The Nature of the Game (Stick Side Book 2), page 15
His life had become a circus, and all he could do was hold on for the ride of a lifetime.
“I’ve been thinking about it the past few days,” Alex said, his own ball cap shading his face. “Coming out. I feel like I’m letting you down by staying closeted to the public.”
“What? Dude, no. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But don’t you dare do anything you’re not ready for. I know you’ve got my back.”
Leaning forward, Alex braced his elbows on his knees, coffee cup cradled in both hands. “If it was just me, I’d consider it more seriously. But it’s Mitch too.”
“I get it.” Ash squeezed Alex’s shoulder.
Alex squinted at him. “You sure there isn’t anything else you want to talk about?”
“Other than the public exhibit my life has become and possible hurricane damage?”
“You tell me.”
Ash glanced at the display board again. Sixteen minutes until boarding. “I’m gonna get some snacks for the flight,” he said, standing.
“Uh-huh.”
Taking his coffee with him, he found a convenience store not far from his departure gate and perused the snack options. The snack options that could rob people of their livelihoods. Jesus. Five ninety-five for a tiny bag of crackers? Four fifty for a two-pack of Oreos? Airports were thieves. Who’d be that desperate for snacks?
Hungry travelers, that was who. Ash grabbed a few packs of crackers and cookies, a couple bottles of water (four dollars each!), then wandered aimlessly through the souvenir aisle. He poked at jugs of maple syrup that cost more than his snack loot combined. Upended plastic snow globes with cows or covered bridges inside. Crouched to peer at keychains in the shape of the state. Tried on a couple of zip-up hoodies with Vermont stitched across the front, both of which were too snug in the shoulders. There were pens, mugs, maple candy, T-shirts, coasters, teddy bears, hats, posters. All Vermont-branded and many in various shades of green.
He glanced at his watch. Eleven minutes until boarding.
Not that boarding would deter Alex from asking his questions—they were sitting next to each other on the flight—but the distance gave Ash time to figure out how to tell Alex about Dan without telling Alex about Dan.
Ash didn’t have any intention of telling anyone about Dan. He liked having Dan all to himself. As if Dan belonged to him, a secret gift Ash didn’t want to share with anyone else. Not that Dan belonged to him now, but he had, once. Just like Ash had belonged to Dan.
They’d belonged to each other.
Maybe it was a stupid thought. People weren’t possessions, and that wasn’t at all how he meant it. Dan wasn’t a thing Ash had owned. They’d just fit so well together, had complimented each other like nothing Ash had ever experienced before, and belong was the best word he could find to describe their relationship.
Leaving the souvenirs behind, he paid for his snacks with seven minutes to go until boarding, and strolled back to his gate leisurely, sipping his coffee and trying to ignore how every man he saw reminded him of Dan.
Wait.
“Dan?”
Because that was Dan striding toward him, the corners of his mouth tipped upward uncertainly, wheeling a small, hard shell carry-on behind him. Dark, fitted jeans hugged his legs, and the collar of a white shirt peeked out of the neck of a light blue sweater. The whole outfit, topped with a royal blue blazer, was very men’s fashion magazine.
Damn, he looked good.
“Are you heading back to New York today?” he asked when Dan stopped in front of him, smelling like some kind of masculine aftershave and coffee.
Dan threw his shoulders back. “I’m coming to Tampa with you.”
“You’re—Why?”
“If you think I’m going to let you face the potential damage to your home alone, you’re crazy.”
Suddenly, the veil smothering Ash’s morning lifted, and the gray dogging his mood was replaced with bright fluorescents and pale pastels.
It really could have been worse.
There wasn’t any storm surge damage, for one—there’d been flooding in plenty of areas, but not Ash’s neighborhood. He’d lost some siding, but that was covered by his landlord’s insurance, apparently. Chunks of drain pipe stuck out at odd angles, and other sections appeared to be missing entirely. The windows were all still intact thanks to the storm shutters and the extra plywood he’d hammered on top of them. His door hadn’t been blown in.
