Page 14

FOURTEEN

Noah

I wasn’t sure how the married players, or those with long-term partners, did it.

I’d not seen Brody for a couple of days, yet I missed him so much it felt like a bad toothache, only in my chest. A chest ache. I rubbed idly at my sternum, the monitor hidden under my clothes, as we waited for our TSA check to return to the States from a game we’d played in Toronto. I’d not had much ice time, but the coaches were trying to get the remaining players rotated to see who was making the next round of cuts. I’d done well, considering my meager ten minutes. I’d won a few key faceoffs, taken two quality shots on goal, and blocked a slapshot aimed at our net. With my leg. The bruise on my calf was enormous, and of course, that had brought in the medical team to hover and ponder over the contusion.

Bruises are part of hockey, and I’d been iced to the gods and told to monitor my numbers over the next few days. I was to let the team doctor know if I had any other symptoms that might need medical attention, which was… I don’t know. It was good the team cared so much, but it sure would have been nice to just have a bruise be a bruise.

The discoloration was gnarly, and when I showed it off to the other Railers, it devolved into a bruise-sharing contest that ended when Coach told us to stop showing our war wounds and get the line moving. Guess he wanted to get home too. My bruise and I cleared security with no hassles although I had a joint passport, so I had to travel with my US and Swedish passports when we left the States. I had dual citizenship in both countries as I was born in Sweden but became a US citizen when I turned eighteen. Pops had been emphatic about his children being American citizens, as he proudly was. As kids, we visited Sweden many times, but Pops didn’t return to Russia after bringing my siblings home. Ever. Sad but understandable.

On the short flight home, I rested, earbuds in, Hamilton playing as I napped on and off. The next two games would be on home ice, one against Carolina and one against Boston. I was looking forward to both. I needed to push harder now that we were getting closer to the final roster decisions. I had to make the team. Getting things settled with Brody was my priority when I got back to Harrisburg.

With that goal in mind, I accepted a ride from the airport with Nic and Blake, agreed to go bowling over the weekend, then bolted—aka limped—to the lobby of my apartment. A new security guard sat behind the chrome desk, smiling at me, his teeth so white my eyes rebelled.

“Afternoon,” he called as I signed in. His hair was thinning, his nose long, and his skin was pockmarked from teenage acne. He was an older guy, in his mid-fifties or so, with a paunch straining the buttons on his uniform shirt. “Oh, Mr. Gunnarsson. Your guest is waiting for you in your apartment.”

I noted his nametag. “Cool, thanks, Tim; good work keeping the tenants safe.”

“That’s our job. And hey, who was I to not allow Brody Vance in when he had a pass? Are you and he friends? Is this a sport thing?”

“Something like that,” I fluffed off as I strolled to the mailboxes, gathered up the bills and junk, and went to the elevators. I felt bad for Brody. No matter where he went, someone was scoping him out. I got why he had fled Atlanta after that fiasco with the Kiss Kam. Hopefully, in about four minutes and counting, I could kiss his worries away.

The elevator opened on the sixth floor with a ping . I made my way to my door, opened it, and was met by the sexiest man in Harrisburg wearing an apron that said Hot Rod Under Apron and a killer smile. Pity that wasn’t the extent of what he wore, but he was fully dressed. Damn it.

“You’re home,” he said as he produced a charcuterie board from behind his back loaded with nuts, fruits, meats, olives, and several tiny jars of seasoned mustard. “I was going to bake you a cake, but went with something better for your sugars. I looked this up on a webpage about taking care of your diabetes, and they suggested the mustard and low-carb crackers.”

I smiled, dropped my bags, and walked over to him.

“This is incredible,” I said, leaning over the hefty wooden slab coated with goodies to steal a kiss. He leaned into it, soft lips parting just a bit as I licked into his mouth. He tasted of spicy lunchmeats. My stomach snarled. Brody leaned back to break the kiss; his hazel eyes tender. “You’re incredible. Thanks for this. I’m kind of hungry.”

