Page 51 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 36

Ryan

Ryan was smiling from the win, but inside he felt sick.

There was a lot of commotion in the locker room by the time he got back from his post-game interview. The team had to get to the airport, but everyone was too worked up from the game, and there was no way to calm them down without word on how Anders was doing.

When he appeared with his nose looking absolutely awful and his face all the wrong sorts of colors, they cheered for him.

“He’s out at least a week,” a trainer scoffed. “I wouldn’t cheer too hard.”

“Your brother is such an asshole,” one of the younger players said, and though Ryan bristled, he was inclined to agree at the moment.

Anders glared at the poor kid, who wilted under the intensity of Anders’s scorn. He said nothing, but the message was clear: don’t talk about my brother like that, even when he is an asshole.

The talk quickly turned from Lars to their schedule, and if they could hold onto first in the Metro division without Anders.

Later, when he was near Ryan and only they could hear him, Anders said, “I might have deserved it.” His voice was more nasal than usual, his accent thicker and the words harsher. “Don’t be too hard on him.”

There wasn’t a chance to press for more, to ask what exactly Lars had been yelling while he beat the shit out of Anders, who’d taken a broken nose and not once attempted to retaliate. Not for the first time, Ryan wished he’d put some effort into learning some Swedish. All he’d understood from Lars’s outburst was that he’d mentioned their parents and grandma.

“Why do you let him get away with so much?” Ryan asked, because he was running out of patience with Lars and half of it wasn’t even about their relationship.

Anders made a dismissive gesture. “He’s not by nature this angry. He’s only like this when he’s stressed. The Prowlers thing stressed him out. I stress him out.” He gave Ryan a hard look. “ You stress him out.”

“I don’t?—”

“You do right now,” Anders said. “It’s not your fault. The trade.” He shrugged. “Lasse isn’t his best right now.”

Ryan considered this. There definitely was the Lars he knew in private, in practice, even in public. He was sweet and easygoing and quick to smile or tell a joke. And there was definitely a different Lars—a grumpier, angrier, more intense version—who only showed up when the Prowlers or Anders were there.

…and in the car earlier with Ryan. After a month of dealing first with Ryan’s trade, outing himself on national television, and playing against his brother for a third game after being forced together at the All Star Game. It was admittedly a lot for one person to deal with in such a short span of time. It wasn’t enough to excuse his behavior, but it definitely put it more into perspective.

“Do you think he’s going to get in trouble with Player Safety?” It wouldn’t be career-ruining, but Ryan knew the Crabs were hurting for standings points. If they lost Lars for a few games, they might not make the playoffs. They were barely holding onto a Wild Card spot as it was.

Anders rolled his eyes. “They will talk to him, but they won’t do anything.” He seemed to take in Ryan’s worried skepticism and added, “He’s one of three openly gay players in the NHL who just came out a few weeks ago under difficult circumstances that make the league look bad. He’s never injured someone before and it was me. He’ll get a slap on the wrist.” A pause as he considered. “Amanda won’t be happy with us, either. I should call home.”

He got up abruptly, phone in hand, and disappeared to a quieter spot, leaving Ryan to wonder what exactly he should do about Lars.

* * *

i’m sorry i almost punched you

i wasn’t thinking

and i shouldn’t have said that stuff in the car

forget about it

actually no don’t forget about it

i know it’s been A Lot lately but you can’t do that shit. you need to apologize to your family

i did. i talked to mormor and amanda and to the kids

…seriously? you haven’t talked to your brother?

i apologized on the ice.

great but that was before you found out his nose was broken

you used to have my back

i do have your back

i don’t remember ever saying “yeah go attack anders for sure that’s a good idea”

he’s your brother, even if you don’t get along

he’s missed three games so far. three games we’ve lost. we’re fighting for first in the metro, we have playoffs coming up. we need him back

“we”

“we” meant something different a month ago.

Ryan growled in frustration and threw his phone across his bed. The way-too-big, way-too-empty bed he’d splurged on when he’d moved to Cincinnati. The cost of living in Ohio was a lot more manageable than it had been in Maryland, and maybe he’d thought a nicer bed might come in handy if someone visited.

Fat chance of that.

He had no idea why this bothered him so much. They were fuck buddies and friends. Lars’s family was none of his business, even if he worked with Anders. Anders didn’t even seem bothered by it, traveling with the team and practicing with them wearing a bubble on his helmet that made it look like he was a ginormous college student. If anything, he was amused by the whole situation.

“This isn’t even the worst Lars has done to me,” he confided to the media. “Once, when he was eight, he chipped one of my teeth.” He opened his mouth and pointed to one, then winced as the effort no doubt hurt his nose. “He took a slapshot and it went right into my mouth. Can you imagine? Eight years old and already causing problems.”

