by RJ Scott
Because Stan had seen me crack tonight, had seen me lose control, and he knew, just like everyone else, that I was close to the edge.
Management had wanted to know if I was emotionally available for my work. Coach Benning had wanted to know if I wanted him to bench me until Ten came home while assuring me that this wasn’t a bad thing at all. Jamie had phoned right after Ten and I had ended the call, wanting to know how his brother was, right at the moment I was at my most raw. Then Brady had cornered me before tonight’s game against Boston, which we’d lost miserably, and had talked at me for at least thirty minutes.
You should be with him in Arizona. No. You shouldn’t be with him in Arizona. Why is he in Arizona? I’m his big brother. I should be with him in Arizona. Are you sure you should still be working?
I’d managed to calm him down, convinced him yet again, that Ten was in the right place and that no, Ten didn’t need his older brother there with him right now. And as for the comment about whether I should be working? I reassured him, gently and oh-so controlled, that this was my job and that I could do nothing for Ten if I smothered him. When I’d added that family was not allowed at the facility long term, he’d finally subsided and hugged me so hard that I swore I had bruised ribs.
When I’d checked my phone after the game and saw another missed call from Jamie and two from Ten’s mom and dad, that was the straw that had broken the camel’s back.
I was done with being the person everyone went to when they were worried about Ten. I couldn’t be that man anymore and do my job and worry about my boyfriend all at the same time.
“We need to talk to Coach Madsen.” I recognized Arvy’s voice, determined and forceful. Which anyone would be when faced with an angry Russian gatekeeper. Given he used the word we, I assumed Westy was with him.
“Both go far away,” Stan growled at them.
I could imagine the line of people waiting to talk to Jared Madsen, fucked-up defense coach and all around son of a bitch. I pictured Brady and Jamie, with their parents waiting for me to have all the answers. Right behind them would be team management not knowing what the hell to say to me. Coach Benning nodding with thin lips, and then right at the back, after all the responsibilities and people wanting a piece of me, was Ten. He’d wait patiently for me to deal with everyone, and then he’d take my hand and tell me everything was going to be okay.
But everything wasn’t okay and hiding in my office wasn’t going to get things done.
I flung my door open, Stan falling back in, with a round ”O” of surprise. I pointed at him.
“You first,” I said to Stan and motioned Arvy and Westy to stand and wait. Stan scrambled to rise, and I realized Erik was with him, appearing serious and nervous at the same time. “You as well,” I said to Erik and waited until they were both in and the door was shut.
“I tried to stop him from being a gatekeeper.”
“No one will move through me.”
They spoke over each other. Stan only stopped when Erik took his hand and laced their fingers.
I swallowed my fears and began to deal with everything I needed to cross off the list.
“Thank you, Stan, for listening to me rant, for watching me lose my shit, and not calling me on it.”
The big Russian nodded. “For Ten,” he said.
That was it in a nutshell. Everyone wanted to protect me because of their love for Ten when actually maybe they should’ve been calling me on my lack of social skills, inability to coach effectively, and the loose hold I had on my temper. I turned to Erik.
“Erik, please take Stan home. I need to talk to Arvy and Westy, and I can handle it from here.”
Stan didn’t want to move, but Erik finally tugged him away, and when they’d left, I called in Arvy and Westy. They were both taller than me and wider than me, but they seemed so small standing there with sheepish expressions, and that was my fault. I’d done this to them.
“This stops now,” I began, and both defenders nodded miserably. “Not you. This isn’t entirely on you. I’ve dropped the ball, and what happened tonight shouldn’t happen. Arvy, you keep your head up and stick to the plan, Westy, you stay at the net. Don’t fuck with what we’d worked on before Ten got injured. You’re my two best D-Men, and you were out there on the ice like two preschoolers squabbling over that puck.”
“Coach—”
“I’m not backing you up like I should.”
