Page 6

Riley had made a mess of Tuck’s Sporting Goods. What had started as a minor decision to swap the placement of the hockey tape shelf unit and the batting glove rack had turned into a full teardown of nearly every display in the shop. Riley was now standing in the middle, bewildered by how things had gotten to this point.

“Should’ve left those gloves where they were,” he muttered.

Lucky was staring at him with an expression that seemed exasperated.

“Yeah, I know,” Riley sighed. “We’re gonna be here awhile.”

He wanted to crumple to the floor and cry, but he resisted. He needed to put the store back together, one piece at a time. He was halfway through restocking the hockey stick rack when the door chime, and Lucky, announced a visitor.

He had his apologetic but firm explanation that the shop was closed today ready to go, but then he saw Adam coming through the door. Just like yesterday, Riley’s stupid heart bounced.

“We’re closed,” he said, just to be a dick.

“I can see why.”

And, yes. God. Now that another person was here, Riley could see exactly how chaotic the store looked. How chaotic he looked. Why did it have to be Adam? “Just rearranging some things.”

“I can help.”

“No thanks.” Riley turned his back to him and began fussing with the hockey sticks that he’d already placed in the rack. Just hearing Adam’s voice again—deep and slightly soft, but always steady—was making Riley’s stomach ache. There was a reason Adam had been named captain of the Toronto Northmen at only twenty-four; he had that thing , that easy competence that made people respect and admire him. He seemed like someone who always knew what to do, what to say. Like someone who never made mistakes or bad decisions.

Riley knew better.

“Who’s this?” Adam asked.

Riley glanced over his shoulder and saw Lucky enthusiastically sniffing the full-looking shopping bag Adam was holding. “Lucky.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“No story,” Riley said. “Named him that because he’s lucky to be a dog.”

Adam laughed, quick and nervous. “It does seem relaxing, I guess.” When Riley didn’t reply, Adam said, “I brought lunch. Your mom gave it to me.”

“When did you see Mom?” Riley didn’t like the idea of Adam bothering his family.

“I was just there.”

“Why?”

“I was looking for you.”

Riley snorted. “Why?”

“I thought we could talk, maybe.”

He shook his head, then continued to place hockey sticks in the rack.

“Or not,” Adam said. “If you don’t want to.”

“I’m busy.”

“And I offered to help.”

Riley threw the stick he was holding against the rack. It clattered to the floor with a satisfying amount of noise. A heavy silence followed, then Lucky began whimpering. Riley scrubbed a hand over his own face, feeling like an asshole. He turned and crouched, holding a hand out to Lucky. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”

Lucky went to him, pressing against Riley’s bent legs. Riley glanced up at Adam. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“Be weird if you were.”

Riley scratched Lucky’s ears, then stood so he was eye level with Adam. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“Bringing you lunch?”

Riley took a step toward him, then another. He must have looked as angry as he felt, because Adam took a step back. Good. “Leave me alone. Leave my mom alone. Fuck off .”

Adam nodded, infuriatingly calm. “Okay.” He placed the bag on the counter next to a pile of mouth guards. “You should eat, though.”

Riley glared at him.

Adam held up his hands, palms out. “I just want to help. However I can.”

“You can help by leaving.”

The pain in Adam’s eyes was obvious, but Riley refused to feel bad about it. Adam was a man who wasn’t used to not being adored, and Riley couldn’t do that. Not again.

“Yeah,” Adam said, “okay. I’m sorry.” He took a step toward the door, stopped, and said, “I’m staying at the River Bend, Room Four, and my phone number is the same as it’s always been.”

Then he left. The door chime tinkled behind him. Riley stared at the door for several seconds after it closed, and that’s when the guilt began to settle in. He glanced down at Lucky, who was gazing up at him with questioning eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Riley said. “We’ve got a lot of history. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Later, when he was dusting shelves, he told Lucky, “I know he seems nice. He’s perfect, right? Adam fucking Sheppard.”

Later still, when he was picking at a ham and cheese sandwich, he said, “You don’t know what it feels like, to have your heart stomped on repeatedly . It took me years to get over him, okay? So it doesn’t matter how helpful he wants to be or how good he fucking looks.” He sighed and tossed Lucky a piece of ham. Adam really looked good. His gray-flecked hair and stubble, his fancy millionaire coat, and those fucking eyes. “He’s bad for me. I needed to be an asshole to him. It’s for the best.”

Much later, when the sun had set and Riley had gotten most of the mess off the middle of the floor at least, he said to a sleeping Lucky, “Why is he staying? It doesn’t make sense.”

Riley was behind the counter, his ass resting against the top of it, staring at the framed photos on the wall. There were a few of Riley from his years with the Northmen, and one from his brief stint with Dallas. There was one of Riley and Adam hugging after a goal Adam had scored, Adam smiling and Riley yelling in his ear, arms wrapped around him tight. They’d been playing together for five seasons when that photo was taken, and they’d been fucking for two of them.

