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The next morning, Adam decided he couldn’t leave things as they were with Riley. He stopped by Paula’s to arm himself with coffee and two of the delicious-looking cinnamon buns (still warm!) that were piled on a platter next to the cash.

“You won’t regret those,” Paula herself said as she rang him in. “We’re famous for them.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

“Is the second one for poor Riley?”

Adam paused in the middle of entering his PIN. “It’s—yeah.”

“Such a sin,” Paula clucked. “Harv was one of a kind. Well, I suppose Riley didn’t fall far from the tree. Looks like him too, only…”

“Taller,” they both said at the same time.

Paula smiled. She was probably in her sixties—about Riley’s mom’s age—a white woman with short gray hair and kind eyes. She was dressed very casually and wore no makeup, like someone who had been doing this job a long time and wasn’t trying to impress anyone. “You tell Riley to come by anytime for a hot meal. No charge. And give him this.” She grabbed a loaf of homemade brown bread off a shelf behind her. “His favorite.”

Adam stashed this piece of info away like a treasure. He’d take anything he could get. “Thanks. I will. And I’ll tell him.”

She glanced at a table where two men who were probably in their fifties were sitting, both staring at them. “Oh, for pity’s sake, fellas. Just ask him.” She turned back to Adam. “Arnold and Jeff over there are die-hard Toronto fans.”

Ah. Adam put on a smile. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

Fifteen minutes later he parked in one of the three spaces in front of Tuck’s Sporting Goods. A truck that likely belonged to Riley was already there.

Before exiting the car, Adam took a steadying breath and said, “Don’t fuck this up, Sheppard.” He carried the tray with the coffees and cinnamon buns in one hand, and the bread in the other.

There was a Pride flag sticker on the shop’s glass door, just above the handle. That definitely hadn’t been there when Adam had last been in Avery River. The bell chimed as he walked into the store, and Riley glanced up from where he’d been breaking down a cardboard box.

“Fucking hell,” Riley muttered.

“Hi.”

“What now?”

Adam lifted the tray in his hands. “I brought coffee. And cinnamon buns. Oh, and this bread is for you, compliments of Paula.”

Riley glared at him, then said, “Nice of her.”

“She’s great,” Adam agreed, ignoring how annoyed Riley clearly was. “She said you could come by for a free meal anytime.” He set everything on the counter, then glanced around. There was a lot of work to be done. It was absolutely ridiculous that Riley thought he could put the store back together on his own. “Cream and sugar,” Adam announced as he pointed to one of the coffee cups. “Just how you like it.” He was proud of himself for remembering that.

Riley slowly approached the counter, as if worried Adam might attack him. He looked every bit as exhausted as he had the night before, and the day before that. “I take it with milk now. No sugar.”

“Oh.” There was no reason for Adam’s heart to deflate as much as it did at such a tiny thing.

He brightened a bit when Riley wiggled the coffee cup that was marked with CS for cream and sugar out of the tray, then peeked into the paper bag that sat between the cups.

“Couldn’t resist the cinnamon buns. You know my sweet tooth.” Adam laughed nervously. “I mean, I still have it. Still love dessert.”

Riley took a sip of his coffee.

Adam tried for a subject change. “Where’s Lucky?”

“Asleep in the back. We went for a long walk on the beach this morning.”

“Sounds romantic.”

Riley held his gaze for a long moment, eyes narrowed, while Adam squirmed. “Sorry,” Adam finally said. “I’m nervous.”

“Is that what you think?” Riley said. “That I’m all alone here, no one to love me but my dog?”

“No,” Adam said quickly. Leave it to Riley to jump to the most extreme conclusions. “I’m sure you…date…people. Have relationships, um.” He swallowed, but it didn’t stop the next question from escaping. “Are you? Dating a…person?”

