Page 3

April 2024

“I shouldn’t have come,” Adam said as soon as Maggie answered her phone.

“Didn’t go well, huh?”

“I think he wanted to punch me.”

“I did suggest you call him first,” Maggie reminded him. “He’d be emotional right now. He doesn’t need surprises.”

“He’s always emotional,” Adam said automatically. As if he had the right. As if he had any idea what Riley Tuck was like these days. “But yeah. I should have called. Or just, y’know. Stayed home. Left him alone.”

“How is he?” Maggie asked in a softer voice. The question made Adam’s lingering anger—at Riley, at himself—disappear.

The shitty bed in his shitty motel room creaked as he sat on it, the mattress dipping nearly to the worn carpet. “He looks miserable,” Adam said. “It hurt to see him, honestly. I wanted to…” Even though Maggie knew as close to everything as anyone who wasn’t Adam or Riley was going to get, he still struggled to get the words out. “Hold him,” he finished.

“Oh, Adam.”

“You should have heard the speech he gave at the funeral. I don’t know how he was even able to do it, but everything he said was so beautiful , y’know? He loved his dad so much.” Adam had experienced a million emotions at once, as he’d watched Riley read his eulogy. He’d been heartbroken for Riley, but also proud of him, and also surprised, because Riley had never been much of a talker. Adam had shared the anxiety that he’d felt in the room as everyone wondered together if Riley would make it through his speech without crumbling. No one would have blamed him if he hadn’t, but he’d gotten to the end, his voice rough and on the knife’s edge of bursting into tears. He’d nodded at the full church when he’d finished, looking bewildered like he had no idea when all those people had gotten there. Adam had wanted to take him by the hand and tell him he’d done great. That it was over. He’d wanted to sit beside him with a comforting hand on his back. He’d wanted so many things that he couldn’t have, and shouldn’t even let himself want.

“I’m glad you went,” Maggie said.

“Me too. But now it’s over, and I’m not sure I’m much use to him. I should leave. Tomorrow. Tonight, maybe.” The bed creaked in agreement.

“I think you should stay,” Maggie said. “Give it a few days, at least. Give him time to get used to you.”

Adam’s wife—his ex -wife—was, and always had been, too good for him. She was loving, supportive, funny, beautiful, and a wonderful mother. He’d truly hit the jackpot with her, and he’d tried so hard to make it work, even after he’d finally figured out the truth about himself. For years after realizing he was gay, Adam had kept it to himself. By that point they’d been married for over a decade, and the thought of ending things—of hurting Maggie—made him sick.

But not telling her made him feel worse, and finally, nearly fifteen years into their marriage, he’d broken down and told her. She’d been upset, obviously, and surprised, but later she would admit to him that she’d also been relieved; their marriage had grown stiff and quiet over the years, and now she knew why. She’d admitted that she’d suspected he’d been having an affair. He’d assured her that hadn’t been the case, but he’d also told her about Riley. By that point, Riley had been out of his life for years, but Adam still had a long-overdue confession to make to Maggie. He’d told her, through tears of shame, about the one night he hadn’t been faithful. Maybe because it had been a few days after her husband came out to her and she’d had time for the shock to fade, but Maggie hadn’t been angry. She’d been sympathetic , and thanked him for telling her, even as she’d still been reeling from the heartbreak of their marriage ending.

Too good for him, truly, and he was beyond grateful they were still friends.

During the two years that followed that conversation, Maggie had gently suggested several times that Adam get in touch with Riley. Adam had dismissed her suggestions. It had been over a decade since Riley had cut Adam out of his life, and for all Adam knew he could be married now. He was almost certainly doing just fine without the skittish, closeted teammate who’d jerked him around for most of their twenties. Adam would have to navigate his new life—retired, divorced, gay, and in his forties—without the man he was still in love with.

But then, two days ago, Maggie had given him the news about Harvey Tuck. “Riley needs you,” she’d said, and she hadn’t needed to say anything else. Because if there was even a chance it was true, Adam would be there.

“I’ll stay at least another day,” Adam decided, out loud. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to see him again, though.”

“It’s not a big place, is it?” Maggie said. “I’m sure you can track him down.”

“Maybe. How are the kids?”

Maggie laughed. “How should I know? They’re barely ever home.”

Adam smiled. Lucy was sixteen now and had a very active social life that left little time for family. Cole was fifteen and kept busy with basketball and video games. They weren’t particularly interested in Adam, but Maggie assured him that they weren’t interested in her either. They were teenagers, and, because neither of them played hockey, they were mysteries to Adam. When he’d been a teenager, he’d been nothing but hockey.

Adam still lived close to Maggie, in a smaller house that was larger than he needed, and the kids split their time between them based mostly on whatever was convenient for everyone each week. Maggie had been dating an engineer named Ethan for a few months now, and the kids seemed to like him. Things were decent between all of them, and Adam considered that a personal success.

He chatted with Maggie for a bit longer, about the kids, Maggie’s day, the weather, and then Adam said, “When I saw him today, I couldn’t believe how much I missed him. He looked so different, but also the same, y’know?” He blinked away the burning in his eyes. “Sorry. It’s selfish of me to be talking about him with you.”

