Page 6 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 4

Ryan

Ryan woke up in his bed alone, which was honestly a pretty normal state of affairs for him, but the bed felt strangely empty. For a moment he was thrown, expecting someone to be there and disoriented when there wasn’t. Before he fully regained consciousness, Ryan was thrown back to a hotel room in Switzerland seven years ago.

It hadn’t even been his room, which had made it all the more confusing to wake up and find Lars gone. Not just gone for coffee or breakfast or even a shower, but gone gone: his bags packed and gone, no sign of him except for some crumpled sheets and the musky smell of day-old cologne. Ryan had been fearful enough of getting caught that he understood the rash departure, figuring Team Sweden had an early flight home and Lars had needed to book it. Leaving Ryan to sleep saved them both an awkward goodbye, and it made it easier for their night together to go unnoticed.

In the present day, it was surreal waking up and reliving that long-forgotten moment again. Seeing Lars yesterday must’ve shaken it loose, a suddenly raw wound he’d thought had healed. He didn’t like where that might lead his mental game at the start of the season; he forced himself out of bed so he couldn’t dwell on it.

All things considered, he actually thought his first time seeing Lars again had gone pretty well. He’d said maybe three whole words without stuttering, hadn’t blushed, and had made eye contact. All around a huge win.

…and a relief that Monroe had dragged Lars away before an actual conversation could take place.

Still, it was a confidence boost that Ryan sorely needed. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to having to do it regularly, but knowing he could was important.

It turned out, Ryan had worried for nothing, which became more apparent two days later when Lars joined them for conditioning. He was wearing a Blue Crabs tee that was too big for him (and maybe a little stiff judging by the way he kept pulling at the collar), a Team Sweden hat that earned him some mock boos, and shorts that were definitely short. He looked good, too good, and Ryan began to have doubts. Until Lars actually stopped by to talk to him between sets.

“Hey, Brian!”

Ryan looked around, wondering who Lars was talking to. No one else was at the weight rack and, come to think of it, no one on the team or on staff had a name even close to Brian. Well, no one except…

“Me?” he asked while pulling out his earbuds because nuh uh. That hadn’t just happened.

“Yes.” Lars flashed a smile that made Ryan's stomach flip uncomfortably because he knew that dimple too well. The whole mouth, really, but he was trying very hard to forget that. “Nice to see you again, Brian.”

Okay, he hadn’t misheard. Lars Nilsson actually thought his name was Brian. Considering he’d once very enthusiastically (and loudly) called him Ryan at Juniors, that meant he definitely didn’t remember him.

Ryan didn’t like that. He hadn’t particularly liked when he’d thought Lars would remember him, but this was way worse. Possibly because it took him completely by surprise. It was actually better, given all the worst-case scenarios that would never happen now. But yeah, huge blow to his ego. He might need to go on Injured Reserve.

Maybe Lars just had a really good poker face?

“We’ve met,” he blurted out before he could think better of it, then wanted to smack himself. He was in the clear, what was he doing!?

“Yes,” Lars confirmed. “When Monroe introduced us the other day. You’re a center, right?”

Not a hint of that “we had a one night stand and we’re going to pretend it never happened” energy. God, he really didn’t remember.

“I am,” he said, and then like a weirdo just stopped. Ryan was normally a perfectly functioning human being who could carry on a conversation with a brick wall if need be. He’d had teammates who were shy, teammates who didn’t speak English, teammates who didn’t particularly like him (and ones he hadn’t much cared for, either), and never had any of those stopped him from politely making small talk.

Right now he sounded like a total dick.

Lars, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware. “I always like to know the other centers, even though we never get to play together. We drive the team, right? Good to be on the same page.”

For sure! would be his normal go to, followed by some bullshit he didn’t necessarily believe about how overlooked their contributions were. Instead, he said, “I guess.”

Finally, Lars seemed to sense Ryan was…well, Ryan didn’t know what he was right then, but it wasn’t a good thing and it wasn’t worth anyone’s time to talk to him. He felt like a computer who was struggling to keep functioning with a million programs open, begging for a reboot so he could maybe process something again.

“Well,” Lars said, taking a step back and hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I need to get back to it. Look forward to seeing what you can do on the ice.”

“Same,” Ryan managed. That was at least slightly positive, even if his tone sounded like he’d like nothing less. Then Lars actually turned around, and for a whole two seconds, Ryan made the mistake of watching him walk away. Those shorts did wonders for his ass?—

Nope.

He tried to fall back into his workout, putting the music all the way up and willing his body to pump enough adrenaline through him that he wouldn’t be able to think. Maybe he went at it a little harder than usual, because soon a trainer came over, tapped him on the shoulder, and told him to take it easy for the rest of the day.

“Can’t have you injured before we start,” she joked.

“Right, sorry.” He was such a mess.

On the mats reserved for stretching, he found Peter Berg sprawled on the ground and scrolling through his phone.

“Hey, Bergsy.” He offered the younger player a fist bump as he sat down next to him and started stretching. “Ready for it to get real?”

“Always,” Peter said. “Unreal getting Nilsson, right? We’re gonna light up the scoreboard.”

Peter was a winger, and while it might be technically possible that he’d be on a line with Lars, Ryan thought it unlikely. He’d mostly gotten bottom-six minutes last year and still hadn’t gotten a look at either Power Play unit. Not that Ryan would be the one to bust his bubble.

