Page 36 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 25

Lars

Am I living with my boyfriend?

Lars asked himself that often, and never had a satisfying answer. Well, there was one very satisfying answer, but like Ryan, he had little experience with dating. He assumed a conversation was needed, a mutual agreement that they were, in fact, boyfriends, but he didn’t know how to broach the topic. Because what if they weren’t dating? Even after all these years in the States, he knew he didn’t always understand the culture, the language, the people. While he might hope he and Ryan were on the same page, there was always a chance he was wrong.

He didn’t want to be wrong about this.

And things were good. He got to spend nearly the whole day with Ryan, whether it was at the rink or his condo. Or in his bed.

Today they had a late game and no practice, so yesterday they’d stayed up late and slept in. Lars was up first, sipping his coffee in the doorway while he enjoyed the view: Ryan, snoring gently where he was tangled in the blankets, his arms wrapped around a pillow. Most importantly, he was wearing one of Lars’s shirts, an old Team Sweden one that was so faded it had one and a half crowns instead of three.It made something possessive flare up inside him, some caveman part of his brain that saw Ryan in his clothes as a territorial claim and that was equally pleased to hold that claim.

Mine it said over and over. Mine mine mine .

The thought went straight to his dick, but he ignored the thrum of arousal. They’d promised to dial down on the sex to prepare for their upcoming road trip. Indulging in endless sex when only their neighbors might hear was an acceptable risk; loud fucking when their teammates or coaches might find out was not.

He indulged himself a few more minutes before forcing himself to head to the kitchen to make breakfast.

He’d thought originally that Ryan didn’t like flavorful food. He’d quickly learned that wasn’t the case. Ryan was perfectly capable of eating just about anything, no matter how flavorless or actually terrible, which he credited to being the youngest of six: he ate what he could, when he could, even if it was the mediocre cooking of a few of his sisters or the leftovers no one else would touch. Lars had also discovered that Ryan’s bland diet was mostly due to his inability to cook. Bland was quick, bland was edible, and as long as he hit his protein goals, Ryan was content to eat basically anything.

Lars, to put it nicely, was not. He had a sweet tooth, but besides that he didn’t want to feel like eating was a chore. His mormor had taught him how to cook, and he’d learned enough from meal prep kits over the years that he could cook fairly well. He’d made use of those skills to impress Ryan, making his favorites from Sweden and his more “American” go-to meals.

Today would be muesli with filmj?lk , fruit salad, and ham and cheese omelets. Perfect way to start the day with one of his favorite people.

* * *

“Why haven’t you called?” As soon as he answered the phone, he heard the chiding accusation.

Lars looked apologetically at Ryan, snuggled against him on the couch while they watched a movie. Or rather, while Ryan watched a movie and Lars watched him. He nudged Ryan’s shoulder so he could get up.

“I’m sorry,” he said in Swedish as he walked towards the window. Baltimore was dim and gloomy, an awful day of slush that made him miss actual snow. “I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy,” she countered. “Your brother, too. Neither of you have ever been too busy to call unless you’re distracted.”

Anders was distracted for several years, but sure.

“I have been distracted,” he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder to Ryan, who was politely playing on his phone.

“Good distraction or bad distraction?” He could practically hear the cogs in her head turning, calculations about how much to worry. “You’ve been playing well. Another hat trick,” she mused aloud. “You did seem a little off at Christmas.”

He sighed. He’d done his best, he really had, to put his full attention into the visit, and he’d felt successful more often than not. Sure, his mind had drifted to Montana and he’d jerked off more times than he cared to admit, but he was only human.

“Sorry,” he said again.

His Mormor tsked. “So what is it? Is there a problem with the team? Are you unsatisfied? Will you leave in the off-season?”

“No, the team is great.” The vibe was definitely better than Portland, not that he’d realized the negativity until he’d been freed of it.

“Then what is it?” There was a pause so short Lars didn’t have the time to consider his answer before she gasped, “Who is it?”

Lars wasn’t a good liar in general, but certainly not to his mormor. He only briefly thought of denying it then gave in. “It’s another player,” he hedged.

The line went silent; he knew better than to think she’d given up.

“It’s that Russell, isn’t it?” she asked. “The pretty one?”

He couldn’t help but glance back at Ryan, sprawled across his couch. “Maybe.”

She was quiet again. “Is that why he’s been doing so well this season? Because of you?”

“He’s been doing well because he’s good,” Lars countered.

“He is,” she conceded. “But he’s been doing better, yes?”

“Technically—”

“You’ve been doing well. Better than the projections thought you would, given the team.”

“We’re not even on a line together.”

“If you both are happy outside of the rink, it shows in the rink,” she said. “Your father was that way, anyway. Your brother, too. Your father had his best years when you were born, and Anders played terribly that season when Astrid was sick all the time and got her tonsils out. It’s normal, I think. For good times to build you up and stress to pull you down.”

Happy. Good times.

He couldn’t hold back a soft smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You might be right.”

She scoffed. “How many years does it take to learn this? I’m usually right, Lillen.”

“Yes, Mormor.”

They chatted a little more. She must have sensed he was distracted, because she let him go without much fuss, only warning him to be discreet.

“And happy,” she added before hanging up.

I’m trying. He walked back to the couch and tossed his phone on the coffee table. Ryan looked up at him expectantly.

“No shouting, so I’m guessing it was your mormor and not your brother.”

Lars wrinkled his nose. “I would never talk to Anders on the phone. Not even to shout at him.”

…maybe to shout at him.

Ryan gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Lars was thinking.

“She calls to check in on me,” he said. “She wanted to know who I was sleeping with that kept me from calling for so long.”

