Page 9
“ How? ” Miles demanded, looking like he was about two seconds away from putting his hands in his hair and pulling it out in frustration. “How the hell is it different?”
“I’m older,” Matt said, slowly. “He’s older. I’m not going into this with any expectations. It’s just been so good to have him back. It’s just... Miles, how would you feel if you hadn’t seen Jess in ten years, and then all of a sudden, she was back in your life again?”
“That’s different! We’ve been married for years. We’ve got two kids. Jess never dumped me.”
“And if she had?”
Miles deflated, suddenly. They’d never liked fighting off of the ice, outside of the direct competition of sports. His voice was still a low whisper, but it had all of the urgency as if he’d been yelling. “I don’t know, man. It’s hard to imagine my life without her in it. I can’t even picture it. But it’s not the same. She’s my wife .”
“And I’d gone as far as buying a fucking ring, Miles. It didn’t work out. That doesn’t change the fact that...” Matt couldn’t quite bring himself to say what he’d been thinking about saying. He didn’t fully think that Miles would understand. “Listen. All I’m asking is that you try to be a little more open-minded about it. Whether you like it or not, he’s part of my life, in the past and right now.”
“Yeah?” Miles asked, a little bitterly. “For how long?”
Matt exhaled. It felt a bit like a punch in the gut. “I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t care. This is enough.”
Miles just looked at him, sad and a little resigned. “Okay... I guess you know best, yeah? I just... I love you so much, Matt. And I’m really fucking worried about you.”
“It’s different this time,” Matt said. I’m different this time.
“Okay,” Miles said, but it didn’t sound like he believed it.
It was a busy day, especially for Aiden, who was starting to realize how few busy days he’d had since his retirement.
They hit most of the major tourist attractions, and by the end the kids were yawning and sleepy. Miles spent the last bit of the walk carrying Theo over his shoulder. It could have been worse: Miles mostly pretended Aiden didn’t exist, and Aiden obliged him by not getting in the way.
Matt spent most of the time trying to bridge the gap between his family and Aiden, which functionally meant talking to either Miles or Aiden but not both at the same time. There were more than a few times that Aiden had gestured for Matt to go ahead and not worry about him.
It could have been worse, really—Aiden was surprised to find that he legitimately enjoyed spending time with Ellie, who did seem to be serious about the goalie thing. She had been playing wing, but Jessica promised she could try switching positions if she did all of her chores every single day for three months to help earn money for the pads.
It reminded Aiden, a little bit, of when he’d been younger and told his own father he wanted to play goal. Dad had marched him right outside to start firing orange street hockey balls at him to see if he’d flinch. He hadn’t, even when they’d bruised him. Dad hadn’t been a goalie when he’d played, but he’d certainly done his best to dissuade him anyway. Aiden had just been even more stubborn. It had been his mother, eventually, who broke Dad down.
Ellie said, “I’ve got twenty-three days to go, because the vacation doesn’t count,” with the kind of weird, slightly manic intensity beyond her years, that reminded Aiden more than a little of himself at that age.
Obviously, he had done a lot of work with kids over the years—from charity skates to visiting them in the wards at Mount Sinai to spending one-on-one time with a young fan who’d been with him since juniors—but with a few exceptions, this was the longest he’d talked to a kid this young that he could remember. He wasn’t sure if all of them had this much personality, or whether that was just Ellie. She asked focused questions, listened to his answers and seemed to process everything at a level far beyond her age.
When they finally said their goodbyes to Miles and his family, Ellie came up to Aiden and tugged at the hem of his shirt.
“Soup,” she said, having decided that because they were both goalies, that made them colleagues, and she could call him by his nickname, “if my mom lets me, can I send you some questions?”
“Of course.”
“Cool,” she said, beaming.
“Cool,” Aiden repeated, and ruffled her hair.
She punched him in the hand and ran back to her parents.
Aiden felt—something. Huh.
“Thanks,” Matt said, when they were finally alone, “it meant a lot to me to be able to see them today, even though I’m fucking exhausted.” He had his arms wrapped around Aiden’s waist, head resting right under Aiden’s chin. “And you were amazing . I know it wasn’t ideal, but you were—Ellie loved you. She couldn’t stop talking about you.”
