by R. J. Scott
Henry was propped up in his bed, surrounded by flowers, looking wan and unhappy when I arrived. His face lit up a bit when he saw me. I gave him a gentle hug of sorts, then sat next to the bed, handing him his caramel cloud macchiato while I took a tentative sip of my caffè americano.
“Ah, thanks, I miss these,” he said, then fumbled to try to pry the plastic lid off. I sat up and helped him out, settling back into my seat once he’d had a sip. “I miss so much. I’m starting to think I’ll never get out of here.”
His eye was still patched, his leg casted, and his mood low. “You’ll be out of here in no time and back on the ice by next season. No, man, don’t argue with me. I got amazing mental powers. I can predict the future by reading the foam in my coffee cup.”
“You don’t drink coffee with foam,” he quickly pointed out. I snickered. “It’s good to see you, Alex. My parents come as often as they can, and my brother. Mom is saying I’m going to need to go home to their place back in Illinois to continue my therapy once they boot me from here. I do not want to move back to Wheaton, but the doctors say I can’t be by myself and will need someone to stay with me.”
“Move back in with me and Ry. We’ll keep an eye on you.” I pushed aside a huge floral arrangement. The card had Adler scribbled on it, tucked in among the vibrant pink and purple flowers.
He shook his head. “You guys are taking off as soon as the season ends. Ryker to Minnesota and Jacob, and you back to San Luis with your family.”
“No way. I’ll stay here and take care of you.” I glanced around the room. “Like, does Adler Lockhart send flowers every day?” Each spare inch was thick with flowers, all with that white card with the chicken scratch signature.
“Yeah. So far, he’s also sent me an Apple watch, a new phone, fourteen pens, a jar of pickled beets, and a kitten.”
My eyes rounded. That made Henry smile. Gosh, he was cute when he smiled. “A real kitten?”
“Well, no, a stuffed one with a certificate to some no-kill shelter outside of Harrisburg, saying a kitten adoption had been arranged for me once I was discharged.”
“Dude has a serious gift-giving thing,” I murmured.
“I guess so. I would like a kitten, though. Summer is going to be long, and my parents and me… we have moments where we don’t get along.”
“Maybe Lockhart can find you someone to stay with you over the summer while you recuperate and do your therapy here in Arizona,” I offered, and he nodded slowly as if giving that some serious thought. Then his stomach rumbled, as did mine, and I bitched at Pete Dickhead Marks inside my head. No reason to upset Henry with that shit; he had enough on his plate. “I better get going, morning skate. Coach is a sphincter about being late.”
“Yeah, I recall. Tell everyone I said hi, and thanks for this.” He held up his coffee. “I miss this, and you, and just doing normal stuff like stopping for breakfast or hanging out watching scary movies. My life… it kind of sucks.”
Shit.
“It’s going to get better, I promise.” I stood, patted his thigh gently, and touched his fist with mine. Pete and I had a visual showdown at the front doors, but he never left his seat. Guess the shithead had cowed me enough earlier. I slid behind the wheel of my Jeep, kissed two fingers, and placed them to the small statue of the Blessed Virgin dashboard statue. She had been with me since I had bought my first car, a gift from my mother. “Please watch over Henry. Santa María, madre de Dios.”
I backed up slowly, eased past the doors, and then cranked up Abuela’s favorite Spanish radio station, the one that played traditional Mexican songs. Guadalajara blasting, I flew over the last speed bump and out into the street, the sounds of a mariachi band flowing behind me. In my rearview, I caught the sight of Pete the Dickhead running outside to glower at me. I laughed all the way to the barn.
Fourteen
Seb
“And the point is?” Colorado asked, his hands on his hips, his chin jutted, and I knew that getting him on the Zamboni was going to be an exercise in futility unless I sweetened the deal. Still, I’d try the hard way first because sometimes Colorado let me win.
“The point is that we film you and Alex racing the Zambonis from here to there.” I waved at the finish line down at the other end of the parking lot at the Raptors practice facility. “You’ll be mic’d up, viewers will hear what you are saying, and laugh, and it will all be wonderful promotion for the team.”
He scowled, and then he got a calculating look in his eye. Shit, there it was, the goalie’s art of making a deal coming to the surface. I hadn’t had an issue with Alex, who was already sitting on his Zamboni, staring at the finish line and visualizing the course if I knew him.
“I’ll do this if you get me out of the GoPro thing.”
I sighed inwardly. GoPros were cameras that were affixed to the helmets. The player would go off and do his thing on the ice, and the GoPro would feed back what he was looking at. I’d earmarked Ryker and Colorado both to do the event after free practice tomorrow, and I couldn’t understand why any of these cocky hockey players wouldn’t want to show off their skills.
“GoPro,” I repeated.
“Yep, shit makes me dizzy when I watch it back after.” He tilted his head as if daring me to argue.
I paused for a long moment as if I was considering the issue. “Have you thought of not watching it?” I asked.
He looked incredulous and pointed his thumbs at his chest. “Have you seen me? Who wouldn’t want to watch it?”
Marcia, the camera operator, cleared her throat. “Guys, I need to get out of here on time today.”