“And what’d you tell her?” Ryan asked, his voice flat and his expression unreadable.

“Nothing.” He waited to see if relief washed over Ryan’s face, but he remained impassive, so he added, “She guessed.”

That worked: Ryan’s jaw dropped. “Guessed? What exactly did she guess?”

“That it was you. That I’m sleeping with. She knows I have a type.”

“What’d she say? About us? Me?” Was he eager because he liked that Lars had talked about him, or upset?

It didn’t much matter either way: Lars had said it, and he wouldn’t lie about it now.

“She said that you’re pretty and a good hockey player. And that she’s glad I’m happy. That was about it, except for family gossip about some of her cousins.”

“Shut up. She didn’t say I’m pretty or a good player.” Ryan rolled his eyes, and now Lars could detect traces of annoyance.

“I was surprised about the pretty. I didn’t think she liked brunets. But she’s been saying you’re a good player all season.”

“You’re lying.”

“I would never lie about hockey. Or Mormor.” Or you .

The corner of Ryan’s lips twitched. He wasn’t angry, then. That was good. “Well, tell your mormor I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“I will, but it’ll go to her head.” He sat back down on the couch, giving up his better vantage point to gain proximity. “Is that okay?” he asked nervously. “That I told her?”

Ryan considered. “It’s fine.”

Lars nodded. “And have you told anyone…?”

Ryan shook his head and then abruptly stopped. “Well, I guess my neighbor knows. The one who helped with the apartment stuff.”

His stomach did a weird swoop that should’ve been uncomfortable but wasn’t. Someone Ryan cared about knew he was with Lars. Had he said they were dating? Sleeping together?

Ask and you could find out…

Ask and you might not like the answer.

“Is that okay?” Ryan prompted, possibly because he saw some of Lars’s spiraling thoughts in his expression.

“Of course,” he said easily. He slung an arm around Ryan’s shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to edge closer to the “what are we” conversation right now, not with things going so well. “Let’s finish the movie.”

* * *

“Lars!”

Lars startled at the sound of a female voice calling his name. He was in a practice facility in Orlando, a place he’d been to once a year and never learned the name of. It had garish pythons on the walls which was the only notable thing about the place.

He saw a petite woman that looked about his age, a familiar look to her.

“Abigail,” he said slowly, drawing the name from an interview early in the season. If he remembered correctly, she was a sports reporter in Baltimore. He’d probably read more of her words than he’d spoken with her directly, and he internally switched from hockey mode to media mode. Not always easy when he was in full gear.

She beamed at him. “Yep! Good memory.” She held out her hand, which he awkwardly shook with his glove on.

“What can I do for you?” He was wary of reporters. He’d never had any issues—he knew he was personable and foreign enough that he’d be forgiven any blunders—but he remembered the barrage of attention he’d gotten from a young age, particularly after his parents’ deaths. It hadn’t helped that his English hadn’t been great when he’d joined the league. He’d thought it was good, or at least passable, until suddenly all of his coaches and trainers were speaking English nonstop, words he’d never heard before but ones he was dependent upon to figure out every aspect of his life. The interviews had been stressful, simple questions rendered impossible because he simply lacked the words to answer.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the All Star roster is going to be revealed soon.”

It was January, so that seemed right. He didn’t much care—he’d likely get the spot for the Crabs like he had for the Prowlers.

“If this is about Anders,” he said more brusquely than he could fully control, “and us playing for the same All Star team, I doubt it will matter. He never goes, even if they choose him.”

All about “not risking injury” and “wanting the time off with his family” these days. Before the kids were born, he was allllll about participating. Couldn’t be bothered coming to Sweden, but a completely meaningless weekend of hockey with people he barely knew? Sure! Guess he and Mormor weren’t “family” enough.

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t…” She looked like she desperately wanted to pounce on his answer. He appreciated that she didn’t. “It was actually about RJ.”

Lars tried not to react, even though this was possibly a worse line of questioning. “Oh?” he said with what he hoped sounded like the right blend of indifferent interest.

“So each team gets to send a player, and then nominate a second for the fan vote. The team is planning to nominate RJ because of his spectacular performance so far this season, and he is something of a fan favorite in Baltimore.”

Lars nodded as his heart filled with pride. As they should , he kept to himself.

“To help generate some interest and get Crabs fans to vote for him, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about playing with him. Really easy, basic stuff to get fans excited about seeing you two play in the All Star weekend together. Would you?—?”

“Yes,” he interrupted. He didn’t care if it was rude or overeager or anything else. Sure, he might be jaded to the whole thing by now, but he knew how much his first All Star game had meant to him as a rookie. Ryan had never gone, and he deserved to feel that. He deserved the recognition. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Abigail didn’t seem surprised. “Awesome,” she said with a smile. “Mind if I set up a time through the team to arrange that?”

“You don’t want to do it now?” Wouldn’t the process start soon? Fuck, how close was the game? If they waited, would that hurt Ryan’s chances?

This time she did look surprised. “I thought practice was still going on.”

“It is.” Lars looked down the hallway to where it opened to the rink. It looked like they were in the middle of a scrimmage. As much as he loved scrimmages, this was more important. “They won’t know I’m gone,” he said as he turned back to her.

“I’m sure they will,” she scolded. “I’m not looking to get my access revoked, so let’s wait until after practice, okay?”

Lars took a deep breath, sounding very put upon. “Fine,” he said. “After practice. I’ll be looking for you, so be ready.”

She laughed. “Oh trust me, I will be. Now get out there. I want to report on a win tomorrow.”

“You will,” Lars promised. “I’ll make sure RJ gets the game winner.”