Page 48 of Drop the Gloves

Despite a cosy morning of making out in Riley’s room and exchanging handjobs in the shower, Riley was just as surly the next day.

He avoided everyone, eating breakfast in his hotel room and sitting by himself on the plane with his headphones unable to contain the loud music playing while he stared out into the clouds.

Evan worried. Riley was a go-with-the-flow guy, and yet here he was, stuck in the mud.

Evan wanted to believe Riley’s current foul mood had nothing to do with him.

Things had been nice last night and this morning, right?

If Riley were upset at Evan, he would’ve said something.

Or, more likely, he could’ve told Evan to fuck off and not yanked him into his room for sex.

Or he could’ve told Evan to leave instead of letting him stay.

There was just enough evidence for Evan to pretend he wasn’t connected, so he took hold of it fiercely.

Once or twice, he reached out while they were back in Pittsburgh, but Riley seemed uninterested with hanging out with Evan or anyone from the team.

“He’s worried about his misconduct,” Lawson confided with a group of them at the end of practice. As soon as the coaches ended practice, Riley had sprinted off the ice and disappeared.

“What do you mean?” Dalton asked. “The game’s over. We lost. Damage done.”

“The league is required to review all game misconducts for further disciplinary measures,” Lawson said. “With Barzy’s track record, they might come down hard on him to make a point.”

“All he did was yell at the ref!” Dalton was indignant. “And fight a guy! There’s someone who does that in every game, every night!”

“Sure,” Lawson said with a shrug. “But only one of them is named Riley Barczyk.”

Dalton shared a worried look with Evan. “Think he likes mini-golf?” Dalton asked with a weak smile.

“Not enough for it to help,” Evan said. The only thing he could offer Riley was orgasms, and that hadn’t helped either.

It might’ve been making it worse.

* * *

They didn’t talk much over their stay in Pittsburgh—two home games plus practices—because Riley seemed to need the space.

Evan had to admit, he needed it too. After talking to Amy, he’d acknowledged that he was gay in a way that made it settle inside him like a fact instead of a hypothetical.

This thing with Riley wasn’t some random glitch in his system; it was just the first attraction strong enough for him to recognize it for what it was.

So what exactly did that mean? Was he using Riley as a very willing but oblivious experiment? Did he have feelings for Riley that were more than sexual? Did he want to pursue those feelings?

Evan couldn’t settle on answers. He’d think he understood things when he was alone at his condo or hanging out with Dalty or the guys.

..and then he’d lock eyes with Riley at practice or on the bench, and his stomach would flipflop and his heart would yearn for something he didn’t want to think about too hard.

The only exception to giving Riley space came in the form of their pre-game ritual.

Obviously, they had to talk and work well together during games or they were fucked.

For a second, it looked like Riley was coming over for their butt taps, but he skated right by Evan.

The next time he came by for a lap, Evan stepped into his path so quickly his choices were collide or stop.

Thankfully, he picked stop.

“You owe me like ten whacks,” Evan said.

Riley stared at him blankly. “Abs”—Evan was starting to hate his own last name—“that was just for shits and giggles. It doesn’t help us play any better.”

“Sure,” he said, because Evan knew it didn’t manifest any actual luck.

Sometimes it wasn’t about the superstition but the routine, the way it could ground you before a game.

It wasn’t to give you something to blame or credit; it was about getting yourself to switch gears into game mode.

Evan thought they both could use that. “But we lost 5-1 and you took a bajillion penalties last time when we didn’t do it properly. ”

Riley’s jaw dropped. “A bajillion is stretching it,” he said.

“Half a jillion? Sorry, I can’t count that high.

Must’ve lost track.” He savored Riley’s indignant scowl and the dimple that meant he was trying very hard not to smile.

“My point is, we gotta clear out the bad mojo and bring back the good mojo. So...” He lifted his stick like a baseball bat. “Turn the fuck around, Barzy.”

“You used to be such a nice guy,” Riley grumbled but he turned around.

“I know,” Evan agreed. “Someone must be a bad influence.” Then he swung.

* * *

By the end of their homestand, Riley was back to his old self: loud, obnoxious, and full of energy.

Evan had really missed that. Funny how things changed.

“Albuquerque and Nevada in December,” Riley said the day before they headed out. “Best time of year for that trip.”

“What, you not enjoying Pittsburgh winters?” Woodward teased.

Riley rolled his eyes. “I played in Vermont for two seasons, Woodsy. I grew up in fucking Massachusetts. I can handle the cold. I just like not freezing my ass off when I walk to my car.”

It was good to have him back.

“Hey, Abs.”

Evan froze at the sound of Riley’s voice directed at him. He’d been on his way out of the training facility, but he’d gladly wait in the frigid parking lot if it meant Riley was talking to him outside of hockey.