Another endless, agonizing moment, and then Riley said, “A man. I would be dating a man, because I’m gay.” He let that hang there a moment, then added, “I’m a gay man. You know, that thing you said we definitely weren’t? I am.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his ears. He was mortified by the reminder that he had, indeed, said that. Most horribly he’d said it just minutes after being inside Riley, still tingling from how good it had felt. After Riley had looked at him seriously and said, “I love you, you know,” and Adam’s whole world had stopped. His heart had been pounding just like it was now. Riley had been breathtaking in that moment, flushed and messy and vulnerable, holding his heart in both hands for Adam to take. Adam knew now, like he’d known then, how hard it must have been for Riley to say those words. To offer himself to Adam.

And Adam had laughed at him. Laughed at him and had said something like, “Dude, we’re not like that. Come on.” Because Adam was a fucking coward.

He could be brave now. This was where he could tell him. I’m gay too. The opportunity was gift wrapped, but instead he said, “So you’re not dating anyone now?”

“Jesus Christ,” Riley grumbled. He set his coffee on the counter, then walked to a stack of boxes against the far wall.

“I just mean,” Adam said, the words tumbling out of him now like the world’s most useless fountain, “it must be challenging, in a small town like this?”

“Finding men to fuck, you mean?” Riley asked flatly as he extracted a box cutter from his back pocket. “Or do you mean hiding? Because I don’t do that anymore.” He sliced open the top box, his back still to Adam.

“That’s good,” Adam said. “Not hiding. That’s good. That’s great. And it’s been okay? Everyone’s been…okay?”

Riley huffed, and Adam was sure he was rolling his eyes. “Everyone? No. But the people I care about are cool with it.”

Adam nodded enthusiastically, even though Riley wasn’t looking at him. “Glad to hear it. It’s nice to be supported.”

Riley did turn then. He looked Adam directly in the eyes and said, cold as ice, “Yeah. It is.” Then he thrust the open box at him. “If you want to help, you can hang these practice jerseys up. Smallest to largest, left to right. That rack over there. I’ll get you some hangers.”

“Right. Okay. No problem.” Adam walked to the mostly empty rack, then set the box on the floor. His shoulder complained from carrying the box, and his back complained from putting it down. He ignored both, removed his coat, and draped it over the hockey stick display next to him. He would do an amazing job of hanging up these jerseys, and he would keep his mouth shut.

“Here,” Riley said from behind him. He was holding a large plastic bin full of hangers. “If you see any holes or stains on any of the jerseys, let me know.”

“Got it.”

Riley headed to the back room with two unopened boxes, leaving Adam alone with a box of jerseys and his thoughts. The mindless task of inserting hangers into shirts did nothing to distract his brain from everything Riley had just said and all the memories his words had kicked up. All the regrets.

What if Adam hadn’t laughed at Riley’s declaration of love all those years ago? What if Adam had let himself feel all the things his heart had been screaming for, instead of immediately throwing up a wall? What if he’d fucking appreciated how lucky he could have been—how lucky he had been—to have someone as wonderful as Riley Tuck be in love with him?

It would have been impossible , he told himself now, the same way he’d told himself for years. We never could have been together.

Riley emerged from the back wearing glasses and frowning at a piece of paper. Adam shouldn’t have been surprised by the reading glasses—they were both over forty now, and Adam had started using them himself a few years ago—but he was. The glasses, the beard, the faded red hair, the dog, the exhaustion in Riley’s eyes—they all reminded Adam of the time he’d lost. He’d known Riley when they’d both been young, at their physical peaks. Now Adam’s body felt like it was falling apart, and Riley looked…

Adam forced his lungs to take a breath. Riley looked perfect. Sad and tired, but so handsome and strong. So comfortable in who he was. Adam had never known that Riley.

Riley muttered something at the paper, which made Adam blink and turn his attention back to the jerseys. He wrestled a small jersey onto a hanger, his fingers feeling thick and clumsy. It wouldn’t have been impossible, being with Riley; it would have been difficult , and that wasn’t the same thing. They would have had to hide, but hadn’t they done that anyway? If Adam had been braver, they could have hidden together. They could have teased each other when they’d worn their reading glasses for the first time, when they’d both started to get gray hairs. They could have picked out a dog together, and a house. Adam could have caressed Riley’s face one morning, observed that his beard was filling in, and Riley could have shyly admitted he was growing it out. Trying something new.

