Page 55 of Drop the Gloves

Evan drove home, replaying the argument over and over. Was he the bad guy in all this? Riley seemed to think so, and he had valid points. Evan had felt uncomfortable with Riley on the team, and he should’ve cleared the air early in the season.

...but that would’ve only made Riley feel better.

He could’ve wiped his hands of the whole thing earlier.

He’d have said his minimal sorry, Evan would have been forced to accept it, and Evan would have continued to be frustrated and upset.

It was only after months of spending time together that Evan could even trust Riley’s apology—that he hadn’t meant to hurt Evan or anyone, that was just an unfortunate byproduct of how he played.

In August, he would’ve thought Riley was full of shit.

And Riley didn’t care about what others thought of him.

If he rubbed someone the wrong way, he shrugged it off or joked about it.

Not saying anything about the shoulder incident wasn’t the problem.

If it’d been Dalton or Lawson or Vassiliev or literally anyone else on the team, Riley would’ve said sorry and moved on, regardless of how that teammate felt about his apology afterward.

The problem was that it was Evan who’d held it in.

Evan, who’d been holding onto resentment but been perfectly willing to accept Riley’s help. Willing to do a lot more than accept help.

In the Abernathy-Barczyk duo, he didn’t think any of them had done anything wrong...but Evan had been pretty shitty to Riley. He understood why Riley was upset and felt taken advantage of.

“I am the bad guy,” he mumbled as he parked his car and laid his head against the steering wheel. “Fuuuuck.”

He went inside his lonely apartment and plopped down on the couch to stare at the blank TV.

All he wanted was to talk to Riley and fix things, but, as usual, Evan didn’t know how to do that.

He wanted things to go back to the way they were a few weeks ago, when they were having fun. How had he fucked this up so badly?

That was an answerable question, so he grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from his coffee table, tore off the top pages with his packing and grocery lists, and started jotting down notes.

How did I fuck this up?

- confused about sexuality → probably gay

- upset about hit → needed to let that go, should’ve talked to Riley

- frustrated → I’m not a fucking kid, I shouldn’t have to change how I play

- avoidance → kept all this bottled in too long.

He went back to the first one and circled it several times, then drew an arrow to a blank space and started over.

definitely gay.

experimenting with teammate = bad idea

Well, that was a start. Seeing it all on the page helped him see all the pieces that had collided to get him into this mess. But he already knew there was a problem. That wasn’t going to help him solve anything.

How do I fix things?

- apologize to Riley.

It was a shitty way for Riley to find out, hearing it from someone else.

It didn’t matter that Evan had moved past it.

For Riley, this was a brand new issue. But after that very obvious answer, he was stumped.

Clearing the air about the hit was only one side of the issue: that fixed things with Barczyk, his teammate and league pest. He was more concerned with how to fix things with Riley, his.

..his what? ‘Guy friend’? Teammate with benefits?

Hookup buddy? All of those sounded dumb and didn’t quite hit on what it was they were doing.

- need to figure out what I want from Riley (sex? relationship? go back to just teammates?)

His heart skipped a beat at the word relationship. What would that even look like?

“Horse before the cart,” he mumbled to himself.

He had three possibilities written, and he wasn’t sure which one was the best choice.

It was smartest to smooth things over and go back to being teammates with no sex involved.

Friends, or friendly at least, with no more late nights together.

Professional. No more Riley, just Barzy.

A wave of sadness hit him at the thought, so unexpected it made him want to cry.

Evan didn’t know if he was capable of being a good boyfriend to Riley, if only because that side of himself was so new and raw.

How could he build any sort of relationship when he hadn’t known he was attracted to men this time last year?

But he didn’t want to let Riley go.

I like Riley Barczyk.

His hand trembled as he wrote, but slowly he gained confidence. The scariest part was admitting it, after all; everything else wasn’t so bad.

Plan:

- give Riley space

- reach out to talk

- apologize

- try to get back together

- prove I’m worth a second chance

Carefully, he tore off the page along the perforated edge, then he hung it up on his fridge with the lone magnet. He had a plan, right there in black and white. He had no idea if it was a good plan, but it was something.