A few more moments of pretending to think and then I gave a grudging sigh. “Okay, we have a deal.”
He let out a whoop and then clambered up on top of his Zamboni and patted it. “Model five hundred,” he said. “Did you know that this machine's top speed is nine-point-seven mph and can go from zero to a quarter mile in ninety-three-point-five seconds?” He patted it again, then settled in the seat. “Prepare to be slaughtered, Cherry,” he shouted over to Alex. For some reason he’d started calling Alex Cherry Garcia, and the cherry part had stayed. I’d noticed a few people in the locker room had taken to calling Alex that, and I think he was cool with it and was even a little bit proud. I could see that to get your official hockey nickname was a highlight of a skater’s career.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Marcia confirmed, and after a few mic tests for audio, we were ready to go. I’d even found a checkered flag on the web and carefully taped it together with a Raptors logo, and it was me who was starting this. Marcia counted us in.
“Gentlemen, start your engines.”
Alex fumbled the start, which had Colorado shouting something at him, both of them in fits of hysterics before they even started. It did my heart good to see Alex laughing because as we grew closer to his sister’s fifteenth party, he was getting more and more jumpy. Not on the ice, no, on the ice, he was a bloody genius, taking chances, using his body, and the JAR line was getting things done. On top of that, the social media campaign was bringing interest, particularly when I handed the Twitter account to a young intern from UA. He was a funny guy, made jokes, entered into Twitter discussions with other teams, and had created an entire one-upmanship type battle with the team from LA. The optics were good, and there was an entire growing fan base for both Ryker and Alex. People were focusing less on the fact that the team was sucking, and began to call it rebuilding. Added to that were some limited successes on the ice, some wins, a couple of points from end of normal time ties, and the fact that Aarni’s countersuit had been rejected as having no grounds.
But it was Alex I was watching now as he and Colorado snaked their way through two identical courses next to each other, Colorado only slightly ahead at one of the wide and almost impossible-to-achieve turns around cones. They were trash-talking, whooping loudly, and Marcia was getting it all, even the bits where Colorado hung dangerously over the side as if he was riding a horse.
Of course, our time was limited. I knew that, but I was concentrating on the here and now and enjoying the warmth and happiness of being in love.
Alex had edged ahead of Colorado now after the goalie had done some kind of booty dance and gotten distracted, and even though I had to remain impartial and this was just a stupid publicity stunt, I was so damn proud of my man out there winning.
Yeah, I had it that bad.
I jogged down the course with the flag as they wound in and out of the cones, Alex flattening two of them, and then I waved it as the two of them approached the finish line. I sensed that Marcia was zooming in on Alex’s wide grin, capturing Colorado’s bellowing laugh, and when they passed the flag, it was Alex who’d won.
Marcia moved closer to capture the post-race interviews, and I could hear the guys chirping at each other from here.
“Cherry blatantly ran over cones.” Colorado was faking outrage. “I want this entire cheating debacle sent up for video review.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, loser. You’re just sore that I beat you so badly.”
Cue the two of them roughhousing, giggling, and shouting like idiots. Then it was a wrap, and it would be up to me to edit everything, along with the documentary company that was close to having episode two of the Raptors series in the bag. If we could win tomorrow against Dallas, then that would be the perfect end to the VT, and I think the feeling of hope was infectious in the entire building. Tonight was our first rental of the old events room. A local company, Catalina Foothills Chrysler Plymouth, one of our sponsors, had hired it for a fiftieth birthday party. That was where I needed to be next, talking to one of the owners, Robert Lake, confirming menus, taking photos, updating the website with the media team, and I really needed our intern to get some tweets with excerpts of the Zamboni race up on the Net.
“Earth to See-bast-i-yan.” Colorado waved a hand in front of my face.
“Sorry?” I asked as I snapped back to the present.
“You lot apologize all the time,” he commented.
“Sorry?” I realized what I’d done. “My lot?” I then added and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, you sexy Hugh Grant types.”
Oh, it was the English thing again. I smiled at Colorado, which maybe I shouldn’t have done.
“I fucked this English guy once,” Colorado confided. “He was all Prince William vowels and Downton Abbey politeness, and one of the best one-night stands I ever had.” He ended the sentence with a laugh as if it was a joke, but there was no laughter in his eyes.
I blinked at him, not entirely sure I was hearing right. What the hell was that? Alex was with Marcia over at the other side of the parking, giving an interview, and it was just me and Colorado. Was he sharing a joke, or was it personal? Did he want me to respond to the emptiness in his eyes? He struck me as such a positive upbeat man who didn’t take shit from everyone, but something was off with him.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Of course.” He punched my arm before ambling off to join Alex, me following. God knows what all that was about.
“That was so cool,” Alex announced as he and Colorado bumped fists, then did a complicated bro hug before separating.
“Later, guys.” I sketched a wave and left them to it.
