And it felt better than lifting any trophy ever would.
JARED GOT
to Lane’s a few hours later, a little sunburned from driving all the way to Jacksonville with the windows open. He wanted to remember what heat felt like, before he signed up for Syracuse winters and snow.
It was a good thing he had an insatiable boyfriend in his early twenties to keep him warm. Clearly that was the secret to surviving winter conditions, no matter where they were.
“Hey, J.” Lane was on his couch, playing a video game, when Jared showed up and let himself in. His hair looked dumb and was sticking up every which way, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Though he hadn’t. Lane got up early and went running. How obnoxious was that? He also wasn’t wearing a shirt. All he was wearing, in fact, was a pair of running pants. God. Sometimes Lane looked like he should be making sexist jokes and drinking a Smirnoff Ice. If they even still made those.
Instead, he was drinking a Dr Pepper and asking Jared if he had a nice trip? Why was he all red? Did he need some aloe? Because Lane had some since it was Florida. Had Jared ever tried aloe before? Because it was great. Lane liked it. Did Jared know it came from plants that you yourself could grow?
And this is what I left my career for
, Jared thought. He grinned like a moron and possibly drew hearts in his head. Ugh. He had it bad.
“Yes. It was fine. I drove with the windows down because I wanted the fresh air. Sure. I’ll take some aloe if you want to put it on me. And yes, I did know about it and also that it came from plants, but I didn’t know we could have one, because it seems easier to just get it at Walmart.”
“I got mine at Publix.”
“Lane,” Jared said, and he couldn’t stop smiling.
“Yeah?” Lane didn’t look at him, just nodded over the sofa. “Want to play? I’m beating the Wings six to three. Or we can be on the same team, and you can be the goalie. I know how much you like that.”
Jared did, indeed, like that. He wanted to tell Lane about what happened, and there was a stupid, dumb, and totally embarrassing gift in his bag that he wanted to give Lane too. But just because he was newly retired didn’t mean he wasn’t up for some hockey. Hell, no.
“Sure. But we’re starting over, and we’re not playing on the same team. Fuck that shit.” Jared sat down and took the controller that Lane tossed him. “Lane?”
“Yeah?”
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
Lane finally looked away from the screen, where he was busy selecting the two teams—the Leafs and the Avs—he didn’t even need to ask. He focused on Jared with sudden intensity, blinked slowly and then shrugged and went back to the game. “It’s hot out.”
Lane’s air conditioner was going full blast.
“Do you know what Smirnoff Ice is?”
“Huh?” Lane gave him a look that suggested Jared was doing everything wrong. “Is that, like, slang for some sex thing? Or for like….” He waved a hand. “Bling?”
“Bling.” Jared started laughing. He laughed harder, and then tackled Lane to the ground. “If it’s so hot, pretty boy, let’s get these pants off.”
They never did get around to playing the video game. And it was kind of weird to fuck Lane on the carpet, with the
NHL 13
menu screen on repeat in the background.
Later Jared asked Lane if he’d heard from his agent.
“Oh. Uh. Maybe? I don’t know. I figured I’d just go see the coach or whatever. Do you want a pizza? I’m starving.”
“You’re like a virtual pet,” Jared said. “Except all you need is food, sex, and Dr Pepper.” At Lane’s blank look, he sighed. “Never mind. Lane? I have to tell you something. It’s kind of serious.”
More and more often, Jared saw hints of the player Lane would become in his overall demeanor, the way he talked to people, and the way he concentrated on them. This season had done wonders for him, and while he was still very much the same guy who threw his gloves off and tried to get Jared to eat scalding hot chicken nuggets, there was no denying he was growing into himself. Both that tall, lanky frame of his and his personality were filling out nicely, Jared thought ruefully. But Lane was always going to be a bit weird.
“Serious like, what? Hockey serious, boyfriend serious, or not really serious?”
Jared was dying to get an explanation of all of those. Later. “You sound like Zoe.”
“Dude, no way. She has, like, fourteen different kinds of serious. And
upset
.” Lane stretched out on the sofa, his feet hanging off the edge, his head on Jared’s thigh. “So is it hockey serious or boyfriend serious?”
“Oh my god. What have I done?” Jared tugged at his hair. “Shut up. Okay? This is… it’s hockey serious, boyfriend serious, and, I don’t know, life-decision serious.”
