Roughing

by Michaela Grey

  They hit the ice and warmed up separately, everyone doing their own familiar routines to stretch out their muscles and get up to speed. Carmine focused on his edgework, looping spirals and figure eights close to the net where Felix was doing his own warm up routine. He wasn’t terribly surprised when Felix beckoned him over.

  Up close, Felix was sharply handsome, with lean features and a flat, unsmiling mouth. He stared at Carmine for a long minute and Carmine let him look, refusing to shift his weight or show unease.

  “Be careful with him,” Felix finally said. “He is—” His mouth twisted. “He’s been hurt.”

  “And you aren’t going to let it happen again?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Felix said fiercely. His eyes were hawk-like, boring into Carmine’s, and Carmine was left with no doubt that Felix wouldn’t hesitate to drop his gloves and jump him if he needed to.

  “He’s a big boy,” Carmine drawled, resting on his stick, and Felix’s mouth tightened. “I’m just saying, he probably wouldn’t thank you for babysitting him.”

  “I am not—” Felix broke off and said something that sounded highly unflattering in French. “Watch his back.”

  “Oh, you want me to babysit him?”

  Felix bared his teeth. “You know that’s why you’re here.”

  “If you say so,” Carmine said. He dropped a wink and skated away. On the other side of the rink, Saint eyed them both suspiciously from where he was talking to Kasha. Flanahan blew his whistle then, and they all gathered at the bench.

  Coach was a loud, blustery man who believed volume made up for not knowing his players well enough to properly match them on their lines. Carmine tuned him out, watching Saint where he was standing next to Felix. Saint’s eyes were tight, his mouth flat as he listened to Flanahan detailing their various flaws in loud detail. His eyebrows spoke volumes, adding character to his fine-boned features. He liked looking at him, Carmine decided.

  “Quinn!” Flanahan shouted, and Carmine jumped.

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “You’re on a line with Saint, Roddy, and Kasha,” Flanahan ordered. “Carlyle’s your other D-man. Second line is Embry, Pasha, and Dylan, with Tye and Zach. Let’s go.”

  They got into position, Carmine shoulder to shoulder with Tye, a young man with sharp blue eyes and pocked skin.

  “Big fan,” Tye whispered as Coach waited for the centers to set up.

  Carmine shot him a startled glance, then grinned. “Thanks, kid.”

  The puck dropped, Saint won the face-off, and the mock game was on.

  Carmine had played against Saint, but never with him. Two minutes in, there was nowhere else he ever wanted to play. Saint was never where he expected, but somehow he was always open when Carmine was ready to pass to him, ready and waiting.

  Embry—second line center, Carmine reminded himself—stole the puck from Saint and bolted up ice with it, Saint hot on his heels. Carmine was right behind them as Saint chivvied Embry around the net, focused on staying in front of Felix and blocking Embry’s view.

  Embry made a quick drop pass to Pasha, who wound up and shot. The puck bounced off Felix’s pads and Carmine grabbed it.

  He charged toward the other end, Pasha and Tye hassling him the entire way. Carmine feinted to one side and dodged past them. Saint shouted and Carmine fired the puck blindly at the sound of his voice.

  Kasha’s whoop of joy told him it had gone in, and Carmine threw his arms in the air, grinning so widely his face hurt.

  Saint was smiling back at him when Carmine arrived at his side.

  “Nice moves.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” Carmine said, and Saint ducked his head, smile widening.

  This could work, Carmine thought.

  After practice, they cooled down, took showers, and had a strategy session. Carmine parked himself off to the side, one knee tucked underneath him, and observed the room.

  For the most part, it was a good core, he thought. Roddy and Felix were fiercely protective of Saint, that much was obvious, and the rookies regarded him with a mixture of awe and disbelief, like they weren’t entirely sure they were supposed to be in the same room with him yet. The hero worship would fade as they discovered Saint was as human as they were, and the next few weeks would decide the lineup for the first few games—who meshed and who didn’t.