* * *

Every day when Evan left his condo, he’d walk by the fridge and tap the paper as he passed. That little reminder of what he needed to do, like when he’d been a kid working on perfecting his edge work or his toe drags.

It didn’t make it any easier to have Riley ignore him during practice.

He was good at subtly finding ways not to end up in the same group as Evan, or to put space between them during drills.

When they had training in the team gym, he gave Evan a wide berth and never went near the area where they’d practiced fighting.

During team meals, Riley surrounded himself so thoroughly that the closest Evan could’ve hoped to get was five seats away.

“I’m guessing,” Dalton said as he sat down next to Evan at one of those lunches, “that you tried to clear the air with Barzy, and he wasn’t thrilled.”

Evan tensed, a denial on his lips, but then he deflated. He didn’t see the point. “Yeah, kind of.”

Dalton scooped a big spoonful of pudding out of the plastic container, and Evan held his breath. He worried Dalton would accuse him of being a baby about the whole thing, or say that Riley was being childish to care. But all he said was, “Bummer.”

It was kind of nice, having one person be level-headed.

“Think it’ll be a problem at tonight’s game?” Dalton asked. “He’s pretending you’re invisible. Not a big deal in practice, but kind of a problem if your linemate’s ignoring you on the ice.”

“It’ll be fine,” Evan said. He was confident it would be, if only because Riley cared too much about winning and playing well to let something this petty get in the way.

Dalton shrugged. “Hope so. You two have been killing it together. Hate to see that get messed up over some drama.”

Dalton was the only one who seemed to notice anything was off. Even Vassiliev, stuck between them in the locker room, didn’t pick up on the tension that was so thick it felt like it was choking Evan. Or maybe he was too polite to comment.

During warm-ups, Evan was unsurprised that Riley ignored them.

Their pre-game routine was over, and that more than anything told Evan how annoyed Riley still was.

It’d been four days since their argument, and Evan had hoped he’d have softened by now.

Riley never took things personally, not what players or the media or the fans said.

If he got upset during a game, it never lasted longer than the game itself, like the final buzzer flipped a switch and he could move on.

For such a divisive player, he didn’t hold grudges.

He remembered all the heavy hitters and the people likely to come after him, the weaknesses to exploit and how much each ref was likely to let him get away with, but it wasn’t like he was some villainous mastermind the way Evan had imagined.

Riley was just good at reading the ice, and he did it objectively.

His ignoring Evan wasn’t objective. It wasn’t malicious either, but there was actual emotion behind it.

Which had to be a good sign. That meant he cared. If he’d really gotten over Evan, things would be like at the beginning of the season when Riley would actually talk to him or look in his direction. Evan still had a chance.

Right?

Their first shift was...fine. Not amazing, but not a total shitshow. It felt like he and Riley were rusty, and it was only Vassiliev holding their line together. They could turn it around.

On the bench during a game, there was nowhere else Riley could be except next to him, and Evan was determined to take advantage.

“Hey.” Evan nudged Riley with his knee. Riley’s head snapped around so hard, Evan’s neck hurt in sympathy. “Next face-off, I’m going to win it to you, ‘kay?”

Riley stared at him as if he’d spoken in Swedish. “You talking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to fucking Farrsy in net,” Evan snapped, some of his frustration leaking through. He took a deep breath, reeled it in, and said, “Yes, I’m talking to you. Next offensive zone face-off, be a little toward the top of the circle, and I’ll win it to you.”

Riley just stared at him, chewing his mouthguard. As much as Evan wanted to turn away, he didn’t; he stared right back. Riley looked away first.

They didn’t get a chance for Evan to make good on his promise until their last shift of the first period.

They finally got their offensive zone draw to the right of the goalie, perfect for Riley as the right wing to take a shot right after the face-off.

Assuming Evan could win it. He checked over his shoulder to make sure his teammates were in position, then squared up at the dot.

As he looked the other center in the eye, he saw something.

It was another third-liner, just like him, but younger.

He looked so determined, so into it, like everything hinged on this one stupid face-off.

Evan had lived that way for years until he got his contract. So intent on making every play count.

...so easy to throw off.