Page 24 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 16

Ryan

Ryan had spotted at least three women and two men at the bar that he’d consider spending the night with. They were all cute, all happy to be included in his celebratory gathering, and all had made it perfectly clear they’d gladly follow him back to his room. He’d told himself he’d talk to them before making a decision, a plan that had gone to hell the moment he’d found a mopey Lars at the bar.

It was really hard to avoid having feelings for the guy when he was just so damn sweet.

He did forget he slept with you , he reminded himself, but it was getting easier and easier to give Lars the benefit of the doubt on that one. His recent grievances against Lars were ones that seemed to have happened without any malice or intent on Lars’s part, and he was doing his best to make up for them. He got himself sloppy drunk because he was upset about taking a stupid number away from Ryan.

Ryan was begrudgingly forced to admit that the younger Lars who’d forgotten him wasn't necessarily the man Ryan knew now, and he would likely apologize profusely if he ever found out about it.

Stupid hot Swede and his being a decent guy. Ugh.

So no, Ryan didn’t end up with someone to keep him warm that night. And unfortunately, as he passed Lars’s room, silent and dark, he realized he couldn’t really regret it.

* * *

Back in Maryland, Ryan hoped throwing himself back into routine would help untangle his more and more entangled heart. The problem was that his routine now included Lars to a degree he couldn’t ignore.

At practice, Lars was there, kindly handing over his turn on the team playlist to Ryan and always making sure he had two protein-enriched snacks so he could share one. And apparently Coach Thompkins had liked what he’d seen lately, because he used Ryan and Lars interchangeably in most drills, like he couldn’t decide which center was his top line and which was second. Ryan admittedly liked the trust that was implied from the coaching staff, how they now valued his efforts and contributions, but it was low-key putting him into panic mode with the pressure to perform. He’d been on the first line before for other teams, and inevitably he hadn’t been able to maintain that standard for long enough to matter.

(Admittedly, he also enjoyed that it brought Lars shoulder-to-shoulder with him on the bench or while taking a knee, listening to Thompkins or one of the assistant coaches. And it gave him the perfect excuse to watch Lars, to really watch him because duh, they were expected to do the same things, right? There weren’t any feelings involved.)

Outside of practice, when he should’ve been free to clear his head and go through some much-needed Lars detox, he found himself more and more in Lars’s orbit. There was another youth practice and it was just easier to invite Lars, who’d genuinely enjoyed it, than to try and bribe another teammate. Though Lars insisted on taking Ryan out for dinner this time (sans beer, thankfully; they both would’ve been in trouble), and that led to texting once they got home to their respective apartments, which in turn led to inside jokes and a plan to watch Swedish movies on their next flight so Lars got the chance to feel culturally and linguistically superior for once.

And while Ryan was glad their teammates hadn’t seemed to notice them hanging out together (or didn’t care), Tanner did.

“He always gets onto the bench next to you,” Tanner pointed out during a replay. He pointed to the screen as Lars specifically avoided the empty door and climbed over the bench to sit next to Ryan. There wasn’t even space: he’d had to force Jake to move over, then had stolen Ryan’s water bottle before talking to him about his last shift. Not that Tanner could know either of those last parts.

“It’s strategy,” Ryan said lamely then offered Tanner the bag of chips in his hand to distract him.

The offering succeeded: Tanner immediately grabbed a handful and stuffed his face, giving Ryan a pleased and crumby smile. It only bought Ryan a few minutes though, because as soon as the bag of chips was gone, he turned to Ryan with a serious look.

“So you guys are friends now?”

“I guess.” His phone burned in his pocket. It had vibrated a few times while they were watching game highlights, and while that didn’t guarantee there were messages from Lars waiting for him, Ryan’s fingers itched to find out. “We’re teammates who hang out.”

Tanner nodded approvingly. “Seems a good fit. You sound way less stressed this season. Unless you’ve been eating my brownies?” He paused and looked at Ryan hopefully, then pouted when Ryan shook his head. “Well,” he huffed, “those would probably work better, but this is almost as good. And he’s going to need your help staying mellow when you guys go to Portland next week.”

