CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Before Leif could blink, the Rockets were headed back to Boston. Leif wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
Things had been kinda weird since the day he hung out with Salty. Not because Ian was being weird but because Tanner was. And … maybe because Leif had been avoiding him a little bit.
He just didn’t know what to say. For a second he’d thought that Tanner was jealous of him and Salty so Leif had thought maybe it was a good time to talk about his feelings.
But then Tanner had acted like he didn’t care. They’d agreed not to be exclusive or whatever, so … that was that, Leif guessed. He’d gotten his hopes up for nothing.
It was easier to focus on the end of the season and pushing to get into the playoffs and … there was always something else he should be doing. Brand deals to consider and interviews to do and merch to sign.
It didn’t help that both of their schedules were crazy. For a while they’d been mostly synced up, playing on the same nights and having the same nights off more often than not.
But then the Rockets had back-to-back games and went on a road trip and their schedules didn’t mesh anymore. Video chats were now mostly late-night texts that sometimes didn’t get answered until the next day and … well, it was just easier.
But there was no avoiding the fact that Tanner kept texting about plans for when the Rockets were in Boston. So Leif booked the same apartment and figured he’d deal with Tanner after the game.
Of course, that night just had to be the celebration for Luke Crawford’s thousandth game. And yes, it was a big deal. Less than five percent of players in the league ever made it to a thousand games. Even if Leif didn’t like the guy, he had to admit, it was impressive.
Especially for someone who played the game that hard.
But the whole thing got really weird once the ceremony began and the announcer finished their intro speech with the words, “Please welcome Luke’s partner, Sebastian Breckon, to the ice.”
Noises of confusion rose from the Rockets’ bench, quickly drowned by the audible gasp from the crowd.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mirsad Renner muttered. “Crawford is gay?”
Leif shrugged. He hadn’t known either. He could only guess that it was who Tanner had been talking about a few weeks ago.
And then the guy stepped onto the carpet laid out on the ice and things got even weirder.
Someone on the bench behind Leif—one of the trainers, maybe—said, “What the fuck?” and Leif agreed.
Because the guy was definitely the New York Rockets fan who was always chirping Crawford at games in New York and here in Boston.
The guy—Sebastian—was a friend of Nicky’s.
He’d come to a game in New York recently and had been in the family lounge to see Nicky.
Leif had met him. He’d seemed nice. So why was he dating Crawford?
“Dude,” Palmer said, craning his neck to look at Nicky. “Did you know about this shit?”
Nicky laughed. “Yeah, Seb told me all about it.”
“You must be pissed,” another guy said. “I mean, Crawford’s the one who—”
“He knows what he did, man,” someone else hissed.
“I’m just sayin’ …”
Nicky shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t thrilled at first but I’m not gonna stand in the way of my friend being happy.”
Drew shook his head. “Fucking wild, man. I can’t believe Crawford’s a—”
“Might want to watch how you word that, Palmer,” Nicky said tightly.
Drew snapped his mouth shut.
Leif wondered if Ian had heard the exchange. He was at the other end of the bench, so he doubted it. Well, that was nice to hear. Maybe Leif and Ian weren’t the only ones who’d decided they should speak up more.
The ceremony was long but touching. They always were. And even if Leif wasn’t crazy about Crawford, it was clear that a lot of people cared about him. There was even a video message on the Jumbotron from Tanner.
Leif’s heart sped up at the sight of him on the screen.
“You’re the grumpiest guy I know,” Tanner said with a grin, so wide it made Leif’s chest ache. “The annoying big brother I never wanted. But I feel lucky to be your D-partner and your friend. I hope you feel that way too.”
On the ice, Crawford glanced over at the Harriers’ bench and made a waggling motion with his hand.
The crowd laughed and so did Leif. As anxious as he was about how tonight would go, Leif found it impossible to not be a little charmed by Tanner’s interaction with his teammate.
On the screen, Tanner continued. “I know that under all that tough-guy grump, you care about this team and me. Even if you’ll never say it out loud, I know you’re glad we’re paired together.”
Leif felt a sudden pang.
He knew Tanner cared about him too but what if it wasn’t enough? What if it wasn’t the same way Leif cared about him? Leif had to talk to him tonight—had to know, couldn’t keep letting this eat him up inside—even if the timing was terrible.
Then again, if New York lost tonight and Washington won their game in regulation, the Rockets would miss a shot at the playoffs.
