Page 27 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 18

Ryan

After finally getting through what could only be measured as a full hour of goodnights to his family, Ryan was finally able to sneak off to his old bedroom (the smallest room in the whole house, barely fitting the double bed he’d used throughout his childhood and the teensiest of desks that he’d used on the rare occasions he actually did homework) to unwind. He loved his family, but dear God. They were what could generously be labeled as “close,” but really felt more like overbearing.

The house was packed for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow with lots of extended family in town, himself included. He’d ridden with the team bus to the airport and then gotten on a commercial flight to Montana, making use of the few days off to visit home. When he came to town for games, he rarely got to do more than drink with his sisters, brothers-in-law, cousins, and the rare aunt or uncle who could keep up with them; he liked coming for family events where he could sit down with the older and younger generations.

It was also exhausting. His nieces and nephews tired him out, but he enjoyed being the “cool uncle.”

An uncle who was only seven years older than one of them, but oh well.

He dumped his duffle bag on his minuscule desk, changed into sweats, and climbed into bed. He had to prop himself up against the headboard to keep his feet from spilling across the other end, and with a bone-deep sigh, he settled in for aimless phone scrolling until he fell asleep. Except of course, as soon as he turned on his phone, there was a message waiting for him that would 100% take all of his attention.

where are you?? why aren’t you on the plane?

sorry i had my phone off

i’m in montana for thanksgiving

i took a flight to billings

It was nearly midnight on the East Coast, but almost immediately he got a reply.

i had to sit with tomas. TOMAS.

all he did was talk about some reality tv show. you owe me.

you could’ve sat by yourself

i TRIED. he took your seat.

Your seat. Ugh, that shouldn’t do things to him. When had Ryan become so easy? Though it did amuse him to think of Lars’s bewilderment when Tomas sat down next to him, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he no doubt politely engaged with Tomas on a topic Lars had neither interest in nor understanding of.

sorry

Next time you gotta get your headphones on quick even if you’re not listening to anything. Then he won’t talk to you

do you always go home for Thanksgiving?

usually can’t.

Last year we had a game the day before and after. Lucked out with the timing this year.

I get a whole 36 hours in Montana

What about you? Swedes do Thanksgiving?

no.

Mormor would if only to have me visit more, but we don’t celebrate

you do Christmas together?

Christmas is her favorite and mine too.

I always go for Christmas if I can, otherwise we FaceTime so I can say hi to my niece and nephew

She lives with Anders, so I avoid visiting except for big holidays

Ryan knew Lars’s grandmother was with Anders’s family, but he hadn’t quite processed what that would mean for Lars and the holidays. In his head, he envisioned Lars making a yearly pilgrimage to Sweden every summer to visit his family. His non-Anders family, anyway. He knew that’s what a lot of NHL players did, particularly those without a wife and kids of their own. Ryan spent at least two weeks on the ranch between clinics and training, though he hoped a good contract would allow him to make a semi-permanent home in Baltimore this summer.

so you visit your brother?

every summer.

He really wished this conversation was in person so he could gauge how far to press for details. Aside from first hand experience and a whole lot of rumors, Ryan didn’t really know shit about Lars’s family or relationship with his brother. Was it weird to pry? Did it make him sound predatory like the media when they asked him about Anders for sound bites? Or as a teammate and a friend, was he allowed?

Deciding that Lars was a big boy and could tell him to fuck off (or avoid his questions if he wanted to, especially via text), he decided to ask the obvious.

and you both survive this how…?

i stay in the guest house.

and am under constant supervision.

also anders cheats and has his kids around all the time, so i can’t say anything too mean in front of them

and yet you’ll punch their father in front of them during games

Ryan deleted this last message before he sent it. Lars and his brother’s relationship was hardly his concern, and he’d pushed his luck enough already.

so what are you going to do with your two whole days off and no family responsibilities?

i have no idea

if you were here i’d make you go with me to rangoons but inconveniently you have “family responsibilities”

bummer, right?

the worst. and very inconsiderate of you.

what if i promise to go with you to rangoons when i’m back in town on friday?

but we have practice saturday morning.

not as much fun when we have to get up early the next day

sorry i’ve got an early bed time anyway

am I keeping you up?

