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Rusty had thought teaching a bunch of kids couldn’t possibly be as tiring as training for the ECHL.

Boy, had he been wrong. Although his brain ached a lot worse than his legs, after a day chasing children and pre-teens around the ice, and the gym, and the locker room.

God, some of those kids must’ve been mainlining Red Bull.

He’d gotten a kick out of being introduced as “A real professional hockey player” even if the kids had mostly not even known who the Gryphons were.

They hadn’t listened to him worth shit at first, off the ice especially, but it reminded him of wrangling his little brothers.

Only with more actual authority. Mike used to—

Shoving open the community center doors, Rusty stepped out into the bright afternoon sun and glanced up, letting the dazzle bring tears to his eyes.

Or something. Fuckit, Mike, you never listened.

You never told me anything. He sucked in two deep breaths and stared at the tall, lush Oregon trees surrounding the parking lot.

He was a long way from Kansas and Mike and that old life.

He hadn’t ever gone to the cemetery. Not even for Mike’s funeral last summer, when sanctimonious speeches and being cut dead by his parents might’ve broken him.

And not this summer, despite a month of telling himself he should.

Mike wasn’t there, in that churchified patch of ground, anyhow.

Whatever his parents had put on the headstone wouldn’t reflect the brilliant, musical, queer kid who’d pulled his hand out of Rusty’s and gotten lost at the fair when he was eight, who’d climbed the back of the bleachers when Rusty said not to and broke his arm at twelve, who moved on to the water tower as a teenager, looking down and angsting over the small-town closet he was trapped in.

“Beloved son and brother” wouldn’t cut it.

Rusty rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and straightened.

Get it together. Mike would kick his ass for standing here crying over him in a parking lot.

Mike might’ve done angst, but he’d also done musical theater and dancing and making life colorful.

He’d say “Get on home to that hot man you’ve landed.

” Or almost landed— Rusty was still working on that part.

He strode out between the parked cars, ready to work on it some more.

When he reached his truck, he had a moment of déjà vu of a different sort because there, standing by the driver’s door, was Tyler.

“Hey, baby,” Tyler said. “You’re back.”

“What the fuck?” He stared. Tyler looked like shit, frankly.

Bags under his eyes, his hair less shiny, and those high cheekbones looking hollow instead of elegant.

Is he not eating? But a twitchy restless motion of Tyler’s fingers suggested something else.

He’s strung out. Tyler hadn’t used anything other than pot around Rusty, but he’d had his suspicions toward the end. Be cool, be calm. “Back from where?”

“Kansas,” Tyler said, as if he’d had the right to know. “I wasn’t going to follow you that far, but I figured you’d have to come back for hockey. I can do Portland.”

“You can get lost!” Rusty spotted one of his teen players crossing the lot in the distance and lowered his voice. “Go slither off to Eugene and your druggie friends or whoever you hang out with. Leave me alone.”

“Now, baby, come on. I drove two hours up here for you. And then I waited here, nice neutral ground, instead of at that hockey player’s big house. We need to have a chat, you and me.”

Rusty’s stomach lurched. “What do you mean, house?”

“That LaCroix. You were at his house last night, but you didn’t stay. Did you remember you belong to me? That’s a good boy.” Tyler smiled, showing teeth less pearly white than usual.

“How the hell do you know where I was? Are you tracking me?” Rusty lunged toward Tyler, forgetting his resolution, but Tyler danced back out of reach.

“Ah-ah, no hands when you’re glaring like that. Of course I always know where you are. We’re soulmates.” Tyler’s tone and wry expression showed he didn’t really mean the word.

A chatter of young voices, two small girls and their adult approaching, kept Rusty from chasing Tyler farther.

Violence would not make a good impression from a brand-new counselor.

“There’s laws against stalking and bugging and following shit.

I will totally call the cops on you. Don’t think I won’t. ”

Tyler cocked his head. “You know, you could pay me to go away.”

Rusty snorted. “So now our soulmatery is for sale?”

“Baby, it’s a cold hard world. Everything’s for sale.

Although you know what would be cool?” Tyler grinned, shifting his weight foot to foot.

“If you and me could get our hands on some of LaCroix’s money, and then run away together.

That dude has millions, hundreds of millions, he wouldn’t miss a few.

We could buy a yacht and cruise the ocean, no troubles, no rent, no cops.

Just you and me and some topflight booze. What do you say?”

