Page 39 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 27

Lars

Lars waited for his turn to get on the team bus. They’d arrived in New York and were heading to the hotel before a team dinner. Usually when teams traveled, they were expected to dress up. The Prowlers had been particularly strict, requiring suits and going so far as to schedule appointments with a local tailor for rookies and new players whose wardrobes were found lacking. The Crabs were a lot more lax. Khakis and button-downs were acceptable, though suits were preferred, and if they had a departure or arrival past 2 a.m., the team turned a blind eye to more casual clothes.

The simple joy of flying while wearing sweatpants was one he’d never truly experienced before this season.

No such luck today. With their current 3 p.m. arrival in New York to play the Rough Riders, there’d been no such leeway, which meant Lars was currently pulling at the neck of a shirt he’d already unbuttoned as low as he dared and wiggling in a blazer that he maybe hadn’t worn in years and that strained uncomfortably against his biceps whenever he moved. No matter how many years he spent in the NHL, he was too used to sports apparel to ever feel completely himself when “dressed up.”

He was near the end of the line and tapped his foot impatiently. Ryan had long ago disappeared into the bus, but Lars had made a detour to the bathroom on the way out of the airport and was paying for it now. What if someone sat next to Ryan? Would Ryan save the seat for him or think it best to downplay things and take advantage of the opportunity? Oh no, what if he invited someone to sit next to him for that reason?

No amount of fidgeting made the line move any faster, though, and he was stuck with his increasingly anxious and outlandish concerns. When he finally got into the bus and had a clear view, he saw with relief that Ryan was in the middle of the bus with an empty window seat waiting.

“Is this seat taken?” Lars asked with a grin.

“Goal scorers only,” Ryan said.

“Do my two yesterday not count?”

Ryan made a show of considering. “Hmm, I suppose that’ll do.” He moved to make it easier for Lars to wiggle by.

Lars was too happy to get to sit by Ryan to worry about how it looked. Jake usually sat with Pavel, Bergsy with Funk and Johnny. The Ivans were obviously inseparable. The goalies stuck mostly to defense. There were definitely factions and preferred bus/plane buddies, so there was no reason to think anyone cared or even noticed that he and Ryan were glued at the hip. Right?

The real trouble, he thought as he settled in, wasn’t the seats or what other people thought. Lars’s head was in a weird place because of what he’d said to Ryan a few nights ago.

Jag ?r k?r i dig.

I’m falling in love with you.

What a stupid thing to say, to think . Thank fuck he’d said it in Swedish, where it couldn’t do any damage except to him.

“Hey, everyone!” One of the social media interns stepped onto the bus, her phone up and recording the team. They dutifully waved for the camera with as much enthusiasm as they could muster after a two-hour plane ride.

“Big news! I’m here with the Baltimore Blue Crabs to announce that…” The players took the hint and started banging on the seats in an impromptu drum roll. “...RJ has officially been voted into this year’s All Star competition!”

The bus broke out into applause. Lars took Ryan’s arm and lifted it triumphantly over their heads, shaking it and cheering with everyone else. Jordy appeared from the seat behind them, reaching over to muss Ryan’s hair and then slap him on the shoulder. Ryan sat there dumbfounded as a shy smile slowly formed a dimple at the right side of his mouth. Lars really wanted to kiss that dimple.

“Speech!” Tomas yelled and the rest of the team took it up until Ryan stood up.

He looked adorably nervous. “Thanks to all the fans who voted for me. It’s really an honor to get to represent this team in Vancouver next weekend. I really appreciate it and I’ll try not to mess it up.”

More applause and hollers until the intern gave them a thumbs up and put her camera down. “And thank you for not swearing while we were live.”

“We were live?” someone asked. “Holy shit!”

The team laughed, the attention shifted away from Ryan as he sat back down.

“Congrats,” Lars said. Not a whisper, but quietly enough that it was just for them.

“Thanks.” He still seemed a little shell-shocked. “You don’t mind me tagging along on your weekend in BC, do you?”

Lars raised an eyebrow and Ryan huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, dumb question.”

* * *

If it weren’t absolutely necessary that they win as often as possible to keep competitive for a wild card spot, Lars might’ve been tempted to dial down his effort. For the first time since his rookie season, he was distracted and eager to get to the All Star game, and everything else seemed a secondary consideration. Most players who bowed out of the All Star weekend did it to avoid injury; in a strange twist, Lars was worried he’d get injured and miss the weekend.

A weekend with just him and Ryan.

…and dozens of other NHL players. But oh well. They’d be expected to be glued at the hip as teammates, and Lars would definitely take advantage. He’d get to see firsthand as Ryan got the praise and recognition he deserved. He was already calculating how many other centers would attend for the Metro Division, and if they could maybe gerrymander the lines so they were out together during?—

“Are you even listening?”

Lars blinked back to reality. Right. They were in his apartment, talking about…something. Dinner, maybe?

“Yes,” he lied.

