Page 17

SIXTEEN

Early morning light filtered in through the blinds. Bellamy had about a zillion things to do today, not the least of which was facing Ryland on the ice only twenty-four hours after he’d found out about his and Jason’s relationship.

All that mattered right now, though, was watching the play of sunlight on Jason’s naked back.

He lay on his stomach in Bellamy’s bed, head turned away from him, the sheets pooled at his waist. He was a work of art, all golden and toned and perfect. Bellamy was still trying to figure out what he’d done to deserve him. Jason was sweet and thoughtful and kind. He was generous with his time, a good listener, a great conversationalist, and when he looked at Bellamy, he made him feel like he’d just won every hockey award there was.

Bellamy could see pieces of their future laid out like the most perfect of hockey plays. Lazy mornings cuddling in bed. Jason stealing kisses while Bellamy cooked for him. Kayaking on Lake Champlain with their friends. Bellamy stealing kisses while Jason typed away on his thesis at the kitchen island. Celebrating together when Jason graduated with his master’s in hand. Meeting Jason at the players exit after a home game.

Of course, that all depended on where Bellamy was based. If he got traded again, all of that could go up in smoke.

What would happen to them if—when—he did get traded? Jason couldn’t move with him. He had a life here. A home, a farm, a family, friends.

“I can hear you thinking,” Jason murmured sleepily, his voice sounding like tumbled rocks. He turned his head toward him—his hair a tangled mess, sleep creases on his cheek—and snuggled deeper into the pillow. “What are you thinking about?”

Bellamy drifted a palm over his back, the skin smooth as freshly Zambonied ice. “I was just telling the universe that I’m happy here and it can keep any future trades to itself.”

“What are the chances of that? Of you getting traded, I mean,” Jason asked. He folded his arms under his head, exposing a small tuft of armpit hair.

“Judging by my history? Pretty high. Maggie’s going to try to negotiate a no trade or no movement clause to my contract.”

“If she can’t, Bel... Don’t sweat it, okay?”

“But I like being here.” Bellamy cozied up to him, sharing his pillow, and passed a thumb over his tattoo. “I like being with you.”

“This doesn’t automatically end if you get traded.”

“No?” Bellamy hid a smile in Jason’s shoulder. “Well, all right, then.” He lifted himself over Jason and kissed the skin between his shoulder blades, following that up with a series of kisses down his spine.

Jason made an incoherent sound of contentment.

Bellamy took his time drawing more of those sounds out of him as the light shifted. The world felt hazy, out of focus. Everything Bellamy felt for Jason, all of these feelings swirling inside him, they felt both brand-new and old as time.

Jason squirmed beneath him, yet still Bellamy slowly savored every inch of him. When he finally entered him, Jason was begging. And when they came, it was with their fingers interlocked and their eyes on each other and a sense of peace that made the room swim.

“Christ, I’ve fallen so hard for you,” Bellamy said into Jason’s neck, his mind foggy.

Jason’s breathing stuttered, and he swept the tips of his fingers up and down Bellamy’s back. “You’re not supposed to say that during sex.”

“We’re not having sex.”

“What were we just doing?”

“And who came up with that rule anyway?”

“I dunno.” Jason patted his butt. “Give me my phone and I’ll look it up.”

Laughing, Bellamy rolled onto his side to get rid of the condom, then dragged Jason closer.

“I’ve fallen hard for you too, you know,” Jason whispered against his lips. “I’m half in love with you already.”

Bellamy wrinkled his nose for show, but his heart soared into the outer atmosphere. “Only half?”

Their smiling lips met, slow and languorous. Like they had all the time in the world and could draw the morning out into afternoon. They couldn’t—Bellamy had to leave for morning skate soon—but they could pretend, for a few minutes, that nobody else existed.

Later, dry-mouthed and sporting beard burn from all the kissing, Bellamy lay on his back. Next to him, Jason’s head was propped on one hand; he drew figure eights on Bellamy’s chest with the other, equally beard-burned and looking far sexier for it. Bellamy needed to get up, but he was reluctant to break up the sensual morning with talk of the outside world.

Perhaps Jason could read his mind, because he did it for him. “I’ll be in one of the friends-and-family suites tonight with my folks, Brie, and the kids.”

“Yeah? You’ll finally see one of my games live.”

Jason booped his nose. “Silly. I was at one of your games a few weeks ago.”

“You were?” Bellamy blinked at him. “You never said anything.”