His yard, however, was another story entirely. It looked liked a child had played with a backhoe. Luckily, the stone outdoor cooking area was still in one piece, although the heavy piece of what was possibly rebar or a lamp post would be difficult to remove from where it rested half on the cooking area and half on the grass. All but one massive, sturdy tree had either been uprooted or snapped in half. And he was pretty sure that was siding off of someone else’s house wedged against the fence.
It really, really could have been worse.
On the other hand, his hometown was a disaster.
He’d white-knuckled the drive home from the enclosed parking garage he’d parked his SUV in before leaving, taking backroads and side roads that added almost an hour to an otherwise short trip home, avoiding flooded zones, areas with downed power lines, and others where trees blocked the way. Some homes had fared worse than others, just like some neighborhoods had fared better. Ash honestly didn’t want to know what it looked like closer to the ocean.
Driving home had been disheartening, and Dan’s muttered “Jesus Christ” from the passenger seat as they passed a demolished and flooded trailer park summed up Ash’s feelings perfectly.
Extreme weather fucking sucked.
Why were they even playing in this city so soon after the storm? Roads were impassable, power was still out in some areas, and thousands had probably lost their homes. Nobody was thinking about hockey right now. Yeah, yeah, the game must go on and all that shit, but they should’ve played elsewhere until the city had time to recover.
Dan sidled up next to him, hands in his pockets, and they gazed out the sliding back door together. “Where do you want to start?” he asked.
“Good question.” Ash contemplated the backyard again; the mess was so daunting that he turned his back on it and surveyed his apartment instead. With half his stuff in storage on the sixth floor and his large furniture clustered in the middle of the living room and covered in tarps, his place felt oddly barren and disorganized.
Something off must’ve been written on his face, because Dan took one look at him and announced, “We’ll start with lunch.”
So they started with lunch.
Down the street from his building was an Irish pub—or maybe English or Scottish. With a name like The Tavern on the Bay it was hard to tell. Not that it mattered; Ash knew the important stuff, like that they had the best fish and chips in the city and spicy chicken quesadillas with extra spice that made his mouth water and his heart burn just thinking about them. A dozen customers sat at the tables on the covered patio, most in business attire.
One lone asshole in a pair of cut-off shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt sat in the far corner of the patio, as far away as he could get from everyone else, reading a book and smoking a cigarette. His slouched posture told everyone louder than words to leave him alone. He blew smoke over his shoulder, in the direction of the street.
“That shit’ll kill you,” Ash said as he walked by, tapping the No smoking within 10 feet of this building sign bolted to the brick above Kinsey’s head.
Kinsey gave him the finger without looking up.
“That’s just Kinsey,” Ash explained at Dan’s eyebrow raise. He held the door open and waved Dan inside.
“Yeah, I recognize him. Didn’t realize he was so . . . standoffish.”
“Kinsey’s an asshole.” They might play for the same team, but they weren’t friends. Kinsey didn’t appear to have friends. In fact, they were so not-friends that Ash constantly forgot that they lived in the same neighborhood. “He lives a couple of blocks that way.” Ash waved vaguely east and chose a four-seater table away from the window, away from Kinsey’s pierced face and tattooed arms and general scowliness.
“Maybe he’s just misunderstood.”
Ash squinted disbelievingly at Dan and handed him a menu from between the salt and pepper shakers. “Or maybe he’s just an asshole.”
“You could try getting to know him.”
“Give me some credit. I’ve tried. We’ve all tried. But if the conversation isn’t about hockey, Kinsey doesn’t say much. And when he does, it’s with grunts and glares.”
Dan still wasn’t convinced about Kinsey’s assholishness, it seemed. He leaned sideways, trying to see out the window.
Ash sighed and tried again. “He got his secret Santa a gift card to the grocery store last year.”
“You say that like it’s a bad gift.”
“Dude. It’s a gift card. To the grocery store.”
