Page 54 of Drop the Gloves

After getting tripped by Walker, Evan was upset.

The trip was bad enough—he’d seen the footage on the Jumbotron and was pretty sure it’d been intentional—but Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that Walker had targeted him because they’d played together.

Like he knew Evan wouldn’t retaliate, so it was a freebie.

Though Walker should’ve learned from the game in Pittsburgh: just because Evan wouldn’t fight him, didn’t mean he could get away with being rough.

Riley had swooped in and put Walker in his place, which only added to Evan’s annoyance about the whole thing. Riley thought Evan couldn’t take care of himself. Riley was still going around hurting people. If Walker had gotten hurt, was any of it Evan’s fault?

The answer to that last one was of fucking course not, but guilt decided it needed to make an appearance along with the mess of everything else he’d been feeling lately.

There was also the tightening in his gut, like Walker had awakened Riley’s bad side. Some nights Riley was a ticking time bomb, waiting for the wrong trigger to set him off, and his shouting match with Walker had all the makings of setting him off.

Except...it didn’t. Riley came out of the box, scowling and surly, but he played a somewhat lackluster (though physical) second and third periods.

He didn’t instigate anything, ignored the Scorpions trying to rile him up (notably, Walker wasn’t among them), but also didn’t drive play the way he usually did.

He was just...there. He barely spoke on the bench, with a faraway look on his face, like his mind was elsewhere.

Riley was normally the loudest person on the team, yelling support and chirping the other team as they skated by.

On the days when he was pissy and fighting everyone that moved, then he was muttering expletives at everyone within earshot.

Obviously, Evan was concerned. And it wasn’t just him who’d noticed.

“You were very quiet tonight,” Vassiliev said as they boarded the bus back to the hotel. “You didn’t let Walksie get under your skin, did you?”

A vein pulsed in Riley’s temple. “What?”

“Walksie. Walker. He’s young. He can be a loudmouth and rub people the wrong way.” Vassiliev paused. “Like you, a little, but less focused.”

“Less focused?” Riley asked, and Evan was relieved to hear he didn’t sound terrible. Not as energetic as usual, but not upset.

“He’s more like atomic bomb.” Vassiliev made a noise like an explosion. “You’re a precision strike.”

“Or he’s like a sledgehammer,” Kates added as they all settled into their seats. “And you’re a scalpel.”

“Oh, lemme try!” Winchester said. “He’s like a pack of hyenas, and you’re like a honey badger.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Kates looked appalled by the comparison. “You’re terrible at analogies.”

“I thought these were metaphors,” Winchester said.

“Simile?” Dalton offered.

And as a third of the team argued literary devices like weirdos, Evan waited for Riley to get drawn into their bullshit.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stared sullenly out the window as they drove through the bright lights of Las Vegas to their hotel, a couple of miles from the arena, tucked away from the main strip.

When they filed into the hotel lobby, another late night before another early morning, Evan had to push through the crowd to get close enough to Riley.

“Barzy!” he called, shouldering past Moreau and Antonov. He had to reach out and grab Riley’s shoulder before he dipped into the elevator. Which was dumb, because he had no plan here. What was he supposed to say that he could say with most of the team in earshot?

But when Riley turned to look at him, Evan didn’t really care about the audience.

“You all right?” Evan blurted out.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. His smile was the lopsided, carefree one he flashed in interviews, but his eyes scanned the lobby.

I don’t know, Evan thought desperately. That’s why I asked.

We can’t both be freaking out...

But Evan just shrugged and stuffed his hands in his suit pockets. “Dunno,” he said and swallowed. “Just checking.”

Riley rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “Just tired. That mid-season travel slump, y’know?”

He did look tired. Was that why he was so muted? Evan hoped it was that simple, but he doubted it. “Sure. Sorry, I’ll uh...I’ll let you sleep.”

They parted, and Evan hoped for a text inviting him over to Riley’s room, but it never came. He was too much of a coward to invite Riley over; he wasn’t sure he could handle Riley saying no.

* * *

They flew home to Pittsburgh for a blessed two and a half weeks in town.

Evan wanted to kiss the ground in relief when they landed, because he wanted the comfort of his own condo and bed.

He didn’t kiss the ground, mostly because it was below freezing, and he wasn’t going to spend an extra second outside if he could help it.