There was a photo of Dad wearing an Avery River minor hockey jacket and smiling. Riley stared at it until his eyes burned. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confessed to the photo. “I can’t be you. I wish I could be.”

He knew what Dad would say: “You just need to be Riley Tuck.” Riley wasn’t sure that was true, though. This town needed Harvey, and Riley was a poor substitute.

His gaze traveled back to the photo of the goal celebration. God, they’d been so young. Like different people. Riley had been so hopelessly in love with Adam, he’d have done anything for him. And he’d been stupid enough to think Adam had felt the same way.

He sighed, then pushed off the counter. He wasn’t going to be calling or texting Adam, that was for damn sure. Adam could stay at the River Bend Motel for as long as he fucking wanted, sleeping on a lumpy mattress and thin, scratchy sheets. Riley had heard from plenty of people how uncomfortable those beds were.

It was probably hell on Adam’s shoulder.

Whatever. Fuck him. Riley had things to do, unlike some recently retired superstars. Like right now he was going to go check on his mom, then hopefully get a halfway decent night’s sleep, then get back to cleaning up his mess at the shop tomorrow.

“Come on,” he said, gently nudging Lucky awake. Lucky grumbled as he lifted his head, probably irritated by having to do something that wasn’t sleeping or eating—the two things Riley himself had been unable to do for days.

“Sorry your life is so hard,” he said.

Lucky woofed quietly in agreement, then followed him out of the shop.

* * *

After leaving the shop, Riley went to his parents’ house and found a living room full of people staring expectantly at him.

“What?” he asked.

Mom, her sister Ruth, Lindsay, Josh, and even the two kids all had more or less the same expression on their faces. That expression said, So how did it go?

“What?” Riley said again.

“So,” Mom said, “how did it go?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, Riley,” Lindsay sighed. “Were you rude to him?”

Riley curled his fingers until his nails bit into his palms. “I wasn’t rude to him,” he lied. If Adam was going to show up in Riley’s town twelve years too late, at a time when Riley was already an emotional wreck, he could fucking expect some rudeness. “He didn’t stay long. Whatever. Thanks for the lunch, though.”

Lindsay gave him a questioning look, then changed the subject. “Josh is going to take the kids back home tomorrow. I’m going to stay a bit longer.”

“How will you get back to Halifax?”

“I’m, uh.” Lindsay glanced at Mom, who nodded, then said, “I’m going to take Dad’s truck. We were talking about maybe selling it, and I know someone in Halifax who’s interested.”

“Oh,” Riley said. He felt like he was falling backward into a pit.

“I’ve never liked driving that big old thing,” Mom said. “May as well let someone else make use of it.”

“Right. Yeah. Makes sense,” Riley said tightly, then he turned and escaped to the kitchen. When he got there, he placed his hands on either side of the sink and stared out the dark window, hoping he wasn’t about to throw up. He watched a raindrop trail its way down the glass, joining a blob of water that had pooled in one corner. He watched more drops do the same, and he breathed. Even though he’d seen the tiny box that held Dad’s ashes go into the ground, the idea that the man would never drive his beloved truck again seemed impossible. That Dad would never pull into Riley’s driveway, ready to help with whatever home improvement project Riley was working on. That he’d never show up at the rink again with a tray of coffees and a big smile. That he’d never pull a silly little float in Avery River’s Canada Day parade again.

“Hits you like a ton of bricks, doesn’t it,” Mom said from behind him.

Riley turned and saw his mom standing in the middle of the kitchen with open arms. He went to her and hugged her tight. “He loved that truck,” he said.

Mom sniffed, and said, “Did he? He barely ever talked about it.”

Riley managed to laugh.

“We probably should have buried him in it,” Mom continued.

Riley laughed harder, even as tears streamed down his face. “Jesus, Mom.”

They broke apart, and he saw the tears in Mom’s eyes too. “You have to laugh when you can,” she said, “otherwise you get swallowed up.”

Riley nodded and wiped a hand over his face. Swallowed up was exactly how he felt, by grief, by anger, and now, with Adam here, with the old feelings of longing and misery that had plagued him for years.

“You look tired,” Mom said.

“I’m exhausted,” Riley admitted.

“Go home. Get some sleep. Come by in the morning to say goodbye to Josh and the girls, okay?”

“I will.”

“And take some eggs. Jerry dropped off two dozen this afternoon, and Sandy gave me two dozen yesterday. They think I’m drowning my sorrows in soufflés or something.”

“I’ll take some. I’m glad Lindsay is staying.”

“Me too, of course, but I told her it isn’t necessary. Still, it’ll be nice to have her around a bit.” She paused a moment, then added, “Adam seems like he’d like to help.”

Riley took a step back. “Yeah. Well.”

Mom patted his arm. “You boys were such good friends.” She headed for the fridge, and Riley’s heart twisted in his chest. They’d been fucking great friends, and maybe if they’d been able to leave it at that, they’d still be great friends.