“Okay?” Dan’s brow pinched. “Everybody needs to eat, though. How is that a bad gift?”
Ash didn’t have anything to say to that except a mumbled, “He didn’t put any thought into it.”
“How do you know? Maybe food is important to him.”
A rebuttal sat on the tip of Ash’s tongue, but he remembered the plate on Kinsey’s table—not a crumb left on it. And he remembered every event they’d attended together, the buffet-style ones specifically—Kinsey piling his plate high with as much food as it could hold, inhaling it all like it’d rot if he didn’t get to it fast enough.
Huh. Dan might be on to something. But—
“He’s still an asshole.”
Dan was laughing at him. “Plays good hockey, though.”
After lunch, they tackled Ash’s living room, moving the couches and coffee table back into position, the bed and dressers into the bedroom, the desk and office chair into the spare bedroom.
“I swear if I break my back on this,” Ash huffed as they carried a four-drawer dresser into the bedroom, muscles laboring, “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Me?” Dan huffed back at him. He’d changed out of his fashion magazine clothes and into shorts and a T-shirt, and his biceps strained again the black fabric. “It’s your stuff.” He grunted and sweat dampened his curls.
He probably had no idea how damn good he looked.
Distracted, Ash rammed his elbow into the bedroom doorjamb. “Ow, fuck.”
Speaking of fuck, with Dan’s hair clinging to his forehead and his mouth open as he breathed roughly and the sweat dripping down his temple and—
“Ow, fuck.” That was his heel hitting the doorjamb now.
“Are you even paying attention?”
They were both flushed with heat despite the air conditioning and irritable despite the full bellies.
“Fuck you,” Ash grumbled.
“Fuck you,” Dan retorted. “Watch the bedpost! Seriously, it’s like you forgot where everything is in your own home.”
“Stop for a sec. I need to reposition my hand.”
The glare on Dan’s face would kill a lesser man. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“There. Done.” God, his fingers ached. He had practice in a couple of hours too. How was he supposed to hold his stick?
His stick. He chuckled to himself. Likely he wouldn’t be able to hold that stick either. Oh well. He could go a day without a jerk off in the shower, right?
He glanced again at Dan.
Then again, maybe not.
“How did you get this out there by yourself in the first place?” Dan asked.
“Adrenaline?” Finally they made it to the other side of the room. “Bend with your knees.”
“No shit, genius.”
The dresser finally back in its original spot against the wall perpendicular to the bed, they straightened with groans and creaking knees, stretching their fingers out.
“God.” Dan flopped onto the bed, arms akimbo, legs hanging over the end, and blinked at the ceiling. “Everything hurts.”
Ash collapsed next to him. “Thanks for the help.” Thanks for being here. Facing the semi destruction of his hometown was somehow less unsettling with Dan here. He still couldn’t believe that Dan had come. Out of his own free will. To be here for Ash, he’d said.
“We’ll tackle your backyard tomorrow.”
“Don’t you have to work?” Dan had told him on the flight over that he still had to check in with his boss every once in a while.
Dan gave a low grunt. “I’ll get some work done in the morning,” he said, his words slurring, “and come back in the afternoon to help. ’S why I’m here anyway.”
“Is it?”
“Mm.”
Why was Dan really here? As friendly support, like he’d said? Some other reason? Was he expecting something from Ash? At the airport this morning, he’d told Alex that he was heading to Tampa to try out Westlake’s office, the one in Burlington having not worked out for him. Alex had eyed them both shrewdly and muttered an unconvinced, “Uh-huh.”
They were clearly not fooling Alex. It was anybody’s guess why he hadn’t called them on it yet. Or what had given them away.
Ash exhaled and inched his hand closer to Dan’s where it lay on the bed. Dan’s shoulder was warm against his, and Ash swore he could almost feel Dan’s leg hairs from where their legs dangled closely—but not touching—off the end of the bed. His hair was a golden crown spread out around him, and with his eyes closed he—
He looked like he belonged in Ash’s bed.