“Let’s sit,” he said, then carried the board to the living room area, placing it on the coffee table as I stepped over my bags. “You’re limping.”

“Meh, it’s nothing. Blocked a shot in that Toronto game. Left a mark.” I toed off my shoes, gimped to the sofa, and fell back into it with a sigh.

“Let me see it,” he said as he sat beside me. I rolled my eyes but bent over to roll up my pant leg. “Jesus, that needs ice. Can you take some aspirin?”

“A few ibuprofen is good. Man, hey, no,” I called as he shot to his feet. “Honestly, this is nothing. I don’t need to be waited on.”

“Yes, you do. I need to make up for… well, everything.”

“Brody, you have nothing to make up for.”

“Let me be gallant, okay?” The ask was genuine. I nodded. Off he went to find ice and some Advil while I snacked on meat. Mm, meat. “I’m going to snoop in your medicine cabinet,” he called down the short hall. I smiled around a mouthful of salami.

“M’okay,” I yelled back just as the doorbell rang. “Got it,” I shouted as I rose, stole a big black olive from the tray, and went to the door. My calf did hurt, but I’d had worse. Hockey was a rough mistress. I peeked through the peephole. Pops stood on the other side, peering up and down the hallway as if expecting old Mrs. Meeler from next door to leap out and shoot a puck at his head. Well shit. I hadn’t planned on introducing Brody to my family quite yet. Pops could be a lot. Still, here we were. I swallowed and opened the door. A huge box sat between me and my adoptive father.

“Ah, you are home. Good. I have need of good Swedish eyeballs and your dad is not feeling good for reading. His eyes are goopy. The doctor says he has icky virus. I did not get the icky eyes, so I think my getting a flu jab was good.”

“Pops. What is this?” I tapped the cardboard box from Ikea.

He sniffled, then smiled. “Is big present for Mittens for fourth birthday. Is big white cat house with many scratching poles and special hiding box for getting away from noisy slobber dogs. We put together. I take home in truck. Hide from Mittens in the garage.”

“Oh, well, Pops, I was kind of?—”

“Okay, I found the ibuprofen right off and didn’t poke around looking at anything else. The ice was easy to find as it was in the free—oh, hey.”

Brody hit the brakes so hard it was a wonder his socks didn’t smoke. He reverted from my Brody to the Brody the world saw. The transformation was astounding.

“This is awkward,” I mumbled, dragging the box through the doorway to allow my father to enter. Pops strolled in, a towering man who filled the room with his presence. “Well, I guess we should do this.” I shoved the box aside, pulled out my best good son smile, and introduced the two men. “Pops, this is Brody Vance.”

“I am knowing him.” He seemed to be a few ticks ahead of me. His gray eyes darted from Brody, in his apron holding an ice pack and a bottle of Advil, to me. “Is this the man that is making for running from you in Atlanta?”

“Uhm…” I replied. “Yes, but we’re good now.”

Pops’ dark eyebrows tangled. “Explains just how good?” He folded his arms over his Railers Alumni Game sweatshirt, sniffled, and waited.

“Mr. Gunnarsson,” Brody interjected. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I am Lyamin, not Gunnarsson. Gunnarsson is my husband. And you are racing man who peels off away from my son leaving him feeling many bad things and being confused. Do you think to play games with my little rabbit?”

Pops was pretty damned intimidating when he wanted to be. Generally, he was a teddy bear, but if you hurt those he loved, or dared to skate into his crease, all bets were off.

“Okay, Pops, no need to be surly. Or use the rabbit name,” I mumbled to the side. “We were just about to sit down and talk about things.”

“I never meant to cause your son any upset, Mr. Lyamin. I’m dealing with a lot, which is no excuse whatsoever for agreeing to meet someone, then dashing off like a frightened mongrel.” Brody placed the ice and ibuprofen bottle in my hand. “I’m here today to talk things over with him. I have… there are some things that we need to discuss, clear the air, and work on moving forward.”