“Of course,” Aiden said. He was completely exhausted, a bit overwhelmed, and his brain wasn’t working properly. One of his hands traced the line of Matt’s shoulder blade. It was the kind of casual affection that he never would even have noticed doing ten years ago but felt significant now. It grounded him in a way that he had really fucking needed. “I enjoyed getting to know her. She’s a good kid. And—hey, you know, your birthday’s not over yet. I still owe you a homemade dinner.”
“Oh, we can just order something, it’s not a big deal.”
“No, I wasn’t really able to get you a present, so this is it, okay? If you want to take a nap or something while I work, that’s fine.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Matt said, stifling a yawn. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go on.”
He watched Matt head into the bedroom, took a deep breath and went to the fridge. He had been slowly gathering ingredients over the last few days, preparing things that could be made ahead when Matt wasn’t home. He hid them in the back of the shelves and hoped Matt wouldn’t look too closely and figure out his plans.
He had learned years ago that Matt enjoyed meals with a lot of different options, so he planned something similar: chicken shawarma that could be eaten either as a sandwich or a salad plate. He had homemade pickles, homemade hummus and dough for pitas. It was more ambitious a meal than he usually attempted, but it wasn’t like any of it was that hard, especially considering Matt’s kitchen actually had things like grill pans now.
He spent a couple hours shaping the pita into balls and keeping a careful eye on it puffing up in the oven, making sure all of the extras were arranged in little bowls and throwing the marinated chicken on the stove.
Even though he didn’t do this often at home, it wasn’t because he couldn’t , there was just no point in cooking like this when it was just him. When he was alone, food and eating was more about the efficiency of getting the appropriate nutrients into his body, as simply and healthily as possible. Food was part of the Routine, something else he could use to impose order on his day, and it was comforting to just eat the same thing, every day, to not have any worries or expectations or surprises.
When it was Matt...well, Aiden would do pretty much anything for him, and this was no exception. It wasn’t like it was a hardship, though. There was something calming about slicing tomatoes and onions and lettuce, something satisfying about seeing tangible results of his hard work.
The sun had gone down and Aiden was almost done carving the chicken by the time Matt slouched out of the bedroom. His hair was still messy from where it had been smashed into the pillow and he wore only a pair of threadbare sweatpants and his sleepy eyes snapped wide open when he saw the kitchen.
“Aiden—what is this?”
“Dinner,” Aiden said, a little smug. It was impressive.
“What the fuck ?” Matt had made his way over to the kitchen island to examine the spread. “You did all of this?”
“Yes.”
“You learned how many recipes?”
“Come on, it’s been over a decade since I really cooked for you, I’ve learned a lot you didn’t get to try.”
“Aiden, this is amazing,” Matt said, pushing one of the fluffy pitas in with one finger. “I really can’t believe how much time you must have spent on this? Like fuck, man, at this rate, you should just open a restaurant.”
“Too stressful,” Aiden said, starting to put together a plate for him. “This is just for you. Happy birthday, Matt.”
“Thank you.” Matt took the first bite and closed his eyes, a lopsided smile on his face as he chewed. That was good enough for Aiden.
When he checked his phone later, Pears had sent him a playlist. It was called shacking up with your ex in montreal .
Aiden opened the playlist, but it was just the Amélie soundtrack three times in a row.
Thanks, Isaac.
Anytime, bud.
Aiden did not play the playlist.
You good, though? Pears asked.
Aiden said, yeah, surprised to find he almost meant it.
Matt had gotten the impression that Aiden had been dreading his birthday: he was morose and quiet after Matt’s, and it didn’t get better over the next few days. He’d never been like that when they were younger, but Matt had the general idea that getting older complicated things. His own birthday had been a minefield he hadn’t entirely recovered from.
Aiden, asleep, was absent the quiet fog of despair that seemed to have settled in around him that week. Matt ran his hand down Aiden’s flank. It was still insane he had a body like he did, without one extra ounce of body fat, more abs than anyone needed. He’d always had dark body hair, and Matt remembered the one time he’d waxed it because a bunch of his teammates were taking an island vacation together, and Matt had almost choked himself laughing when he’d seen it up close. Remembered the dark blush that would rise up Aiden’s whole chest to his ears, the way he’d covered himself up, even though Matt had seen every single embarrassing part of him already.