Adam swallowed hard, then took the next jersey out of the box.

He worked in silence for about half an hour, wishing Riley would talk to him. When he’d hung the last jersey, Adam said, “Done.”

“Okay,” Riley said, without any interest in his tone. He was on the other side of the shop, seemingly making some repairs to a clothing rack.

Adam sighed and walked over to a pile of baseball socks near some empty wall hooks. “Want these hung up?”

“If you want.”

Adam hung baseball socks neatly by size and color. Then he did the same for jockstraps, batting gloves, and belts. He shelved tennis balls, batting helmets, mouth guards, and water bottles. Other than giving quick confirmations that Adam was putting things in the right places, Riley ignored him. Lucky came to check on him a few times, so Adam chatted the poor dog’s ear off out of boredom.

“I heard you went on a beach walk this morning. That sounds nice. I should check that beach out myself. Haven’t been near the ocean for a while.”

“I’ll probably go to Paula’s again tonight for dinner, unless you have a better recommendation. I should try something else, but those scallops are next level.”

“You know what I like about baseball uniforms? The belts. They look so classy, right?”

Lucky listened to him with a definite air of anxiety. He kept glancing toward Riley, as if silently asking him, “Who the hell is this guy?”

No one important, I guess , Adam thought.

He’d just finished shelving the water bottles when Riley said, from behind the counter, “You haven’t eaten your cinnamon bun yet.”

It was an invitation, and Adam took it. “Forgot about it. Not sure how,” he said cheerfully as he approached the counter.

Riley didn’t say anything.

“What kind of dog is Lucky?”

“No idea.”

Lucky was medium sized with short, golden-brown hair, a white belly, a black nose and muzzle, and short, floppy ears. He was, Adam thought, a good-looking dog. A friendly looking dog. “So he’s a mix? You don’t know which breeds?”

“Nope. Probably not the smartest ones, though.” Even as he said it, the fondness was clear in Riley’s expression.

“Must be why I was getting along so well with him.”

Adam swore he saw Riley’s lips curve up, but then Riley turned away.

Adam took a bite of his cinnamon bun. “Holy shit,” he said, his mouth still full, “these are amazing.”

Riley was busy with something on the computer that sat on the counter. He was wearing his glasses again, which hid most of the bags under his eyes. Despite the obvious lack of sleep and the emotional upheaval, Riley was nicely dressed. Adam wouldn’t have thought less of him if he’d been wearing sweats, but his dark green plaid shirt was crisp and clean, and even looked like it had been ironed. He wore it untucked with black jeans and black boots. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his thick hair, which had been shaggy and permanently messy in his twenties, was now stylishly cut short on the sides, but fell in red-gold waves on top. He looked like an L.L.Bean model.

“You’ve got glasses now too, eh?” Adam said.

“Just for reading.”

“Same.” When Riley didn’t react to that, Adam attempted to casually lean on the counter. “Yours look good on you.”

Riley pinned him with a flat stare, then removed his glasses.

Adam sighed. “Seriously? You’d rather not be able to see than take a compliment from me?”

Riley squinted at the computer but didn’t reply. The phone rang then, and Riley answered it. “Tuck’s…no, um, sorry…he’s not. This is his son.”

Adam froze.

“Right,” Riley said. “No. He isn’t. He’s no longer with us…no. I mean he died.” He winced as he said the words, but his voice remained steady. “Thank you. So, yes, I’d be in charge of accounts payable now.”

Adam wanted to grab the phone from his hand and tell this person to please fuck off, but he knew that wasn’t reasonable. Finally, the call ended, and Riley went back to staring at the computer screen like nothing had happened.

“Riley,” Adam said gently.

“I’m fine.” His hand was trembling above the keyboard.