Pops took a step closer, bent down. “I am watching you most very close.” Pops made the two-finger point at Brody. “My children are my most special gifts from the angels. I do not like people making them sad and unsure of themselves. You will walk a very skinny line over a pit of hungry sharks with umbrellas.”

“The sharks have umbrellas?” I asked and got a dry look from Pops, who then returned his full attention to Brody.

“The sharks have no umbrellas, the man on the wire has umbrella for making balance good. The man, who is Brody Vance, is tippy-toeing on high wire over vat. I warn you as maybe a big shark in tank, who does not have umbrella but has big teeth and knows people.”

“Pops…” I limped closer. “Let’s not bring up the people that you know.”

“I want for him to know that I know people. I also know other things, but for him is knowing that I know the people. People who are not liking famous man with many women notched on bed posts to be making his son feel like dog shit on bottom of Gucci loafers.”

“I promise that I won’t harm your son’s feelings ever again,” Brody said. I found that vow to be a bit much at this point. I mean he might not want to hurt me again, but given where we were in terms of his acceptance of me, his sexuality, and whatever secrets he was hiding, any assurance from him was dicey, even if he meant it with all his heart. “I’m here with food and ice for his bruise to pamper him and try my best to win his trust. I do care for Noah.”

“Humph,” Pops said out loud. The word, not the sound, made me smile despite the tension in the room. “I am watching you close, Brody Vance.”

Brody smiled and offered Pops his hand. Pops stared at it long and hard. He stared at me, and I nodded. Then, he slapped his massive hand into Brody’s, making me wince. Brody grunted under his breath but shook heartily.

“Tell me of the bruise.” Pops turned his attention to me. “Did the team physician look at it? Are you icing it? Is that prosciutto on that charred cutie board?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” I led Pops around the sofa and handed him the tray. He sat, knees holding the board, and ate while Brody and I put together a cat-condo-slash-fun palace. Three hours later, and after several rounds of cussing over the complex instructions, we had Mittens’ birthday present assembled.

“I am going home now to check on your father,” Pops announced as his eyes flickered from me to Brody. “You two talk. Ice that bruise. I will see you both for the birthday party, yes?”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure…” Brody began, then got the look from Pops. “Yes. I’m just unsure what to buy for a cat with such a glorious playhouse.”

“Toys with the catnip, and tuna lick sticks.” Pops gave me a kiss on the top of my head, shot Brody one final two-finger motion, then carried the cat condo out of the door with one arm. I wasn’t sure it would fit in the elevator, but Pops wiggled it in. “I pivot,” he yelled out as the elevator door closed.

When I turned around, Brody was sitting on the floor, staring at a lone bolt lying in his palm. “I hope this isn’t important.”

I chuckled, limped over to where he was seated, and lowered myself to the thick carpeting.

“I think they throw in extra bits just to make people crazy.” I folded his fingers over the bolt and cupped his hands. “You did so well with Pops.”

“Did I? I mean, I don’t think I did well at all. Every time I looked at him, he had this icy-cold stare that made my balls shrivel.”

“That’s his goalie glare.” I brought his hands up to my lips and placed a kiss to his knuckles. “Rumor has it that players used to feel that intense stare on them from the other end of the rink.”

“I would not want to try to score on that man. Between the glare and his knowledge of people. What kind of people was he talking about?”

“No one knows. Probably best not to ask.” I lowered his hand to my thigh. “Now that Mittens’ condo is together, and the food is gone, I think it’s time for us to talk. You want to do it here on the floor, on the sofa, or in bed?”

His gaze sizzled and sparked. “Only a fool would turn down bed.” My dick grew all sorts of happy. “So, I guess I’m a huge fool because I’m choosing the sofa. You need to rest that leg with some ice while we talk.”

My dick was not happy at all with that decision, even if it was the sensible one.