“Hey,” Matt murmured, mouth against Aiden’s thigh. “Good morning, baby.”
He could feel Aiden shifting into wakefulness, though his eyes didn’t open. He was still limp and boneless and relaxed, sighing a little when Matt kissed his way along the line of muscle.
“What do you want for your birthday?”
Aiden’s voice was an exhale more than a word. “You.”
The sex was sleepy and sloppy and lazy, Matt barely moving inside of him, the barest shift of his hips here and there to listen to the way Aiden’s breath hitched when he did it. It was enough just to be close to him, hungry kisses and desperate hands and the tiny, broken noises Aiden made when Matt took charge.
After it was over, Aiden sat cradled in Matt’s lap, trying to catch his breath as Matt shifted so that his softening cock slipped out. It was messy and both of them desperately needed to shower, but Matt held Aiden down when he tried to get up, brushed a thumb across his cheek.
“What’s wrong?”
At first, Aiden didn’t want to answer, like he was afraid of ruining the moment. Matt shifted again so that Aiden could settle more comfortably straddling his thighs, and Aiden shook his head.
“I just...this is closer to forty than thirty. The first one since retirement. Just feels, you know, really fucking weird. Not myself. I’m sorry, I fucking—I hate that I keep doing this. Not what you signed up for when you asked me up here, I know.”
Matt exhaled. “It kind of was, Aidy. I signed up for you , anyway.”
“Matt—”
“Aiden, let me do nice shit for you today, okay? We can...talk about it later.”
In the shower, Aiden got down on his knees, like he was trying to show Matt exactly how grateful he was. Maybe neither of their mouths could form the proper words, but they could do this. And Jesus, could Aiden’s mouth do this.
“It’s your birthday, Aiden,” Matt gasped.
Aiden pulled away, looked up at him from the shower floor. It had to have been hell on his knees, those little tiles, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. “It’s just—this whole time in Montreal you’ve been doing nice shit for me. And you haven’t been getting anything in return. I’m just—I don’t know, a shell—”
“Aidy.” Even now, he was still so hard it was almost painful, looking down at the way Aiden’s soft mouth parted, at his eyes, the pupils wide, darker with desire. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t get the point across, but he didn’t know what to say to make Aiden believe him. “I’m getting you. I’m getting you .”
Aiden didn’t say anything, just indicated shut up with his hand and his tongue, his warm, clever mouth on Matt’s cock again.
Eventually, Matt gave in.
By the time they got outside, Aiden found a fittingly gray and overcast day, unseasonably chilly for August. Although he was starting to have a working knowledge of how to get around downtown Montreal, he was still unfamiliar with the surrounding suburbs. So when Matt drove them east and over the Samuel De Champlain Bridge, it took him a second to figure out where they were going.
When he did, he contemplated opening the door and rolling out onto the road.
Matt glanced sideways and said, not quite a warning, “Aiden.”
“You didn’t—”
“Give it a chance.”
“I haven’t—I don’t even have skates, I don’t have pads, I don’t have anything.”
“We’re not doing goalie stuff, we’re just gonna go out on the ice. And I got you skates.”
“You what ?”
“I mean, not like your regular skates,” Matt said, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “These probably aren’t quite as nice as what you’d order for yourself during the season, and they’re not goalie skates, but they’re better than anything you can rent around here, and they’ll do for now.”
“Matt?”
“Give it a chance.”
It was the voice he used when they were fooling around, when Aiden wanted to be told what to do and Matt was willing to do that for him, and he wilted a little in the seat and didn’t say anything else.
The Sports Complex looked like any other practice facility, a boring rectangular box of white walls and wide windows. He had done this so many times for so many years. He never loved anything as much as he loved being on the ice, except maybe Matt. There was no reason Aiden’s heart should be knocking around in his chest like that, no reason his breathing should feel like something had pressed hard against his ribs. Therapist aside, it was pretty clear to him, in that moment, exactly how fucked up retiring had gotten him. And here was Matt, still trying to help in whatever way he could manage. Aiden felt like he was floating outside of his own brain.