Ash nudged him with an elbow. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”
“I want a milkshake,” Dan declared, apropos of nothing.
“I don’t have any ice cream.”
Dan’s sigh was hugely fake. “Such a disappointment.”
For some reason, that set them both off, sniggers turning into full belly laughs. A release of tension Ash hadn’t known he was carrying.
“Seriously, though,” Dan said after they’d caught their breath. “I could nap. I think the fish and chips made me lethargic.”
“Deep fried foods’ll do that.”
Dan crab walked up the bed, then fell onto it once again, this time with his head on a pillow. “I think I am gonna take a nap.”
Ash tilted his head back and regarded him upside down. “I wanna nap too.”
Dan patted the empty spot next to him as if it was his bed, not Ash’s.
“Can’t,” Ash said with a sigh. “Got practice in a couple of hours, and given how much time it took us to get here from the airport, I should probably leave now to give myself enough time to get there. I can drop you off at your hotel on the way. Dan?”
Dan was already asleep. His chest rose and fell gently. He lay on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other outstretched, palm out. Beckoning Ash to join him.
And Ash wanted to. He really, really wanted to. And if he didn’t have to leave, he might’ve caved. Might’ve sprawled right there next to Dan, face-to-face. Breathing the same air. Sharing a pillow.
His heart went soft and liquid. Shifting onto his side, he reached a hand up to hook a pinky around Dan’s while Dan slept. He wished there was a way that Dan could stay here forever.
But wishing for Dan was like wishing for a new contract with his club. Pointless.
Ash spent the entire practice being scrutinized by Alex. Actually, he spent the time before that being scrutinized by Alex, and the time after. It was annoying.
“You’re annoying,” he told Alex.
“I’m just standing here,” Alex said from where he stood in front of his cubby next to Ash’s, towel around his waist, chest and hair still wet from his shower.
“Standing there probing me with your mind.”
Alex made a face.
“Yeah, I heard how that sounded too,” Ash said with a wince. “If you have something to say to me, just say it.”
“Nah.” Alex stepped into boxer briefs with a grin. “Don’t want to spoil your pleasure at eventually telling me.”
“Telling you what?”
“You know what.”
So annoying. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Because you’re either delusional or in denial. I’m going with denial.”
“I’m not in denial—”
“Everybody listen up for a second!” That was Coach Ness’s deep voice thundering through the locker room, the door swinging shut behind him. “I’ve got an announcement from Bridget Snyder, and I need you all to pay attention.” Bridget was their community and outreach coordinator. She was efficient, smart, recently graduated, and completely tongue-tied in front of any of the guys on the team. It was sweet in an adorable sister kind of way.
“We just heard from Teri at Try Out,” Coach Ness said. “Sadly, the center was badly hit by the hurricane and won’t be able to reopen for the kids until it’s rebuilt, and that . . .” He blew out a hard breath. “That could take some time. They need to dip into the reserve emergency fund, but they need approval from the board to do that first, and as you can imagine, the board is, for the most part, still out of town.”
Damn. If the center had been destroyed, where were the kids supposed to go?
Ash stepped forward. “How can we help, Coach?”
Coach Ness said, “They need donations, and they need volunteers. Whatever you can do yourselves, whichever of your sponsors, fans, social media followers, and friends you can lean on . . . Do it. The more people who know about this, the better. Thanks guys.” He rapped once on the door before pulling it open. “See you tomorrow.”
“Want to head over?” Ash asked Alex.
“Definitely.”
He followed Alex out of the locker room, through the maze of Amalie Arena’s hallways, and out to the parking garage. Once at his car, he leaned back against the driver’s side door and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Alex, possibly sensing Ash’s need to talk, joined him.
“What’s up?” Alex asked.
And Ash blurted, “Dan and I used to be together,” without thinking too much about it. Because he was tired of keeping it to himself. Because he wanted someone to talk to, someone removed from the situation who might see it more clearly. Because he could trust Alex not to judge him or lie to him.