Arvy cleared his throat, but it was Westy who finally spoke for them both. “We know it’s hard for you right now,” was all he said. “It’s okay—”
“No, it’s far from okay,” I interrupted. “I owe you both an apology. Now, I’ll see you at practice in the morning. Get in early. We’re working on speed drills, and you can stop being so damn nice to me and go back to hating me.”
That was me laying it on the line. Everyone wanted to help me, to be gentle with me when actually I needed players to kick me in the ass and make me work.
Westy nodded and backed toward the door. Arvy turned and probably ran before I added more training to the schedule. I left the door open, and sure enough, Coach Benning arrived just after they’d left.
“Jared?” he asked from the door, and I faced up to him.
“Shout at me, fine me, push me to work thirty-hour days, ream me out for doing a fucking shit job. I want this back to normal before the Railers end up bottom of the fucking table, but don’t take me off my team.”
I sounded desperate, even to my own ears, and he winced. He’d been just as guilty of letting things ride with me, but it reflected on him. What kind of coach was he if he couldn’t corral his D-men or his defensive coach? He must’ve been as sick as me of hearing people excuse the Railers because of what had happened to Ten.
He pulled his shoulders back and stared at me. “Pull your head out of your fucking ass, Madsen. Get the job done.”
Then he turned on his heel and left. For the first time in a long while, ever since that night Ten had fallen to the ice, I felt as though maybe I had some control. I just had one more thing to do. I closed my office door, Facetimed Ten’s parents, added Brady, who was in a local hotel, and then tried to connect with Jamie as well. Only when they were all there, Jamie sweating straight from a game, did I begin.
“Guys, I have one thing to say. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the person you talk to for hours. I don’t know much more than you do, and if I hear anything from Ten that I think you need to know about, I will call you or text you, but I need to concentrate on my work. I need to concentrate on Ten, and I can’t do it all.”
Ten’s family loved me, after the initial punch-up I’d had with Brady, anyway, and all of them appeared shocked at the bluntness of my words. I almost backed down at that moment, but the exhaustion that followed me everywhere wasn’t enough for me to do that. Yet.
“We’re sorry,” Jamie said when no one else spoke. “We’re just…”
“Scared,” his mom finished, and she was crying. “And we love you, and you’re in so much pain, Jared.”
I had to make them see what I was feeling. “I need to be strong. I have to carry on so that when Ten comes home, he just sees that we kept going for him. Am I wrong in wanting that?”
The vulnerability slipped out without me wanting it to.
I saw Brady wince. “No, bud,” he said, “we all want that, and it’s wrong we dump all our fears on you. We get that, and we’ll fix it.”
Sudden fear gripped me, I didn’t want them to exclude me in their worry or treat me as if I wasn’t family. I needed them as much as they needed me, only I wanted it to be more level.
“Don’t leave me, though.”
Jesus, I sounded so needy.
“We wouldn’t,” Ten’s mom said.
“Never,” his dad added.
Brady continued “You’re family, Mads, and you’re a good man. I’m glad you told us, and I’m sorry about tonight.”
Jamie sighed noisily. “I might have known it was you, Br
ady. What did you do?”
“Fuck off, Jamie. I just talked to Mads about Ten.”
“Tell me you didn’t go all woe is me on Jared.”
“None of your business, little brother,” Brady snapped.
“You’re an asshole,” Jamie gave back as good as he got.
“For goodness’ sake, boys,” Ten’s mom interjected. Jamie and Brady stopped. “Jared, you’re right. We should all be here for each other, not just rely on dumping everything on you. Ten will come back to us at Christmas, a different man. He’ll be back on his skates in the spring and fighting the playoffs in the summer. I guarantee it.”
Everyone murmured their agreement, even if none of us was entirely convinced this was true. When the call ended, I felt lighter, and by the time I left the arena, I felt as if, maybe, I could be the strong one Ten needed if I didn’t have to be strong for everyone else.