“Maybe I could answer the phone for you.”

Riley slammed a fist down on the counter, causing the mouse to fall to the floor with a clatter. “I can answer the fucking phone.”

Adam took a step back, giving him space. Riley hung his head, the way he’d often done before, when his emotions had exploded out of him.

“It’s okay,” Adam said.

Riley shook his head. After another moment, he said, “It’s getting worse. Like the shock is wearing off, and now it just…it hurts so fucking much.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, because he didn’t know what else to say. He wanted Riley to keep talking.

Riley stood straighter, as if shaking off the weight of his sadness. “Lindsay is going to stay a bit longer. Her husband and kids drove back to Halifax today, but Linds is gonna stay with Mom.”

“That’s good.”

Riley nodded, then stared into the middle distance. “She’s going to sell Dad’s truck.”

Adam’s chest tightened because he got it . How real that decision made everything. How final. “Shit,” he said. “That’s a lot.”

For a moment, Riley’s gaze met his, and Adam saw gratitude in his eyes. Then Riley blinked and looked away. “It’s just a truck. I don’t know why it bothers me.”

“I do,” Adam said gently.

Riley blinked again, and then again. His eyes were wet. “Yeah,” he said. “Shit.”

He covered his mouth with his hand, then turned his back to Adam. Without hesitating, Adam walked behind the count-er and put a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Riley’s large body shook under Adam’s palm, his face turned away. Adam wanted so badly to pull him into his arms and hold him. To kiss his temple and whisper comforting words. But that wasn’t what this was. This was a man who probably wished anyone but Adam was here with him now.

Finally, Riley blew out a breath, and said, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Adam said quickly.

“I shouldn’t—” Riley didn’t finish his sentence, but Adam jumped on the opportunity.

“You can, though. You need someone right now, and it can be me.”

Riley braced his hands on the countertop. “It really can’t.”

Adam’s heart sank. “I know I haven’t been a good friend,” he tried.

Riley snorted.

“But,” Adam continued, “I miss you.”

“You miss me ?” Riley turned his head to face him, eyes burning with anger rather than tears now. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes?”

In two long strides, Riley had Adam pinned against the wall. “You don’t get to miss me .”

Adam had reached his limit. He bumped his chest against Riley’s, refusing to cower. “Why not? You fucking ghosted me, Riley. You went to Dallas without a word to me about it, and then fucking quit hockey? I tried to call you! For weeks I tried to call you and text you. Then when you finally talked to me, it was to tell me to stop contacting you.”

“Because I had to fucking spell it out for you.”

“Then how am I the asshole here?”

Riley’s jaw was so tight Adam worried his teeth would shatter.

“I could have helped you,” Adam said desperately. “Whatever you were going through, I could have helped.”

“ You were what I was going through!”

Time seemed to freeze as both men breathed loudly and angrily against each other. Then Lucky wandered out from the back room, looking concerned.

Riley walked away, and Adam closed his eyes, heart racing. Of course he knew he’d hurt Riley badly, back then, but that couldn’t have been the entire reason he’d left Toronto. It couldn’t have been what had made Riley quit hockey. One drunken mistake couldn’t have been responsible for all of that.

He knew Riley was about to tell him to leave—not just the shop, but Nova Scotia—and Adam needed to think of something he could say that would change Riley’s mind. But there was nothing. Of course there wasn’t. Adam would have no choice but to leave, and that would be it. He’d never see Riley again.

And that was when Susan Tuck entered the shop.

“Thought I’d drop in because I have to go to the credit union to deal with about a hundred things and—God Almighty, Riley. You’ve been busy in here.”

“Just moving some things around,” Riley said.

“I’ll say.” She turned to Adam, and her face lit up. “Adam! Keeping him company, are you?”

Adam hoped his smile looked easy and not full of anxiety. “Just brought him a cinnamon bun.”

“Did you now?” She crouched to give Lucky a scratch. “I’ll bet Riley appreciated that.”

