Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Ryan
Okay, I might be a little over-eager to tell Danton that Brandon is moving out. But I can’t help it. I’m excited to have him come live with me.
“Damn, Ryan,” Brandon says, shaking his head at me as we walk up the Foleys’ front steps together. “Would it kill you to not look so excited for us to crush Danton’s spirit?”
“Crush his spirit?” I laugh. “Trust me, he’s not gonna care.”
“Trust me,” Brandon says, his voice full of warning that I know isn’t necessary. I used to live here. Danton’s house is a revolving door of players needing a place to stay. “He’s gonna care a lot. They all are. So be gentle with them.”
Pausing at the door, I look at him. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you tell him?”
“Fine. You know what?” Brandon huffs, causing his unruly hair to flutter. “I will.”
The front door swings open, revealing Danton in the doorway eating a bag of chips. “He’s right, Ryan,” he says, popping another chip into his mouth. “You’re going to need to be careful with how you break it to me that the two of you plan on living in sin.”
Brandon’s head snaps as he turns to look at him more directly. “What the fuck?”
He pops another chip into his mouth then holds the bag out for us. I take some.
“You two aren’t exactly subtle,” Danton says. “Vicky and I got a bet going to see how long it would take for you to just decide it would be easier to cohabitate.”
Brandon’s eyebrows rise. I, however, continue munching on my chips. When Brandon looks at me, exasperated, I grin at him, then turn my attention to Danton and ask, “What were the parameters of the bet?”
“Vicky thought you’d wait until after the season was over. I told her it would happen before the finals.”
“Nice.” I lift my hand up between us. Danton slaps it. “I like how your side of the bet automatically assumes we’re making the finals.”
“Of course it does,” Danton says. “I have literally zero doubts.”
“That makes exactly one of us.” Brandon sighs.
Danton looks at me and gestures at Brandon with his thumb. “What’s he so negative about?”
I shake my head. “You know Baby. He’s always playing out the worst-case scenarios in his mind.”
“Well, don’t.” Danton slings his arm around Brandon’s shoulders and ushers him inside around Moxy, who’s waiting at the door. “Now, come on. Vicky made fettuccini Alfredo. Let’s eat.”
Following behind them to the table, I don’t know what Brandon was freaking out about.
I knew this wasn’t going to be an issue.
And honestly, not much is going to change.
It’s like he forgot that Vicky likes to cook for an army, and we are a part of that army, so we’re going to be here constantly anyways.
The only real difference is that we’ll go back to our place to sleep at night, and now when we suck each other off we can be as loud as we want about it.
Once seated, surrounded by the entire Foley clan, I take a bite of my food, then practically melt into my chair. The pasta is tender and Vicky’s sauce is creamy and loaded with parmesan cheese and garlic. “This is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Vicky says. “It took a few tries to really nail down the recipe, but I think I’ve got it.”
“You’ve definitely got it,” Danton says. “Maybe good enough we can lure these two into living here instead of Ryan’s.”
Okay, now I might understand what Brandon was worried about because at Danton’s words, Danny is now tearing up and has climbed into Brandon’s lap to cling to him. Brandon looks completely distraught. My heart clenches. I did that. This is my fault.
“It’s okay, buddy,” he says. “I’ll still come over all the time. And you can keep my hodag.”
That last part makes Danny crack a small, watery smile. “Really?”
Brandon nods his head. “Yes. Really.”
Brandon
After dinner, Ryan and I pack up my belongings. I guess one of the nice things about going straight from college to the NHL is that everything I own, outside of my hockey gear, can fit into one bag. Nice and easy. Now it’s only a matter of where to unpack my stuff at his place.
“In the closet, of course,” Ryan says. “Just shove my shit out of the way and make room for yourself.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, staring into his closet which is a complete and total mess. Not that mine have ever looked any better. And unlike any closet I’ve ever had, this one is a walk-in and there is plenty of space. It’s loaded with shelves, racks, and rods to hang things from.
“Yes. I’m sure,” he says. “Or if you want, don’t bother unpacking at all. Just wear my shit.”
That’s not a terrible option. But I do still need my beat-up UDub sweats. They’re lucky. So I get down on the ground with my bag and pull them out.
Shaking his head, he grabs my garment bag containing my suit and hangs it up on the long rod next to all of his.
He drops down on the ground across from me and starts pulling the remaining clothing out of my bag with me. “We need to take you shopping.”
“No. We really don’t,” I laugh.
