Chapter 14
Fourteen
The Shirtless Men Section
Forest
The next couple of days are spent wrestling with myself over whether or not I’ll use the hockey tickets Beck gave me. They’re burning a hole in my consciousness from their spot on top of my dresser.
I’d love to go to the game, and I’d love to watch him in action. But if I don’t intend to see him again, I shouldn’t use the tickets. It’s not cool to string the guy along.
Beck wasn’t wrong the other night when he called me on my bullshit. I still want him, even though I know I shouldn’t. He’s the cute, sexy, weirdo goalie I never knew I needed.
Okay, need is the wrong word. What I really need is to work double overtime next week, so I can keep rebuilding my savings account and buy a vehicle that isn’t on the brink of death. And hire two more employees, and switch our bookkeeping system over to a better one and…
And a million other things that demand my attention.
The problem is that I can’t stop thinking about him.
His calm confidence in the net as he helped us shut down the Plague.
His sly smile in the Jeep that night before I invited him in.
I’ve already memorized the dimple on his left cheek, and the way he and Charlie bumped fists after they…
whatever it was they were up to in that game.
I just like him, and I can’t turn it off. So when the day of his lunch with Coach Powers arrives, I open up our text thread and send him a message.
How did lunch go? I’m pulling for you.
Unsurprisingly, he responds about a minute later with a long word vomit.
It went okay! I wasn’t too weird. But it was hard keeping my shit together because I learned a lot about Coach Powers.
First: he cooks like a badass. Also his salt and pepper shakers are Cougars themed.
Even though everyone knows salt shakers should always be shaped like a goalie because we’re the ones preserving everything. Pepper can be whatever.
I crack up. But he’s not even done.
And OMG did you know Powers lives with Jethro Hale???? I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk about it. Lives with him. Not as roommates. Like THEY HAVE SEX I THINK.
I tap his avatar and call. “Hello?” he answers immediately. “I didn’t hallucinate that. They share a house, and Hale touched Powers’s hair.”
“They come into Sportsballs, Beck,” I say as soon as I can get a word in edgewise. “So yeah, I knew that.”
There’s at least a half second of blessed silence before he says, “Fuck, really?”
“Sure. We have these ping pong tournaments, and they’ve shown up once or twice with Newgate and his guy.”
Another half beat of silence and then, “My God. Do you know what this means?”
“Um...?”
“I have to fix my game, Forest. I have to play for the Cougars at least once before I die. They’re, like, the perfect team.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.” Even as the words come out of my mouth, I know I sound like someone’s dad.
“Nah,” Beck scoffs. “It’s motivation. He thinks I’ve improved by studying video or something, but really I’m just manifesting the beer league vibes. It’s like I tuned myself to a different channel.”
“That’s good?” I try. But I don’t really understand goalie energy, so I should probably just shut up.
“Not gonna lie, it would be so valid if you came to watch me play this weekend. The tickets are actually fire. And they serve those boujee soft pretzels with the cheese sauce that’s literally just melted Velveeta but slaps harder because it costs eleven dollars.
Absolute emotional damage to your wallet, but worth it. ”
I snort, because he’s right. I love that shit. “I’ll consider it.”
“Cool. Cool cool cool. No pressure. You should know that goalies perform sixteen percent better when hot bearded guys are in the crowd. It’s literally science.”
I can almost hear the smile in his voice, that nervous energy that makes him ramble.
Part of me wants to shut this down. But another part—one that’s getting harder to ignore—wants to see him standing in the crease, making impossible saves.
“Beck? I’ve gotta run. Charlie’s waiting for me to pick him up from a friend’s. ”
“Yeah, yeah. Go be responsible and shit. I’ll catch you later.”
“Glad lunch went well.”
“Thanks for asking. You texted me. That’s almost as big a win as stopping a penalty shot with my jockstrap.”
“Goodbye, Beck.” He can probably hear me smiling.
“Goodbye, sexy.”
The call ends and I sit for a minute, grinning like a dope and tapping my phone against my knee.
My instincts are telling me to keep my distance, to protect the fragile peace I’ve created for myself and Charlie.
But Beck keeps finding the gaps in my armor.
He makes me ask dangerous questions, like—why can’t I have this?
I pick up Charlie. And when he gets in the car, I ask him a casual question. “What would you think about checking out an Ice Cats game tomorrow night?”
Instead of answering right away, he gives me the side eye. “Wait, is this about that weird goalie who came over? The one who talked about penguins for like twenty minutes straight and then destroyed me in Reavers of the Void?”
