“No way, I’m totally about the hockey,” I lied, then glanced up at the clock, thirty seconds left and we were only one goal ahead of a feisty New York team. All we needed to do was keep hold of the game and block them getting past Colorado. The time out counted down and Coach tapped my line out first, and we headed into the last few moments of hockey with one thing in mind—stop the red, white, and blue from getting past us.
So it was crap when their star forward circled Vlad in a highlight reel move, set loose a goal that dribbled past Colorado’s glove, and suddenly we were facing three goals each and heading into overtime.
Well, shit.
Five
Jacob
Lying on the sofa, laptop open but unheeded on my thighs, I watched, riveted, as the Raptors squared off against New York. Both teams were challengers this year, working through rebuilds that had whittled down older players to make way for youth. New York had lost a long-time beloved goalie, which was always tough for the fans and players alike. But now they had this manic Russian tender, just twenty-two, who was making all the bookies in Vegas rethink their earlier predictions about who would be in the Cup finals come May. The game was tight, three goals each side, and both nets held determined goalies.
“… showdown of the Goalies, Walt! Colorado, the elder goalie versus Ivan Yahantov, the brash young stallion, has been exactly the kind of game we’d predicted in our pregame show.”
“It sure has been, Kenny! Both goalies have been tight in net despite what the scoreboard says. With every point crucial now for both teams, this is going to be one heck of a final three. And not to be forgotten, tonight’s final three is sponsored by our friends at the Tuscan Bottled Water Company. Looks like the Raptors are going to send out the JAR line for this faceoff. Not what I’d expected at all!”
“Not me either, Walt. I would have bet on Collins taking the faceoff but it looks like that will fall on Madsen.”
“Quite a risk given how shaky Madsen has been of late.”
“Fuck you, Kenny. Ryker is anything but shaky!” I barked as I blindly reached for my can of soda on the side table. My phone buzzed with an incoming text. I fished for the cell between the cushions, expecting a call from my mother to quadruple-check their flights. Yes, the wedding was still four weeks away. Yes, she had called to verify airlines and hotels a dozen times. Yes, she was already thinking about what to pack. She might have been more nervous than Ryker and I were, but it was just how Mom ran.
I was in the same place two nights later, sitting on my sofa when the Raptors went up against the Railers in the last of their east coast road trip games. Of course, since they’d lost to New York no one held out hope of them winning against the Railers, and boy did the pundits like that. Particularly any time that Ryker and Ten were on the ice together for any reason. Still, it was a good game and went to a tie, and into overtime.
My cell vibrated across the coffee table, and seeing Adam’s name and number flash up, I groaned. Could I just ignore it? I really wanted to watch the game. It was an important one for the Raptors, and for Ryker. Eying the text, I blew out a breath that billowed my cheeks.
The text was simple and to the point. Late numbers were in on the final moisture analysis for Bygenta BG Triple Grow. That was good news, but what wasn’t so good was the extra part of the message which insisted we needed to collate the data and ended with the question as to when I could get to him. Actually, it sounded less like a question and more of an order. Then another text came in. This one left no room for misunderstanding. Come to my place, now.
“God damn it,” I huffed, glancing at the TV in time to see that Ryker had already taken the faceoff and was locked in a corner with that dark-haired winger that all the NY fans were crazy about. I slapped my laptop shut and hit Adam back. I sent him an answer to say I’d be there in twenty, but his reply came back so fast I imagined he’d had it ready to send.
Save the gas. I’ve ordered a car for you and I’m stirring up a pitcher of Sea Breezes to celebrate. ~ A
Seriously. We’re drinking during a business meeting? And he already sent a car? What if I said no. Not that I would say no.
Shut up, hick boy. People drink during business meetings all the time. I began to type my concerns, then realized I was probably being an idiot, and deleted it, before sending the lamest answer ever.
Sounds good.
That was a lie. It didn’t sound good. A night off to watch hockey and fiddle around with the seating arrangements for the reception sounded good. Apollo had been hounding me for two days for the seating plans. Did it matter where people sat? Seemed it did to Apollo, and since he was doing this all for free, I didn’t complain too much. The ceremony was going to be incredible, smaller than Ryker had wanted but larger than I had. Compromise. It worked wonders. We’d have two days in the desert alone which was short, sure, but come summer we had big travel plans that included a trip to the UK to chill with Seb and Alex then France and Germany. As I’d never been outside the States other than a few tourneys in Canada, I was stoked to see Europe over the summer if Ryker was up for it. We had time to plan it all out. But that honeymoon would never happen if I didn’t get the seating plans to Apollo. Henry’s boyfriend would flay me alive and no one wanted that, least of all me.
I took a few minutes to watch the game go into overtime then snapped the set off. Sighing, I jogged out to the parking lot to meet Adam’s driver. The Raptors radio announcers would be hashing it up over the flubs from the team and how we couldn’t afford to keep dropping games. It was an everlasting loop. The guys were aware, as were the fans. The car reached the gates, and we cruised into to the mansion, a yellow half-moon high in the dark desert sky.
Adam was right there to greet me, this time in swim trunks, sandals, and a flowy sort of robe that looked like it’d come out of Colorado’s closet. The car pulled away. Adam gave me a hug, tugging me into his bare chest, his hands tight to my back. It made me uneasy, his front smashed into mine, but I smiled and gave him a hug in return. Touchy-feely sorts made me wince. My family wasn’t into hugs and kisses, not really. Dad rarely displayed emotions, as was the norm in rural farming communities. Men just didn’t hug each other. Mom, on the other hand, was more expressive but that was accepted. I wiggled free then felt stupid for doing so. I needed to get over my corn-fed ways.
“You’re so cute when you blush,” Adam said then patted my cheek. “Tell me you brought trunks.” I shrugged and shook my head as my face grew warmer. “Ah well, no problem. I stocked the cabanas with several varieties that should fit.” He pulled back, gave me a long up and down, and then draped an arm around my neck. “I like how easily flustered you get. It’s an innocent vibe that isn’t seen much anymore. Vastly appealing.”
He talked as we cut through the dimly lit mansion around to the pool area. There sat the table we’d brunched at a few weeks ago, with a pitcher of cocktails, several fluttering candles, and a platter of what looked to be oysters.
“Marta ran these over a few minutes ago,” he said with a wave of his hand. The gold ring on his right index finger glittered under the soft lights surrounding the pool. “She’s a lifesaver. Why don’t you go change into some trunks? Then we’ll swim, sup, and sip!”