Save of the Game

by Avon Gale

  That made sense, and it was along the lines of what Riley suspected Halley’s problem was, but it was still annoying. “Scoring a goal on me in practice isn’t going to make you Lane, Halley.”

  Halley flushed again, but his voice was tense when he spoke. “I know. The pressure got to me. Okay? The coach reamed me a new one for that. But I can tell everyone thinks it’s hilarious that I haven’t scored in practice. And you know, I have. On the backup. It’s just that nothing I ever do is as good as Courtnall.”

  “Lane didn’t score on me all that much either,” Riley told him, his pride a bit miffed. Sure. Lane did put more than one puck past him, but it wasn’t like it was a lot. “And I’m not the goalie you need to score on anyway. You are our leading scorer. Everyone knows that. But just so you know? Scoring a goal because you piss me off doesn’t make you good at hockey. It makes you an asshole.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Okay? I shouldn’t have said any of that and I know it.”

  That was good to hear. Riley didn’t want to play with someone who thought that kind of behavior was acceptable. “Thanks for the apology. You should give one to Ethan, you know.”

  Halley winced. “He’ll hit me, though.”

  “Nah,” a voice said, startling them both. “He would have done it already.” Ethan handed Riley his keys. “Here you go, boyfriend. I even put gas in it. It was only a buck seventy-two. That’s all the change I could find in the seats.”

  “Wow,” Halley said to Riley. “Really?”

  Riley took the keys and slipped them into his pocket. “No one’s hitting anyone. I haven’t gotten my cheeseburger yet, so I don’t want to get kicked out.”

  “And I haven’t stolen half your fries yet, so definitely not,” Ethan agreed cheerfully. “Move over, Riles. So why’d you say that shit, Halley? And why do you never, ever turn the volume off when you’re playing Angry Birds in our hotel room?”

  “I said that shit because I wanted to knock Hunter off his game and score a goal,” Halley said. “But I do that thing with Angry Birds just to piss you off.”

  “That’s what I thought, fucker.” Ethan grabbed Riley’s Coke and took a drink. “I meant what I said. You got a problem with me, tell me about it. Stop being all… passive-whatever.”

  “Passive-aggressive,” Halley supplied. “And I know. Look. I just told Hunter I didn’t mean any of that shit. Also I’ve played with gay dudes before. I don’t care. I’m just frustrated because I’ve been playing like shit since I got here.”

  “Stop trying to play like Lane,” Ethan said. He shrugged. “Play like you. Halley, every goddamn guy on this team is a better hockey player than me, but I don’t let that stop me.”

  “You’re an enforcer, Kennedy. Not a goal scorer.”

  “Tell that to Jared Shore. He was last year’s MVP of the playoffs,” Ethan retorted. “And the more you try to score on Riley, the more you’ll telegraph what you’re gonna do, and he’ll anticipate your every move and keep stopping you.”

  At the somewhat stunned looks Halley and Riley gave him, Ethan shrugged. “What? I pay attention in practice, you guys.”

  Halley sighed, but he looked a lot less tense. Riley understood what it was like to be under pressure, but he still didn’t excuse Halley for acting like an asshole because of it. Then again, Riley did play the most stressful position in hockey, so maybe he had a bit more experience dealing with the pressure. And he was probably getting laid a lot more than Halley was.

  “Can we be done with the team bonding now?” Halley asked.

  “Maybe.” Ethan finished the last of Riley’s Coke and then pointed at Halley with his straw. “You gonna leave the volume up on Angry Birds?”

  “Probably. Unless you turn off the goddamn key-clack noise on your phone when you’re texting loverboy there.” Halley gave Ethan a mulish stare. “That’s not a slur or anything, Kennedy. I just can’t imagine who else would want that many text messages from you.”

  “That’s an okay chirp. I’ll accept that,” Ethan said, pushing his glass back over at Riley. “Riley?”

  “What?” Riley asked as he picked up his empty glass. “He’s right. You do send me a lot of text messages.”

  “Usually about Halley and how he won’t turn the volume down on that stupid game. We create our own problems.”