  47—Carmine couldn’t remember his name—was talking to the man next to him, burly forearms folded over his chest and a forbidding scowl on his face. He hadn’t made much noise since Saint had torn strips from him for his homophobic chirps, but Carmine could tell he was going to be trouble.

  When the meeting was dismissed, Carmine was slow to stand, still watching the players around him. He wasn’t expecting Roderick to stop beside him.

  “A word.” It wasn’t a request.

  Carmine followed him out of the room as Felix slipped through the throng to catch up.

  “Is this an intervention or a mugging?” Carmine asked as Roderick led them down the hall. “Because I’m not an alcoholic and I don’t have my wallet on me but I can go get it—”

  “Shut up,” Roderick suggested, and opened a door.

  Carmine went inside, wary. It was a meeting room, quiet and dark, but his nerves were not improved by the way Roderick shut the door behind Felix and then leaned against it.

  “Seriously, what’s going on?” Carmine asked.

  Felix glanced at Roderick, who nodded.

  “It’s about Saint,” Felix said.

  “What about him?” Carmine’s voice was sharper than he intended, and he took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension.

  “You’re living with him, so there are a few things you should know,” Roderick said. He gestured at the chairs. “Have a seat.”

  Carmine obeyed, still tense. Felix and Roderick settled opposite.

  “Saint is not easy to get along with,” Roderick said.

  Carmine snorted. “You needed to kidnap me to tell me that?”

  “I mean it,” Roderick snapped. “If you’re going to play with him effectively, you’re damn well going to understand what makes him tick. So shut the fuck up and listen.”

  Carmine spread his hands silently.

  “He’s been groomed for this position since he was two years old,” Felix said. “Hockey is all there is, for him. All there ever has been. I have known him since he was fourteen, Karma—we were billeted together. We grew up together. If you want to understand him, you must learn how he plays, and play to his level.”

  “No one can play to his level,” Carmine said immediately, and Felix’s eyes softened.

  “True. But I have seen you play as well. You can come close, I think. And he is just one man. He can’t get us to a Cup on his own—he needs a strong team that understands him and accepts him as he is.”

  Carmine squinted at him. “What are you getting at?”

  “I need to know that what I’m about to say will not leave this room. And before you ask, we have Saint’s permission to speak to you on this matter.”

  “Depends what you’re about to say,” Carmine said. “If you’re about to confess to a murder, then I’m not gonna promise confidentiality, but as long as it’s nothing criminal, then yeah man, my lips are sealed.”

  “Saint is gay.”

  Carmine sat back in his chair.

  Felix glanced at Roderick, who said nothing.

  Silence gathered as Carmine considered. It made sense, he supposed—the way Saint so fiercely protected his private life, how he never dated, how he dodged all the questions about who he might be seeing.

  “Okay,” he finally said.

  “That’s it?” Roderick asked.

  “What, is there more?” Carmine said. “Are you going to tell me he fucks barnyard animals or something?”

  “You don’t have a problem with it?” Felix asked. His eyes were sharp and searching.

  It would be easy, Carmine thought. So easy just to open his mouth and s
ay so am I. But he didn’t know these men. So he shook his head.

  “It’s all fine by me. Doesn’t affect his hockey, does it? Or would he play better if he were straight?”

  Felix narrowed his eyes and Carmine grinned at him.

  “Exactly. Is that everything?”

  “He has personal space issues,” Roderick said. “You can hug him on the ice but don’t touch him otherwise unless he initiates it. Don’t crowd him. You’re a big guy—don’t use it against him.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Carmine objected, faintly offended.

  Roderick didn’t challenge that, pressing the point. “He really hates being touched if it’s not his idea. If you can keep others from pawing at him, it’ll help.”

  Carmine nodded. “Does he date?”

  Felix laughed outright at that. “Between trying to get us together for a Cup run and not being out, and having so much attention focused on him, that’s a little out of the question. He’s out to only the people on the team we trust, no one else. He doesn’t want to come out publicly, and he may not until he retires.”