Their West Coast road trip came right before their short Thanksgiving break. It was always a tiring trip because of the jet lag, but there’d been whispers that Portland had it out for them this year. Or at least had it out for one of them. Whatever his reasons for leaving the Prowlers, Lars’s former team didn’t seem happy about it. And if the game versus Anders and the Otters was anything to go by, Lars met aggression with aggression.

Not that Tanner would know any of that.

“How do you know anything about Portland or my schedule?” he asked suspiciously.

Tanner grinned proudly. “I’ve been watching the games,” he said. “Not just the highlights. Did you know they’ve really been singing your praises lately? That McHockey guy thinks you’re playing your best hockey. And when I do miss a game and watch the highlights, they show you way more often. Congrats, bro, you’re doing awesome this year. I bet they’ll give you that new contract, no problem.”

Ryan’s stomach twisted. He had been playing good hockey, and he was happy his coaches agreed, but if he thought too much about the contract or even really stopped to enjoy being on the top line when his future was so unresolved, he worried the whole thing would unravel and he’d be exposed: a bottom-six forward without a team. He couldn’t afford to get stuck on the high moments if it meant leaving him unprepared for the low ones.

“Why does it take an old one-night stand joining my team for you to pay attention to hockey?” he joked.

“Dude, that’s peak drama. Of course I’m going to watch your telenovela of a life. Like that thing where your boy hates his brother?” He did a chef's kiss. “They showed you and your fam in Montana, too. The Crabs are really about giving the people what they want, and what we want is drama to make it through the confusing hockey parts.”

It did seem like Tanner was acquainted with the storylines, player names, and their schedule more than he seemed to get the hockey. He continued to ask Ryan the same questions over and over that he’d been asking the past two years, like what icing and offside were and why they sometimes didn’t have a goalie in net. Ryan didn’t mind, always amused by Tanner’s nod of understanding even when it was clear there was absolutely zero understanding going on.

“I’d rather just do the hockey parts.” The drama and politics had never been part of the appeal for him; unfortunately the two went hand in hand with sports.

Tanner stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry. “You’re no fun.”

“So I’ve been told. Often. By you.”

“Bet Lars never complains you’re boring.”

“Tanner, stop pretending you’re my mom and setting me up on play dates. I made a friend, happy?”

“Very. Just make sure you’re being the type of friend who’s got his back while he’s squaring off against his old team.”

“You make it sound like it’s a shootout from an old Western.”

Tanner’s eyes lit up. “It is like that!”

They ended up watching Tombstone and then old Clint Eastwood movies, with Tanner forgetting about hockey all together while Ryan wondered if Lars had ever seen a Western and if he might like to watch one on the flight.

* * *

Whatever mixed feelings Lars held for his former team, it wasn’t the same as when they’d played the Otters. There was a sharpness to him, edges that were prickly, but unlike in Ohio, he seemed just as likely to hurt himself as someone else. Before, his nerves had honed his focus into a self-assurance that made it inconceivable for him to do poorly; when the team went out for dinner the night before the Prowlers game, Lars looked so nervous he might be sick.

“You look awful,” Tomas said unhelpfully.

“You okay?” Jake asked with captainly concern.

“I just…” Lars’s leg shook under the table so violently Ryan wanted to reach out and stop it. “I don’t want to play poorly. Against them. I don’t want them to be glad I’m gone.”

Ryan understood that painfully well, and from a few sympathetic nods from others around the table, they weren’t alone.

“You’ll do fine,” Jake said with the confidence of a man who had played his entire career for the team that had drafted him and would likely finish it there, too.

Lars’s shaking got so bad that when he accidentally hit the edge of the table, three drinks nearly tipped over.

“Jesus, Nilsy,” Vorny said as he eyed Lars like he had the plague. “You need to calm the fuck down. You’re wound up tighter than a corkscrew.”

Lars looked bewildered, but at least he was sitting still. “A what?”

“You need to relax,” Vorny said. He took a sip of his beer and gave Lars a calculating look. “You should get laid.”

“Yeah, right!” Tomas practically yelled. “No one in this town’ll touch him with a ten foot pole.”

There were some chuckles until Jake scowled at them. “I don’t care what city you’re in,” he said. “Hockey town or not, there’s always someone. And that’s for us ugly guys. With a face like yours, you won’t have any trouble.”

