by R J Scott
“Nah, Brady had that as a poster on his wall. You saying be courageous, that reminded me of it.”
“Mm, it’s a fine quote from an amazing man. Also, you’re smooth now.”
I took a second and thought, then nodded. “Calm helps. Nothing calms me more than being in your arms.”
He inhaled and exhaled, his big chest expanding. “Same here.”
I tipped my head up for a kiss, and Mads, well, he never could resist my needy smooch face. His lashes fell to his cheeks, and his lips moved over mine. Small kisses, tender things that would have led us to something smoldering if we were home. Sadly, we weren’t home. We were in Arizona, at the brain place, and he would be leaving soon.
“Ten, you still up for checkers or—Oh damn! Sorry, man.”
Jared and I both started. Pulling back and turning, I saw Declan in the doorway, the box of checkers under his arm.
“No, hey, it’s all good.” I wiggled free, smiling, and took Jared’s big mitt in mine. “Mads, this is Declan Fidler, cornerback for the Temple Owls football team. Dec, this is my boyfriend, Jared Madsen.”
The two big men shook hands. Jared looked a little puzzled, but I chalked that up to fucking life in general right now. I mean, I was puzzled all the damn time, too.
“Nice to meet you, Coach Madsen. I didn’t know you had company, T. We’ve kind of been hanging out on our downtime,” Declan explained, shifting the checkers box from one arm to the other. “Place is packed full of old jocks.”
“Right? Like, at least I can mention… Arctic Monkeys to you and not have you think I’m talking about Mickey Dolenz in Siberia.”
Declan chuckled, and we did this funky little fist rap thing that we’d come up with. “I’ll leave you to have some time. Nice to meet you, Coach Madsen. T, drop by when you can, and we’ll set up the board. I got some new SZA for us.”
“Cool, I’m…” The wheels slipped a bit. “Down. Down with that.” Another fist rap routine and Dec was off. “He’s cool. Plays Pokémon Go with me. Great laugh. Totally same musical tastes. Sucks at checkers, though.”
“He seems like a nice kid,” Mads replied, his expression hard to read. “Let’s sit. I need to plant my saggy old ass somewhere.”
I patted his ass as we made our way to a taupe sofa. “Not so saggy yet.”
“Feels like it’s dragging on the ground behind me,” he replied, then sighed deeply when he dropped to the couch.
I sat beside him. The AC was blowing down on the back of my neck. I’d have to move soon or risk a sinus headache. I was trying my best to avoid any kind of headache trigger, which meant no sun without shades, no tiny detailed reading, healthy diet, lots of water, letting my PT crew know when I felt the creeping poke of pain inside my head blossom. Things had been pretty good the past few days, and I was assured that I would, indeed, continue to improve as long as I followed the regimen.
“Did you nod off?”
I jerked back to Mads. “Oh, no, I just… drifted. I’m so tired. Like… mentally you know, exhausted. They put me into this seat today that spins you in all different directions. Totally NASA astronaut training kind of crap, right? Then… they measured brain waves and pupil dilation, and I do not know what the hell else.”
“Good, I’m glad they’re doing all they can for you. It’s a world-class staff.” He slipped his fingers into my hair, his expression wistful. “You’re the single most important thing in this world to me right after Ryker. I just… well, if you hadn’t been okay, I just…” His fingers drifted down from my hair to trace the bandage on my neck.
“Hey, dude, my man, you’re not being a… cheery visitor here.”
“Christ, yes, I’m sorry. I’m in that mentally exhausted boat with you.” He stroked my face, his gaze searching mine. “I just wanted you to know how much I love you, Tennant. You’re the reason I wake up with a smile, the reason I go to bed fulfilled, the reason that I am the man I am now.”
“I love you wicked mad,” I whispered, putting my lips to his just one time, then nestling into him to watch the winking, blinking city be a backdrop for the winking, blinking lights on a freaking cactus in a pot the size of a dorm fridge. “Is there snow in Harrisburg?”
“A little,” he replied, his words warm puffs on my scalp.
