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Rusty took in the sight of his now-shiny black truck and felt unexpectedly cheerful.

Take that, Tyler. The old beater looked good.

Of course, under the fresh paint, the same rust was eating away at the body.

There were holes in the wheel wells no paint could cover.

Still, barring the still-masked-up windows and trim, the old pickup looked better than the day he’d bought it.

“Thanks, guys.” He turned to the group of NHL stars who’d taken time out of their day to clean and sand and paint his truck with him.

How the fuck is this my life? A tiny part of him ached that once it would’ve been him and his dad and Mike, doing a job like this together.

Back when dad didn’t think he was the spawn of Satan and he still had his annoying, eggheaded, soft-hearted little brother…

He bit his lip and forced the memories back.

These guys were standing up for him. He was grateful. “This means a lot. Seriously.”

Zykov gave Rusty a thump on the shoulder that rocked him. “No one messes with our rookie.”

Scott pulled the respirator mask from around his neck and tossed it onto the plastic-draped workbench. “If anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know. You’re not alone down there in Eugene.”

Rusty’s eyes prickled, because sometimes it sure felt like it, but he wasn’t going to come running to Scott or Cross for every little thing. “Thanks.”

Cross set his own mask aside and ran a hand over his hair. “That paint needs to dry now. Anyone want more food?”

“Nah, ate good.” Goldie headed over to where they’d dumped their jackets in a pile and pulled his on.

“I need to head home. See you bozos at practice tomorrow.” He ducked under the half-open garage door between the two big box fans and disappeared.

Axel said, “Fuck, he’s my ride. Hey, Goldie! Nate! Wait up!” and hurried after him.

Zykov asked, “You want help taking down tarps, Cross?”

“Not now.” Cross looked over at the two shrouded cars in the other half of the garage. “There’s probably sanding dust on them. Don’t want to float it into the air while the paint’s wet. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Makes sense.” Zykov flexed his thumb. “Stupid cans need bigger trigger. Made for hobbit fingers. We did good, though.”

“I think there’s a device you can get to fit the can into with a better squeeze trigger,” Cross said. “I didn’t want to buy too much stuff.”

“Why not?” Zykov frowned at him. “You’re a millionaire. Don’t be cheap.”

“Because I’m gonna pay him back,” Rusty said.

“You all gave me your time which is worth, like, a gazillion bucks an hour. The least I can do is pay for the paint.” Although he realized it wasn’t just the eight cans of primer and seven of black they’d used, but sandpaper and plastic sheets and tape and those box fans looked brand new.

They’d been ultra clean, and what were the odds Cross happened to have four of them, here in this fancy garage that he’d bet no one sprayed paint around before?

His voice faltered. “Although it’ll take a bit of time to get the cash together. ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, kid,” Scott told him. “We all know what it’s like to be short of cash, to settle for secondhand equipment, and skimp on stuff.” Cross shifted one foot to the other, and Scott added, “Well, other than Prince Crossie here.”

Rusty didn’t like the way Cross’s face went still, like that was an insult. Guess there were downsides to growing up rich.

He said, “Yeah, like buying used skates a size too big and wearing them with three pairs of socks and then two and then one.” And then passing them down to the little brothers he was forbidden to speak to now. Fuck, he needed to get out of his head. “Did you do that in Russia, Zykov?”

“Da.” Zykov grinned at him. “Until they see I am being great and then I got sponsor. All new pads.” He smirked at Scott. “Was aaaaaaawesome.”

Scott stuck out a foot as if to trip Zykov. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Then why do you think I mean you?”

Scott grabbed the goalie in a headlock and Zykov shoved him off, staggering a step. Cross said, “Hey, watch the paint!”

“Oops.” Scott twisted and avoided disaster. “Hey, Rusty, you shouldn’t drive that thing for, like, twelve hours ideally. Even if the rain stops. Longer dry-time is better. You want to borrow a car?”

“No thanks.” He could imagine the kind of cars these guys drove, with all their money. No way was he taking responsibility for one. “The paint can says three hours till it’s dry to the touch. I don’t mind if it gets dinged up a bit.”

“After all our hard work?” Zykov put a dramatic hand over his heart.

Scott suggested, “Let it dry overnight, at least. When’s your practice tomorrow?”

“Nine a.m.”