  “Looks like we solved this one,” Riley said, and they shared a grin.

  Halley sighed. “I don’t like either of you enough to find you cute yet. Mostly I still think Kennedy’s a loudmouth, and… well, you’re all right, Hunter. When you’re not being a goalie. I hate you during shooting drills.”

  “So everything’s good, then,” Ethan said, all energy, shoving at Riley. “Cheeseburger. Remember?”

  “Go order one,” Riley said. He slid out of the booth to give Ethan room. “I’ll be there in a sec. And if you want cheese fries, this time get the sauce on the side.”

  Ethan muttered something like “buzzkill” and ambled off to the bar to order. Riley turned to Halley again and held out his hand. “Let’s get over it. And Ethan’s right. You do telegraph your moves when you overthink them.”

  Halley rolled his eyes, but he shook Riley’s hand easily enough. “Don’t let me score or anything. That’d just piss me off.”

  Riley didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. He’d never let anyone score on him. Ever. “See you at practice, Halley.”

  Halley went back to his book, and Riley found Ethan ordering lunch and flirting with the bartender. They took their food to go, because Riley was convinced Ethan would insist they have lunch with Halley, and he wasn’t in the mood. Besides, Halley was a quiet guy—more like Riley than Ethan. He probably didn’t want any company. But Riley knew that wouldn’t occur to Ethan if he’d decided they should have lunch together.

  “Why’d you do that?” Ethan asked him in the car on the way back to the apartment. “Go over and talk to him, I mean.”

  Riley grabbed Ethan’s wrist to stop him from changing the radio station for the six-thousandth time since they left Cruisers—which was two minutes before. “I don’t want to lose because Halley’s got a chip on his shoulder that he’s not Lane.”

  “So it was all about hockey?” Ethan rolled the window down, reached into his pocket, sighed, and rolled it back up. Riley had, in yet another attempt to make Ethan stop smoking, told him he wasn’t allowed to do it in the car. “Fuck. I hate not smoking.”

  “Yeah, actually,” Riley said. “I don’t have to be friends with him. I just don’t want there to be some sort of problem that fucks up our game. If it weren’t for that, I’d just ignore him.”

  “I wish I knew how to do that,” Ethan said, shaking his head ruefully.

  Riley thought about Ethan’s family, about his mother dragging Ethan out onto the fire escape over Christmas and telling him about his father, about Ethan standing up for Courtnall, about Ethan throwing his gloves off for teammates who couldn’t do it for themselves.

  “I don’t,” Riley said, and leaned over to kiss him.

  Ethan kissed him back, looking surprised but pleased, and Riley let him change the station again. He still didn’t let him smoke, though.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THEIR FIRST playoff opponents were the Rattlers from Orlando. The Storm had handled them easily enough during the season, but their playoff series wasn’t an easy victory by far. It went to six games, which was longer than anyone expected or wanted. Especially when the Renegades won their first series in four games.

  The Rattlers had a good young goalie, but their real strength was their defense. It was a grueling series. Riley had to be on top of his game, because the scoring was so low there was no room for error. One sloppy goal could cost them the series, and Riley was absolutely not going to let that happen.

  The sixth game was scoreless, with two minutes left in the third, and it looked like they were going to go into overtime tied at zero. It was a tense game—for the fans as well as the players—but Halley fi
nally ended by scoring a goal with ten seconds left in regulation time.

  Everyone was a little bummed they’d be playing the Renegades in the second round, instead of the conference finals like the year before. Regardless, Riley was ready to vanquish their rivals and concentrate on playing the Ice Dogs, who were first place in their conference and heavily favored to win the division and the Cup. Even if no one in Athens knew or cared about that.

  Not surprisingly the Ice Dogs demolished their opponents four games to one, while the Renegades and Sea Storm series went to five games. The Sea Storm were determined to win at home in Jacksonville to make up for the previous year’s loss in the conference finals on home ice. And it wasn’t just the fans who wanted to see a win. There was a certain former Sea Storm player who was just as eager to see his old team triumph over their rivals.

  And with him was last year’s Kelly Cup Championship MVP, wearing last year’s obnoxious Renegades’ Eastern Conference Champions hat.