Lane stared up at him and then sat up slowly. He had bites on his chest and he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Why did he
do
that? It was distracting. “Your heart is beating really fast. You’re not dying. Right?”
“This is what you think life-decision serious is?”
“Stop stalling,” Lane said, and Jared hated it when Lane went from being goofy and clueless to goofy and perceptive as hell.
Jared took a deep breath. “I met with the Renegades’ GM and my agent today.”
“And you got a contract extension. Right?”
“Yeah. They offered me three years, good money, and—” this part still made Jared laugh, “—a two-way contract. An option, not a guarantee.”
Lane just nodded, like that wasn’t surprising. “Sure. You were a team leader, you have playoff experience, you’re a champion, you’re apparently a late-blooming goaltending prodigy….”
“Late-blooming?” Jared pulled his hair again. “Are you ever going to get over that?”
“No,” Lane answered immediately. “But I don’t get why you’re laughing.”
“Because, Lane. Why would they want me in the AHL?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Lane shrugged. “I don’t think this is as serious as you think it is. I mean, this seems like an easy, obvious life decision.”
“Why wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t they? Lane, I’m thirty-two.”
“Yeah. You’re really into saying that. Your age, I mean. It’s weird, ’cause no one else seems to care as much as you do.” Lane looked briefly excited. “Hey. That’d be cool if we were both in the AHL, ’cause I bet we could fuck in better hotels.”
Jared just stared down at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Lane blinked. And then he turned two shades of red and tried to pretend he wasn’t blushing. He hit Jared in the shoulder. Hard. “Stop. Ew. Why are you having feelings?”
“Because I have to tell you something.”
“You’re telling me. You’re going to be in Savannah for three years. You could be a Checker, which is a dumb name, but not as dumb as a
Crunch
. Is that a candy bar? I don’t even know that. And what else? More money. That’s cool, and…?”
“An opportunity to coach when I retire. Or some kind of position in the organization.”
“Hey.” Lane did grin at that. “That’s awesome, J. You’d be good at that. Old and wise, like you are. Us whippersnappers might learn something.”
“Pipe down, pipsqueak.” Jared smiled back. “Okay. Ready?”
“Yup.” Lane cocked his head. “For what?”
Jared leaned down and kissed him. “I turned it down.”
Lane pushed him back,
hard
, his eyes wide. “Why? That’s everything you wanted. Did you request a trade or something?”
Was he serious? “Who do you think I am, dude? Request a trade. No, idiot.” He hit Lane in the head again. God, he felt good. This felt good, and right… and what he was afraid of, he couldn’t even remember. “I retired, Lane.”
It was kind of great to watch Lane gape like a fish. It was a lot like that look on his face when Jared stopped his goal, in fact.
“Uh. What? Why? You can’t.” He leapt to his feet with more grace than a six-foot-three hockey player should possess and faced Jared with an expression of angst twisting his features. “You love hockey.”
“I can still love hockey, Lane.”
“But….”
Jared waited, but Lane was just staring at him. “Yeah?”
“You were awesome this year. A champion and an MVP. You won all your fights. Sometimes I forget how badass my boyfriend is,” Lane said with a sudden grin. He still seemed like he was surprised he could use the word boyfriend. “But you can’t just…. Wait, does that mean you’re taking the coaching job?”
At any other point in time, Jared might have thought Lane was trying to talk Jared out of going with him. But he wasn’t. He was just making sure it was all right to be happy and that the thing he wanted wasn’t going to be taken away from him. He and Lane had more in common than just stunning good looks and hockey prowess. “Not that one, but they’ll give me a reference. I really like the idea, though. Do you think I’ll be good at it?”
“Yeah.” Lane stopped, head tilting. He looked like a cocker spaniel with a six-pack. “You’re good at everything, J.”
That was so funny. Why wasn’t Jared laughing? He should be laughing. “I’m not… What?”
“Yes, you are.” Lane held up one hand and started ticking things off on his fingers. “You’re good at sex, hockey, driving, fighting, kissing, video games, opening beer bottles that need a bottle opener
without
a bottle opener, punching—”
“Lane, stop,” Jared said a little desperately. Normally Jared would have wondered who wasn’t good at driving, but then he’d gotten in a car with Lane. “Fighting and punching are the same thing.”
