Page 4 of Tough Guy (Game Changers #3)

Ryan looked straight ahead as he entered the plane.

He did not look at the bolts on the aircraft’s exterior, or the intricate mechanics visible around the open door.

He didn’t think about how crucial it was for every single one of those bolts and wires and thin plates of metal to stay together; that the slightest malfunction could cause the fiery death of everyone on board.

Ryan couldn’t think about any of that. Instead, he ran through his usual preflight list of sensible, calming thoughts.

Millions of people fly every day without issue.

This plane has probably taken off, flown, and landed hundreds, if not thousands, of times without issue.

The pilot wouldn’t fly this plane if it weren’t safe.

The flight attendants are calm and happy and smiling. This is their job every day.

Your teammates are calm.

Flying is safer than driving.

Ryan knew all of these things were true, but he couldn’t stop the intense dread that gripped him every time he boarded an airplane.

He couldn’t stop thinking that he was the only one who knew everyone on board was doomed.

That they all needed to get off this plane right now because couldn’t everyone see how dangerous this was?

Ryan exhaled as he squeezed his large body along the narrow aisle. His suit felt too tight. Why did they have to wear suits on these plane trips? He tugged at his necktie as he searched around for an empty aisle seat.

“Pricey!”

Ryan looked toward the back of the plane and saw Wyatt Hayes waving at him from behind a seat. Ryan nodded in response, and moved toward him.

“How ya doing?” Wyatt’s tone was cheerful. Definitely not a man who was worried about dying today.

“Good as always, I guess,” Ryan said. He set his backpack on the seat next to Wyatt and opened it.

He rummaged around and pulled out a crisp new paperback novel by one of his favorite authors, a small bottle of Tums, and a battered copy of Anne of Green Gables.

He stuffed the items, along with his phone, into the seat pocket in front of him, shoved the backpack under the seat, and sat down.

“That’s why I like sitting with you, Pricey,” Wyatt said.

“You’re a reader.” He gestured to his own seat pocket, where Ryan could see the top of a thick graphic novel sticking out.

Wyatt loved comic books and superheroes.

Ryan didn’t know anything about them. Maybe Ryan could ask Wyatt for entry-level comic book recommendations. That would be a friendly thing to do...

“Should be a smooth flight. I was looking at the weather between here and Nashville.” Wyatt said this conversationally, but Ryan knew he was doing his best to help.

Maybe it was because he was Toronto’s backup goalie and spent more time watching games than playing them, but Wyatt was remarkably observant and considerate.

Ryan nodded in response. He wished he could find comfort in Wyatt’s weather report, but there was really nothing that would make his brain calm down.

His anxiety meds helped a bit, and were probably what was keeping him from running screaming off the plane right now, but no amount of common sense would make him stop imagining worst-case scenarios.

It’s a short flight. You’ll be in Nashville before you know it.

Ryan longed for the days when NHL teams traveled mostly by bus. When he’d played junior hockey, all travel had been by bus. He knew he was in the minority, but he would take a fifteen-hour bus ride over a two-hour flight any day.

He removed his phone from the seat pocket and sent a text to his sister, as he did before every flight. He told himself it was only because he liked hearing from her and not because he worried he may never see her again.

Ryan: Heading to Nashville.

Colleen: Who are you sitting with?

Ryan glanced over at Wyatt, who was pulling down the window shade in a gesture that was almost certainly for Ryan’s benefit.

Ryan: Wyatt Hayes

Colleen: He’s cute! You should date him!

Ryan flushed and angled his phone so Wyatt definitely wouldn’t be able to see the screen.

Ryan: Straight. Married. And shut up.

Colleen: Aw. He’s cute, though, right?

Ryan stole another glance at Wyatt, who caught his eye and grinned at him, all dimples and blond curls. He was attractive, no question, but...

Ryan: Not my type.

Wyatt wasn’t the one who Ryan couldn’t stop thinking about. It had taken a long time and a lot of distance for Ryan to almost forget about Fabian Salah. And now a chance reunion in a Toronto pharmacy, over thirteen years later, had opened a floodgate of memories.

Even as a teenager, Fabian had been stunning—far from macho, and even farther from apologizing for it. He’d always been short, and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds at the time, but Ryan had been thoroughly intimidated by him.