“Oh, uh…” Lars went bright red, his blond eyebrows disappearing as he did a pretty good impression of a tomato. “I don’t know about that…”

Vorny shrugged. “It would help you relax,” was all he said, then politely changed the topic. Even as the rest of the team talked about their upcoming outing to the Columbia River Gorge for team building, Lars looked painfully uncomfortable.

Ryan didn’t get it. He’d gone for hook-ups every now and then when he needed the distraction. Vorny was right, it usually helped with blowing off steam before a stressful game. Why wouldn’t he?—?

It suddenly clicked. While he wasn’t completely sure what Lars’s sexual orientation was, he’d gotten the impression in Geneva that Lars was gay. He was new to the team and probably didn’t feel comfortable bringing someone back to the hotel where he’d risk being seen with another man. Ryan wasn’t an idiot—he knew plenty of teams and players were huge dicks to their queer players. The Blue Crabs were the only team where Ryan had felt safe being openly bi, but it’d taken almost a full season before he’d gotten to that point. Lars had been with the team a whopping four months and maybe didn’t realize he wouldn’t get shit for it. Even if he’d gotten the vibe the team was accepting, it was one thing to know and another thing to do .

All through the evening, Lars’s tension was palpable, a physical presence weighing him down. His shoulders sagged and the dark lines under his eyes—barely noticeable when the evening began—looked like bruises. The poor guy was in desperate need of a distraction, and short of offering himself as tribute (and he did not appreciate the way his dick liked that scenario), Ryan struggled to find a way to help.

As dinner ended and the rest of the team started to drift apart, some heading back to the hotel for bed and others arguing the benefits of staying out for a couple drinks. Ryan took his chance: he grabbed Lars’s sleeve as he left the table and pulled him aside.

“Hey,” he said, feeling as nervous as a kid about to ask out his prom date. “If you need a wingman who won’t judge who you pick up, lemme know. Vorny’s kinda blunt but he’s got a point. You’re…” He tried to find a delicate way to phrase it, gave up, and said, “You’re kind of a mess.”

Lars stared at him with blue, unblinking eyes. “And who do you think I’d be picking up?” he asked, voice off.

“I literally have zero idea who you’d be into.” Correction: I have one very specific idea of who you might be into, but that’s off the table. “I’m just offering. In case you needed the offer. From a friend.” God, why was he so bad at this? “Sorry, this seemed like a better idea in my head.”

“No, I appreciate it,” Lars said hurriedly. “Really. But I…” He shook his head forlornly. “Maybe another time. I can’t here.”

Ryan had no clue what that meant, but he knew he didn’t like it. Lars had left the Prowlers so abruptly and vaguely pinned it on “politics.” There were enough pieces to form a bigger picture and Ryan didn’t like the shape they were making.

“Well, how about we hang out?” He refused to give up so easily. Lars had declined the wingman offer, not the company, and leaving him to his own devices wouldn’t help him chill out. “In the hotel lobby, I think they had some card games, or we could watch?—”

“They have Xboxes you can borrow. And the NHL games,” Lars said. “I stayed in this hotel when I first moved to Portland. Before I got my condo.” He’d started in an excited rush, his usual spark briefly returning, but by the end it had fizzled out.

“Xbox sounds great,” Ryan said with more enthusiasm than he’d ever felt for video games. He was lucky hanging out with Tanner had at least given him a general understanding of the controls. “If you’re nice, I’ll even let you play as me,” he said with a wink and slung an arm around Lars’s shoulder.

“That’s not how it works,” Lars said. He relaxed into Ryan’s touch. “But I call the Blue Crabs.”

“Then I call Team Sweden,” Ryan countered. “I hear that Lars Nilsson’s not bad.”

Lars laughed. “He’s okay. Nothing like that Ryan Russell. Can’t wait until the next Olympics when he gets to lead Team USA to gold.”

“You’ve been playing too many video games. The real one’ll be lucky if he even makes the team.”

Lars shot him an outraged look and nearly tore away from Ryan’s hold. “I can’t believe you’re going to make me destroy Team Sweden just to prove you’re wrong. They’ll revoke my citizenship.”

“I’m sure you’ll sweet talk them into letting you keep it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”