“I bet you will.” He paused, relaxing into a quad stretch, before he asked, “Did he remember your name?”

Peter beamed. “He did. Called me Petey and everything.”

Great, so it was just Ryan he couldn’t remember. “You hate being called that,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but he’s Lars Nilsson. He can call me whatever he wants. Besides, he doesn’t know that.”

Ryan switched legs. He didn’t know why, but he said, “He thinks my name is Brian.”

Peter made a face. “That stinks.” A pause, as he considered Ryan. “You don’t even look like a Brian.”

“Thanks?”

“I wouldn’t let it bother you. No one uses our names but Monroe. He’ll learn you’re RJ ‘round here, and then we won’t have to worry about any random Peteys or Brians.” Peter looked over to consider Lars, who was at the far end of the gym surrounded by three players and a trainer as he did what looked like an impressive amount of weight on the bench press. “He’s also foreign, right? Probably not a lot of Brians or Ryans in Sweden.”

Ryan really appreciated that Peter was taking this seriously. Normally Ryan would laugh it off. Everything Peter said was true, after all. The problem was he and Lars had history, and part of him was pissed it meant absolutely nothing to Lars. Irrational? Probably. Ryan couldn’t claim he remembered the names of everyone he’d slept with, but he was confident he’d recognize them. Maybe.

Ugh.

The rest of the day, Lars’s attention seemed to land on Ryan more often than anyone else. It was weird, turning around and finding Lars in his space offering polite, completely inane comments. He offered to spot Ryan no less than three times and asked for restaurant recommendations, of all things (Ryan couldn’t tell if he’d put together a coherent response to that one; it'd caught him off guard and he only knew restaurants through their delivery), and he never seemed to be far away.

On one hand, Ryan was empathetic—moving to a new team was always hard as you tried to find your place there—but on the other, it was weird. Why had Lars latched onto Ryan specifically? Ryan had gone out of his way to show he had zero interest in conversation with Lars (yes, he was still annoyed about the Juniors thing, sue him), and while it was only the younger guys who were star struck, everyone was obviously more welcoming than Ryan.

He assumed Lars would grow bored of Ryan’s lukewarm sentiment, especially when they got onto the ice. Maybe Lars was making an effort because he’d mistakenly thought Ryan was one of the better players. Ryan knew he looked good in the gym and it might give the impression he was a higher caliber player than he actually was, but once they started doing drills and working on systems, it should become clear he was middle of the pack.

During the drills, he pointedly ignored Lars even when he took a knee next to Ryan during the run through of a new Penalty Kill setup. Whatever Lars’s interest was with him, Ryan couldn’t afford to slack off during practice. He needed to give 100% effort at all times, or if unable to, he had to show he was focused and trying . His mistakes couldn’t look like they were from a lack of commitment to the team but just errors he would work out of his system by the time the season started.

For a couple hours, he lost himself in the game. He’d always been able to slip into hockey and shed his mental burdens. He’d escaped school, his sisters’ drama, his shitty part time jobs that barely covered his gear, his general feelings of inadequacy—all of it had disappeared when he’d hit the ice. And yeah, he’d maybe let it become a coping mechanism whenever he was stressed (which was a bitch of a cycle, given that most of his stress these days was job-related and it was his unfortunate choice of careers to pick hockey), but there was no denying how damn good it felt.

He did well, he thought. Maybe a little rusty with the team play—the clinics he’d attended over the summer were mostly about individual skills with only a few opportunities for scrimmages or mini-games—but he’d pick that back up by the end of the week. Coach Thompkins would probably have some notes for him moving forward; he’d have to remember to ask for some if Thompkins didn’t approach him about it. All in all, a good start, and he was satisfied.

When they stepped off the ice, though, he once again felt the weight of Lars’s gaze. His cheeks heated up and he did his best not to look at him. As much as Lars’s attention had bothered him before, he wasn't ready to face the friendliness becoming indifference as he realized Ryan wasn’t where he should focus his effort.

In the locker room, Ryan rushed to his stall to get undressed and escape this fiasco of a second meeting (okay, fiasco was pushing it, but he still wasn’t happy about it and wanted to go home to wallow a bit). He joked around with his stall neighbors, hoping that by pretending to be normal he would be. When the team playlist was handed to him for his turn, well, there was really only one choice if he was pretending to be his usual self.

“Born in the USA” flooded the room, the Americans jumping up to sing off key and taunt their non-American teammates, which triggered a brief playlist war between the Americans and Canadians. Back and forth they traded songs, complete with loudly shout-singing the choruses at each other until Coach Thompkins interrupted Ryan and Jordan’s terrible rendition of “Party in the USA” to remind them they needed to actually go home and rest or their next practice would be nothing but suicides.

Rosy cheeked and laughing with his buddies, Ryan realized he'd totally forgotten about Lars Nilsson…until the moment he sat back down to take off his shoulder pads and saw Lars eyeing him curiously.

Maybe all the America stuff jogged his memory? He hoped not. Belatedly remembering Ryan would be more awkward, since it would require Ryan to admit he’d never forgotten and knew Lars had.

“See you tomorrow, Brian!” Lars said with a friendly wave as they headed to their cars.

Ryan couldn’t help it, he smiled back. The guy was completely clueless, but at least he was nice. Even if sex with Ryan was so terrible he’d blocked it out, Lars wasn’t a dick like some of the “star” players Ryan had played with. Small win, right?