I didn’t have to be an expert to know that someone was following me, and Alex caught up with me at the side door. He was very close to me as we went down the quiet corridor, and I wasn’t surprised when he tugged me into an even darker passage that smelled of antiseptic. He stole the first kiss before I was ready for it, and I stumbled back to hit the wall with him sprawled over me. The kiss deepened as soon as I was steady, and he carded his fingers through my hair before linking his hands behind my neck. I didn’t care who walked past us at this moment. All I wanted was to hold him close and never stop kissing him.
Only I couldn’t. We had work to do, or at least I had to get back to my office, and Alex needed to get himself off to do whatever he did post-free practice and a Zamboni race. Probably conditioning or something so that his sexy body was even harder. Just the thought of that had any of my remaining blood heading south to join the rest.
“Hi,” he said as he pulled away and rearranged his jersey.
“Hi, back,” I copied, but it was a lot harder to hide an erection in suit pants and a shirt.
“Did you see me win?” he asked and ran a hand over my covered cock.
I removed his hand from me. “Not helping,” I whispered, wishing he’d ignore me and maybe do some more touching. Instead, he winked.
“I know. But you love me, so it’s okay.”
We’d said those words to each other so many times, and they never grew old.
“I guess I do,” I said and smiled at him in the gloom.
He gave me one last hard kiss, and then he was gone, and I was left waiting until I could leave without causing offense to everyone I passed.
“You need to look after him.” Colorado’s voice shocked the hell out of me, which was the best cure for being turned on, ever.
“Pardon me?” I asked, ever so politely.
“His secret is worse than the rest of us, you know, with his family and religion. Yeah?”
“I know.” I moved out of the shadows, and Colorado stared at me with an expression I’d seen when the camera zoomed in on him in net—focused intensity. He clapped me on the shoulder.
“You’re one of the good ones, Prince Will.”
I didn’t even have to ask if I’d just been gifted a Colorado-approved nickname, I just knew that is what he would call me from now on. Bastard.
Although if I was honest, I actually liked it.
Fifteen
Alex
The team slogged through the rest of March, and the end of the season was just five games away. We were going to end the year in fourth place in our division of eight teams, more than likely. Which was a slot higher than last year but still not great. Coach had given me a pass on the game tomorrow after I’d explained how important this family event was. Ever since that talk with him, my respect for Coach Carmichael had grown. He was firm, yes, and sometimes strict, but he had a good heart and a love of hockey that made us all want to do better for him. And I did love hockey. It was my ticket to great things and had led me to wonderful places.
What had my full attention now was my bold plan to come out to my family. My sister’s party was tomorrow, and as we drove to San Luis, flashes of upcoming horrors played out in my mind. This was not going to be pretty. Not at all. My gut was a tight knot, but my resolve was strong. Having Sebastian at my side helped. He was a calming influence. His personality was laid back, slow to anger, pleasant, and polite to the point where I wanted to kick his ass at times. Whereas I was mostly his opposite. Although I did try to be kind and courteous, I did tend to run hot. We balanced each other.
I glanced over at him and smiled. He was such a desert rat now. Shades, loose cotton shirt, tan shorts, and leather sandals. His hair was starting to lighten up as his skin began to darken. He was still several shades of pale in comparison to me, but that was just another thing that I loved about us. Lying in bed naked next to him, his skin creamy white and mine copper, our love was a thing of beauty that flew past stupid biases or bigotry. Age, gender, race. None of that mattered when two hearts were joined. I prayed my family would see that as well.
“You should watch the road,” he pointed out. I quickly veered back into my lane. “Good lad.”
“We’re going to be reaching San Luis in about ten minutes,” I said, then reached up to turn down one of my favorite Thalía songs. “You still have time to change your mind.”
“Not a chance. You’re stuck
with me.”
I grinned, but the joy was a false one. By the time I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ modest home, my nerves were shot. As the engine cooled, I sat there staring at the house where I’d grown up, too scared to get out of my Jeep.
“I’ll be right beside you,” Sebastian said, his voice easing me from the gaping maw of panic I’d been staring at.
“Okay, yeah, so let’s do this.”
As soon as the front door creaked open, smells, sounds, and siblings assaulted me. Several cousins, aunts, and a couple of uncles as well. Sebastian snuck in behind me, smiling politely as my baby sister threw herself at me. I made quick introductions, Elizabeth’s intelligent brown eyes jumping from Sebastian, whom I said was my friend, to me. She linked her arms through ours and bulled her way forward.
Kids from crawling age to teens milled around, patting my back as I waded through my huge and gregarious family. I found my mother and grandmother in the kitchen, cooking for tonight’s dinner.
“Mamá, look who finally made it!” Elizabeth shouted, then shoved me into the group of women packed into the small kitchen. I glanced back as I was pinched, kissed, patted, and had spoons laden with flavorful beef, pork, and chicken pushed at me. I hugged my mother hard as I chewed one of Abuela’s stuffed peppers.
“Mi niño!” Mamá cooed as she pushed my hair from my face. “Deberías habertelo cortado para la fiesta, Alejandro.”
“It’s fine.” I sighed, looking over my mother’s head to find Elizabeth and Sebastian in a rather deep discussion over by the back door. “It’s just the right length for the party. Abuela, tell her it’s a good look on me.”