The three days between the shit game with Boston and our next game in LA were more like normal. I worked the D-Corp hard, and they gave me one hundred and ten percent. I focused on the work, tried to ignore the pit of grief that permanently resided inside me, and when our plane touched down in sunny California, I felt a win in my bones.
“Coach Madsen?”
Our GM, Dawson Brown, stopped me as I picked up the key card for my room from Layton Foxx. Layton was covering for our social director, who was currently back home with food poisoning. I was the last of the staff to get my key before he moved on to the players’ allocations.
Dawson waited for me to get the card, but he didn’t say anything except my name. When he moved away though he gestured for me to follow, and dread flooded me. I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and followed him down a long corridor to a small room. He shut the door behind me, and we were alone. Just me and the man who paid my salary.
“Sir?” I inquired as politely as I could despite the fact my heart was racing faster than I thought possible.
“This is an important game,” he began.
No shit, it was important. Of the games since Ten’s accident, we’d lost half of them. Not lost in overtime, but lost miserably. The team’s cohesion was skewed, but in the last few days, the spark was back. I could see it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Young James, we’re negotiating three years. Thoughts?”
I had to put the name James in context. James Sato-West, Westy, pulled up from the minors to replace Max Van Hellren, a good guy, focused, fast, and not at all fucked up from me taking my eye off the ball. I’d never been asked by the GM before about contract negotiations. That wasn’t my area of expertise, but I sensed there was something happening here.
“Strong, offensively as well as defensively, works hard, scrappy, focused.” I gave all the words I thought he wanted to hear, but something in his expression told me that it wasn’t what he needed. Westy had been the one to suffer for me fucking things up, and maybe they were hesitating because he wasn’t shining as much as he could. “I fucked up with him,” I admitted and winced at the cursing I used. The GM’s eyes widened. “Don’t lose him because of what I did or didn’t do.”
Dawson nodded. “Thank you, Jared.”
The weird meeting was over, and he opened the door to find nearly the whole Railers team in the small corridor outside. Did they think I was being canned? They stared at me, then the GM, then back at me. The comically choreographed move made me want to laugh. I loved this team and laughter welled inside me. Not hysterical laughter, but real affection and a smile to match. I hid it well.
“You all realize you’re cutting into downtime,” I said instead. “This is an afternoon game. Bus to the arena is in one hour precisely. Get the hell gone.”
There was a moment of silence, and then everyone moved away, even Stan who had been glaring at the GM and still threw a warning glance over his shoulder. God save me from Russians who “know people”.
“Nice to see the respect,” the GM said and began to leave. Then as if he’d forgotten something, he stopped and turned to me. “The jet is fueled and waiting to fly to Arizona after the game. We need you back by tomorrow midmorning. Layton has the details.”
I couldn’t move, rooted to the spot. The Railers jet was going to take me to see Ten? I wanted to say thank you, but by the time I got my head around what I’d just been told, he was gone.
We won the game against LA. I wish I could say it was easy, but it wasn’t. The hockey was intense, but the Railers were fierce, and we took our first road win in a long time. I barely had time to shower and dress before the car arrived to take me to the jet. Flying to Tucson Airport, I was at the Draper Center in no time. I wanted to touch Ten so badly. Needed to see him as I needed air.
Ten had texted his congratulations on the win, added a smiley face, but that had been the extent of our interaction, and he wouldn’t have expected more after all the postgame shit the teams needed to wade through. He didn’t know I was in Arizona. Hell, he didn’t know I was outside the gate.
My cell vibrated, and I checked the screen. Ten. I answered immediately.
“Hey,” he said, sounding tired. “Great uhmm…”
“Game,” I finished for him, even though I knew I shouldn’t. The staff here had told me I needed to let him think for himself, to grow those connections, but I was so excited to see him I couldn’t help myself.
“Yeah, game.” He sighed. “Are you in your hotel room now?”