He had also been thoroughly infatuated with him.

A flight attendant was shutting and locking the plane door. Ryan’s stomach clenched. He sent another text to his sister. Taking off soon. Gotta go.

Colleen: Do you have Anne with you?

Ryan smiled, and touched his fingers to the frayed edges of his ancient copy of Anne of Green Gables.

Ryan: Always.

Colleen: Then you’re safe.

Ryan: I know. Thanks.

Colleen: Love you. Text me when you land.

Ryan: Ok. Love you.

He tucked his phone into the seat pocket so he didn’t risk crushing it in his hand during takeoff.

Thank god for Colleen. His sister was only three years younger than him, and they’d been thick as thieves growing up together in a town of less than two thousand people.

Leaving her behind had been one of the hardest parts of turning pro.

The plane began to move, and Ryan gripped the armrests. He closed his eyes, and went through his breathing exercises. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

When he opened his eyes, he could see the grinning, idiotic faces of Dallas Kent and Troy Barrett peering at him from around their aisle seats.

As soon as he caught their eyes, they started laughing.

Even though several rows divided them from him, Ryan could hear Dallas say something like “He looks like he’s going to have a heart attack. ”

Assholes.

“Hey,” said Wyatt, who probably guessed what was happening. “Did you ever play for Nashville? I forget.”

“No,” said Ryan. “Haven’t played for any Western teams.”

“Ah. I thought I was going to be drafted by Nashville. My agent thought it was going to happen. But then...Toronto.”

“Were you disappointed?”

Wyatt grinned. “A little. But then I met Lisa in Toronto, so it all worked out.”

Ryan had only met Wyatt’s wife, a doctor, once, at a team dinner. She and Wyatt had met when Wyatt had been in the hospital with a broken collarbone. Ryan wasn’t surprised that he had managed to charm her in such a short time.

“Not that I ever get to see her,” Wyatt added. “The only thing worse than marrying a hockey player is marrying a doctor. Don’t do it.”

“Okay.” Since Ryan hadn’t even been on a date in over a year, it definitely wasn’t a problem he was worried about.

The plane turned, and then stopped, and Ryan knew they were about to take off. He hated this part. He hated all the parts, but he really hated this part.

“You can tell me to shut up if you want,” Wyatt said, “but does it help if I talk right now?”

“Yeah,” Ryan gritted out. “Keep talking.”

“You should come with me next time I visit the center.” Wyatt was a regular visitor to a community center in a low-income area of Toronto. He would hang out with the kids, playing floor hockey and distributing Toronto Guardians merchandise.

“You really think kids would be excited to meet me?” Ryan asked dubiously.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Wouldn’t they rather meet Kent? Or Barrett?” Ryan nodded his head in the direction of the two jerkoffs who also happened to be NHL All-Stars.

“I don’t think those shitheads should be allowed within a hundred yards of children. Or anyone. Bad influences.”

The plane’s engine roared to life and jolted forward, and Ryan shut his eyes and listed NHL teams alphabetically in his head. In seconds, he knew, this would be over. He just needed to get through it.

“I mean, they’ve mostly been getting visits from the backup goalie, so I’m sure a defenseman who plays actual minutes would be exciting for them,” Wyatt continued, politely ignoring Ryan’s increased state of distress. “Plus, you’re enormous. Kids love that.”

Ryan grimaced, but forced himself to reply. “Kids are scared of me.”

“Nah. You’re like Chewbacca. They’ll love you.”

By some miracle, Ryan actually laughed while being on a plane during takeoff. “Thanks a lot.”

Wyatt kept talking, telling him about some of the kids he’d met during his visits. Ryan didn’t respond much, but he listened intently. After a few minutes of Ryan listening silently with his eyes squeezed shut, Wyatt said, “I think we’ve leveled off, by the way.”

Ryan opened one eye, and then the other.

It always astonished him how calm everyone around him seemed on a plane.

His teammates were just chatting and joking around, or putting on headphones, or flipping down their tables to play cards.

Some were asleep. Ryan couldn’t even fathom being relaxed enough to sleep on a plane.

“We made it!” Wyatt smiled at him.

“Great,” Ryan said tightly. Nothing to worry about when you’re forty thousand feet in the air.

Wyatt shook his head. “I can’t believe you put yourself through this. Is it always this bad?”