Even though every instinct inside Leif screamed against it, a small part of him wondered if that would be the easiest thing. If they weren’t playing in the postseason, if Tanner said he didn’t want anything more with Leif, Leif could just hop on a plane. Head to Europe for the world championships.
He could play for Norway and forget all about Tanner Clayton.
Leif tipped his head back, his eyes watering. Yeah right. Like there was any chance he could ever forget Tanner.
Leif was playing like a man possessed tonight.
A few minutes into the game and both teams were playing hard. The Rockets for a shot at the playoffs, Boston for their pride.
Tanner watched from the bench as Leif streaked up the ice toward Jesse’s net, the puck pinging off the crossbar.
It was immediately retrieved by Graham and taken down to the other end. Tanner went out, with nothing to show for it except a blocked shot that would leave a gnarly bruise on his quad.
Back on the bench, he watched again as a turnover from Drew Palmer allowed Mickey to capture the puck behind New York’s goal and fire it to Erik Wyatt.
The rookie immediately shot it toward the goal where it tumbled into the back of the net before Roman Poole could stop it.
The Harriers’ bench shot to their feet and cheered.
“Fuck yeah, baby!” Tanner shouted as Wyatt skated by the bench for his fist bumps. “That’s how we do it!”
Of course, New York immediately applied pressure and drove the play toward Boston’s defensive end. Nicky was along the far boards, and he fired from a distance, Jesse batting the puck away.
Poole blocked a shot from Graham, the play sweeping around behind New York’s goal before it got turned over to Boston.
Tanner was out then, skating in sync with Crawford. He pinned one of New York’s defenseman against the boards while Tanner battled furiously for the puck, trying to get it free.
He got it and smoothly fired to toward the net, but it was snagged by Poole and the play was whistled dead.
Just a few minutes later, Tom got an opportunity from one of the circles, bending a knee to fire the puck in. It zipped past Poole’s shoulder and into the back of the goal, giving Boston a 2–0 lead.
Tanner shouted, “Keep it up, Tommo!”
Tom grinned and winked as he flew by, his fist colliding with Tanner’s glove with a solid thwack.
The next ten minutes were filled with a bunch of good chances and even better goaltending. It was like being at the North Atlantic Tournament all over again.
Tanner watched intently from the bench as Nicky passed the puck from the far goal line toward the near circle where Leif waited. He immediately fired the puck, but Jesse denied that too.
At the end of the first period, Tanner was tired and sweaty, and the game was still 2–0.
He cranked up the tunes in the locker room and hollered, hyping the guys up, celebrating Crawford’s milestone, and loving life.
He was going to see Leif tonight and it was going to be so damn good.
Even if the Rockets lost and Leif was having a bad night, he was here and Tanner could make it better for him. Even if they did nothing but watch movies and pig out, it would be perfect. Because they’d be together.
Although the Harriers dominated puck possession in the second period, it wasn’t until eleven minutes in when Tanner was hanging out in the circle, Connor fired the puck toward the Rocket’s goal. Poole blocked the shot, but when it ricocheted toward Luke, he fired it back toward the net.
It pinged off the post, rebounding wildly, and Tanner shoved his way into the chaos, jamming the puck in past Poole.
The sound of the goal horn was sweet, and Tanner threw himself toward Luke, hugging him tightly. For once, it almost looked like Crawford was smiling back.
“You beauty!” Tanner shouted. “Fuck yeah! And it’s on your night too!”
The other guys piled on them and when he could no longer breathe, Tanner burst out of the celly toward the bench for his bumps.
But the Rockets were frustrated and the pace of the game got faster. The play rougher. There was more shoving and grappling along the boards, more sly elbows and butt ends of sticks in armpits and ribs.
Tanner got hooked and fell heavily, the air forced from his lungs as he slid across the ice for a few feet. He sold it a second, hanging his head before he climbed slowly to his skates and a moment later, Palmer went to the box.
Boston nearly scored on the power play, but Poole managed a diving kick save.
Ugh, fuck that guy. Why was Poole so damn good anyway? He was fucking old—thirty-two or something. Shouldn’t his reflexes be slowing? The fact that he was still so good was probably Hawke’s fault. He was the best goalie coach around.
Tanner could feel the frustration on both sides as the minutes of the second period wound down. He was playing like he always did, up in Leif’s business, trying to annoy him and get him to make a mistake.
Leif seemed more annoyed than usual though and when Tanner shouted, “Hey, Princess. Maybe next time try having the puck go in the net instead of aiming for the posts. I’ve heard that helps.”