He watches my face, and I can feel myself being read like a hockey stat sheet. Charlie’s too perceptive for his own good.
“The one who kept looking at you like you were actual goals?” he continues. “That’s why you suddenly want to go, isn’t it?”
I try to keep my expression neutral. “He gave us good seats.”
“Dad.” He gives me that look—the one he inherited from his mother that makes me feel completely transparent. “I’m not ten anymore. You like this guy, don’t you?”
I could lie, but what kind of example does that set? “Yeah. Kind of. But that doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen with him. I just... thought we could use a night out.”
Charlie grins. “So we’re going to watch your boyfriend play hockey?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you want him to be,” he says, not a question.
I hesitate, and then shake my head. “He and I are in different places in life. It’s not a great fit.”
“You’re in different places,” he repeats slowly. Like the words are so dumb he almost can’t pronounce them. “Like, he’s in a fun place, and you’re in a place where you say no to everything and worry a lot.”
I swallow a sigh. “Look—do you want to go see the Ice Cats play, or not?”
“Duh.” He rolls his eyes. “Free hockey and watching you get all weird about your goalie? Count me in.”
“He might not even play.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m so there.”
Unfortunately, Charlie’s amusement hasn’t worn away by the time we get to the arena. He snickers as we take our seats in row D, right behind the Ice Cats bench.
And because I’m not very smart, I offered the other two tickets to Scully and Divina, who tended bar at Sportsballs until she and her girlfriend opened up a brunch spot in LoDo.
I’d been positive that Scully would decline, on account of the bar. One of us is always there on a busy weekend night.
But no. “This will give the new guy a chance to prove himself,” Scully had said. “Trix is shaping up to be a good manager, and I’ll leave my phone on just in case.”
So here’s Scully, taking off his coat and eyeing the players on the ice with far too much interest.
“Which one is Forest’s goalie?” Divina asks, cracking her gum.
“Neither of them,” I say tightly, and Scully laughs.
“That one,” he says, pointing at Beck, who’s stretching on the ice. “Do we know yet who’s in goal?”
“Nope. Maybe we can tell by who’s getting the most attention during warmups,” Charlie says, because he’s watched approximately one million hockey games with his old man.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, keeping it casual. But I’m mentally crossing my fingers for Beck.
Charlie unwraps a chocolate bar from his Christmas stash. Or, more probably, from mine. “So where did you meet Beck, anyway? You never said.”
Scully chuckles from beside me.
“Um, at the bar,” I say.
“Makes sense. And you said—let’s go on a date?”
“He’s not a date,” I correct automatically. “He was just a regular customer.”
Charlie gives me a skeptical look. “A regular customer who gives you hockey tickets and comes over to play video games with me? Dad, I’m not stupid.”
More laughter from Scully and Divina, and I sigh. “We met at the bar. He came in once a week for months before we actually talked much.”
“Wait, so he was, like, stalking you?” Charlie’s eyes widen with interest rather than concern.
“No, Charlie. He was just… shy, I guess.” I watch as Beck drops into a butterfly stretch, then pops back up with that fluid grace that’s so mesmerizing to watch.
“But then what? He finally asked you out?”
I rub my temples. “He offered to help out my hockey team one night when we needed a goalie. We became friends after that.”
“Friends,” Charlie repeats with air quotes. “Is that why you got all weird when he showed up at our house? Because you’re ‘friends’?”
My actual friends erupt with laughter.
“I got weird because I wasn’t expecting company.” I give him a pointed look. “And because I knew my son wouldn’t act normal around guests.”
“Bestie, I was the normal one. You were the one who kept finding excuses to go into the kitchen.”
He’s not wrong. I did keep finding reasons to escape that night, needing a moment to collect myself while Beck charmed my son with video game strategies and his theories on why goalies should be encouraged to take more shots on goal.
“And now you’re literally checking out his butt,” Charlie whispers, elbowing me in the ribs.
“Charlie.” I keep my voice low but firm. “Enough.”
“What? It’s not like I’m judging your love life.”
“This isn’t my love life. It’s hockey.”
Scully finally takes mercy on me and changes the subject, asking Charlie about his own hockey team. While I watch the arena fill up around us, pregame music thumps through the speakers. Beck is in the net now, and his teammates are firing on him.
“Hey, Dad! That’s a good sign, right?” Charlie says, pointing. “That he’s going to play?”
“God, I hope so.”
“Sir?”