Chapter 2
chapter two
Ryland Zervudachi hit the button to go live on Instagram and grinned as the number of viewers went up, and up, and up.
When it hit a thousand, he waved two fingers at the screen in hello and angled himself so that the sun was directly above him, like the earth’s best spotlight.
“Hey, everyone. I’m here at Moon Meadows Maple Farm, my family’s maple syrup farm in Maplewood, Vermont.
Someone asked me the other day what maple syrup farmers do in the off-season, so .
. . ” He pumped his eyebrows. “I figured I’d show you.
See that guy there?” He shifted slightly and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“That’s my dad. Basically the brains of this whole operation. Let’s go ask him what he’s up to.”
He jogged over to the tree line, probably making his viewers nauseous in the process. “Hey, Dad. Viewers want to know: what do maple syrup farmers do in the off-season?”
“Nap, mostly.”
Ryland couldn’t help a laugh.
Wearing jeans, sturdy work boots, and a T-shirt, Dad smiled and gazed into the forest. There were upwards of 5000 maple trees on their property on the edge of Maplewood, and although Ryland had hated farm work for as long as he could remember, he had to admit that coming home and breathing the fresh Vermont air during the NHL off-season was like taking that first sip of water after a jog in the summer heat.
Plus, where else was he supposed to lick his wounds after his team—the Columbus Pilots—had lost to the Vermont Trailblazers in the second round of the playoffs a couple of months back?
Not even a game seven overtime nailbiter. No, this had been a highly publicized, uber stressful, extra humiliating game four loss—meaning the Pilots hadn’t won a single game in the second round.
Ugh. Ryland hated to think about it.
Of course, the Trailblazers had gone on to win the cup, but the Pilots hadn’t had a playoff run in six years—the Trailblazers couldn’t have given the Pilots one goddamn game?
It was criminal was what it was.
Didn’t help that the Trailblazers was one of those unicorn teams everyone wanted to be on.
And it wasn’t because they were three-time Stanley Cup champions—a fucking accomplishment, considering they were a relatively young team at only fifteen years old—or because they were consistently one of the top three teams in the league.
It was because they tended to keep their players.
Since they were hyperfocused on player development rather than getting rid of troublesome or underperforming players, trades were minimal.
Players left because they wanted a trade or because they retired.
Ryland had told his agent a long time ago that if the Trailblazers ever came sniffing after him, he should jump on it. They never had, yet Ryland was holding out hope.
He was twenty-nine years old—if he was lucky, he still had several more years of professional hockey to go before he retired, and if he was even luckier, at least one of those years would be with a championship-winning team.
Not that there was anything wrong with the Columbus Pilots. Ryland loved his team and he loved the city. But the Pilots were a very cliquey team—which was probably why they couldn’t get their shit together during the playoffs.
“Well, there’s tons of forest management, for starters,” Dad said, answering Ryland’s question. “When we’re not napping, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“We’ve got to thin weeds to promote maple tree growth.
Clean and maintain the tapping equipment.
Prepare the sugar shack for the next production season.
Hose down the lawn games from the maple syrup festival—it’s usually too cold to do that in March.
There’s collecting firewood, packaging the maple syrup, attending farmers markets. ”
“When do you nap between all that?”
A teasing glint entered Dad’s eyes, the same hazel color as Ryland’s. “Oh, I can nap whenever I want. I give the tough jobs to your brother and spend my days lounging around with a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other.”
Ryland laughed at the lie and checked the comments on his screen.
JohnZhang: OMG your dad’s so cute.
LizzyJohnson24: The two of you look so much alike!
Show-me-the-love: [laughing-crying emoji]
PhotosBySam: Got to love a man with a sense of humor.
Ew. That last one was kind of ick. Was PhotosBySam low-key hitting on his happily married dad? Sheila, his stepmom, would laugh about it, but still.
A comment caught his eye, and he asked, “Someone wants to know about the farmers markets. Where do you do them?”
“That’s a question for your brother.” Dad yanked a pair of heavy-duty work gloves from his back pocket and tugged them on. “He and your sister are in charge of identifying and applying for local markets.”
“Cool. Thanks, Dad.”
Dad grunted an acknowledgment and bent to pick up a stack of tree clippings he’d tied together.
kcd.designs: If your dad runs the show and your brother and sister do markets, what do YOU do when you visit home?