He was, technically, but Ryan wasn’t going to tell him. Not when he was enjoying it. Lars wanted to talk to him. Lars missed him. Lars wanted to hang out with him in a few days. Stupid for Ryan to want these things, but it was a temptation he wasn’t strong enough to ignore at the moment.

nah just winding down

if you’re really bored, you could watch tomas’ reality show

give you two something to talk about on the next flight

you clearly need to sleep

you’re talking nonsense

good night ryan, enjoy your family trip

night lasse

try to stay out of trouble until i get back

* * *

Lars didn’t stay out of trouble. The next afternoon, between rounds of peeling potatoes and tearing apart bread for stuffing, Ryan checked his phone and found a video from Lars waiting for him. Worried about what the contents of said video might be, he disappeared into the bathroom to play it and nearly dropped his phone in shock.

“Hey guys, say hi to my buddy Ryan,” Lars said, the video in selfie-mode to show Lars in hockey gear. The video flipped to the main camera, showing a crowded locker room full of men and women of all ages, all also wearing hockey gear in a mix of colors that screamed pick-up game. They waved eagerly and shouted at the camera a mix of “Hi, Ryan!” and “Hi, RJ!”

Lars panned the whole locker room before reappearing in frame. “Have fun in Montana. I’ll try not to get better at hockey while you’re gone.” Then he gave a goofy smile, his hand coming up to block the camera before the video ended.

I’m sorry but did you just play a pickup game??

He hated that there was no immediate response. It made him resort to drastic measures: going to social media and searching the Lars Nilsson and Blue Crabs hashtags. He soon found some posts from a few hours ago about a mysterious player showing up at a local pickup, playing way too well and earning suspicion. Some of the blurry pictures definitely showed Lars, but he’d opted for a plain black jersey and what must have been his helmet and hockey pants from Team Sweden. It was barely a disguise, though the cage instead of a visor did help obscure his face more than usual.

There was no chance he’d ever make it through a whole pick-up without getting recognized, though. The more recent posts were mostly just some variation of “LARS NILSSON CAME TO OUR PICKUP!” usually with at least three exclamation marks and a picture.

omg you really DID play in a pickup game

you’re crazy.

It was frustrating that he didn’t get a response until hours later, his phone vibrating in his pocket. He immediately scrambled to take it out, no longer caring if his family watched his enthusiasm with suspicion.

i might have and i might be

there’s a rink a few blocks from my apartment

i saw they had a pickup this morning so i went

it was fun

i’ll bet

if you weren’t already a fan favorite, they’ll love you for that

they’ll love me more when they see us in the playoffs

if we can make it i’m sure they will

i promised you we would

i haven’t forgotten

“Boyfriend or girlfriend?” one of his sisters asked knowingly.

“Neither.” Ryan turned off his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. It took more effort to scrub the stupid smile off his face and pretend he had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

His sister shared a look with their mom before shrugging. “Nothing, apparently.”

Blushing furiously, Ryan ignored his phone the rest of the day. It took a monumental effort to do so, especially when he could feel the occasional ping of a new notification. In bed that night, when it would be safe to talk and let his face make whatever goofy expression it wanted to, he could get Lars to tell him all about his adventures in beer league hockey. For now, he needed to focus on his family.

Because if even one of his sisters realized he had a crush on a teammate, they’d never let him live it down. Worse, they might encourage him to do something incredibly dumb like tell Lars Nilsson he wanted nothing more than to relive that one night in Geneva.