Unfortunately, returning to Pittsburgh made it harder to come up with excuses to see Riley.

Riley, who’d avoided Evan on the flight. Riley, who had dark circles under his eyes. Riley, who looked about one minor inconvenience away from shouting expletives in the airport.

Evan thought maybe they needed some space, but Evan had just gotten into his Uber when his phone pinged.

Barczyk

You wanna do some fighting practice?

Not really. Not because he didn’t need the practice, but he had a bad feeling about squaring off against Riley right now.

He wasn’t sure if it was Riley or himself he didn’t trust; something was wrong, and it was like a powder keg ready to blow.

But he could hardly say that, and he wasn’t in a position to be picky about when and how they hung out.

Abernathy

Sure I’m getting a little rusty. When?

Barczyk

My apartment this evening? 5 ish?

Abernathy

I’ll be there. Dinner after?

Barczyk

Maybe.

* * *

Evan walked into Riley’s apartment complex with the same mix of dread and anticipation he had the first time. It was funny how the source of his dread had shifted. He wasn’t worried about sex with Riley...he was worried about Riley.

He was worried about them, and what that meant.

The gym was empty except for Riley, who was swinging at a punching bag.

Instead of his spandex shorts and muscle shirt, Riley wore joggers and a loose Riveters tee that was far too faded for his five months on the team.

Barefoot and with a headband to keep his growing curls at bay, he looked good, fluid and lithe as he moved.

He always looked good, though. Evan stood in the doorway to admire him for a few more seconds before he walked over.

“Got the place to ourselves,” Evan said in a hopefully cheery voice.

Riley took a few more swings before he stopped. “Reserved it,” he said with a shrug. His eyes roamed over Evan as Evan took off his hoodie and boots. “Grab some boxing gloves. Let’s jump right in.”

The routine of swinging and blocking was more familiar than he’d realized.

Evan had to talk himself through the first round or two, but his body remembered what to do.

It was grounding in the same way mini-golf was, that slight mental exertion to take his attention off all the other stuff flitting through his mind.

“Not bad,” Riley said after fifteen minutes of exchanging light jabs.

“Learned from the best,” Evan said with a smile. Riley didn’t smile back, and Evan felt his own fade away.

“I’m gonna get a drink. We’ll go again in a minute.” Riley walked off to the water cooler at the far end of the gym. Evan was thirsty, but he didn’t feel like he was invited. What was going on?

“Hey,” Evan said as they squared up again. “You sure you’re okay?”

Riley shrugged. “Good enough.”

“Do you—?” But then Riley was swinging at him, harder and faster than before, and Evan’s attention went from Riley’s strange mood to defending his face.

This time, he felt like that punching bag hanging in the corner more than a practice partner.

But he powered through, doing his best to fight back.

He needed to weather the storm, because it seemed more and more like this practice was for Riley’s sake rather than Evan’s.

Too much frenetic energy, and with no game or practice for the next two days, this was the closest outlet he’d get. Evan could do this for Riley.

He was panting by the time Riley backed away again, a dangerous glint in his hazel eyes.

“Thanks,” Evan said and, groaning, took a seat on the mat. “I need a break.”

Riley sat down a few feet away. He crossed his legs and circled his arms around them. “Watch the shoulder when you swing,” Riley said, his tone off. “Wouldn’t want it to get hurt.”

Evan froze. “My shoulder?”

“Yeah. Heard you injured it last season.”

There it was. The perfect opening to bring it up and clear the air...but he didn’t. There was something weird about this whole evening, and his skin prickled with goosebumps. It was like he stood on the precipice of a cliff and where to step to come down safely.

“My shoulder’s fine,” he said, and he could tell from the look on Riley’s face that he’d just misstepped and fallen over the edge.

“Then why do I have guys like Travis fucking Walker telling me I’m a jackass for having injured you last season?

Why can I Google ‘Barczyk Abernathy hit’ and get tons of GIFs of me nailing you along the boards and blog posts going off about how dangerous that play was and poor Abernathy could’ve been seriously hurt?

Huh? How come all that exists out there, and you’re telling me ‘it’s fine’ ? ”

There was a flicker of shame that ran through him; Evan turned away from Riley and stared at the small cracks on the mat. Funny how you couldn’t see them until you got close.