  “I wouldn’t let him come in the locker room wearing that,” Lane said, and gave Riley a hug. Lane had put on about twenty pounds of muscle, and it looked good on him. He also looked happy, and it was hard to remember the lanky kid with the horrible social skills who first showed up for training camp.

  At least until Lane said, “Even though this isn’t the conference championships, so it’s not really as important,” proving twenty pounds of muscle, a stellar AHL season, and a few big-league call-ups with the Maple Leafs hadn’t changed him.

  Everyone was glad to see Lane, even though Riley hoped Halley didn’t have an insecurity fit because of it. He was playing better and even scored on Riley in practice, though it was sort of a fluke goal. Halley was skating down to take his shot, Ethan made some kind of Angry Birds noise, and Halley was laughing when he shot the puck.

  Halley didn’t throw his arms up in victory, but Ethan did. Apparently he’d decided to forgive Halley. On their last road trip, he texted—with the key-clack noise turned off—that Halley had his game on mute. They were apparently friends then, because that was just how Ethan was. Riley loved that about him, even if he didn’t understand how Ethan did it.

  It made Riley think about his parents. His birthday was a few weeks earlier, and he received a card that was clearly sent by his father’s assistant, and a check that he almost tore up and threw away. Instead he donated the amount to an antibullying organization, which had made Ethan kiss him and then suck him off during a Devils game. Overall a pretty excellent birthday.

  He wondered what would happen if he called his mother and said, “I wish you’d just call me instead of giving me money.” Sometimes he wondered how his life would be different if he did the equivalent of skating out of the crease every now and then. Goalies got in fights sometimes. Just ask Patrick Roy and Chris Osgood.

  He was surprised to get a text from his sister, Madison, wishing him a happy birthday. That was unexpected and maybe the best part of his day—though he didn’t want to tell Ethan that. Ethan gave him a blow job on his knees with his head freshly shaved, wearing jeans, those Doc Martens, and no shirt, and Riley wouldn’t want him to think his gift was unappreciated. Because it wasn’t. Definitely not.

  Riley wasn’t one for talking much before games, so he told Lane to tell Jared to shove his hat somewhere unpleasant and went out for warm-ups.

  The atmosphere wasn’t nearly as charged as the year before, but Riley was barely aware of anything but the ice. He’d never been so focused during a game. He was still able to appreciate Ethan’s fight with Wynn and to smile behind his mask when he saw the two of them exchange a discreet fist bump as the linesmen separated them. Determined not to dwell on his record-low goals-against average for the playoffs, Riley played at the top of his game. It wasn’t about him. It was about the team.

  Last season’s conference final had gone to seven games and overtime on top of that. The Storm were up 2-0 by the first intermission of game five, and 3-0 by the second. But the previous year, the Renegades had come back to win. So Riley—and the rest of the team—weren’t taking any chances.

  In the end the Storm held on to their lead and vanquished their rivals 3-0 in the fifth game of their series. Not surprisingly Riley was named the game’s first star, and even the disappointed Renegades praised him in the handshake line after the game. With some mean names thrown in, but Riley didn’t mind that.

  Lane was so happy the Storm won that he kissed Riley right on the mouth. Which he said was allowed because, quote, “You like dudes now, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t use tongue or anything. Nice shutout, Hunter. But why couldn’t you have done that last year?”

  Jared smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s great. He can congratulate you and annoy you all at once. It’s his gift, along with his killer abs and his inability to think before he says shit that makes you want to punch him.”

  Riley laughed and went to shower and change. They were going out to celebrate, and a few of the Renegades players were coming along. Mainly just Wynn, Leblanc, and the goalie, Zubarev, who were all guys who played with Jared on last year’s championship team.

  Riley rarely drank, but both Vazov and Zubarev ganged up on him and gave him drinks with obscene amounts of vodka. They were pretty good, and Riley had more than he should have—so much that it took him a few minutes to realize Vaz and Zub were both speaking Russian and that’s why he couldn’t understand a goddamn thing they were saying.