He said it with a sort of pride Ryan could easily pick out but that he thought maybe Lars didn’t hear at all. Then again, he only knew that Lars didn’t like his brother: he had no idea how Lars saw Anders’s view of him. Did he know his brother loved him? Did he know Anders was ironically indulgent of the brother he admonished as spoiled?

It didn’t matter. Whether it was his business or not, it wasn’t a conversation to have over the phone or via text. He needed to focus on finishing up the season and then getting ready for playoffs. The first playoffs he’d be a part of after nearly four years. Lars might be his favorite distraction, but he couldn’t afford any right now.

* * *

The Otters still had three games left in the season when the Nilssons threw their promised Playoff Party. The Otters had clinched a playoff spot weeks ago, and a short break between home games offered the perfect opportunity for them to start psyching themselves up for the postseason.

They hosted it at their home, a large house on a few acres of land. There was a huge canopy set up in the backyard between the pool and the guest house, a buffet laid out in the shade and kids running around everywhere in between. It was like a big family picnic, the type his parents had hosted all the time when he was a kid, and he liked the coziness of it.

He didn’t like how awkward he felt, but that was hardly anyone’s fault. He was the newest on the team and hadn’t brought a partner, which left him the odd man out. He moved from group to group, chatting with people and getting introduced to wives, girlfriends, children, and dogs, but with most of the team and staff married or seriously involved, sooner or later the conversation would turn to schools or taxes or summer plans. With nothing to contribute, he’d move on and start again.

He was navigating between a group of tweens playing badminton and a few moms with toddlers when a familiar voice caught up with him.

“You don’t drink.”

Ryan turned to find Amanda smiling up at him. Unlike most people who said it with an air of accusation or suspicion, she made it sound like just an observation.

“Not usually, no. Not during the season.”

“Anders used to be the same, but he’s gotten more lax as he’s gotten older. Meatball?” She offered a tray covered in meatballs that smelled too good to pass up. Ryan popped one in his mouth and grabbed two more. “Good, right?” she encouraged. “Mormor made them. She’s way better at making herring and kroppkakor , but Swedish, so…” She shrugged and smiled.

“ Kroppkakor ,” Ryan said around a meatball, mentally scolded himself for having no manners, and waited until he’d swallowed to try again. “I think Lars made those once. Potato dumplings, right? Pretty good.”

Amanda brightened. “Did he? You’ll have to tell Mormor! Anders can’t cook but Lars always helps with meals when he visits and they’re amazing, the two of them. I gain three pounds every summer because of them.”

He smiled wistfully. He wanted to see that Lars. He also didn’t understand that Lars, the one who could ignore how much he hated Anders to stay in his home for a month.

“He behaves when he’s here,” she said, as if reading his mind. “But he stays in the guesthouse, which helps, I think. He can have his space when we get to be too much.” She made him take another meatball before she disappeared to keep up her rounds as hostess.

Ryan wandered a bit. He tried to superimpose Lars over the spaces. Did Lars do cannonballs into the pool? Did he race his niece and nephew around the yard? Had he made s’mores around the fire pit? It brought him to the guest house with a sign on the door about where to find the bathroom. After only a second’s hesitation, he went inside.

There was a bedroom in the back, the door closed but not locked, and against his better judgment he stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Neat and tidy like Lars’s condo, all the pieces of his personality hidden in plain sight where only a knowing eye could spot them. A few hockey sticks in the corner. Worn books on the shelf, including one he was pretty sure he’d seen Lars read. A Prowlers keychain with a lonely key. A half-empty bottle of his usual lotion.

Ryan sat on the bed, wondering briefly if Lars had ever shared it with anyone before. If it still smelled like him from his Christmas visit. Ryan could picture it then so clearly, a future where he and Lars occupied this space together. Not just to fuck each other senseless, though that certainly was bound to happen, but a future where they fell asleep together while watching a movie on their tablets or one of them reading while the other slept.

He rubbed at his eyes, suddenly misty, with the back of his hand and reached for a pile of papers on the nightstand, the only visible disorder in the whole room. He didn’t really care what the pile was; he simply needed the distraction or he’d have to face some realizations he wasn’t ready for.

There were some post-its on top, blue and yellow and green, each with Lars’s blocky handwriting where all the letters were capitals. There was a mix of Swedish and English, sometimes within the same note. One looked like a list of movies, including some they’d watched together. A few might’ve been recipes or maybe grocery lists. Flight info to BWI. A crudely drawn hockey player that he hoped Anton and not Lars had drawn, with the label “farbror” that definitely was written by a kid. More and more little pieces of Lars’s life outside of Ryan, outside of hockey.