Ryan shook his head. “Well, on the off chance you weren’t ,” he said, “they sent us our flight info for Wednesday. We’ll get in late and we each have interviews early Thursday and the opening ceremony stuff is that evening. That’s probably when we’ll get the details about our events?”

He said it like a question, probably because he’d never been to one of these things and Lars was supposed to be the experienced one helping him out.

“Yeah, and we’ll have a big dinner with everyone but mostly with our team. Does it have our hotel info?”

“You really didn’t hear anything, did you?” Ryan teased. “I’m 301. You’re in 443. Should I be offended I’m on a lower floor?”

Lars shrugged. Normally he’d only ever seen his own room and had no basis for comparison. He suspected they were all basically identical, though. “We’ll just see which room is nicer and use that one.”

Ryan’s grim face gave his pause, and his heart lurched.

“You don’t want to share a room?” Lars asked. Maybe he’d taken it for granted, but since they’d finally hooked up, it was never a question of “if,” only “where.” It hadn’t occurred to him that this would be different.

“Is it a good idea?” Ryan looked genuinely worried, all his excitement about the weekend long gone. “There’ll be a lot of players, and don’t some of them bring their families?”

Fuck, he was right. “They do,” he acknowledged.

“So there’ll be a lot of people there at the hotel. Would make it hard to avoid notice.”

Lars’s shoulders slumped. It was definitely a lot more hectic than team trips, and not everyone was as chill as the Crabs seemed to be about this sort of thing. Lars had the first hand experience to prove it, and going back into that world should’ve made him the cautious one.

“Not impossible,” he said, then let out a sigh. “You’re right, of course. It’s too big of a risk.”

Ryan seemed deflated by the agreement. “I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong.”

“I wish I could. We can play it by ear, and if we think it’s feasible?—”

“More like if one of us gets horny enough.”

“—then we can try to figure it out.”

“Fine,” Ryan agreed, then his giddiness returned. “I can’t believe I get to go. What do you think the skill contests will be?”

“Well,” Lars considered, “there’s always some sort of passing one, which is where they’ll probably put you. Shooting, too, which is probably where they’ll put me. I’m too old for them to put in the fastest skater.” He missed that contest. He’d won two years in a row but then lost by a half-second to some kid who no longer even played. He’d been moved to shooting after that, no longer of interest for his speed.

“Shut up. I’m older than you, and I’m not old.”

“Yes,” Lars acknowledged. “But that’s what they say when they wonder why I don’t get put in the races anymore. I’m too old and past my prime. Overrated. Selfish. Too dependent on more skilled linemates.”

Lars meant it as a joke, but Ryan looked stricken. “Lars?—”

“I’m a big boy,” he interrupted and winked. “I can take it, and it doesn’t bother me what they say because I know they’re wrong about me. When they say bullshit about you , though…” He grabbed Ryan by the wrist and pulled him onto his lap. “It makes me want to punch them when they say that shit about you, because you don’t seem to get that they’re wrong.”

Ryan didn’t say anything. He hadn’t argued with Lars as much recently about his worth to the team, but Lars suspected it wasn’t because he’d learned to appreciate his own skill. Rather, he’d learned it wasn’t worth the effort to disagree. Instead, Ryan drew his hands up and down Lars’s arms, the feather-light touch tickling him. It was gentle, with no intent behind it. Soothing. Affectionate.

Boyfriend-like.

“Let’s sleep on the couch,” Lars said abruptly. He slid down to his right and dragged Ryan with him. Their legs tangled together and they were nose to nose. “We can watch a movie.”

Ryan chuckled, indulgent. “Why?”

“So that we’re squished together and it’s uncomfortable. Then when I have a whole bed to myself this weekend, I might actually appreciate it.”

“You like being squished, though.” To prove his point, Ryan wiggled closer to him. Lars was pinned snuggly between the couch and Ryan’s heat, and it was disappointingly perfect.

* * *

The team threw them a send-off party before their flight out, with stupid decorations of their faces strung up around the locker room after practice, root beers and a cake shaped like a deformed crab. At least, they were told it was meant to be a crab. Jake apparently baked it himself and his kids helped with the icing, so it was more of an edible craft project, but Lars absolutely loved it. He posted a selfie of him and Ryan with it, making a joke about crab cakes that hopefully made sense in English.

They flew commercial, which Lars so rarely did with other people that he didn’t realize their seats wouldn’t be together until they were on board, but Lars was able to trade seats for the mere price of a selfie and signed hat. Even flying first class, he missed the team plane. As they Ubered to the hotel, Lars was riding a high that he didn’t think would be dampened even by the room situation. He literally didn’t care how he did at any of the events or in the game, as long as Ryan had a good time.

Unfortunately, that bubble burst as soon as they entered the hotel lobby.

“Farbor!”

Lars turned automatically and grinned wide as his nephew ran over and hugged him tight around the knee. He lifted Anton up as high as he could—not as high as it’d been even a year ago—and laughed in delight.

“Anton! Jag saknade dig !” He had missed Anton, so he wrapped him in a hug before putting him down, which was about the exact moment when his brain caught up with events.

