Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

LOUIE IS SNORING softly into the crook of Ryan’s neck. On TV, Toronto is losing against Boston. Just about a minute left on the clock and they didn’t even bother pulling their goalie. Score’s 1–6.

The camera pans to Carrot, looking like a kicked puppy on the bench.

Ryan texts him a sad face. Not much he can do from afar. Not much he can do period. Even if he was there, he could—what? Turn the whole team around? They didn’t even want him there anymore. Getting traded seemed like the end of the world at first, but it may have been the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He’s never felt this settled, even though his life is full of question marks. He doesn’t own this place and has no idea if he’ll be able to renew his lease next summer. It’s a contract year and there’s no way of telling if he’s staying. And then there’s Louie.

There’s Louie. Ryan will not ruin this. He thought he already had, but it turns out that sometimes people are just… people. Louie left, but then he came back. No one’s ever wanted to come back for him, no one’s ever given him a second chance. Ryan understands he’s not everyone’s cup of tea, that he can be annoying (even if Louie says he isn’t) and clingy and loud, and Louie wants to give loving him a try anyway.

Ryan kisses the top of Louie’s head .

“Hm,” Louie says and twitches the tiniest bit. His blanket (his favorite) slides off his shoulder and Ryan tugs it back into place.

They spent all day together. Shared his breakfast, took a nap on the couch. Louie told him he called Dominic one night at Liam’s and that they talked about their dad. He got quiet for a bit after that, lost in his own thoughts. It won’t be the last conversation about Louie’s family. When Bastien goes back to playing, when the next offseason rolls around and Louie has to make another choice, when Louie’s dad decides he’s had enough of the radio silence and goes back to torturing him with texts, they’ll come back to this.

Ryan will take him back to Pennsylvania. Maybe they can go for an extra week next year, or they could get on a plane to Europe and hop on random trains. Ryan’s not that passionate about trains, but Louie told him once, in a whisper, that it would be the perfect vacation.

After Ryan had ordered groceries, he made them grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch while Louie played the piano. Well, he tried to play the piano. Every so often, he swore under his breath and started over. Ryan watched him from the kitchen and burned his first grilled cheese (he ate that one).

Not every day will be like today, but some of them will be.

They’ll order dinner, and Louie will let Ryan pick his food, they’ll watch hockey, and Louie will analyze the plays along with the announcers, and sometimes Louie will fall asleep with his head on Ryan’s shoulder, wrapped in his blanket.

Some days, hockey will be in first place. When the playoffs roll around, Louie will not be sleeping. He’ll sit in his couch corner with his laptop and his headphones and he’ll watch the tape he got from their video coach. Ryan already knows those days will be hard for him, but Louie will most likely still let him crawl into bed with him and talk about their power play for half an hour before they go to sleep.

Ryan can deal. He’ll share Louie with hockey.

“—someone in the organization may need to ask himself why it is that players suddenly thrive on other teams. We’ve seen this with Bobby Allen, with Francis Bouchard, with Ryan Harris.”

Ryan Harris . That’s him. He frowns at the TV. Why are they talking about him when he didn’t even do anything tonight other than sit on his couch and kiss the boy who decided to give him—them—a chance.

The game’s over, so it’s time for hockey opinions that Ryan used to subject himself to before he realized they were tearing his mental health to shreds.

“I’d argue that the Harris situation was different. Harris was playing well in Toronto and continued to play well in Hartford,” one of them says.

It never stops being weird when other people talk about you like you’re some abstract entity. A player, not a person.

“Hartford seems like a much better fit for him, though. His style of play is exactly what they needed. They made an excellent move there.”

“Harris left quite the hole behind.”

“That he did.”

Ryan laughs.

“What’s funny?” Louie mumbles, slowly sitting up.

“Them.” Ryan nods at the TV, where the conversation is now moving on to Boston and their current coaching drama. “I was just laughing because… I think they were right for once.” At least kind of. It wasn’t the Cards who got lucky, it was Ryan.

“Unheard of,” Louie says flatly. He takes the remote and mutes the TV, tapping Ryan’s jaw. “Hey…”

“Huh?” Ryan, all couch-potatoed, looks up at him. There’s intention there, in his eyes, but also in the curve of his lips. “Oh, hello.”

Louie moves deliberately, straddles Ryan, and cups his face.

“Sailors game is about to start,” Ryan says.

“I know,” Louie replies and kisses him, slow, deep. Maybe he knows now how he kisses.

Ryan wraps his arms around him, maps outs his back with the palms of his hands, and counts the ridges of his spine through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Fingers curled around Ryan’s neck, Louie stays still, nudging Ryan’s temple with his nose. “Do you want to watch the game?”

“Um, I don’t need to.”

“But the Knights are playing against the Sailors,” Louie says, smile in his voice.

Yes, the Knights are playing, and yes, Ryan’s hockey crush for them and their everything is still going strong. But he doesn’t want to take his hands off Louie. “I’ll watch it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Louie says. He tugs at Ryan’s shirt and slowly pulls it up. He leans in for another kiss but stops a breath away from Ryan’s lips. “My place tonight?”