He put the papers back gingerly. He wished there was a blank one and a pen so he could leave a piece of himself behind. A little note for Lars.

The nightstand drawer stuck a little as he opened it. There was a stack of post-its and a couple pens. He hadn’t figured out what he’d write but completely forgot his plan when he found a stack of photographs underneath. These were…fantastic.

They were old and faded, actual film photos instead of digital ones printed at home. He flipped through Lars’s life in reverse. Him and his grandparents at the draft. Teenage Lars in various jerseys with various medals and trophies, usually with his grandparents in tow. And then toward the bottom, Anders appeared: the four of them when Anders was drafted; the two brothers in the driveway together; a peewee Lars smiling with a missing tooth, his older brother perched beside him with a hand on his shoulder and mirroring a chipped tooth. The last picture finally had their parents. Mats after his Cup win, two little boys, wide-eyed as they watched their father lift it.

He stayed longer than he should’ve. He memorized each picture and then carefully put them back. There was so much to say, so Ryan picked the one he felt the most right now:

Wish you were here

xoxo

Ryan

He left it on Lars’s pillow. He’d have to see it as soon as he came into the room. Maybe by then, that indeterminate point in the summer after playoffs, they’d have figured themselves out. If not…

One problem at a time, he told himself. He slipped out of the guesthouse, bypassing the chatty duo outside the bathroom and marching back to the largest group he could find. He would jam himself into any conversation to help him forget where he’d been and who he’d been thinking of.

Escape was apparently not an option: after a few minutes in the tent, he found himself volunteering to find more ice for the cooler and couldn’t find the basement in the main house.

“You’re lost. What do you need?”

He jumped, hand on his heart as he laughed at how stupid he was being. An older woman with silvery-blond hair stood behind him in the kitchen. She’d apparently been watching him as he opened three consecutive doors and still hadn’t discovered the basement.

“Yes. I’m supposed to get ice?—”

“You’re the boyfriend.”

This must of course be Alba Lingren, Lars’s grandma. He could see it in her smile, maybe a little more knowing than Lars’s but with the same shape of it and the way it lit up her eyes. Then he processed what she’d said, and his heart stopped. He felt cracked open like a nut, one well-placed blow to have his insides spilled out for her to do with as she pleased.

“I— I don’t— I’m not?—”

She made a dismissive gesture that shut him up. “Come, I’ll show you where the ice is.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“You want to bring it, but can’t find it. I know where it is, but can’t carry it. Teamwork, yes?”

He wasn’t given a chance to protest as she disappeared back into the kitchen and down another hallway. The last thing he was going to do was leave her alone and abandon his task, so he quickly ran after.

“So you’re the infamous Mormor.” He trailed behind her on the steps down. If she was going to accuse him of being a boyfriend, he didn’t see much point in playing coy. She knew who he was; he knew who she was.

“Those boys talk too much.” She flicked on a light switch and waddled over to a large freezer next to a washer and dryer. “You’re infamous around here, too, you know.”

Ryan made a face. “Good things, right?”

“Mostly. Anders likes you, which isn’t easy. He’s very picky about new players, especially so late in the season. Worries about the team chemistry. You are a good player, but I think it’s more than that.” She laid a hand on the freezer, barring him from getting the ice. “Lars is very complimentary of his teammates, almost all of it superficial. Things he’s heard or thinks he’s supposed to say.”

“I know I’m not that good?—”

“You are,” she scolded. “When he talks about you, I can tell he sees you as a person, not a name on a roster. He doesn’t have crushes often, that one. Too busy with family and hockey, always. Even as a boy, he never liked a boy he knew . Always celebrity crushes, someone unattainable he could like but otherwise ignore.”

Ryan was dying to ask who his celebrity crushes had been, but he bit his lip. Not the time.

“He’s never brought a boy home, either,” she continued, her look mischievous. “And now here you are, home but without him . The wrong brother brought you. Lillen must hate that.”

“He does,” Ryan conceded. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

She took her hand off the lid and opened the freezer for him. “He’ll come around, but he’ll have to do it on his own. He’s a good boy. He stayed home and helped when his morfar was sick. He helped me move. He visits and is good with the barn . The children. He’s too damned stubborn, though. Won’t let Anders outdo him. Playoffs coming up, too.” She tsked. “It’ll get worse before it gets better, I think.”

Ryan stepped forward to grab a couple bags of ice. “Thanks.” He swallowed. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome, but I have a favor to ask before you go back up.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Her grin made her look decades younger, her eyes bright and shining. She took out her phone. “Could we take a selfie together? For Lillen? He’d be so jealous.”

The request startled a laugh out of him. “Yes, definitely.”