Anton wouldn’t be here unattended.

Amanda wouldn’t have brought Anton here just to watch Lars.

…he wouldn’t .

“Anton, don’t run off,” Anders scolded in Swedish, and then he was there. In the lobby. In Vancouver.

The motherfucker had decided this was the All Star game he would attend? Lars clenched his fists, wondering briefly if a right or a left hook would take his brother more off guard?—

You’re in a fucking hotel lobby in front of your nephew. Get a fucking grip.

He forced his hands to relax. Unfortunately he couldn’t quite get his face to cooperate; he’d be wearing a scowl for the next hour, at least.

“Anders,” he said coldly. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I was nominated, too,” he said, his tone as annoyingly devoid of emotion as ever. If anything, there was a note of patience like when he was talking to Astrid and Anton. “Anton wanted to skate on ice with the other children whose fathers go.”

There was something strange in the way Anders spoke, but Lars ignored it.

“You’ve never taken Astrid,” he pointed out. He flashed a smile to Anton to assure him he wasn’t angry at him . He wasn’t angry at all, in fact. Nope, not even a little.

“She’s never wanted to go,” Anders said with a shrug. His hand was on Anton’s shoulder, as if he, too, wanted to comfort him. “I invite her every year, but she says it would be too embarrassing. Anton’s old enough that I let him decide.”

“I can’t wait!” Anton said enthusiastically. “Pappa said I could skate with him if I wanted to, but could I skate with you, too?”

“Of course,” Lars said. He winked at his nephew. “Just make sure you have a Team Sweden jersey.”

“This your teammate?” Anders said pointedly, and finally Lars understood what was wrong. Anders was speaking in English. They never spoke in English to each other.

Worse, Lars had forgotten Ryan was there.

“Yes,” he said and hoped no one noticed his burning cheeks. “Ryan, this is my brother. Anders, this is”—he faltered briefly—“Ryan Russell.”

Anders held out his hand and the two politely shook.

“Honor to meet you off the ice,” Ryan said stiffly. “Think I’m still sore from our last game.”

Anders’s lips twitched but he didn’t allow a smile. “We’ll be on the same team this weekend, so no worries. I’ll make sure you’re on my line. No goals while we’re out.”

Lars’s head whipped around. “Make sure?” He had no idea if he’d said it in Swedish or English.

Anders gave him an almost pitying look. “I’m the captain of the Metro team. Didn’t you hear?”

He hadn’t. Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t paid attention. He’d been convinced Anders wouldn’t be there, and since no one had contacted him to say he was the captain (a responsibility he’d blissfully avoided every year), it’d been a non-issue.

“Fantastic,” he mumbled. “We have to go check in.” He kneeled down and offered his fist to Anton, who didn’t so much bump it as punch it as hard as he could. “I’ll see you on the ice, Lillen,” he said quietly. “Have you been practicing?”

Anton nodded solemnly. The little boy had made it clear he didn’t want to play hockey professionally or even competitively, but he was enthusiastic about playing knee hockey with his uncle when he visited.

“Tell your pappa to text me your room. I’ll come play with you tonight, okay?”

“Yes!” Anton yelled eagerly. “I brought a foam puck. Pappa said I can use it if I’m careful.”

“Good. But we’ll have to do it before your bed time so your mamma doesn’t get upset with me.”

Anton leaned in. “I won’t tell her and Pappa won’t either,” he promised.

“But I’ll have to tell her,” Lars said apologetically. “And I’m old. I need my sleep.”

He didn’t bother saying goodbye to Anders, simply shooting him a glare before he pointedly walked away with Ryan in tow.

“Sorry,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I shouldn’t have made that so awkward for you.”

“It was fine,” Ryan said. Lars might’ve believed him, if he hadn’t added, “Totally normal. Not weird or awkward in the slightest.”

Lars grimaced. “Sorry.”

“You said that.”

“I am, though.”

“Well, let’s check in so you can make it up to me.”

Lars’s eyebrows rose. They didn’t even have rooms yet, and Ryan was breaking his own rule?

“It’s the middle of the day, Lasse,” he teased, as if he could read Lars’s mind. “No one will think anything of it if two teammates hang out.”

Ryan pulled ahead of him towards the check-in desk, and Lars couldn’t help look over his shoulder. Anton was babbling excitedly to Anders, his whole body in motion as he spoke; Anders was staring directly at Ryan, his expression unreadable.

One person might think something of it, he thought, then dismissed the concern. Even if Anders walked in on him and Ryan having sex, word wouldn’t travel. Lars wasn’t Anders’s biggest fan, not by a long shot, but he knew his brother wasn’t purposefully cruel. He wouldn’t say or do anything to hurt them.

As if sensing Lars’s attention on him, his gaze shifted and their eyes met. He nodded slightly, then turned back to Anton, a rare smile breaking on his face as he responded to whatever it was the boy was saying. Lars tried to ignore the way that made his chest ache.