“What’s up?” he asked in a terrible impression of a normal human being.

“Should be pretty nice out west,” Riley said, with far more calm than Evan had managed.

His words steamed in the air. “You should bring some clothes besides suits and workout clothes. Something nice. In case you wanted to go somewhere besides the hotel and the rink.” He knocked Evan with his shoulder as he walked by, heading for his car at the opposite end of the lot.

Evan stared after him long after he’d disappeared around a corner, wondering what that was about...and what qualified as ‘something nice.’

* * *

Instead of agonizing over what Riley’s seat choice might be on the plane to New Mexico, Evan was proactive.

He got on board and found a spot among the other younger players like Dalton, Winchester, and Pope.

It did get him stuck playing Connect Four, but hey, he needed something to take his mind off of the cute right wing a few rows behind him laughing loudly with their goalie Farrell.

Back in August, that laugh had grated on his nerves every time he heard it. Now he wanted to pocket the sound and save it for later.

When they arrived at the hotel, the team braced for their usual warning about a curfew. Coach Jack looked about to say it, but Lawson stepped forward and said, “Hey, Coach. Think we could have a late curfew tonight? Let the boys unwind and enjoy the warm weather.”

Like a good captain, he wouldn’t let anyone else get chewed out if Coach Jack got pissy about the request.

Coach Jack narrowed his eyes. “Warm weather? It’s 50 degrees.”

“And back home it’s 30. It’s practically shorts weather.”

“Hockey players,” he grumbled before mulling it over.

Coach Jack crossed his arms over his chest and made eye contact with each of them in turn.

“If I’m happy with practice, you can have a free evening.

As long as you don’t play like shit tomorrow night, I can let you boys have your fun.

Don’t cause trouble, and you won’t find yourselves in any. ”

This was met with quiet enthusiasm as they rushed off to their hotel rooms before Coach could change his mind.

“So what was the Portland incident that caused this curfew thing?” Riley asked once a bunch of them were safely in an elevator.

“You never been on teams with a curfew before?” Vassiliev asked.

“Oh, I have. Nothing as strict as when I was in Juniors, but I’ve had coaches lay down the law. Sometimes it’s a Barczyk-only curfew, but I earned that restriction. So what’d youse do to earn yours?”

The four of them shared a look, because none of them wanted to admit it. The silence drew out long enough that they reached the third floor and two guys escaped. When the doors slid shut again with just him, Riley, and Vassiliev left, Evan sighed and figured he should get it over with.

“There was an incident with indecent exposure,” he said. “There was a very drunken strip poker game going on in a hotel lobby.”

“It wasn’t the main lobby,” Vassiliev said. “It was relatively secluded. And it was very late at night.”

“Vassy, were you one of the indecent ones?” Barczyk teased. He looked delighted by the prospect.

Vassiliev looked offended. “I am good at poker,” he said. “I still had my shirt, socks, and boxers. I was very presentable.”

Riley burst out laughing as the elevator dropped him and Evan off on the fourth floor. Vassiliev waved good-bye as he disappeared behind the metal doors, and it was, as usual, Evan and Riley alone.

“I’m guessing you weren’t at the poker game,” Riley said, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “Fuck, that must’ve been fun until it wasn’t.”

“I was asleep in my room several floors away. Dalty and I stayed away from that kind of stuff. We weren’t old enough to drink when that went down, so we would’ve gotten it a lot worse than the other guys did.”

“How much trouble they get into?”

“A lot,” Evan said. Coach Jack had decided that if they had energy to be up at 3 a.m. playing poker and drinking, then his practices weren’t hard enough.

So aside from their individual punishments, the entire team suffered from excruciating drills for the next month.

Coach Jack didn’t let up until the end of February, only because he wanted them to save their energy for playoffs. They’d learned their lesson, though.

Hopefully.

“So assuming we don’t fuck up at practice,” Riley said as he stopped outside a door, “you wanna grab dinner? I know a place.”

“Sure,” Evan said. He was tired of hotel restaurant food. “What kind of place?”

“A food place,” Riley said. He laughed when Evan rolled his eyes. “A nice one. Great Yelp reviews and everything.”

“A nice one,” Evan repeated, a record scratch in the back of his head. “Where we should wear nice clothes.”

“Yeah, that’s how it works.”

“Just the two of us?” Evan asked uneasily. Riley huffed, a hint of whatever had happened on the ice in Quebec peeking through, so Evan quickly said, “Sounds good. A nice food place for dinner. Perfect.”

Mollified, Riley went into his room. Evan turned away before he could be disappointed not to be welcomed in.

And then he walked mechanically down the hall with his hands shoved in his pocket.

He was so busy stressing out over it, that he reached a dead end and had to double back to find his room. ..two whole doors down from Barczyk’s.

“I’m an idiot,” he grumbled. His hotel room didn’t disagree.