“Yep,” Riley said tightly.

“And how are you today, Adam?”

“Fine. Good.” He wondered how long he would be trapped in this awkward standoff.

And then Susan found a way to make it more awkward. “Lindsay told me about your divorce. I’m sorry to hear it.”

There was a clatter from across the shop, where Riley had apparently backed into a display of sunglasses.

“Uh, yeah,” Adam said. “We’re divorced. But we’re still good friends. It’s very, um, amicable.” This wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell Riley. “We’ve been pretty private about it. No social media posts or anything.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Especially for the kids.”

“It is.” He glanced quickly at Riley, whose brow was furrowed as he gazed at the floor. He could only guess what he was thinking. You threw me away to be with her, and now you’re not even with her.

“Well,” Susan said. “I should—”

“Do you want me to go to the credit union with you?” Riley blurted out.

Susan waved a hand. “No, no. I’ll get through it. But maybe you could come by the house later?”

“Of course. I was going to anyway.”

“Adam, you can come too if you like. It would be nice to catch up more, but I understand if you’ve got better things to do.”

“I, um…” There was no way Riley wanted Adam to accept the invitation, right? “I’d be happy to. If Riley doesn’t mind.” He caught Riley’s gaze, but couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking.

Susan glanced between them, perhaps realizing the tension that was filling the store. “I’ll let you boys get back to work then.”

She gave Riley a quick hug and kiss before leaving. Lucky tried to follow her out, then sat and stared through the glass door. After a long silence Riley said, “You’re divorced.”

Adam took a deep breath. “Yeah. For over a year now, officially.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“When should I have told you?”

Riley shook his head. “Never mind.”

Carefully, slowly, Adam walked toward him. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want to unload my shit on you right away, y’know?”

“It’s fine. It’s—I guess it’s none of my business, really.” He began straightening up the sunglasses display, as if the conversation was over.

Adam wanted it to be Riley’s business. He wanted it to matter to him.

“You staying in town another night?” Riley asked.

“Yeah.” Ask me why I’m divorced.

“Why?”

“You know why.” The words were out before Adam could stop them, and they hung in the air for what felt like forever.

“I don’t mean—” Adam stammered. “I just want to help. To be a friend. Whatever you need.”

“A friend,” Riley repeated.

Adam sighed. “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about, and that now isn’t the time. Like I said, I’m not here to unload more shit on you. Not when you’re in so much pain. If me being here is going to hurt more than help, then fine. I’ll go. But I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve missed you. We were best friends, and I still care about you, okay?”

Riley’s jaw clenched, and for a moment Adam thought he was about to be angrily backed against the wall again. But then Riley exhaled and said, “How’d the kids take it?”

It took Adam a second to realize he was asking about the divorce. “Not too hard, honestly. I think the fact that I wasn’t around a whole lot for most of their lives probably helped. But also, Maggie and I are still friends, and I live about five minutes away. We’ve got a pretty good arrangement.”

“That’s good,” Riley said, though he looked confused.

“We’re better as friends,” Adam offered, as a watered-down version of the truth.

“A lot of people are.” Riley caught his eye, just for a moment, then looked away.

Adam exhaled. “Look, um. I know you don’t want me to go with you to your mom’s house, and I totally understand that. But maybe we could get a beer or something later?”

Riley folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t drink anymore.”

Jesus, Adam sucked. “Oh. Okay. Maybe we could—when did you stop drinking?” He winced internally at his own bluntness.

“Been about ten years, I guess,” Riley said, as if it was no big deal.

As far as Adam could remember, Riley hadn’t been a particularly heavy drinker, at least not compared to really any of their teammates. Going out and getting drunk had been part of the lifestyle. But maybe Adam had missed something. “Ten years? Wow. And it’s been good? You feel better?”

Riley’s eyes told him that he knew Adam had no idea he’d had a problem. “Sure. Yeah. I feel better.”

“It must have been difficult, though.”

“Easier once I got home. If you remember, the local tavern is lacking a bit anyway.”