  “How’s being gay going?” Lane asked him at one point, and Zoe immediately lectured him about ignoring the existence of bisexuals. Lane listened like a hockey player getting a lecture from his coach and then turned back to Riley and said, “So?”

  Zoe sighed. “This is when I don’t miss you.”

  “Obviously you can’t miss me if I’m right here.” Lane winked at her. “You’ll cry when I go back, Zoe. You did in Toronto when you came to see me play.”

  “Shut up, Laney. I told you I had something in my eye.” Zoe patted Riley on the shoulder. “Bisexuality is a real thing, Riley.”

  “I know,” Riley said, and then, because he was drunk, “Maybe I like dick better than I thought, though.”

  “Well, you and me both,” Zoe drawled, giggling.

  “Me three, but we all knew that already,” Lane added, putting an arm around Zoe. “So it’s good, is what I’m getting?”

  Riley nodded. “Yeah. It’s good.” He smiled—a little drunk and a lot happy. When Ethan reappeared, Riley smiled at him brightly and told Ethan that his black eye was hot.

  “Oh, man. You never get drunk,” Ethan laughed. “How’d that happen?”

  Riley pointed at the two goalies. “That’s how.”

  When they were saying good-bye, Riley was so drunk, he asked Jared, “Remember when you told me one time on the ice that ‘My boyfriend thinks you should blow me’?”

  Jared laughed. “Yeah. I remember. He still thinks that.”

  “Yeah. Well, my boyfriend thinks you should blow him,” Riley said, and was delighted at Jared’s sudden blush.

  “Are you sure that’s right, and he didn’t mean Lane should blow him? I mean, come on, Hunter. Lane looks like a male model, and I look like an aging Irish boxer,” Jared muttered, but he gave Riley an evil grin. “Lane’d go for it, though. Either way. He’s a kinky motherfucker.”

  Now it was Riley’s turn to blush, but he shook his head with a rueful laugh. “The only threesome Ethan and I have mutually agreed upon having involves Jennifer Lawrence.”

  “Who’s that?” Lane asked as he appeared next to Jared. “Is she here?”

  “See. I told you,” Jared said, elbowing Lane. “Next he’ll ask if he can watch. Kinky.”

  “She’s that chick from The Hunger Games,” Riley answered.

  “Are those on ESPN?” Lane asked, and both Riley and Jared cracked up, even though Lane probably wasn’t joking.

  When they got home, Riley was horny and happy from winning, so he threw caution to the wind, back
ed Ethan up against the wall, kissed him hotly, and said, “Can I tie your wrists behind your back and make you choke on my cock?”

  All that talk about being kinky had put ideas in his head.

  Riley felt Ethan go still, and he also felt Ethan getting hard, so he knew Ethan’s muttered “Fuck” meant he was into it. In case it wasn’t clear, Ethan followed that up with “Hell yeah. You can.”

  It was hard not to think about the year before, when they lost to the Renegades and Riley went home, locked himself in his room, and watched porn from his “bad game” folder. This time he wouldn’t have to hide in a subfolder.

  It wasn’t as easy to tie someone up as the Internet made it seem. They stopped and started while Riley tried to find something suitable to tie with. Ethan, who was stripped down to only his jeans and boots, leaned against the wall and smoked a cigarette because Riley told him to. If Riley should feel guilty about anything, it was encouraging Ethan’s bad habits and fucking up their security deposit—though Ethan looked so hot that the latter was definitely more than worth it.

  “Thought you wanted to tie me up,” Ethan drawled, exhaling. “Be more prepared, Hunter.”

  Riley finally went into his room and found some new, unused skate laces and brought them back into the living room. Ethan’s eyes widened, and he flashed his fighter’s grin at him and said, “Nicely done. Now I’m gonna get a hard-on every time I lace up my skates. Thanks, Riley.”

  “Shhh,” Riley said, trying to keep a straight face. There was no laughing in the video, but then again, Ethan wasn’t in the video. He cracked Riley up all the time, and that was a good thing. “Finish that.”

  Ethan finished his cigarette, but he went right back to leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest. “You gonna do something with those any time soon, Hunter?”