“We weren’t on super great terms at the time.”

“What game was it?”

“The St. Patrick’s Day game against Tampa.”

“Huh.” Bellamy thought about that, then said, “Did we win?”

“You did,” Jason said with a laugh. “But as I was saying, I’ll be there tonight, and... will you be mad if I wear Ryland’s jersey? It’d be weird if I didn’t.”

“Of course I wouldn’t be mad.” Bellamy tangled their legs together. “Can you imagine what people would say if you wore my jersey to a Vermont versus Columbus game? Hell, to a Vermont versus anybody game.”

“I can see the headline now. Is Ryland Zervudachi’s Brother Consorting with the Enemy? ”

Bellamy winced. “In all seriousness, as much as I want to scream from the rooftops that you picked me, it’d probably be better to wait until Ryland and I smooth things over.” That was assuming they could, and for Jason’s sake, Bellamy sure as hell was going to try. He hoped Ryland would too. “That way you don’t get caught in the middle.”

Bellamy had already told his agent, his coach, and the public relations team about his new relationship status, and they were ready with statements whenever he and Jason decided it was go time.

“I can handle it.” Jason dropped a quick kiss on his mouth. “But I do agree we should wait, if only to make things a bit easier on all three of us.”

Bellamy’s alarm went off, and he groaned. “And on that note—if I don’t leave in the next half hour, I’ll be late for morning skate.”

“Hm.” Jason stood, putting every inch of him on display. When he lifted his arms over his head in a lazy stretch, Bellamy nearly swallowed his tongue. “Do you usually shower before morning skate?” Jason asked with a teasing smile as he headed for the en suite.

Bellamy threw the sheets off. “No. But I can be persuaded.” And followed Jason into the bathroom.

“Why are you scrolling through Ryland Zervudachi’s Instagram?” CC asked.

Bellamy glanced up from tying his skates and found him hovering over Dabbs’ shoulder.

“I’m making sure he hasn’t posted anything mean about Bel before the game,” Dabbs responded.

Bellamy stared at him. Dabbs sat on the bench in front of his cubby, fully suited up for the game minus his gloves, looking ready to go to war for him.

CC pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then toward Bellamy. “We’ve got your back, bro.”

“I can handle Ryland,” Bellamy said, tying the other skate.

“But you shouldn’t have to on your own,” Dabbs said, putting his phone away. “That’s why you have a team behind you.”

It was odd. The Trailblazers were very don’t touch my teammate . But on every other NHL team Bellamy had been on, his teammates had been very don’t touch the rivalry . Like it held special royal status or had one of those safety not to be tampered with signs.

When he’d first arrived in Vermont, he’d joked about joining a zen-loving hockey team. Five weeks later and he could definitively say he’d been proven correct.

It was nice, though, knowing his teammates wouldn’t let Ryland get away with his bullshit. Bellamy was tempted to message Ryland to tell him to keep things civil for Jason’s sake but refrained. He didn’t want to sound like a condescending prick.

With only a few minutes left before the pre-game warm-up, Bellamy slipped his Trailblazers-colored beaded bracelet over his wrist, then grabbed his gloves.

His arm was nearly torn out of its socket when CC tugged his hand close. “Ow. What the fuck, CC?”

“Pretty,” CC breathed, eyes shiny. “Where can I get one?”

“Uh...” Squirming now, Bellamy cleared his throat. “I have an extra if you want one.”

“Gimme.”

Bellamy dug into the box he’d hidden at the back of his cubby, pulled out a bracelet, and handed it over.

Hughes watched with a contemplative frown, then pinned Bellamy with a dark-eyed gaze. “How come he gets one but I don’t?”

Dabbs watched Hughes slip his on and said, “Got any more?” to which Gaff replied with, “Me too.”

And that was how Bellamy found himself handing out bracelets to his teammates. Even Coach Madolora wanted one.

As they clomped down the chute for the pre-game warm-up, Dabbs nudged him. “You just happened to have enough team-colored bracelets for everyone?”

Bellamy flushed. “Shut up.”

Chuckling, Dabbs tapped his stick against Bellamy’s. “Let’s go out there and show Columbus why we’re headed to the playoffs and they aren’t.”

Although Bellamy was feeling loose and limber a few minutes into the warm-up, as the start of the game grew imminent, anxiety began to weave itself through his muscles. Coach Madolora had told him not to let Ryland get to his head—and he never forgot Dabbs’ advice to be the bigger person and let the rivalry go—but dealing with Ryland face to face was different than dealing with him via sportscasters or social media. He’d recently learned to ignore Ryland when he took potshots at Bellamy from a distance.