“We do, actually,” he says, holding up a pair of my briefs. He highlights the hole in them that has formed between the side and the elastic band by sticking his finger through it. Then points out that that’s not the only pair I have with the same problem.
“Fine. We can get me underwear.”
He pulls out his phone, types something in, then scrolls for a few beats before he presses down on the screen again. He ends by sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Okay, that’s done.”
“What’s done?”
“Getting you underwear.”
I stare at him, stone-faced. “Did you just Prime me new briefs?”
“Yes.” He smiles. “You can pay me back later.”
“So that’s how this is going to work?”
“Yes. That’s exactly how this is going to work.”
“Perfect. This is just what I’ve always wanted. Are you going to put my initials on the tag as well like my mother used to?”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but if that’s something you need, I guess I can pull out a Sharpie.”
“Or,” I say with a little force as my phone starts to ring on the bed where I left it, “you could let me handle my own shit. I’m not a baby, you know.”
“Tell that to the team.” He smirks, then snatches my phone off the bed. “It’s your brother. Do you want me to answer it?”
“You can if you want.”
“Will he think it’s weird if I answer?”
I look up at him. “It’s Ander. He’d find it more weird if we weren’t hanging out together.”
“That’s fair,” he says, then slides his finger across the screen. He places it on speaker then drops it into my lap.
“Dude. You are killing it!” Ander exclaims.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say, pulling more of my threadbare clothes out to put away.
“I would,” Ryan says as he grabs my toiletries and takes them into the adjoining bathroom.
“See!” Ander says. “Listen to Ryan. He’s smart.”
“Thank you, Ander,” Ryan says as he saunters back in from the bathroom. He steps into his closet and starts moving his shoes around to make more space on the shelves.
“But seriously, Brandon,” Ander says. “You’re doing great. You too, Ryan. The playoff run the Mules are on is all anyone can talk about.”
“Everyone loves an underdog,” Ryan says.
“I think it’s fair to say that you guys are no longer the underdogs.”
“That’s all thanks to your baby brother,” Ryan says and ruffles my hair from above.
I look up at him and glare while my brother laughs on the other end of the phone call.
“I’ve been telling people for ages how silky his mitts are. Now they’re all anybody can talk about.”
I roll my eyes. Ander, as always, is exaggerating. It’s what he does. “I highly doubt anyone is talking about my silky anything.”
Ryan leans over. He slides his hand between my thighs and whispers into my ear. “Yeah. That’s my job.”
I choke on my laugh and playfully push him away. “You know better than anyone I do not wear silk.”
“That’s true,” Ander says. “You’ve always been more of a cotton guy.”
Ryan and I share a look and start laughing. I didn’t realize I had said that loud enough for Ander to hear me.
“Ander,” Ryan says through his laughter, “why do you know so much about your brother’s underwear?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know, too,” Ander says. “You’re his road roommate. You know what he’s like. He leaves his worn clothes everywhere.”
“I do not!” I protest.
Ryan tilts his head. “You kind of do.”
I glare at him again.
He shrugs in his defense, then grabs my dress shoes and places them onto an empty shelf. I’m unexpectedly charmed by his efforts. My glare slips away.
“So what’s up?” I ask Ander. “Why’d you call?”
“I wanted to see if you were watching the game right now.”
“Which one?” I ask. There are two going on. Carolina vs Montreal, and Seattle vs Dallas.
I look up at Ryan, but he avoids my gaze. Instead, he focuses intently on finding a place for my Mules hoodie. Odd.
“Steers vs Squatch,” Ander says.
“No,” I say. “We’re busy at the moment.”
“Doing what?” Ander asks, like there’s nothing else in the world we should be doing other than watching the game. We probably should be watching. If Dallas wins tonight, we’ll be playing them in the next round. But like I said, Ryan and I are a bit busy.
“Just… we’re busy,” I say, stumbling over my words.
Ryan pauses unpacking my clothes and looks over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow. “Real smooth.”
I flip him my middle finger.
“Fine. Be weirdos,” Ander says. “But you should be watching. Unless Seattle pulls off a miracle, you guys will be facing Dallas starting next week.”
“Great,” Ryan says dryly and drops his chin to his chest. I watch as he brings his hands to his head and rubs his palms harshly against his cheeks.
When he pulls his hands away, he rolls his shoulders, then goes back to looking like his normal, devil-may-care self as he unpacks my bag. Something doesn’t feel right in my gut.