“My sister doesn’t do markets,” Ryland clarified as he walked toward the farm shop, which was set several yards away from the farmhouse.
Holding the phone aloft, he added, “Jason does. Brie handles the marketing for the farm, so she helps plan which markets Jason will attend. As for me . . . ” He veered right when Jason’s car pulled into the house’s driveway, his steps soundless in the grass.
“I help out wherever I’m needed when I’m home in the off-season.
Most of the time that means covering for my stepmom at the farm shop.
The shop is her domain, but the summer is when she usually meets with local artisans to discuss their products for potentially stocking in our store. Hey, Jase?”
Jason paused on his way up the house’s front steps.
Ryland pointed at his phone. “Viewers want to know which markets we’ll be selling at.”
“In Vermont?” Jason jogged back down the steps and joined Ryland. “We’ll be at the Maplewood farmers market every Saturday until mid-October, as well as various other markets across the state. Plus, a few in New Hampshire, although I’m blanking on which ones. They’re listed on our website.”
Ryland smiled into his phone and tilted his head in Jason’s direction. “You guys remember my brother, right?”
i.read.everywhere: I’ll come visit the market!
Ryland almost scoffed. People said that, but they never came, not unless they were local or happened to find themselves on vacation in Vermont.
LaurenPom: OMG Jason! Hi!
Alexis123456: I love me some Jason content.
JeffreyWStudio: Where’s Bellamy?
Ryland didn’t let his smile slip at the mention of Jason’s boyfriend—who was also Ryland’s long-time rival.
Former rival, dating back to their college hockey days at UMaine. They’d recently buried the hatchet, because Ryland wasn’t going to be the one to get in the way of his brother’s happiness.
Still, when he’d first learned of their relationship, all Ryland could think was This guy? Jason had chosen the one person in the world Ryland didn’t get along with, and it had made him feel as lost as he had when his parents had divorced when he’d been a kid.
Now wasn’t the time to think about how untethered he’d felt during those years though.
Jason, never one to pass up an opportunity to promote the farm’s offerings, was droning on about the products he’d have at this weekend’s farmers market as he led Ryland around the side of the house and into a temperature-controlled shed.
“We’ll have maple syrup, maple butter, maple candies,” Jason said, pointing at each one. He went on about the process of making maple syrup versus maple butter—which the viewers were eating up, judging by the comments—as the sound of a car door slamming closed echoed in their direction.
Ryland looked out the window, and there was Bellamy himself, all tall and blond and floppy-haired and pouty-lipped. Ryland had never been attracted to him, but he could understand what had drawn Jason to him. The man, it turned out, was incomprehensibly sweet.
Which just made Ryland feel like even more of an ass for the way he’d treated him for a decade. Egging him on and talking shit about him and starting fights on the ice and just being a general nuisance until Bellamy had no choice but to push back.
Hell, he’d once publicly claimed that Bellamy wasn’t first-line material, which . . .
Christ. Dirtbag, thy name is Ryland.
And Bellamy had let him make peace? The man was kinder than Ryland had any right to expect.
He forgot all about that, however, when a second person emerged from the car.
Kyle Dabbs, captain of the Vermont Trailblazers, the same team that had crushed Ryland’s in the second round of the playoffs.
Ryland’s stomach jumped into his throat, and he nearly dropped the phone as his palms went sweaty.
He’d been crushing on Kyle Dabbs since . . . well, long enough that he couldn’t remember how long it’d been. Probably since he’d started his NHL career at twenty-two, so . . .
He was nursing a seven-year crush.
Ryland would’ve been embarrassed by that if Dabbs wasn’t the coolest person ever.
And it wasn’t the fact that Dabbs was a tall, built, ginger with dark gray eyes that turned his crank—though it didn’t hurt.
It was that Dabbs had an effortless confidence in his own skin, in who he was, in where he belonged, and in his abilities.
That confidence came across in everything he did.
During interviews, he was respectful and well-spoken and not easily provoked.
He had a calm demeanor that invited a person to seek his advice.
He could laugh at himself, was an expert at putting people at ease, and had somehow developed the skill of stating something plainly without hurting someone’s feelings.
All of that was what probably made him a damn good team captain.
Still, Ryland couldn’t say exactly why he had a crush on Dabbs—but could anyone explain a crush?