“Okay. Two hours drive, add an hour for rush hour even though mostly it’s heading north, add an hour for not pissing off your coach if rush hour is even rushier. Yuck. Five a.m.” Scott shrugged. “Still better than messing up all our hard work. You want to stay at my place?”

Cross broke in, “He might as well stay here. I have a ton of room, and then you don’t both have to get up at four-thirty to drive him back here to get his truck.”

“Ooh, you’re twisting my arm.” Scott tilted his head at Rusty. “You okay here with Cross?”

“Of course.” He knew Scott better, technically, after all of last summer, but he figured he could call Cross a friend now. Still, he didn’t want to impose. “Or I could…” His mind went blank because no, he couldn’t afford a hotel and sleeping in his truck was foiled by the wet paint.

“You’ll stay with me,” Cross said firmly. “You can help clean up down here when the truck’s dry.”

“Well, of course. And I will pay for the paint.”

“If you want to. I have the receipt.”

Rusty liked that Cross didn’t give him a hard time about that, even though Scott coughed “Cheapskate,” behind his hand. Rusty appreciated not being treated like a child. He had a job. He was earning his way, however low-rent that way was. He could take care of himself.

Scott said, “I guess we’ll head out then. But first…” He sighed, stepped up in front of Rusty, and held his arms wide. “C’mere.”

Rusty moved into the hug. Having someone’s arms around him for something other than a goal celly, after so long on his own, made his eyes burn.

He looked away and pretended not to be losing his cool.

All that long, hard summer, the guys had never been shy of letting him know they cared, but that was six months back.

Casey, Will, and Scott had invited him back to the ranch for Christmas, even offered to pay for his ticket from Eugene, but he’d lied and told them he was spending the day with a teammate.

He’d had no money for gifts, and he hadn’t wanted to spend the holiday barely twenty miles from his family, and yet shut out.

But on that cold Christmas day, eating microwave pizza and watching TV, he’d missed the hugs worst of all.

Scott thumped his back and let go. “Call Will. Or at least text him. He and Casey were ready to come out here and rip someone a new one over that truck.”

“You told them?”

“Of course. They care about you, kid. Let Will know we fixed it and you’re doing okay. Send him a picture.”

Scott’s older boyfriend Will was special, the kind of guy Rusty would’ve picked as a dad, given a choice. Great with horses and every other living thing. Warm and soft-spoken and practical and kind. Would Mike still be alive, if Dad had been like that?

But Will also said “If only” was a fool’s game. You had to live in the present. Rusty cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll text him.”

“We’ll head out then. See you in the morning, Cross. You need anything, Rusty, you call me.”

“Thanks.”

Once Zykov and Scott were gone, the garage seemed a lot bigger. Rusty shifted his weight, feeling awkward. “Is there cleanup I could start with?”

“Nah.” Cross opened the door to the house. “We’ll leave the fans on for three hours, then check on the paint job, start if it’s dry. Do you want a shower?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Rusty looked around at the open garage doors, the probably-expensive cars under tarps, the array of tools behind a drape of plastic on the workbench. “You sure you don’t want to lock up first?”

“I’ll lock the gate once the guys are gone.”

“I can go do it if you give me the key.” Rusty had a lifetime of experience wrestling gates closed in the rain and dark.

But of course, Cross said, “It’s electric.

” He did something with his smart watch.

“Right. Come on in.” He led Rusty inside and turned away from the kitchen-family room area they’d hung out in while letting the primer dry.

“Guest bedrooms are this way, and some bathrooms. I have six of each.” He gave an odd laugh.

“I didn’t design the house. Anyhow, you can pick a room and there’s a bathroom between each pair. ”

“Fucking six bathrooms?” Rusty’s brain caught up with his mouth a moment too late. He cleared his throat. “I just mean, I grew up with nine people sharing two.”

Cross laughed again, but his face had gone red. “I can pee somewhere new every day of the week. You don’t have to tell me it’s ridiculous for one person. My agent said it’s an investment.”

“Well, he’s probably right.” Rich folk had a bunch of ways to get richer. But seeing Cross look away, like he thought Rusty might make fun of him, made Rusty add, “Wait till you see what I buy when I have a million dollars. Gonna make this place seem like a barn.” He nudged Cross’s shoulder.

Cross nudged back and his flush ebbed. He pushed a door open. “Here. The ocean room. Bathroom’s there to the left.” He pointed at the next door down the hall.