Adam smiled, delighted that Riley was referencing anything to do with the summers they’d spent here together. “They haven’t renovated?”

“I don’t even think they’ve cleaned it since you were last there.”

Adam got a brief and wonderful glimpse of Riley’s smile, and felt the lightest he’d been since arriving in town. “Is your jersey still on the wall?”

“Yup. And yours. Right next to it.”

Adam froze. “Really?”

“Really.”

It seemed impossible that all this time their friendship had been immortalized on the wall of Riley’s local bar. Had Riley stopped drinking just so he wouldn’t have to look at it?

“I want to see it.”

“Why? Your jersey is probably hanging in every bar in Toronto.”

“Not next to yours,” Adam said before he could stop himself. “I mean, I remember when I signed it for them. Do you?”

Riley smiled slightly. “Yeah. I remember. We’d been out on the boat all day, totally sunburned. Got a couple of pints of the worst beer on the North Shore.”

“Then you suggested the bonfire on the beach,” Adam added. He managed to avoid blurting out that it had been the best day of his life, possibly. Riley had taken him to a small beach that wasn’t as popular as the others nearby. They’d been alone, stretched out on the sand with the fire burning in front of them. Adam had been amazed by the stars above, more than he’d ever seen before, and he’d been enchanted by the man next to him. They’d slowly inched closer until their shoulders were pressed together, then their legs tangled, and then they’d been kissing. Then Riley had been pressing Adam into the sand as his hand slid inside Adam’s shorts.

Adam had been sure they’d both known the day would end that way, though they’d never kissed in Avery River before. After that night, they kissed a lot in Avery River, stealing privacy whenever and wherever they could get it. It had been like an intense summer fling inside of their weird few years of sporadic “just friends” sex. Adam had gone back to Ontario more confused than ever. A few months later, Riley had told Adam he was in love with him. And then Adam had fucked it all up.

“Did we have a bonfire that night?” Riley asked lightly. “Hard to remember. It was a long time ago.”

That was a spear to the fucking stomach. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

For a long moment, Riley held his gaze. He was as sure of that bonfire as Adam was.

“Anyway,” Riley said. “The jerseys are still there, because nothing ever changes at the Dropped Anchor.”

It seemed the conversation had ended, so Adam pointed to a box and said, “Want me to put away whatever’s in there?”

“You’ve done enough.” Riley sighed. “And, um, thank you. For your help.”

Adam eyed the general upheaval of the shop skeptically. “I can do more.”

“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.”

Adam tried to give him a hard stare so he’d know he was being stupid, but he was distracted by how lost Riley looked.

“Riles,” he said, then corrected himself, “Riley, I mean. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Yeah, well. You don’t have to do it at all, so…” He walked past Adam, toward the counter.

Adam grabbed his wrist. “You’re being stubborn.”

Riley spun back around. “I’m stubborn? You’re the one who showed up in my shop after I told you not to .”

“Fine, we’re both stubborn.” Adam was still holding his wrist. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Riley stared at him, then shook his head. “I don’t get you.”

Adam shrugged instead of saying, “You get me more than anyone ever has.”

Riley’s gaze kept dropping to Adam’s lips, then away, then back again. He jerked the arm Adam was holding, yanking Adam closer.

“Why?” Riley asked.

Adam gave the same answer as before, but this time it was barely a whisper, “You know why.”

Lucky began whimpering by the door.

Riley took a giant step back, his eyes wide with what looked like horror. “I know,” he said to Lucky. Then, to Adam, he said, “I need to take Lucky out for a bit. You should go.”

“Are you sure?”

Riley was already at the door. “I’m sure. Come on. I need to lock up.”

“I could come tomorrow,” Adam said as he grabbed his coat.

“Don’t.”

Riley exited the shop with Lucky, and Adam had no choice but to follow. Outside, Riley walked away without a word. As Adam watched him leave, he said to himself, “Milk. No sugar,” and began making plans for tomorrow.