  Carmine raised his hand and Felix gave him a sour look.

  “This is not school. If you want to speak, then speak.”

  Carmine dropped his hand, hiding his smile. It was easy and fun to yank Felix’s chain, and he wanted to keep doing it, but he actually did have a question. “You said he’s only out to people you trust. What made you decide you could trust me?”

  Felix shifted his weight. “Ah… it was what you said to him.”

  “What’d I say?” Carmine asked, genuinely curious.

  “Regarding living with him. Saint told me you tried to leave. That you… understood, somehow, what it meant for him to allow you into his home.” Felix’s eyes were sincere, and Carmine suppressed the urge to rub his neck. “You are a good man, I think, Karma. Too prone to using your fists, maybe, but where it counts—” He lifted his hands.

  Carmine nodded. “Thanks, I guess. Anything else?”

  “Don’t fuck with his routines, and if I hear you mocking them, I’ll put itching powder in your jock for a month,” Felix said. “Whatever it is he has to do to get in the right headspace to play, you let him do it and you keep the others off his back.” He flattened his hands on the table. “He didn’t have a childhood, Quinn. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Carmine thought about it, about what it might have been like to be shoved into the role assigned to him the moment he was old enough to put on skates. He loved hockey, but there was more to life than ice and pucks and sticks. But it was all Saint had ever known, all he’d ever had.

  “Yeah,” he said after a minute. “Yeah, I get it. Anything else?”

  “That’s not enough?” Felix sniped.

  Carmine’s grin widened. “I like you,” he said, mostly for the startled expression that got him. “You’re looking out for your boy. Fine. Thanks for telling me. Can I please go now?”

  Roderick flipped a hand in clear dismissal. Carmine dropped a wink at Felix and left, straightening his shirt.

  He found Saint not far from the dressing room, his brows pinched together as he hurried down the hall.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “Sorry, didn’t realize you needed constant updates on my whereabouts,” Carmine said. “I can invest in an ankle monitor or chip implant so you can track me, if you want?”

  Saint glared at him. “Are you always this sarcastic?”

  “I’m actually restraining myself,” Carmine told him, and laughed out loud when Saint shuddered.

  “I don’t have your phone number,” Saint said. “And I don’t have an extra key yet. I was going to do that today. You can wait here, or I can take you to the house and let you in, but if you want… you could come with me?”

  Carmine blinked. “I—uh… sure?”

  “I mean, if you don’t have anything else you’re doing, and you’re not too tired, and—”

  “Chill,” Carmine said gently. “It’ll be nice to see some of the city.”

  Saint’s shoulders eased. “Okay,” he said, and summoned up a half-smile. “Um. Thanks.”

  “No big deal,” Carmine told him. “You ready now?”

  4

  They left the rink together, Saint tugging a snapback down over his hair and slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

  “Worried about paparazzi or locals?” Carmine teased.

  “It’s not really the locals,” Saint said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “They leave me alone, mostly, just ask for an autograph and selfie, tell me their thoughts about the team. But tourists….” He shook his head. “Anything goes. I just thought… they don’t really know you yet, right? So—”

  “You’re hoping it’ll throw them, you being with someone else?”

  “Basically. Maybe they won’t think it’s me.” Saint sounded young, and exhausted, and Carmine wanted suddenly to step between him and the world.

  “So show me some of your city,” Carmine told him, and when the bus arrived, he made sure Saint got the window seat so Carmine was between him and the other passengers.

  The ride was more comfortable than he’d expected, as Saint pointed out sights and favorite restaurants and the grocery store he went to.

  “That reminds me, I need to stock up,” Carmine mused as the bus rumbled by the store.

  “Me too,” Saint said. “We can go after we get the key, if you want?” He sounded abruptly unsure of himself, as if offering more of his company was the last thing Carmine would be interested in.

  Carmine gave him a smile. “That sounds good. Do you like to cook?”