“Good.” Sure, I was a Southern boy and froze all winter long, but my life was now in the North, where there were fir trees in the corner, not cacti. There was just something majorly wrong with stuffed Santas hanging off a cactus.
“I’m looking forward to you being home for the two weeks.”
“Mm, yeah, me too. I don’t have any presents for—”
“Stop. Focus on the happy and good and the healing. You’ll be home. That’s all that matters. Trust me, your family does not care if they don’t get a Far Side calendar from you this year. Just having you with us will be all the gift any of us need.”
He always knew just what to say to make me feel whole and loved.
Two days later, Dec and I were in line for the Raptors game. I had my black Jigglypuff cap pulled down low over my brow so that the folks in the Raptors jerseys didn’t recognize me. I was one of the crowd, nowhere near the team, but part of me needed to see the team again, get a feel for how much pain I still had inside me. Even if Aarni was still working out his suspension.
“T, are you sure this is a good idea?” Dec asked as we shuffled in through the front doors to wait for our turn to be wanded by security. “Place is going to be loud and bright, bud.”
“Yeah, it’s cool. I have shades and earplugs. I just… I need to be here.”
“Okay, but first sign of distress, we’re leaving.”
I gave him a thumbs-up, then moved along in line. We aced security and then made our way to the lower bowl. Seats here were cheap. I mean, like dirt cheap. Maybe sand cheap would have been more fitting. To say the Raptors were a team in disarray would have been putting it mildly. They were struggling to hold on to fourth place in their division. The vibe was not good in the press, lots of talk about major renovations over the summer. I prayed that the first thing that went was Aarni Lankinin. He wasn’t really human enough to be considered a person, so I categorized him as a thing, an it, a nasty sludge bucket who had humiliated and hurt Bryan Delaney in ways that a bruised brain and a couple of months of rehab could never compare to.
We paused at the top of the cement steps that led down into the lower bowl. I grabbed the cold metal rail, and I drew the smell of the rink into my lungs.
“Oh, God above, do you smell that?” I asked Dec.
“Yeah, smells like dinner.”
“Dude, no, not the onions and peppers, the ice. The crisp molecules of frozen water that float in the air and get drawn into your lungs. The tang of sweat and men and crowds.”
“Um, you want me to leave you and hockey alone for a while?”
That made me laugh. “Nah, I’m good. Only a semi-chub.”
“Ass. Hey, go find our seats. I’ll get us some food.”
I turned my head to look up at him. “Get something greasy. And a beer.”
“Nope, no beer. Meds.”
“Fuck my life,” I moaned. “Fine, soda then.”
We rapped knuckles, and I went down the stairs, taking it slow in case the brain checked out and I fell on my face. I’d done that the first day of CRT and wanted to die of embarrassment. My eyes had just tangled up as I was working on the stepper, and crack! down on my face I had gone. The docs had assured me such things were normal and would, over time, stop happening. Over time. Over time. I should maybe get that tattooed on my neck instead of the Rowe family lion.
We had choice seats, right by the glass behind the away net. The Raptors were playing Vegas tonight, and I loved the Vegas goalie. I snapped some shots of him warming up and sent them to Stan, who had a serious case of fangirl all over the team chat. Within ten minutes, everyone on the freaking team was on the chat, all talking at me at once. I promised them all that I was totally allowed t
o be here. I wasn’t in prison. I was free to come and go as I wished. Then I snapped some pics of Declan, and Adler just about creamed his shorts when he saw the famous collegiate football player.
Dec and I stuffed ourselves on Italian subs, onion rings, and giant cups full of foamy root beer. The music and lights gave me some issues, but not enough that I wanted to leave. I slid my shades on and protected my ears with tiny pink foam earplugs, and sat back and lost myself in the game. Dec didn’t know the game well, but he cheered every time Vegas scored, which was often because I’d filled him in on the Raptors and shitbag Aarni.