* * *

Their practice on Friday was absolutely brutal. Thompkins apparently saw two days of recovery between then and their next game and decided to torture his team. Ryan hadn’t done so many suicides since high school and he was gassed after five laps trying to keep up with Lars. Lars’s seemingly unending stores of speed and stamina only egged on Thompkins, who pushed the rest of them more and more until Lars took a hint and slowed down.

If Ryan had promised literally anyone else on the team to hang out after that practice, he would’ve taken a raincheck. Promise up and down to make it up to them next time. Instead, Ryan took a hot shower, some ibuprofen, and dragged himself to Rangoons without complaint. Because he was an idiot who liked Lars Nilsson more than his own body, apparently.

Lars was already at the bar with an order of crab rangoons, a margarita in front of him and a clear, fizzy drink at the empty seat next to him.

“This isn’t some vodka abomination, is it?” Ryan asked suspiciously as he sat down.

Lars looked insulted. “What? No. I know you only like ‘healthy’ drinks.” He did actual air quotes, his voice lilting deeper into his Swedish accent than usual as he said it. “It’s seltzer water with lemon. Fancy water.”

Probably not his first choice, but Ryan appreciated the thought. “Thanks. Though regular water’s fine too.”

“Americans,” Lars scoffed, nose wrinkled. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Good. Probably gained five pounds from all the food, but it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without overeating.”

“Americans,” Lars said again with fake disdain, then laughed when Ryan glared at him.

They slipped into conversation first about Ryan’s trip home, Lars wide-eyed and asking never-ending questions about what a real American Thanksgiving was like. He went through two margaritas in the process, licking the salty rim (Ryan did his best to ignore his tongue moving nimbly along the glass) and then downing it with long sips through the straw.

Then it was Ryan’s turn to demand a play-by-play of Lars’s adventure at pickup.He’d clearly enjoyed his incognito moments while everyone tried to figure out what was up with the new guy dangling around everyone.

“I didn’t shoot, though,” he promised. “I passed so much that my coaches as a kid would’ve been proud.”

“Bet you were a hero when they figured out who you were,” Ryan said and popped a rangoon in his mouth.

“Of course! I was in the locker room longer than I was on the ice, taking pictures and hanging out.” He sighed wistfully.

“What?” Ryan asked. “Looking forward to retirement when you can clean up in local beer leagues?”

“It’s not that. There was this couple there. They get to play together all the time.” Lars’s eyes were distant as he said it, like he was picturing the couple. “Hockey’s my favorite thing in the world. Seeing them…I guess I was thinking it must be nice to get to share that with someone you care about.”

The idea sat heavily between them, the earlier lightness dried up. It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about real things before. They were clearly good enough friends to talk about family and former-team drama instead of the superficial topics like reality shows and favorite flavor of protein shake. Relationships were a different beast entirely. They shouldn’t be, was the problem. If they were really friends, of course they could talk about this.

The trick was, Ryan didn’t know how to talk about it without his chest hurting. He dreaded finding out Lars’s ideal partner was someone he could never be…or someone that was just like him, because either way, it couldn’t be him. There was no reality where he and Lars Nilsson were anything but a one-night stand. One that maybe Lars had enjoyed at the time but ultimately forgot about.

And still, masochist that he apparently was, he didn’t change the subject.

“Would you want to date another hockey player?” Ryan blurted out, then worried he’d have to backtrack. Lars had never admitted to being into men, and Ryan worried he was implying something he shouldn’t be. How would he explain that he knew Lars liked men? Maybe he could sidestep it entirely.

But instead of deflecting or getting defensive, Lars looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Seems complicated. I…I’ve rarely even hooked up with other players.” His eyes darted to Ryan like he was watching for his reaction.

As nonchalantly as he could, Ryan said, “Same. A few times when I was younger, but only once since entering the NHL full time.”

Lars let out a breath through his nose. “Mind if I ask if it was a teammate or…?”

“Another AHL player, back when I had a two-way contract. From another team. We’d known each other in Montana, which made it easier, I guess.” Ryan stared at his glass and traced a line through the condensation on the outside. “Like you said, it’s complicated with other players. Probably more so if you’re on a team together.”