While sharing the same ice? Bellamy wasn’t sure he’d be able to ignore Ryland all night long.

And speaking of dealing with Ryland face to face... Bellamy nabbed a puck near the blue line, turned to send it sailing at his goalie, and there was Ryland waiting for him. Not scowling, but definitely not smiling either. It wasn’t technically illegal for players from opposing teams to greet each other during the pre-game warm-up, but it wasn’t exactly common either, although there were a couple of best friends who’d played for Vancouver and Toronto who’d done so for years before they’d retired.

Bellamy braced himself and hoped that wherever the Zervudachis were in the stadium, they weren’t about to witness a fistfight.

“My brother?” Ryland said. “Really?”

“What?” Bellamy snapped defensively. “It’s not my fault he’s irresistible.”

“Oh, blargh.” Ryland made gagging sounds. “Gross. Why did you have to go there?”

Bellamy almost laughed.

CC appeared on his left in a shower of snow. “Everything okay here?”

“We’re good,” Bellamy said, warmed to the core.

CC skated away with a nod for Bellamy and a glare for Ryland, but then there was Dabbs, coming up on Bellamy’s other side. “All good?”

“Dabbs!” Ryland perked up, his face lighting up like he’d just been told his team was heading to the playoffs after all. “Hey! Hey, Dabbs.”

Dabbs gave him a patient smile. “Ryland.”

“How’ve you been?” Ryland asked as though Bellamy had ceased to exist.

Except he did exist, and he watched as Ryland became an entirely different person.

“Not bad,” Dabbs said. “You?”

“Good! Great!” Ryland skated a circle around Dabbs. He wasn’t small by any means, but next to Dabbs, who was six foot four—taller in skates—he looked positively tiny. “A few of us are going to a nearby sports bar after the game. You should come.”

Bellamy’s head whipped between them. How long had Dabbs and Ryland been friendly? Dabbs had never mentioned it, only that they’d played in a few tournaments together.

“Thanks,” Dabbs said with another patient smile. “But I can’t tonight.”

“Are you sure? I’ll buy you a drink, and maybe we can find a quiet corner and—” Ryland blushed. “—get something to eat?”

Bellamy gaped at him. What the hell was happening?

Dabbs tapped his stick against the ice. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t date people who are mean to my teammates.” With that, he skated off, leaving both Bellamy and Ryland staring after him.

What the . . . ?

Ryland’s lips twisted and he turned his stare on Bellamy.

Bellamy quickly shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t even know you were friends.”

“Hmph” was Ryland’s response to that, followed by an easy “See you out there” as he skated back to his own side of the rink.

Seriously, what the fuck had just happened?

Bellamy didn’t get an answer as the game started, and he certainly didn’t get one during it. He put it out of his mind, focusing entirely on the game.

Columbus came out hot, winning the first face-off, but the Trailblazers had home-ice advantage and thousands of fans wearing their jerseys in the stands. Their first goal came midway through the first period via an assist from Bellamy that had CC sending the puck over the goalie’s left shoulder.

Columbus tied in the second with a wrister from Ryland, who scored only thanks to a messy rebound, but then the Trailblazers scored again in the third, putting them up by one.

Bellamy, whether because Ryland was on the ice with him or because Jason was in the building, played like his contract hinged on this game. He created scoring chances for his teammates, made sure his passes connected, and scored halfway through the third.

Sure, he might never be first-line material, but he was a good player and a good skater, and he did what he did really, really well.

To his surprise, Ryland didn’t antagonize him during the game. He was a chirpy shithead—most players were—but he wasn’t unnecessarily hostile or rude. Maybe he, too, was conscious of his family in the stands.

Or like Jason had said, maybe Ryland wanted his brother to be happy, so he was actively putting their rivalry behind him.

They faced off late in the third, both of them sweaty and determined to win. Ryland grinned, and it was on the unhinged side. “I’m going to win this game for my brother.”

Bellamy scoffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, the scoreboard says we’re winning.”

“By one .”

“With four minutes left in the game.”

“Anything can happen in four minutes.”

“Remember that when you lose,” Bellamy said, grinning now.

Because this? Volleying barbs back and forth with a Ryland Zervudachi who wasn’t actively trying to start a fight?

This was fun .