“Hey,” Matt said, when they had parked. “We don’t have to if you really don’t want to. I just thought it might be good for you.”
“No, I...have to get back on the ice at some point, I might as well, I might as—”
“It doesn’t have to be anything except fun.” Matt’s hand rested on top of Aiden’s; his fingers were warm and Aiden’s felt like ice underneath them. “It’s always been good when we can skate together, right?”
“Yeah, except the Olympics,” Aiden said, with the sudden, perverse urge to lash out. “I don’t know if you remember, but fuckin’ Captain Canada had to ask me what was going on because it was that awkward.”
“Oh, I got the talk, too.” Matt grinned, for a second, adopting an approximation of the serious, concerned face that Henri Jean-Phillipe Lévesque must have made during that talk. “‘Now, Safaryan, I don’t know what happened with Campbell, but for the good of the team and the country, we have to put our personal differences aside—’”
“Don’t do the voice, don’t do the voice,” Aiden begged, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up before he could stop it.
“‘—and concentrate on the important thing here, which is playing hockey and bringing home the gold , for Canada,’” Matt finished, the concerned frown fading back into a smile.
“God. We were—”
“—fucking awful. Just horrendous little shits. Insufferable.”
“Yeah,” Aiden said, and looked at the door of the complex. He remembered again how miserable he’d been during that Olympic tournament, so careful to avoid being in the same room with Matt when he could, barely talking to him even on the ice, so painfully aware of him anyway. Even taking home the gold had felt empty after that. He also remembered the way that, even though they hadn’t been talking, Matt had made sure to place Aiden’s towel on the boards exactly the way he had always liked it, so it was available for him to wipe his face during the TV timeouts. At the time, that little attention had felt mocking, cut deeply into his chest. But now, knowing that Matt had been thinking about him all of this time—
He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go skate.”
Traditionally, when they had had the opportunity to skate together, Aiden let Matt have the first blade on the ice. This time, after they had both laced up their skates and Aiden spent a moment getting his breathing and heartbeat back under control, Matt gestured for Aiden to go out before him.
He hesitated at the edge, wondering what the hell he was so afraid of. That it would drive home how much he missed hockey? He already knew that; he was already living with that. The longer he groped for a reason, the dumber it seemed. He had just been keeping himself from doing something he loved. Taking one deep, steadying breath, Aiden pushed himself out on the ice.
Regular skates were a different experience than goalie skates, and it wasn’t just because they were cut higher and didn’t have the protective shell. The blades were curved and angled deeply, while Aiden was used to straight, flat blades that allowed for quick lateral movement. He was a professional hockey player, though, and he had been skating since he was a toddler, so it was easy enough to adjust. Aiden tested the fit of the skates and the feel of the rink, pushing off with one foot and streaking down toward home ice.
It felt surprisingly good, to just go as fast as he could, letting the practice complex fade into the background around him. Obviously, he didn’t have the speed or explosiveness a regular skater would build up, and obviously he wasn’t getting any younger, and obviously, he hadn’t been on the ice in months, but it still felt so fucking good.
He almost didn’t realize that Matt had skated out to join him until a dark blur streaked by at the corner of his vision. Matt, showing off exactly how much faster than Aiden he was.
Aiden concentrated his weight on the one knee, pushing his edge outward against the ice into the extension. He couldn’t really keep up. His training and work didn’t involve the same kinds of muscles that Matt’s did; he didn’t have eighty-two games’ worth of practicing his stride every year to develop it. But he did a pretty good job of trying, and although Matt never went easy on him, Aiden wasn’t that far behind.
They chased each other around the ice, and Matt whooped when Aiden managed to get close enough to grab him by the sleeve of his hoodie, tugging him almost off his skates. He didn’t fall, though: Matt caught himself on Aiden’s arm and then it was Aiden’s turn to flail for balance.
The speed they were moving, the pull of his hands, drew them together with centrifugal force, and all of a sudden, their faces were very close as Matt whirled him around in a circle. Matt’s eyes were wide and dark, and his cheeks were pink, and he was a little breathless from exertion, and he looked up at Aiden’s mouth. For one long, insane second, Aiden thought Matt was going to kiss him, right there in the middle of the rink where anyone could see. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to flutter up through his throat like a hummingbird. Part of him wouldn’t have even minded. Part of him would have melted into it, surrendered to the magic of the moment.
