Max
Winning the next three games meant the Flyers were out of the race and we advanced to the next round. I patted Lola’s shoulder when I saw her after the game. She looked devastated, and not even Ten reassuring her that the Flyers were a “really good team” seemed to help. I remembered what it was like to be a fan who loved a team as passionately as she did and had to watch their team lose.
We weren’t sure who we’d be facing at this point—the two other teams in our bracket still had a game to go—but in a way, I hoped it was Washington. Mostly so I could get tickets for a game where Ben could see the team he loved. Of course, I didn’t really want us to end up playing the team from a hockey point of view; they were a hard team to beat. I didn’t have to read pundit summaries to know that even though we’d finished ahead of them in the points, that they’d been strong recently, and the Railers would be the underdog in that match.
But there was also a small part of me that wanted to show Ben what I was made of; that I was good enough to play on a team that could beat the one he loved.
And how ridiculous was that? Masculine posturing at its worst.
Why did I feel I had to impress Ben? We’d only managed one more get-together but it had started well enough. The sex had been explosive, amazing. When we’d laid back on the bed, we’d so nearly cuddled, I swear it. But his phone had rung. Someone had thrown a brick through a window at the shelter, and he’d had to leave because Diana was on a training course and there was no one else who could deal with it all.
Fuck.
That cuddle had been so close.
I loved cuddles. Not the hugs you got when your team scored, those quick bro-hugs that gave you a face of sweat and ice, but real hugs. Not a lot of people held me, but then I was edging on the wrong side of scary.
I even scared my mom. Or at least I think I did.
My PTA-mom. Loved ballet recitals with my two little sisters, threw girlie parties, had a lot of pink in her house. She just never quite knew what to do with her big, tough son. Maybe if Dad had been around it would have been different, but he’d moved on when I was little and died three years ago in a work-related accident.
She supported my hockey but didn’t quite understand it. She loved that I earned big money, that I had a name, but she hated I beat on other teams for a living. I was, to her, a mass of contradictions.
Mom and my sisters had been in the stands for our last game and she’d been so pleased when we’d met up afterward, but she hadn’t hugged me.
Nor had she hugged Ben, whom I’d introduced as a friend, with a lot of emphasis on the word friend.
That was another thing that didn’t sit quite right with my mom. She’d never caused a scene when I’d chosen to bring a guy home, but I could see the confusion in her eyes every time I did. She’d loved my junior high school girlfriend, Jenna. And Abby, whom I’d been dating when I was drafted. However, she hadn’t gelled with Dan, or Eric. There was no way in hell she’d gel with Ben.
Not only that, but they knew nothing about my brain thing. What was the point? They’d start telling me it was all hockey’s fault even if wasn’t. I’d been born with it, so even though it wasn’t a hereditary thing, I could still point at my mom and tell her it was her or Dad’s fault.
Even if it wasn’t, and even if I would never say something like that.
I might not get on with my mom, but she was still my family. Right?
So yeah, I was one big bundle of mess where my family was concerned, and the night before I’d wanted a damn hug.
I sent a quick text to Ben asking him if he was okay, and about the shelter, then a separate text to the salesman at SecureGuard who’d assured me his damn system would stop all this petty shit.
He called me back immediately, all contrite and explaining they would be out as soon as they could to expand the something of the whatever. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening much past the part where they promised to up their game and protect the shelter. I ended the conversation with a gentle reminder I was an anonymous donor and waited for the assurance that it would stay that way.
Then I focused back on today, on packing my stuff for a two-game road trip in Washington. I ended up on the plane next to Adler, who had his cap pulled down over his face and looked to be asleep. Seemed like maybe our marketing guy had been keeping him up in more ways than one.
“It’s not good for you,” I pointed out helpfully when I saw him peeking at me as I belted in.
“What?” he yawned widely.
“Sexual relations the night before a big game.”
“Actually, I couldn’t sleep—had a whole head of nightmares about bright orange penguins pecking out my eye.” He shuddered. "And hell, did you just use the term ‘sexual relations’?” He smirked, and I flicked at his cap.