  Saint shook his head. “I’m not fussy, but I’m usually too busy. I can make salad and steak but not much else.”

  “That’s something I love to do,” Carmine said. “So if you want, I’ll take over doing that. Any allergies?”

  “No, but I don’t like peanuts.”

  “No peanuts, got it.”

  “Are you—sure?” Saint was looking at him quizzically, eyes worried behind his sunglasses. “Cooking for me—you don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m doing it for myself anyway,” Carmine said, and nudged him with a shoulder when Saint’s expression didn’t ease. “Hey, it’s no trouble to make a little extra, really. You’re letting me live with you, after all. Speaking of which, you sure you want me around for a couple of months?”

  Saint hunched his shoulders again. “Coach said… it’s important. He’s really pushing this ‘former rivals’ narrative. And you’re a good guest.”

  “Works for me,” Carmine said. “No loud parties, I promise.”

  Saint’s mouth twitched, almost unwillingly. “You can have guests over,” he said. “Just… keep them in your wing.”

  “Did it hurt to say that?” Carmine asked. “You can tell me. Scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in right now?”

  Saint ducked his head, but not before Carmine saw the smile curving his lips. “You’re a dick.”

  “Yeah, but it’s fun,” Carmine said comfortably, lacing his hands across his stomach. “Speaking of, what do you like to do to relax?”

  “Never heard of it,” Saint said with a straight face, and startled Carmine into a laugh.

  “A sense of humor, as I live and breathe!”

  “Shut up,” Saint told him, but he stopped fighting the smile. “I read. Watch movies.”

  “Me too, what genre’s your favorite?”

  “I’ll watch nearly anything.” Saint shrugged. “I like horror movies, though.”

  Carmine lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Why do you sound surprised?”

  “You just don’t seem the type,” Carmine said. He leaned across Saint to look out the window. “Vietnamese! I haven’t had that in too long.” When he sat up, the top of Saint’s cheekbones were faintly red. “Sorry,” Carmine said. “I forgot about your personal space thing.”

  “It’s fine,” Saint said, not looking at him. He hesitated
and then glanced at him. “Did Roddy—”

  “Kidnap me into a dark room with Felix’s help and vaguely threaten me with grievous bodily injury if I did anything to hurt you? Yep.”

  The blush darkened in Saint’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He sounded as if he meant it.

  “Don’t be.” Carmine leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers again. “They’re looking out for you. It’s what I would do, in their position.”

  “Did they… say anything… else?”

  “Oh sure, we had a nice, long conversation.” Carmine took a minute to enjoy the way Saint squirmed in his seat before taking pity on him. “It’s all good, man. Really.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe we can find you a cute boy.”

  Saint put his head in his hands. “How is this my life,” he moaned.

  “Could be worse,” Carmine said, and resisted the urge to pat him on the back.

  Carmine wandered the hardware shop, inspecting the contents of the shelves, as Saint talked to the man behind the counter, who apparently had opinions about the way the next season should go. The shop was small, and Carmine could hear Saint’s quiet voice even from across the room as he made interested noises and agreed with the opinions the shopkeeper was laying out.

  Poor guy, Carmine thought. There were benefits to being a little-known goon with no real shot at glory—at least he didn’t have to worry about being buttonholed by every Tom, Dick, and Harry who’d watched a hockey game once and had Opinions.

  The door jingled but Carmine didn’t look up. He pulled out his phone and checked his texts, wondering just how long it took to cut a single key.

  He had a text from Henry, he saw, and he grinned as he read it.

  Comin up next weekend to see u, it read. BE READY

  Carmine typed a response quickly as voices rose on the other side of the shop. Bitch I’m always ready for u.

  “Um,” Saint said clearly, and Carmine’s head snapped up at the panic obvious in that single syllable. He was moving before Saint said anything else, down the aisle and around the corner to where two older women were clutching phones and beaming at Saint, who was pressed up against the counter, very plainly trapped. Saint was smiling, but it looked tense, like he was on the verge of bolting.