Ryker popped up in a separate chat, him and his new guy, Jacob, who was adorable, and then my man sent me a message. It included a photo of the Christmas tree that he’d hauled in. It was big and fat and green as shit, and according to Mads, it poked like a porcupine. Something about seeing him and that naked tree hit me in the gut. I should’ve been there with him, setting it up.
I’m not decorating it until you come home, Mads texted. We’ll do that together.
I was kind of emotional, so I took a fast selfie, personalized it with hearts and flying pink pigs and the tagline This is my love you face which got me a long pause before a reply came back.
Where are you?
Raptors game w D
Big, drawn-out silence between my text and the next incoming one.
Why are you there?
Hockey. Bored. Root Beer. Hockey.
Another long pause.
Don’t set yourself back, Tennant.
I won’t. I needed to be here, see the ice, smell the stink of it all. You know.
Yes, I do. Just… be careful.
I hit him back quickly. See you in two days. <3 U – T
Love you as well. I’ll dig out the ornaments. – J
The Vegas goalie made this outrageous save, and the crowd went wild. I winced at the noise, even with the plugs in my ears. I turned off my phone, feeling strange and out of sorts, and let the game take me to that place it always did. Out of myself and into oneness with the ice and the puck.
Jared
I’d had this idea of how Christmas would go since Ten and I had fallen in love. The Railers were at an away game in Vancouver on the twenty-second, then nothing until the twenty-seventh, when we had Florida visiting us. Five whole days, me and Ten, obviously interspersed with family time, but mostly it was going to be about the two of us. Everything was planned.
See, there was something really important supposed to happen Christmas Day. I had this whole montage going on in my head, delicately orchestrated and timed, to the nearest second. There we would be, surrounded by gifts, with coffee and Santa cookies, Christmas music on the iPod, and I would pretend that I had forgotten a gift. Nothing big, I would tell Ten. Nothing that he’d miss if I didn’t go and get it for him. He would tease me, demand his gift, and I would make him wait until kissing turned to more, and finally, I would get the gift from the drawer where it was hidden, and I would take it out and fall to one knee.
And ask Ten to marry me.
That was how it was supposed to go. I even had the music reaching a crescendo when he said yes.
But I didn’t know if that would happen now. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to ask him because I did more than anything. Only, I wanted it to be special. I wanted music and lighting and mood, and most of all I wanted Ten not to be battling a headache or be spaced out or a million of the other things he was fighting at the moment. I wanted his answer to be real and right, and I wanted the moment to be something he remembered for the rest of his life.
So, yeah, the proposal might not happen that way, but unless I had the rings, it wouldn’t be happening at all.
Which was why I was standing outside Rose’s jewelry shop, in the sleet and snow, staring at the door as if it had poison on the handle, and touching it would kill me. I slouched into my huge puffy coat even more, yanking at my beanie, cursing at the freezing air as it bit sharply at every sliver of bare skin. I’d allowed two hours for this visit. Parking, walking through the mall, maybe getting a coffee, holding on to that delicious feeling of anticipation that I knew I would feel. But I’d used up half of that time standing at various points outside, wondering why the hell everything had gone wrong for Ten. For me. For us. I cycled from selfish feelings to having hope to experiencing despair, and as if Mother Nature knew my thoughts, she was throwing every single icy dart to get me to move inside.
Finally, when I’d moved past selfish and onto acceptance, I pushed the door open and stood inside.
And I didn’t move.
The warmth burned those parts of my exposed skin that had frozen, my nose was running, my head pounding, and the garish lights on tiny trees assaulted my eyes. I nearly turned and ran.
Or at least I would have if I wasn’t stuck to the floor as if there was lead in my boots.
“Can I help you?” a short woman asked me. Her badge said her name was Alyssa. Her pretty name matched her perky nose, ready smile, and long, blonde, hair that formed an angelic cloud around her shoulders. She wore the requisite holiday holly in her curls, and in each ear she had a sparkling LED Santa flashing in a discordant rhythm that made me twitch.
I wish Ten was here. Then I listened to myself. Ten wouldn’t be here anyway. I’m picking up the damn rings. I don’t need Ten by my side in every difficult situation.