“Get some sleep asshole,” I added with the authority of being older and wiser than Adler Lockhart.
“You’re just jealous of me and Layton,” he murmured, and settled back in his seat.
Jealous? What did I have to be jealous about? Yeah, Adler and Layton were into each other in a big way, but I had some of my own.
I sort of had Ben.
Ben, who was, I-think-could-be more than a hookup, but of course way less than a boyfriend. A friend with benefits, where benefits were confined to fucking.
Sadly not including post-fuck cuddling.
“Look!” Stan hovered next to me and thrust something in my face, and abruptly I had a lap full of drawings. “Help make choice,” he ordered.
I realized you didn’t argue with Stan. Not because he was intimidating, but because once you went down the rabbit hole of trying to understand what he was saying, it was ten minutes you’d never get back.
I looked at the sketches, clearly for a helmet design, and they were gorgeous. There was the Railers logo—the old steam engine, with steam curling around the sides, and iron and steel crossed. There was also snow and other things that were, I assumed, Russian.
“Pick,” he said.
“You want me to pick one?” I wasn’t sure how I’d earned that right, and I wished Adler would come out from under his cap.
“All plane pick one,” Stan explained.
Thank God. I wasn’t sure I could handle the responsibility of making a monumental decision about a goalie’s helmet design. I looked at them again and noticed the sheet held the logo of the designer, the same guy I knew my fellow Railers went to for their tattoo designs. Gatlin Pearce. His stuff was pretty cool, and I made a mental note of his name to contact him about some tattoo ideas of my own.
“I vote this one,” I said, and pulled out the most vibrant of the three sketches.
“Good for final,” he said. Took the paper and frowned at Adler. He was contemplating waking Adler up, but I shook my head subtly.
I was actually quite happy Adler was asleep—that meant quiet for me—and Stan moved on to Ten, who was in the seat in front of me.
My cell vibrated, and I checked it quickly.
All okay, Ben wrote. Minimal damage, and dogs are fine. Security guy here on a checkup, which is lucky.
I hit reply, then contemplated the correct response.
Okay.
That was always a good place to start. I added a smiley face, then backspaced. This was more of a thumbs-up situation, and speaking of thumbs, mine were way too big for the damn tiny phone keys. God knew how I hadn’t thrown the thing out of a window before now. It took me so long to write anything at all. This was why emojis were such a good thing. I added the thumbs-up, then considered how to phrase the fact I wished we’d managed a cuddle that morning.
Jesus, if any opposing hockey team could see me now, they wouldn’t be fearing the Railers’ big bad D-man at all. They’d be laughing.
“D-Man wants a cuddle.”
“Look at him, poor Maxxy Waxxy needs a huggy wuggy.”
I could imagine the chirping and felt myself go scarlet with embarrassment at the thought of someone seeing that far into my soul. I ended the text with a generic, see you soon, and turned off my phone before I could think of the kind of shit I might get if anyone found out about my soft side.
The flight was short, the hotel gorgeous, the views over the city worthy of a picture. Which I didn’t send to anyone or share with anyone. Just as my mom didn’t completely understand my sexuality, she sure as hell wasn’t interested in what city I was in. Which pretty much covered how my sisters felt as well.
Never mind, not like any of that mattered anymore.
I could send a picture to Ben?
Send a picture of a city to a man who is a casual hookup? Yeah, right.
We lost one to Washington and won one. God knows how we won anything at all because both games were one penalty after another on both sides. Only Stan in the net was enough for us to have the edge, and we took that win home with us, leading this round three games to their one.
The mood on the plane home was euphoric. If we could win the next games, we could sweep Washington out of the race. The thought of it was enough to have us standing most of the flight, shooting the shit and making so much noise it was a wonder the pilot didn’t tell us to shut the hell up.
Only as we neared home did we all quiet down after all, we’d meet the same team in two days on our ice.
I took the time to re-read the message I’d received from Ben, timestamped just after we’d won the second game.
Congrats, was the single word. I kind of wanted more but settled instead for holding that single word close.