“Not exactly,” I said and began to walk toward reception. “What are you doing?”
“Dinner, it was… good. Talking. Tired now. Going back to the room.”
I reached the door and pressed the security button. “There’s something for you in reception,” I told him.
“You sent me… uhm… something… a present?”
I hated the way he stumbled over the words, wanted him to be able to talk for real. Not long. If anyone can fight this, it’s my Ten.
“Yeah, go to reception, and you’ll see it.”
Security let me in, and I stood by the front desk, and I waited.
Ten
I rubbed my eyes with the tips of my fingers, just in case this was a medication-induced mirage. Mads looked up, our eyes met, and that loving smile tugged on his lips. Hell, this was no dream.
“Tennant,” he said, giving the receptionist at the desk a nod before walking to me. A chaste kiss was all I got, which was fine. The old gal behind the desk didn’t need to see two people swapping spit there in the lobby.
“Fuck, you feel good,” I whispered after I burrowed into his arms. “Miss you… a lot.”
He pressed his lips to my hair. “I miss you too. Come on, let’s find a place to talk.”
Excitement coursed through me. “I know… wait, I know… there’s a good place.”
“Then lead the way.” He released me.
I slid my hand into his. I tried to fill him in on my progress as we walked, but the words kept tangling up. Which made me frustrated, which made it harder to concentrate, which made me even madder. By the time we arrived at the solarium, I was pissed and totally tongue-tied, my thoughts ramming into each other like bumper cars. “Hey, look up here at me.”
He took my chin in his hand. “We have plenty of time. There’s no rush. Slow down.” He put his mouth on mine, his lips soft and warm.
My eyes fluttered downward, and I let his strength and calm seep into me. I wanted the kiss to deepen but knew it couldn’t. I wanted to take him to my room and have him wipe the past horrors from my mind, but that couldn’t happen either.
“Okay, yeah, I’m uhm… smooth now,” I whispered as I stared into his blue eyes.
He nodded, the very model of a man who had his shit totally together. If only I could have had one-tenth of his self-possession. Ever since the accident, I was borderline madman, prone to snapping at people for no good reason.
“Let’s look at the city.” He draped his arm around me and led me to a wall of windows. “Tell me about Tucson. Have you seen much of it yet?”
<
br /> “No, not much.” I let my screwy head rest on his shoulder. The smell of him and the familiar solidity of his body next to mine eased my tension. “We—me and Declan and uhm… his name is Heath something, played back when you were playing. Therapist took us to some park, walked around with us as if we were kindergarten students. Then, we came back and made macaroni art. I shit you… not. Really, arts and crafts.”
I snickered, and so did he. “I love macaroni art. Ryker made me hundreds. I might still have them packed away somewhere.”
“Ten grand a day and we’re gluing… ziti to cardboard.”
“I’m sure they’re doing more than arts and crafts for you. Is that the Raptors Arena?”
I followed the direction he was pointing. “Yeah, Raptors home ice.”
“You look angry.”
“Well, yeah, he’s there, sitting in a box watching the game. F… fucker.”
“Hey, no anger. Relax,” he cooed, pulling me tighter to his side.
I did a little relaxation-type breathing. Julie, my therapist, had mentioned that adrenalin and I seemed to be at odds with each other. The angrier or more excited I got, the less focus I could apply to speaking well. And I could see that now that she’d pointed it out.
“People say I should press charges. Brady, Jamie, my folks… say it. Should I?” I looked up at him. Standing there, with the overhead lights, he was super tense and tired. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper. “You okay?”
He kissed my nose. “The last thing you need to be worrying about is me. I’m fine. Some jet lag is all. As to the question of pressing charges, I can’t make that decision. What I would like you to concentrate on now is getting healthy. Legal matters can wait if you decide to proceed in that manner. Focus and courage.”
“Courage… an indefinable quality that makes a man put out that extra something when it seems… there is nothing else to give.”