“You’re crazy.” Rusty stared at him. “Or high or something. No, I am not helping you steal Cross’s money to buy a yacht. And so help me, if you go near him, I’ll forget about the law and smear you to a bloody paste across the pavement. Are we clear?”

Tyler jumped back a couple more feet. “Who said steal? We ask him. Like, how much would he pay not to be outed in the tabloids?” His expression went crafty. “I wonder how much they would pay for an exposé. Easier money, no risks.”

“Stay away from me. Stay away from Cross. Stay away from the papers.” Rusty was going to add threats, but another clump of kids and adults arrived at the minivan parked next to him.

Tyler glanced at them, then wiggled his fingers at Rusty. “And you used to be such an obedient boy.” He turned and jogged off across the parking lot.

“Fuck!”

A mom next to Rusty glanced down at her preschooler, then gave Rusty a sharp glare.

“Sorry.” He leaned an arm against his truck and pressed his forehead to his elbow. Fuck. So much for going home to a nice evening of dating and seduction.

He opened the door, climbed into the seat, and called Cross. “Hey, there.”

“Hi, good to hear from you. Are you done at work?”

“Uh.”

“Is something wrong?”

Rusty didn’t want to admit it, but Cross was entitled to hear the new threats. “I ran into Tyler here.”

“I hope you mean that literally.”

“Hah. I wish.” But the smile was welcome. “No, he was waiting for me.”

“How did he know where you were? It’s your first day.”

“Yeah. That. And he knew I’d been in Kansas.

And at your house. I think he’s tracking my phone or something.

” He hadn’t worried about leaving his phone at the bedside when he showered at Tyler’s until he’d caught him scrolling.

Maybe he’d done worse. One more thing to add to his life-lessons-from-dating-a-douchebag list.

“Come on home,” Cross said. “I’ll get Amy to send someone over to check for trackers and bugs.”

Home. That sounded good. Too good. Rusty couldn’t afford to relax into that yet. Plus… “Maybe they should meet me here, so I don’t lead Tyler to you.”

“You said he already knew.”

“Oh, yeah. Fu-udge.” He giggled, a little punchy, because of course no toddler was going to overhear him inside his truck. “Fuck.”

“Come back here. Let me feed you some dinner and give the pros a chance to take Tyler down. Logical, right?”

“I guess I can’t argue with logic.” Especially when he didn’t want to.

“I’m all about the logic. Do you want the nice healthy chicken dinners, or should we indulge?”

Rusty totally wanted some comfort food, but they’d had pizza last night. “Healthy, I guess.”

“Maybe you could pick up some fries to go with the healthy.” Cross laughed. “Imagine Tyler, thinking he freaked you out with his stalking fuckery and then he sees you lining up at McDonalds, not a care in the world. You might have to do it, just for that.”

Rusty wasn’t sure if Cross believed that, or was giving him an excuse or an ego boost, but he wouldn’t argue with that logic either. “Sold. Although not McDonald’s. Potato Mountain’s on the way.” If he was going to bust their nutrition plan, he’d spend a few extra bucks.

“Ooh, get gravy.”

“Heathen.”

“Connoisseur.”

Despite everything, Rusty was grinning as he put the truck in gear.

***

Cross kept his anger to himself as he waited for Rusty at the top of his front stairs.

He wanted to run down and hug Rusty as he got out of the truck, a Potato Mountain bag in his hands, his shoulders slumped.

Running was not in Cross’s current skill set, though, so he waved.

“Come meet Hector.” He gestured to the mid-forties guy at his side.

Rusty glanced up, then jogged their way. “Hey,” he said to Hector as he reached them. “I’m Rusty.”

Cross told him, “Hector’s here from Amy, my security person, to check your truck and phone and everything.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rusty dug his keys back out of his pocket and held them out. “Have at it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hector took the keyring. “Let me wand you and then I’ll start with the truck.”

“Right. The dome light doesn’t work.”

“It’s still sunny and I have a work light.” Hector ran a detector up and down Rusty, focusing longest on his sneakers, then shook his head, hefted his leather case, and strode off toward the truck.

Cross nudged Rusty with his elbow. “Let’s go on in and eat. Don’t let the fries get soggy.”

“That would be a shame.” Rusty followed Cross inside although he kept glancing over his shoulder until the door shut.

“Hector’s one of the best,” Cross assured him. “I trust all of Amy’s people completely.”

“I guess.” Rusty shook his distraction off and smiled at Cross, holding up the bag. “Ransome the fries for a kiss?”