“Sir?” she asked again, and there was a small frown of concern right between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Do you want to sit down? Shall I take your coat? It’s wet through. Hang on.”
She vanished then, but I still didn’t move, and she was back in a flash with a mug. “Coffee, black, but we have cream. Would you like some cream? Sugar?”
All I could think at that moment was that the coffee was hot and I was way past cold.
“You should take off your coat,” she said when I didn’t answer and held on to the lifesaving caffeine as a hostage until I unzipped my jacket, which took forever with frozen fingers.
I’d seen Ten struggle with zips and buttons. Apparently his fine motor skills were, for want of a better word, bruised. Or at least all the nerves and synapses were bruised. I listened to the experts explain that, but I’d never understood. Not until that moment when my fingers scrambled to get the right hold.
“Cream, please,” I said. Anything to get her away from me so she didn’t watch me act like a freaking idiot.
She disappeared again, and by the time she was back, I was out of my coat, gloves, hat, semi-solid iced-over scarf, and stood just in my jeans and my Railers hoodie.
She handed me the coffee and second-looked the logo on the front of my hoodie and then up at my face.
“Oh my,” she announced. “Coach Madsen.” She held out a hand. “I am a huge Railers fan, the biggest.”
I shook it as best I could, my skin prickling and numb in different places. I waited for her to make connections and for the sympathy that was being thrown at me from all sides.
God, listen to me. People just care, okay. You’re a fucking idiot, Madsen.
It was just so painful to be the focus of attention when all I wanted to do was get the job done on the ice. I steeled myself for the usual, but she didn’t go there at all, at least not all the way through to stammering and not knowing where to look.
“I’m so excited to see Ten back on the ice,” she began, then dragged a chair out from the corner. “Have a seat. I loved the way you paired Arvy and Luka or at least, I know you don’t have the final say, but we are so forwards-heavy, and sometimes it isn’t all about the forwards, you know. I mean, flashy goal scoring is one thing, but when you have leaks in front of the net like the Boston game, then it doesn’t matter what Stan does. He’ll never be able to stop them all.”
She pulled the other chair over and sat opposite me as if she had all the time in the day to talk to a half-frozen defensive coach.
“But Andrew, he’s my husband, he’s a Boston fan, so he loved that they shot us down so badly.
” She laughed then. “Of course, with all the money tied up at the front, the D is going to suffer, so I like that you’re working to bring guys up from the Rush. Have you seen Taz play recently? He’s on fire.”
“Sorry about the Boston game,” I offered because that defensive mess was on me. I know I’d taken care of it, but to hear all of this from a fan, that was pretty damn cool. The pairs had worked well, and after my admission of how I was fucking up, it seemed as if my D-Corp was going above and beyond to keep their shit together.
“It’s one game, and we’re still Stanley Cup champions.” She held out her hand to fist pump me, and there was something about her, something infectious, friendliness, talking about the game, not about me and Ten, but about hockey. She’d grown up a Vancouver fan, having lived there as a child, but as soon as the Railers franchise happened, she was one hundred percent behind her home team. I found out she was a big Stan fan, but our goalie attracted fans wherever he went, and that she had cried buckets of tears when we’d lifted the cup in the summer.
You and me both, Alyssa.
I don’t know how long we sat and talked hockey, but it was for at least two coffees, and only when I felt human did she ask me how she could help me.
“I came in to pick up rings I’d ordered online. They’re under the name Jared Smith.”
She grinned so wide it had to hurt. “Oh, we wondered who that would be. Never put my money on you though. Thought it might be Jared Leto, but then why would he be ordering from us in Harrisburg? Hang on a minute, and I’ll go to the safe and get them. Let me take your mug.”
I passed her my empty coffee cup, and she left me sitting under the blowing air. I was toasty warm, and outside the glass door, the wind howled, and the snow fell, and somewhere out there, miles away in Arizona, Ten was probably in PT or drawing pictures or practicing walking backwards.
I love him so much it hurts.
“Here you go,” she said and gestured for me to join her at the counter.