Ryland won the face-off—because of course he fucking did—but Coach Madolora hadn’t recently called Bellamy a smart third-line forward for nothing.

And what was even better than trading barbs with Ryland was preventing him from scoring, which Bellamy did shortly before the end of his shift.

Ryland’s curses rang in his ears afterward, and it was oh-so-satisfying.

With the Trailblazers taking home the win, the mood in the locker room after the game was jubilant as players proceeded with their post-game rituals and Shaboozey’s “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” played on repeat over the speakers. Bellamy got called out to speak with reporters after the game, and they asked the usual things, like “How does it feel to win?” and “Walk us through that goal.”

And then: “It’s been a while since you’ve played against Ryland Zervudachi. I think most of us here were waiting for the gloves to come off, but nothing happened. What gives?”

“Nothing gives,” Bellamy said with a shrug, downplaying it as best he could. He resettled the Trailblazers ballcap on his sweaty head. “Ryland and I are older and theoretically wiser than we were when this rivalry started. I think we’re both realizing that it doesn’t benefit either of us. We just want to play hockey. So that’s what we did tonight.”

“Does playing against him change your strategy?” someone else asked.

“Ryland’s a great player—always has been—so I make sure I bring my A game when I play against him.” Bellamy shot the PR guy a clear get me out of here look, and he intervened, sending Bellamy on his way.

“Those were good answers,” Dabbs, who’d been hovering nearby, said as they entered the locker room. “You didn’t blame or accuse anyone, and you managed to even compliment your nemesis.” He held his hand out for a fist bump. “Nice work.”

Bellamy snorted a laugh and began undressing, finally ridding himself of his sweaty clothes. The locker room was mostly abandoned for now, but CC had left an open bag of ketchup chips on his bench. Bellamy stole one. Then a second. Then a handful.

“I wouldn’t say he’s my nemesis,” he said. “But thanks. Let’s hope Ryland doesn’t ruin it by saying something to contradict me. And hey, speaking of Ryland... how long have you been friends?”

“We’re not friends,” Dabbs said firmly as he, too, undressed. “Acquaintances, sure. Like I’ve said before, we’ve played tournaments together and we’ve hung out at league events, but I wouldn’t call us friends.”

“Does he always flirt with you?”

Dabbs gave him the side-eye. “Maybe.”

“Has he asked you out before?” Down to his base layers, Bellamy bent one knee behind him and held on to his ankle to stretch out his quads. When Dabbs didn’t answer, he added, “Do you always turn him down? Why? I know why you did today—which, by the way, if you want to date him, don’t let me stop you. But why the other times?”

Dabbs didn’t look at him when he said, “He’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Maturity, for starters.” He snapped his towel in Bellamy’s direction. “I’m going to hit the showers.”

Bellamy switched to the other leg and grabbed his phone as it pinged. Jason had sent him a text. No words, just the hockey stick emoji and a heart emoji. A little something to say congrats and to let Bellamy know he was thinking about him.

Christ. This man made him believe in the impossible—made him believe, for perhaps the first time in his life, that he did belong somewhere, and that somewhere was here, right by Jason’s side.

Jason stood at the players exit with other spouses and partners—the way to which he knew because he’d met Ryland here a few times—and waited for Bellamy. He really hoped Bellamy wasn’t opposed to him staying the night, because he’d already sent the rest of his family home to Maplewood. They’d come in two separate cars—Brie and her family, and Jason with Dad and Sheila—and Jason had spent the entire hour outlining different scenarios.

What if Ryland started a fight?

What if Bellamy started a fight?

What if that fight turned into an all-out brawl, resulting in multiple penalties on both sides?

Sheila had told him not to borrow trouble. Dad had told him to stop assuming the worst.

Still, Jason had watched through his fingers as Ryland had skated up to Bellamy during the pre-game warm-up, dropping them only when Ryland had skated away again. He’d turned a bewildered look on his sister, who’d shrugged.

“Maybe he’s maturing,” Brie had said.

“Maybe he’s getting over it just like I said he would,” Dad had piped in. “The maturing thing is debatable.”

Brie had cackled. “I’m so telling him you said that.”

Despite how seemingly well Bellamy and Ryland’s first interaction had gone, Jason had been on high alert for the entire game. Turned out there’d been nothing to worry about, and now Jason’s neck was stiff for nothing.