Matt didn’t do it, of course, just reached up to scrub his hand over Aiden’s face and, laughing at his splutter of dismay, took off toward the other end of the ice again before Aiden could even react.
Aiden pushed off in pursuit, forgetting, for the moment, any reason he’d had to dread this.
In the car on the ride home, Matt couldn’t stop looking sideways at Aiden to make sure he was okay. He’d been so happy on the ice, smile so wide that for a second Matt felt like the old Aiden had time-traveled into this Aiden’s body. It had been worth every second of the anxiety leading up to the reveal. It had been the happiest Matt had been in years, probably. Just getting to skate with Aiden like that again—like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
But now, Aiden kept trying to say something, like he wanted to explain, but every time he opened his mouth he got too choked up with emotion and couldn’t finish.
Not for the last time, Matt wished he had the power to read minds, to figure out what the hell was going on in there. “It’s okay, Aidy,” he said, merging back on the highway and not looking at Aiden directly, “I know.”
Instead of answering, Aiden pressed his forehead silently against the glass, and didn’t say anything else.
Aiden had been dreading the day but overall, it had been—good. It felt a little like having his skin ripped off and his nerves exposed to the open air, but it was fine. He could get on the ice again, and the world wouldn’t end.
He kept going over and over it in his head, even after they got back to Matt’s, ordered dinner and ate it. He kept going over and over it in his head while they watched Goon . Aiden spent most of the movie tucked under Matt’s arm, his cheek smashed against Matt’s chest, sinking into the solid, comforting presence that Matt always was. And he was still going over and over it in his head when Matt asked him what was wrong, and Aiden said, “I just can’t get out of my fucking head today.”
He wasn’t going over and over it in his head when Matt said, “Well, I can help you with that , anyway.”
And that was just—even after all of this time, Matt knew when he needed that.
That was how Aiden ended up on his back in the bed, watching Matt fumble through his closet for his game-day ties. He wasn’t sure how this was going to work, exactly. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before, but it had been a while, and he wasn’t sure how Matt’s preferences had changed.
They had been so young the first time around. Aiden still remembered that first Cup day. He’d done the usual charity and family visits while the sun was still shining. And then, when everyone was gone, Matt had come over and they got completely fucked up on ridiculously expensive champagne, half of which had ended up dripping all over Aiden’s naked body, and Matt had tied Aiden’s hands backward behind the Cup and fucked him against it.
It would probably have been one of his favorite memories of all time, except the details were fuzzy. He’d been really drunk. He remembered the cold metal digging into his back, the sticky champagne between his and Matt’s skin, the rope pressing hard into his wrists, trembling on the uncomfortable edge of pain and pleasure.
But the important thing, the thing about Matt, was that whatever Aiden had asked for, he was always enthusiastically all in. And a decade later, here was Matt, looking at the ties and at his bed, a rustic industrial monstrosity with an iron rail bolted into the wooden headboard, like he was gauging the distance and angles.
Aiden shivered with involuntary anticipation as Matt straddled his thighs and said, “You’re not allowed to move.”
“That’s the point of tying me up, isn’t it?” Aiden asked, a little mean, frustrated he couldn’t hide just how into this he was. He was already naked, already so fucking hard.
Matt pressed his hand over Aiden’s mouth. “If I wanted to make it easy for you. I’m only tying your arms, but don’t move your legs, either. Just stay as still as you can until I say so.”
Instead of answering, Aiden licked Matt’s palm, tongue teasing the tender web of skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Matt swore and jerked his hand away. He took Aiden’s left wrist first, then his right, and pulled them over Aiden’s head, thumb pressed a little painfully against the nerve.
