.
After using the toilet and washing up, I gave myself a long look in the mirror.
I’d been feeling down for a while now. The brutal loss to LA in the finals had only ramped up my blues.
But now I was feeling a little less beleaguered.
I’d not been kidding when I’d said I’d be honored to wear the big C on my left shoulder.
So many greats had worn that letter over the years.
It would be a privilege to follow in their footsteps.
Knowing Brady felt I had what it takes to lead the team bolstered my flagging self-esteem.
Running my fingers through my brown hair, the same shade as my mother’s, I studied my face, patted my cheeks with wet hands, and decided I wasn’t all that ugly.
Aside from the scar on my chin from a skate blade four years ago, hidden under my beard, I was passable.
Nothing as striking as Mason with his dark hair and hazel eyes.
Mine were a muddy shade of brown, again like my mother’s.
Those eyes of Mason’s were enthralling. Pools of green and brown with flecks of gold that a man could wade out into and spend an eternity swimming in.
“Enough of that, Xander Mills Holden. This isn’t Pride and Prejudice,” I whispered in my best motherly tone, dried my hands, and opened the door.
Mason stood outside, back against the wall, waiting to use the bathroom.
The sizzle that seemed to engulf us whenever we were near sparked to life as soon as the aroma of his citrus aftershave reached my nose.
“Oh, hey. You look… good.” Good didn’t even begin to describe how incredibly he filled out his cutoff denim shorts and pink tank.
He pushed from the wall. The air was alive between us. I should have stepped away then but I didn’t, weak fool that I am.
“So do you,” he murmured. “Sorry about the loss and all that.”
“Thanks, it wasn’t our time.” How often had I said that now?
“Yeah, next year.”
“For sure.”
That was us done. Unless we started talking about the weather, then we’d covered the most relevant subjects, and I needed to get the hell away from Mason, his eyes, his laugh, and his damn dimple.
“You’re leaving aren’t you.” There was no question there, just a statement, and I nodded.
“Uhm yeah, I think so. I’ll leave the hijinks to you kids.”
Even in the subdued lighting I saw him bristle. I was prepared for that, he always snapped at his brother and me when we called him a kid. This was familiar ground and led to tussles and head rubs and all the close physical things I needed to avoid.
“Yeah, so, bye.” I stepped aside and moved past him, only he gripped my arm, and I was not prepared for that.
“We need to talk,” he said and placed his other hand on my chest. I shook off his hold of my arm, but I didn’t move away, lost in the heat in his eyes.
“I don’t want to talk,” I lied. It’s too dangerous. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t touch me.