“Fighting and punching are not the same thing.” Lane’s stare was heavy. “Anyway you’re also good at drop passes, shootout goals, mopping the floor, smiling—”
“Smiling? You’re reaching, Courtnall. You’re also biased because you love me.” Jared blinked. “When have you ever seen me use a mop?”
“My twenty-first birthday,” Lane said with a wince. He kept going. “Also you’re good at being a boyfriend, shaving, growing a beard
to
shave—”
“Lane—”
“Pretending you know the words to songs when I’m pretty sure you’ve never heard them before, Christmas presents—”
“Lane.”
He stopped. “Yeah?”
Jared opened his mouth, then closed it. “I am pretty good at drop passes, aren’t I?”
“Yup. And you’re good at… I wish I could explain it, but I want to be a hockey player like you, J.” Lane looked so earnest it was impossible to think he wasn’t serious. Jared’s entire worldview tilted upside down, flipped over, and then back again.
“What are you talking about? You do remember that you were drafted by the NHL. Right? And who they are?”
Lane smiled, and it was sweet and crooked. He was still standing in running pants with no shirt, and by all rights, should have been the focal point of an ad about the dangers of leaving your drink unattended at a bar. “Jared, you know why I keep talking about that stupid save of yours?”
“Because it sent your ass home and mine to the championship?” He couldn’t help it. Lane would have a million career milestones, and Jared would celebrate every single one while reminding Lane that
he didn’t get this one
. That’s what hockey love was like.
“I’m over that,” Lane informed him, chin tilting, veering dangerously toward douche bag territory again. Then of course, he ruined the whole thing by saying, “Because I realized I would have never done that. I wouldn’t have even thought about it. I’m too….” Lane made a gesture and dropped his hands to his sides. Jared could see he was frustrated. “I’m too institutionalized, maybe?”
“Do you know what that means? Honestly I don’t think you do, because it sounds like you were in prison and suddenly I’m thinking about you with a bunch of guys in prison.” Jared gave a slow smile. “I like this thought. But that was what we call desperation. It wasn’t like I thought it out. I just did it.”
“I don’t have that yet. That hockey sense that you do,” Lane said simply, and Jared stopped arguing and thought about it.
“That’s years of playing the game, Lane. You’ll get there. And I still think you would have done it. You have great instincts. Trust me. By the time you’re my age, you’ll have a few championship rings in your ears and won’t be able to hear me remind you about that whole blocked-shot thing.” Jared smiled at him. “That was my news.”
“But what are you going to
do
?” Lane appeared mystified. “You can’t just open beer bottles without a bottle opener and smile all the time.”
“I can so. Because Lane, I’m going to be retired.” Jared leaned back on the couch, his ankles crossed, hands behind his head, grinning. “I’m going to let my NHL-star boyfriend make all the money and keep me supplied with hockey tickets and threesomes with hot guys or Victoria’s Secret models, because you totally have a thing for watching me with chicks. And I’m going to coach obviously. And talk about ‘back in my day,’ and make you watch that save and my Kelly Cup champions DVD all the time. And suck me off.” Jared’s eyes lit up. “Maybe at the same
time
.”
“Pushing your luck, Shore,” Lane growled, and Jared was surprised to see he still looked upset. “You just can’t, Jared.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Not for me.”
“Lane,” Jared started. He stood up and moved closer. “I didn’t do this for you. Well, I mean, I
did
but I didn’t.”
“No,” Lane said, sounding vaguely panicked. “You can’t give up hockey for me. Someone took it away from you, and you just got it
back
—”
“Shh,” Jared interrupted. He placed a hand gently over Lane’s mouth. “I had my career. And maybe I started it because of what someone did to me—took from me—but you know what? I ended it exactly how I wanted to. As a badass, like you said.”
Lane surprised him by covering his face with his hands. “You mean it. You’re giving up all of that to follow me to Syracuse. Syracuse, of all places? Have you been there? It’s awful.”
“You’ve been there, what, twice? But I’m not giving anything up, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Jared grabbed Lane’s hands and pulled them away so Lane would look at him. “This is my
reward
. I get a hot twenty-one year old future hockey star who likes me to sleep with girls so he can watch. What part of that exactly is the part where you think I’m giving anything up?”