Aiden couldn’t move to see exactly what Matt was doing, but he could feel Matt wrapping the tie around both of his wrists and slipping it into some kind of knot. He wanted to crane his head to look, but he forced himself to stay still. There was a little pressure as Matt looped the tie around the rail. He couldn’t really see anything except Matt’s abs in front of his eyes. He wasn’t cut the same way Aiden was, but Aiden had dreamed about his body for years after they’d broken up, how solid and broad he was, hard as iron under the softer cushion of his stomach, and it was almost overwhelming seeing it right in front of him now. He leaned forward to try to press a kiss against Matt’s torso.
Foiled when Matt immediately pulled away.
“Aiden.”
“Yeah?”
“I told you not to move.”
“Mm, sorry, I couldn’t—wait, what are you doing?”
What Matt was doing was wrapping a second tie around Aiden’s eyes and knotting it behind his head and Aiden’s dick gave another traitorous little jump.
“If you can’t listen, then I’m going to have to make it more difficult.”
Aiden couldn’t see what he was doing but he could feel the pressure of Matt’s body on his thighs for another second or two before Matt moved away. Maybe he was admiring the view. Maybe he was plotting some other kind of torture. Maybe he was laughing at Aiden, and the idea of that, of Matt’s judgment of Aiden’s exposed body, exactly how much he needed this so easy to see. He could feel the deep flush starting at his chest and rising. Along with his dick, straining up, bobbing and leaving a sticky streak on his stomach.
“Spread your legs,” Matt said, somewhere above him, and Aiden took a deep breath and spread them in a V, his feet pointing to the corners of the bed. Matt’s voice again: “Raise your knees.”
It was awkward and exposed, and he could feel the flush deepening, even though Matt had already seen every part of him, in pretty much every way there was to see it. “Is this good?”
“Yes— Jesus , you look—”
Aiden’s cock twitched again, just from the rough edge to Matt’s voice, from the force of his regard, which he could feel even if he couldn’t see it. He wanted to turn, wanted to look at Matt so fucking badly, but he forced himself to stay still. “ How do I look?”
“Eager,” Matt murmured, and laughed.
“Oh fuck off .”
The first thing Aiden felt was Matt’s finger feather-light against the curve of his foot. He twitched, ticklish and sensitive, and Matt said, “No, Aiden, no,” and kept touching him, barely brushing the skin. Aiden held his breath, shivering, as Matt leaned forward again.
It was his mouth, this time, hot and wet against Aiden’s calf, the muscles bunched and tense. He moved slowly up the line of Aiden’s leg. Aiden gasped, trying to hold back, but it was hard when Matt pressed his teeth along the inside of Aiden’s thigh, the tender places that made him want to jerk away. When he switched from one leg to the other and Aiden couldn’t predict where he was going to touch next. Matt’s mouth where Aiden’s leg met his torso. The sensitive skin on the underside of his dick. Aiden squirmed, legs falling before he could stop them.
Matt immediately pulled back and Aiden whined a strangled noise of protest.
“Matt—”
“What did I tell you?” His voice wasn’t steady at all, the only consolation in this. The kind of even that could shake apart at any moment.
“You said not to move, but...”
“No buts . Maybe I’ll just, just leave you here.”
“No—I won’t move, I promise—”
Matt let him stew anyway. Aiden couldn’t accurately gauge how long it was; when you couldn’t see, any amount of time felt like ages. All he knew was Matt wasn’t touching him and Matt could have done anything : left him tied, walked away, even left the condo or invited someone else inside, and Aiden would have been completely helpless. He tried not to twist too restlessly, thinking about that, about all of the ways Matt could have made him sorry.
Then: Matt’s hand, thumb stroking Aiden’s lip. Aiden’s mouth opened under it, tonguing it the same way he would have tongued Matt’s cock, rewarded by the ragged groan that still did nothing to settle the bone-deep ache inside of him.
Matt’s mouth on one of Aiden’s nipples, gentle at first and then a sharp bite, an electric shock that had him straining against the tie, muscles screaming as he desperately tried to keep still. Matt tortured him that way, mouth and hands a shock and surprise each time, until Aiden could barely contain himself. He jerked his leg to the side, instinctively trying to get away. Matt’s hand came down hard on the inside of his thigh, the crack of a hand against skin, and the groan that tore itself from Aiden’s mouth was embarrassing but couldn’t be helped.
He was so hard it hurt, only the sheer force of his own will holding him back from coming.