A pause. “I haven’t slept with another NHL player. The last time I was with another player, it was back in Juniors. An American or a Canadian, I think.”

Ryan tensed. “Yeah?” And then like an idiot, he asked, “Anyone I’d know?”

Lars shrugged and laughed. “No idea. It was after we won gold, and I was drunker than I’ve probably ever been. Well, no. Not as drunk as the first time I won the Cup. But the drunkest I’d been up until that moment of my life.”

“Oh,” Ryan said as neutrally as possible. He wasn’t sure what he expected or wanted Lars’s answer to be, and that should’ve been a satisfying one. Lars didn’t remember him because he probably didn’t remember much at all of that night. It wasn’t personal, just circumstances outside their control.

“He might not have made the NHL,” Lars said, more to himself than Ryan. “I feel like I would’ve noticed him at some point. Of course, I barely notice anyone on other teams, so really all I can say with certainty is he doesn’t play for the Prowlers.” A smile. “Or the Crabs, I suppose.”

Ryan offered a weak smile. He didn’t know how they’d gotten here, but he didn’t like it. “That’s probably for the best that you haven’t run into them again. It’s awkward enough with other players. It’d be worse with a teammate.”

“It might be worth it for the right person,” Lars said quietly, though he wouldn’t meet Ryan’s gaze.

“Well,” Ryan said more bitterly than he meant to, “I know I’m not worth the effort.”

Lars looked up then, brow knit together in a scowl. “I don’t like when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asked defensively. Tell the truth?

“Put yourself down. You are completely worth it. And I don’t mean just…” He waved a hand as if to indicate their conversation so far. “You’re worth the ice time and being on the top line and being praised and recognized for what you do on the ice.”

Heat crept up his neck. “I’m playing hockey,” he said. “You’ve had too much to drink if you think I’ve done anything special.”

“Maybe you haven’t had enough if you think you’re not,” he grumbled and pouted.

“I couldn’t even keep up with you at practice today.”

“No one can keep up with me, that’s nothing to do with you.”

“I think the real issue is you think too highly of yourself and you don’t understand that not everyone does.”

Lars scoffed. “I think highly of myself because I’m good. I’m allowed to acknowledge that I’m good. That’s why people dismiss you. You don’t…what’s that saying…” He snapped his fingers and grinned. “You have to toot your own horn.”

This was a whole different type of uncomfortable than the relationship stuff. “I don’t like to brag.” That was an understatement: in fact, he hated it. Bragging required him to put himself out there, and when he had a bad shift or bad game, eyes were on him, comparing him to what he said he was and finding him lacking. If he didn’t say anything, people could judge for themselves. And they had. For years now, they’ve been judging and seen a bottom-six forward that was expendable.

“Well, you need to learn to like it. I can only brag for you for so long.”

Embarrassed frustration made him clench his fists. “You don’t have to?—”

“I kinda do, since no one else wants to.” Lars finished off his drink, his tongue swiping away a clump of salt from the corner of his lips. “Guess I’ll just have to convince you, first. Might be a better use of my time.”

There was a heat in his voice and a hungry look to him that made goosebumps rise along his arms. The words were innocent enough, even with the hint of challenge there, but Ryan could easily pick up the…not threat, exactly, more like a promise. But there was an intent for sure, and Ryan didn’t know if he should avoid it or seek it out.

“Good luck,” Ryan said, then reached into Lars’s space to grab a menu. Not that he needed it—Rangoons hadn’t changed its menu since it opened—but it served as a barrier between them. “Know what you want?”

“Yes,” Lars said with more conviction than a dinner option warranted. “I think I finally do.” When Ryan raised an eyebrow and shot him a questioning look over the menu, he grinned broadly. “Crab cakes, obviously.”

Thankfully, they didn’t discuss anything deeper than their next few games for the rest of dinner.