I fist-bumped teammates as we disembarked, hugged the bemused flight attendant, laughed, grinned, and got into the cab I’d ordered with one express purpose. To see Ben.
When Ben opened the door to his place, yawning behind his hand, adorably mussed and warm from bed, I stepped in, closed the door, and pulled him into my arms.
He came willingly, all soft and tired, and I held him for so long I knew he would want to know what the hell was going on.
“You won one,” he murmured against my throat.
“We did.”
“But you’re hugging me tight.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I held him even tighter and loved that he let me. “I needed a hug.”
He laughed then, a soft sound that I felt run through him. “Happy to help.”
We hugged it out, too tired to fuck, content just to snuggle in Ben’s huge, soft bed, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
It was the best win I’d had in a long time, because getting that hug was an even better feeling than beating Washington.
What woke me, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was Ben moving, or the sound of his cell phone, or maybe the urgency of his tone. All I knew was he wasn’t in my arms, and when I focused on him in the half-dark, he was getting dressed.
“What time is it?” I tried to focus on my watch to see the time.
“Four,” he said, curtly, fearfully, and I was instantly awake.
“What?” I sat upright in bed and pulled off the covers, dressing as fast as him.
“A break-in at the shelter. The cops are there, and they have the guy. I’ll drive," he added, and I wasn’t going to argue seeing as I didn’t have a car there and I didn’t really drive anymore.
I followed him out of the house, and we arrived at the shelter in the space of ten minutes to flashing lights and two cops. I was ready to get out of the Jeep and take on whoever had been messing with Ben, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t drop gloves on someone outside the rink. I had to keep my cool.
“It wasn’t me!” someone shouted. A kid in a coat stared up at the two cops looking right back at him. He was visibly shivering, despite the coat, and I knew how he felt; it was freaking cold out.
“Shit,” Ben cursed, and broke into a jog to get to the cops.
“It’s okay, he’s okay,” he said, and moved between the cops and the boy.
“Sir, the alarm was triggered, and on arrival we found this young man and these.” Cop one held up what looked like a pocket knife, and when the light of the street light hit the metal my temper boiled over. Now it was my turn to get involved.
“What the fuck?” I said, all up in the kid’s face. He stumbled back and away, and Ben had to catch him and stop him from falling.
“Max, leave it,” he said, and his tone didn’t leave any room for discussion or disapproval.
“DK? What are you doing?” Ben asked, his hands on the kid’s skinny upper arms.
“You said if I needed you I could come, and I tried the key in the gate, and it didn’t work so I tried to pick the lock, and I’m cold, Ben, and I needed you.”
I listened to the boy, this DK, who seemed to know Ben. Who needed Ben.
Ben turned so that DK was behind him and it was him facing the cops. “I’m sorry to waste your time here officers. DK is my nephew.”
His nephew? That would explain why I wasn’t allowed to pummel him, I guess.
“We’ll require a statement,” Cop two said, with cop one sighing noisily.
“Tomorrow, okay?” Ben waited. Behind him, the kid was shivering, and I didn’t know what the hell to do.
The cops conferred with each other, called the situation in with a string of codes, then drove away.
Which left me, Ben, and DK, standing at the front gate and looking at each other.
“Coffee.” Ben said, entering his passcode into the new security keypad and walking inside. As soon as the door closed behind us, all the bravado disappeared from the kid and he slumped in the nearest seat.
“Talk to me, DK,” Ben said, and went into a crouch in front of him. I backed away a little and filled the coffee pot, all the time with an ear on what was being talked about.
“Dad went crazy,” DK murmured.
“Crazy how?” Ben asked.
“He was… It was…” DK stopped and scrubbed at his eyes, as though he was trying to clear tears.
“We all grieve in different ways,” I heard Ben say.
“This isn’t Dad grieving, Uncle Ben. This is him losing his job, having no money, and if you heard some of the evil shit he screams at me. Then he…”
Ben placed a hand on DK’s knee. “Come on, DK, tell me what happened.”