He left a few minutes later, Lucky in the passenger seat of his truck, panting happily. He drove to the end of town, then turned left toward the ocean. His house was about fifteen minutes away from his parents’ place, down a dark stretch of road lined by thick forest. Eventually it met up with the road along the ocean, where there was a mix of small summer cottages, large vacation homes that had been recently built, and some of the original houses in the area. Riley owned one of those houses. He’d bought it as a fixer-upper a few months after he’d quit hockey, thinking it would be good for him to have a project to work on. He hadn’t been the handiest guy in the world at the time, but he’d since learned a lot of skills over the past decade of renovating it. He was proud of his home.

Lucky ran ahead of him, as always, as if the dog could unlock the door. He paced impatiently on the front stoop as Riley gathered the food Mom had unloaded on him from the back seat.

“Give me a second,” Riley grumbled. When he finally got to the house, balancing the food while fumbling the key from his pocket, Lucky stood with his front paws on the door. “It would be easier if you moved,” Riley said.

He got the door open, despite Lucky’s refusal to move, then carried the food to the kitchen while Lucky tore around the house, inspecting every room as if there’d be a surprise there. Riley put the food in the fridge, which had been mostly empty, then made his way to the living room, where he promptly collapsed on the sofa in an exhausted heap.

“Fuck,” he said to no one. What a day.

What was Adam expecting? A chat? There was no way they could talk about anything without talking about everything . And Riley really didn’t want to talk about everything .

Things like, “Do you remember when I told you that I was in love with you and you laughed in my face?”

Or, “Did you ever tell your wife about the night we won the Cup?”

Or, “Do you even care what happened to me after that, or were you just relieved that I was gone?”

Adam had hurt him deeply and repeatedly. Riley had barely survived the pain, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. After Riley went to Dallas, Adam had broken more records, raised his kids, and loved his beautiful wife. During that same time, Riley’s life had been mostly undiagnosed depression, alcohol, sleeping pills, and weighing the pros and cons of ending it all.

It was Lindsay who’d told him to come home, during a tear-filled phone call when Riley had, for the first time, admitted out loud how bad he was doing. How he didn’t think he could play hockey anymore, and that it might actually kill him if he stayed in Dallas. Nothing personal against the city of Dallas—Riley hadn’t given it a fair chance—but it was over two thousand miles from home, and at that time he’d felt every single one of them.

Quitting the NHL at the age of twenty-nine was the hardest decision he’d ever had to make. He’d worked his whole life to get there, and he’d still been in decent physical health. If his brain had cooperated, he probably could have had at least five more good seasons in the league. Maybe even ten, like Adam had managed. Instead, he more or less fell apart over one and a half seasons in Dallas: he’d missed practices, he’d been scratched from the lineup and benched a few times, and he’d even gotten into a fight with a teammate during a practice. Some days he’d been so depressed he couldn’t force himself to get out of bed. Other days he’d been too hungover to function. At the time it was basically unheard of for an NHL player to quit for mental health reasons. Honestly, it had been unheard of for an NHL player to have mental health issues. So Riley had been vague, claiming that he simply felt it was the right decision for him. The hockey world mostly translated that as Riley being a lazy drunk who had gone nuts. A wasted talent. A joke.

Dallas hadn’t been sorry to lose him.

Things got better after he’d come home. He quit drinking, found a good therapist in Halifax he sometimes saw in person but usually talked to on the phone, and, through his family doctor, had been able to figure out the most effective antidepressants. Riley liked living in Avery River, and with time, he made a nice life for himself. A full life, even without a partner or reliable regular sex. Being a single gay man in a small Nova Scotia town wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t celibate. The apps worked here, even if the pickings were slim.

Lucky, either satisfied or disappointed that everything in the house was as they’d left it, returned to the living room and jumped up on the sofa. He slumped over Riley’s thighs and rested his head on Riley’s chest. Riley idly scratched Lucky’s ears and continued to stare at the ceiling. He’d hung a vintage chandelier made from iron and stained glass in the center, a piece that he’d fallen in love with in an antiques store four years ago. He’d decorated the whole living room to complement the rich jewel tones of the geometric glass pattern. His sofa and matching armchair were from the forties, both reupholstered in dark teal velvet and accented with embroidered gold and blue pillows. A large Persian-style rug spread over the refinished wood floor, ending just in front of the brick hearth that supported his cast-iron wood stove. It was a cozy, beautiful room, and Riley felt comfortable here. Even now, when that comfort was spiked with loneliness.

He closed his eyes and listened to Lucky breathe and to the rain outside. He thought of Adam, then cursed himself for thinking of Adam. Fuck Adam.

Adam, who had seen the mess Riley had made of the shop. Who had offered to help fix it. Who had traveled to Nova Scotia to attend Dad’s funeral. Who wanted, for whatever reason, to be there for Riley. As if they could simply be friends again.

Riley was spiraling, and when he spiraled he made bad decisions. He wouldn’t make a bad decision. Not tonight. He would drag himself upstairs, go to bed, try to sleep, and forget about Adam Sheppard.