“It’s fine. You know it’s fine.”

“You’re too good for me, Mags.”

“Well, yeah. That’s why we’re divorced.”

That made him laugh, a little. “Still. I promise I won’t call you every day about this. I’m just feeling a little alone right now.”

“I know.” Her voice brightened. “Hey, how about you find some fried scallops? I remember Riley boasting about a place there with the best fried scallops.”

“I’ve been there before, yeah.” God, how many years ago? Seventeen, at least. “They’re good.”

“Do that,” she said. “And don’t get a case of beer or a bottle of whiskey, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Get some sleep tonight, and try to see him tomorrow.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll try. Thanks.”

They ended the call, and Adam gently maneuvered himself until he was lying on the terrible mattress. Adam was used to luxury, and the River Bend Motel had none. It wasn’t sketchy, exactly, just old and inexpensive and probably barely making a profit. It was the only hotel of any kind in town, but he doubted the No Vacancy sign got much of a workout.

His shoulder wouldn’t thank him for this bed, he could already tell.

It was only three in the afternoon, which seemed impossible. He’d left Toronto on a 6:00 a.m. flight, picked up a rental car at the Halifax airport, then driven nearly two hours to Avery River on the north shore. The funeral had started two hours ago.

Now he was alone with his thoughts, which was a situation he’d been finding himself in far more often since retirement and divorce. Besides spending time with his kids, which was getting to feel less and less required, at least from Lucy’s and Cole’s standpoints, Adam didn’t have much going on in his life. He was still in demand as a hockey celebrity in Toronto, was still friendly with his former teammates, and he still went to most of the Northmen home games, but he was finding some of that depressing. It was hard to be in the building but not be on the ice. Maybe it would start to feel easier soon.

None of his hockey friends knew he was gay, and he didn’t feel ready to tell them yet. He loved the guys like brothers, but he wouldn’t exactly describe any of them as progressive thinkers. He worried that coming out would create a wall between him and his friends. He also wondered if the burden of hiding such a huge part of himself wasn’t creating its own wall. Maybe it would be easier to come out so he could find out who his real friends were.

As far as his sex life went, he’d been…trying things out. The apps were an exciting and efficient tool, especially now that he wasn’t terrified he’d be recognized. He wasn’t hoping to be, but he’d made peace with the inevitability of it if he chose to hook up with men in the Toronto area. So far there hadn’t been any gossip, but he expected that wouldn’t last forever. Adam didn’t particularly want to issue a public statement announcing his sexuality, but he didn’t hate the idea of people just…finding out. There had to be an easy, organic way of being openly gay, right?

He really didn’t know, and he had no one to ask. Though he’d been hooking up with men for the past couple of years, he didn’t have any gay friends. The closest he’d come to making one was a guy he’d fucked three times, but then that guy had moved to Vancouver.

In summary, Adam was lonely. He was used to being constantly scheduled and busy and focused on winning and self-improvement. He’d been the captain of a top-ranked NHL team, a husband, and a father, all since his midtwenties. Now he was a largely unnecessary father with a busted shoulder, fumbling his way through hookups.

And he was in a motel in Nova Scotia, trying to, what? Win the heart of a man who hated him now? Of course not. He wasn’t that delusional. He only wanted to try to repair some of the damage between Riley and himself. He wanted to apologize, and maybe he wanted Riley to apologize too, because it hadn’t all been Adam’s fault. Most of it, probably, but not all. Adam had made some bad decisions, but he hadn’t been the one to throw their friendship away. He never would have chosen to do that.

The truth was, before it all went to hell, Riley had kind of been Adam’s whole world. Obviously there’d been hockey, but Riley had been such a big part of that too. Even after Adam was married with kids, Riley had been a part of the family. Lucy and Cole had no memory of “Uncle” Riley now, but he’d adored those kids. If Maggie had found it weird, having Riley around so much, she’d never said anything. Maybe she’d thought it was part of the hockey wife package.

Adam probably should have realized then that he was gay and in love with his best friend. Or maybe he should have realized far sooner, during the many times he’d had sex with Riley before Adam was married. Or the one time he’d had sex with him after he was married.

Adam had been horrified with himself after that one time, but in the moment, when he’d been deep inside him and he’d had Riley’s huge hands on his hips, all Adam had felt was relief and joy. Like he’d been exactly where he should be.

It had been the end of everything. The end of Adam trying to have it all. He’d panicked afterward, and no doubt hurt Riley badly. And then Riley had gone to Dallas, stopped talking to him, and left Adam reeling while also trying to make the most of the situation he’d put himself in. It hadn’t been awful: marriage to a woman he truly liked a lot, two wonderful kids, an impressive hockey career, and a whole lot of money. But through it all, there was a giant Riley-shaped hole in Adam’s life.

“And that,” Adam said to the empty hotel room, “is exactly why you’re staying for at least another day or two.” He had no plan, and no expectations, but he was here. And it was a start.