Sometimes it’s worse. “Yeah. It is.”

“There isn’t a pill or something you can take?”

“I do take something. Sort of.” Ryan didn’t really feel like getting into the details of his anxiety meds or therapy. No point in weirding out the one guy on the team who seemed to enjoy talking to him. He decided to change the subject. “What are you reading?”

Wyatt hauled his colorful book out of the seat pocket. “It’s a collection of Jack Kirby’s Mister Miracle comics. It was a series that spun out of his Fourth World comics for DC. Amazing stuff.”

Ryan had never heard of Jack Kirby, Mister Miracle, or the Fourth World, so he just nodded.

“If you ever want to borrow any books, let me know. My collection is pretty ridiculous at this point. Our basement is basically my comic lounge now. You should come over and see it some time.”

“Sure, yeah. That would be cool.” It would probably also never happen, but Ryan didn’t say that.

“Did you move into your new place yet?”

“Yeah. I still need to buy furniture for most of the rooms, but I’m in.”

“Cool. Apartment, right? Downtown?”

“Yep.” Ryan knew he could be doing a better job with the back and forth of this conversation, but he didn’t want to tell Wyatt where his apartment building was.

Not that living in a sky-rise in the heart of Toronto’s Gay Village meant anything necessarily—it was a downtown neighborhood with expensive properties where lots of different people lived—but Ryan knew for sure that none of his teammates lived there, so his address might raise questions.

And Ryan did not like answering questions.

The plane hit a bump and he gripped the armrests. Normal. This is all normal. Like a bump in the road. Like waves under your uncle’s boat. You’re safe.

He tried to imagine that for a while, that he was on a boat instead of a plane.

He’d grown up on boats back in Ross Harbour, Nova Scotia.

His mother’s father and brothers were all lobster fishermen, and almost everyone in the small village owned some sort of boat.

Boats comforted Ryan, even though they were probably statistically more dangerous than planes.

Thinking about boats made Ryan’s brain call up one of his favorite memories: a chilly April night, standing close enough to Fabian that their arms brushed as both boys leaned on the railing of the Halifax-Dartmouth ferry and watched a giant container ship pass in front them.

Its massive hull had blacked out the lights of the city across the harbor, and Ryan had said something embarrassing about feeling small.

Fabian had said something back, but Ryan could only remember the way Fabian had smiled up at him.

That smile.

It had been so sweet and shy. Ryan didn’t know—would never know—if he’d imagined the invitation in Fabian’s eyes. If they had actually moved closer together. If Fabian had tilted his head slightly, and parted his lips...

When Ryan opened his eyes, he could see Kent and Barrett were grinning at him again. They turned back around as soon as he met their eyes, because they were both fucking cowards.

Ryan pulled his book out of his seat pocket, determined to ignore his idiot teammates, and to stop daydreaming about Fabian.

And Fabian’s eye makeup.

Ryan had not been at all prepared to see Fabian with his eyes painted like that—jade-green shadow and black winged liner that made the dark brown eyes and long lashes that had enchanted Ryan as a teenager even more striking. It was an image he wasn’t going to be forgetting anytime soon.

God, he’d looked good.

He wasn’t much taller than he’d been as a teenager, but his jaw was sharper, his chest and shoulders broader. He was still very slim, but it was a man’s body. When Fabian had crossed his arms over his chest, Ryan could make out the slight bulge of lean muscle in his arms.

Nope. Stop thinking about Fabian.

Fabian, the first boy he’d almost kissed.

The first boy he’d desperately wanted to kiss.

Fabian had mentioned a show he was playing. At a place called the Lighthouse? Ryan was pretty sure he’d said it was next Saturday. Ryan was playing a game in Toronto that night, but maybe it would be over early enough that he could check out Fabian’s show.

But Ryan couldn’t go to that, could he? It’s not like Fabian had invited him. It would be weird if Ryan showed up. What would he even say? Hi, it’s me. The guy you were probably just being polite to in the drugstore the other night. I’m stalking you now.

Nope. Absolutely not.

But he did say it was a fundraiser. Maybe Ryan should go. As a good and charitable citizen. That wouldn’t be weird. Right?

Good god. Ryan was losing his mind. And that certainly wasn’t something he could afford to do. Not again.