“Yeah, you hit me last season,” Evan said. “You hit people all the time, though.”

“And most of the time, those people aren’t shy about telling me off for it. I join a new team, and if someone’s got a bone to pick with me, they pick it. We laugh about it, we share a beer, and it’s like it never happened. If you were upset about it, why’d you never say anything?”

“I got over it,” he said. He chanced a glance up at Riley, but his expression was inscrutable.

Riley licked his lips. “When?”

“Huh?” His heart lurched.

“When did you get over it?”

Although he should answer, he didn’t want to admit how recently it’d been; he stayed quiet.

“You weren’t over it when I came here,” Riley continued on, ignoring Evan’s silence. “How long were you pissed at me and wouldn’t even tell me? Because God forbid Evan Abernathy have to be the bad guy even for a second. What else haven’t you told me?”

This was an answer Evan felt better about giving, so he said, “You’re the first guy I’ve ever been with.”

That seemed to derail some of Riley’s anger. “Ever?”

“Yeah.”

“Like—?”

“First ever,” Evan said. “First anything. Period. End of sentence.”

Don’t make me spell it out...

Riley blinked at him. “Oh.”

“Oh?” His mouth had gone dry, but he forced out, “Was that…not okay?”

“Huh? No, it’s just…” Riley sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I mean, I had an idea you didn’t have a lot of experience ‘cause of what Dalty said but—”

“What do you mean?” Evan interrupted. That couldn’t be right. “You talked to Dalty about me?”

“Evan, I talk to everyone about you,” Riley said. It was the hardest blow he’d landed all evening.

“Riley, I’m—“

“So what’s all this been? Am I the demon from your past I’ve been teaching you to beat? Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was raised, but he wasn’t yelling; Evan wilted under Riley’s gaze.

“You didn’t remember,” he said, pleading for Riley to understand.

As he saw Riley’s body language shift, it wasn’t because of some mutual understanding. Evan watched Riley close off, the veneer of calm dissolving as he took a deep breath through his nose and his brow furrowed into a deep scowl.

“Probably,” Riley said carefully, “because there wasn’t much to remember.”

Evan stiffened. “My shoulder—”

“You miss a game?” Riley asked coldly. Evan didn’t say anything, just stared incredulously at Riley. “Practice?”

“I missed a practice,” Evan said. “Just because it wasn’t bad, that doesn’t mean it was okay. It could’ve—”

“Evan.” Riley said it so forcefully, Evan’s jaw snapped shut.

“Hockey is a very physical, dangerous sport. You cannot step on the ice if you’re not willing to face the possibility of getting hurt while you’re on it.

” Evan tried to look away, so Riley smacked his hand against the mat.

“I’m serious. Stop ignoring this. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m glad it wasn’t worse, but you can’t play like this where you’re scared.

And you can’t put that burden on everyone else, that they need to play differently because that’s not what you want. ”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Riley said firmly. “You blamed me for this shoulder thing for maybe a whole fucking year because that was easier than accepting that hockey’s dangerous and sometimes shit happens.

You’re annoyed that the coaches tell you to play more physical.

You want to be the injured party here because poor Evan, nice Canadian boy, doesn’t want to play the same sport as the rest of us. ”

He pushed off the mat and pointed a finger at Evan. “Play how you wanna play, but don’t get bitchy at the rest of us for doing it differently.”

That was Evan’s chance to say something, to defend himself or fight back or, hell, maybe agree and apologize.

But he sat there, trapped under the weight of this argument.

All those uncertainties about where he stood with Riley, all his guilt and anxiety, they pressed on his chest. This was why he hadn’t wanted to talk about the hit with Riley.

It served no purpose, just got Riley defensive and made Evan miserable.

“I’m not fighting any more battles for you,” Riley said. He looked disappointed at Evan’s silent acceptance. He turned around and walked away, and suddenly Evan could move.

“Riley, wait—“ He jumped to his feet. He could still catch Riley. He could fix this.

“Go home, Evan,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve got nothing left to say to you right now.”

He realized once he was alone that Riley had apologized. Months and months of wanting nothing but some acknowledgement and sympathy, and he’d finally gotten it.

It didn’t make him feel any better.