DK looked right at me then, and I was reminded staring wasn’t a good thing, so I attempted to busy myself with mugs and coffee, but not before DK showed something to Ben and Ben turned on the full light. Not before I saw the marks.
A vivid scarlet on DK’s neck, a purple bloom on his arm, crimson flecks on his wrist.
I heard Ben curse in horror, and I had to physically restrain my anger. Hitting a kid?
What the fuck?
“I won’t go back,” DK snapped. “You can’t make me. I’m eighteen now, and I choose to be with you.”
Ben glanced over at me, and there was conflict in his eyes. I wanted him to say that everything would be okay for the kid, that he’d offer him a place to stay. I wanted the man who saved dogs to show the same compassion for his nephew. I needed that as much as I needed a hug, to see purity in someone who was the opposite of me.
“Okay,” Ben said, and stood. He held out a hand and pulled DK up and into a hug. “But it has to be above-board. I have to talk to your dad.”
DK looked shocked, then shrugged, which looked to me like evidence of self-preservation. Maybe he shrugged off everything in life?
“Dad can’t do anything about it. He can’t make me go home.”
“I know,” Ben whispered.
Then DK’s tears broke free, and he leaned in to Ben. “Why did Uncle Liam have to die?” he said on a sob.
I watched, frozen on the spot as Ben held his nephew. I swear I saw tears on Ben’s face as well, but in this light, I couldn’t see for sure.
Why wouldn’t a widower cry with his husband’s family?
I was a voyeur; the worst kind of watcher, seeing this naked grief I understood but couldn’t handle. Instead, I lined up the coffee on the side, took mine, and left the room, following the corridor to where I knew the pups were.
Standing watching them, all curled up together in a heap of fur, I attempted to find some kind of peace, or understanding, or hell, compassion that I could give Ben with this.
How the hell had this uncomplicated thing we had between us become so complex with need and, hell, grief?
I didn’t have time for this. I had enough of my own grief banked behind a wall in my head, and I wasn’t pulling that out to examine it any time soon.
“I’m taking DK back to my place,” Ben said from behind me. I could see his reflection in the glass, and he hovered there, not coming close to me.
“So that’s your husband’s…” I left it open, waiting for Ben to elaborate, although I hadn’t really earned the right to know everything.
“Yeah. My husband, Liam, his brother has three sons. DK is the youngest. Poor kid got caught up in the family reaction when Liam decided to marry me. Then when Liam changed his will and left me everything, the dislike for me turned to hate. Hell, he wasn’t even happy for DK to visit, even though DK used to work weekends here as his part-time job.”
“But you are letting him stay with you now.” I needed to know that was real, for the kid with the tears and the bruises.
I’d hurt people worse than the marks I’d seen on DK’s skin, but never off the ice. Never in a temper so great I could hurt a kid, or my own son. I hated that doubt about what Ben would do crept into my tone, and I saw my words hurt a little from the way he stiffened.
“He’ll always have a place with me.” His voice was clipped, and I knew I’d fucked up.
“I didn’t mean anything by that. I know you.”
He turned to leave, but I swear I heard him mutter that I didn’t know him at all.
Great, now I was the one feeling hurt. I caught up with him and grabbed his sleeve, pulled him to a stop, and kissed him, soft and insistent, until, with a sigh, he linked his hands around my neck.
“You don’t need to be worrying about this,” he said, his dark eyes brimming with emotion.
“I didn’t before,” I admitted. Honesty was one of my strong points, after all. “But this is a vulnerable young adult, here, and hell, you make it damn hard for me to walk away and not care.”
He rested his head on my shoulder, and I heard that sigh again, as if the weight of the world sat on him, heavily. I was a big guy, and I had the space to take some of the worry away from him. It’s kind of my thing. Protection. Being the brick wall.
“But you want the worry now? After…what? A couple hookups?”
I tried for lightness in my reply. “I have nothing else to do outside of hockey.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I tapped my head then, “Been hit in the head too many times.”
I was joking. It was what any hockey player would say.
But the truth of it was acid inside me.
I did what I do best. I ignored the twist of blood vessels in my brain and carried on.