A few of the Trailblazers exited as he waited, the ones he’d spoken to the day of the potluck giving him chin nods in greeting. A few of the Columbus players exited as well, heading for the coach bus in the parking garage, and Jason got a few chin nods from them too, even though he’d never met most of them. He’d only ever met a couple of Ryland’s closest teammates over the years.

CC and Hughes came down the hallway next, CC babbling about something while Hughes encouraged him with the occasional “Uh-huh.”

CC cut himself off when he spotted Jason, then rushed the rest of the way to him. “Dude! Hey! What did you think of the game? Were you waiting for a fight to break out the whole time, because I was.”

“What he means,” Hughes drawled in his deep voice, “is that we would’ve had Bellamy’s back if anything happened, but we wouldn’t have pummeled your brother too hard.”

Jason didn’t know whether to be horrified or grateful.

Both, probably.

“Uh . . . thanks?”

Hughes clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending him staggering. “Need a lift somewhere?”

“No, I’m waiting for Bellamy and Ryland.”

“All right.” CC gave him a two-fingered salute. “Good night.”

They left, and there was Bellamy, looking resplendent in a charcoal suit he’d paired with a crisp white shirt. His hair was clean but messy, flopping over his forehead, and his eyes flared when he noticed Jason by the exit.

Jason leaned back against the wall and gave him an up-and-down glance Bellamy could no doubt read from several feet away.

How soon can I peel you out of that?

Bellamy leaned one shoulder against the wall next to him, one hand tucked in the opposite pocket of his pants in a picture of casual self-assuredness that had kernels of desire floating to the surface of Jason’s stomach.

“Come here often?” Bellamy said with a smirk.

He’d asked the same thing the night they’d played darts at the pub what felt like a million years ago, the night they’d first met, and the parallel wasn’t lost on Jason. “Not really. But I expect I might be coming more often in the future.”

Bellamy’s eyes flared at the double entendre. He leaned in closer but quickly caught himself, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. “If you’re waiting for Ryland, I’m sure he’s?—”

“I was waiting for you.”

His gaze snapped back to Jason’s, and his smile was so goddamn soft that Jason almost threw caution to the wind and kissed him right here in front of curious onlookers.

There was a reason they weren’t doing that. What was it again?

“Hey.” Ryland stood next to them, chowing down on a granola bar.

“Hey,” Jason said, drawing him into a hug. “Nice game.”

Ryland pulled back and made a face. “We lost.”

“But you still played well.”

“They played better,” Ryland said, jerking a thumb in Bellamy’s direction.

Bellamy nodded sagely. “This is true.”

Jason tensed, waiting for the inevitable fallout, but Ryland only snort-laughed.

“Bus is leaving soon, Ry,” one of Ryland’s teammates said on his way out the door.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Ryland balled up the granola bar wrapper and shoved it in his pants pocket. “See you tomorrow at home, Jase.”

“Do you want a lift there?” Bellamy asked him. “We’re heading out at about ten.”

Jason stared at him, all of his cells turning to mush.

Ryland paused, hip cocked on the push bar on the door, so that it hung an inch open. He looked from Bellamy to Jason and back and shrugged. “Sure. Text me when you’re on your way.”

Jason watched through the window in the door as Ryland sauntered to the coach bus.

It couldn’t possibly be that easy.

Could it?

“I’ll be right back,” he told Bellamy before jogging after his brother. “Ry.”

Ryland turned toward him, and Jason barreled into him, squeezing him for all he was worth. Christ, he’d never loved his brother more. “Thank you.”

Ryland squeezed back. “I just want you to be happy. You deserve it.” He stepped back as the coach bus roared to life next to them. “And if Bellamy makes you happy, I’m not going to be the one to get in the middle of that.”

Jason wanted to cry and laugh all at the same time. Maybe it was that easy. “You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

“Meh. The guy I’m into doesn’t think much of me, so...”

“So change his mind.”

Gaze narrowing, Ryland pulled another granola bar out of his pocket. He waved it at Jason. “You might be onto something.”

“On the bus, Zervudachi,” barked one of the approaching... Columbus coaching staff? Equipment managers? Jason didn’t know, but he looked official as hell.

“That’s me,” Ryland said with a grin. “See you tomorrow.” And he disappeared onto the bus.

Bellamy came up next to Jason, their shoulders brushing. “Want to get out of here?”

“Do I get to peel you out of that when we get to your place?”

Walking backward toward his car, Bellamy waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll even put it back on so you can take it off a second time.”

Now there was a promise Jason would take him up on.