“But you gave up hockey.” Lane looked torn, his eyes searching Jared’s. “I can’t ever be worth that.”
“Lane, you idiot,” Jared pulled him in and kissed him. “You already are. And don’t ever say that you’re not.”
“Okay.” Lane leaned forward, his hands on Jared’s shoulders. “No one’s ever done anything like this. Not for me.”
“And they still haven’t, because I did it for me. I keep telling you.” Jared drew him closer again. “Maybe I did it a little bit for you.”
“Jared,” Lane said, but he didn’t seem to be able to say anything else.
“It’s okay, Lane. I’ll accept payment in blowjobs, tickets, threesomes, and coming all over your abs.” Jared kissed him, and Lane kissed him back more enthusiastically.
But it was Lane, so he stopped in the midst of enjoying something to make sure it was okay that he did, in fact, enjoy it. “You’re really serious. You’re done with hockey, and you’re going to move with me, wherever I go. Even if it’s Syracuse.”
“Even if it’s Syracuse.” Jared sighed, resting his forehead on Lane’s. “And I’m not done with hockey. I’m just done playing on a professional-level team.”
“I’ll miss watching you fight,” Lane said, starting to go tense for reasons other than unhappiness. “I really liked that.”
“I have a whole section on hockeyfights.com you can watch.” Jared kissed him again. “And I’m not amputating my legs at the knees. I can still skate.”
“You couldn’t keep up with me when you weren’t retired, old man.” Lane started working at Jared’s jeans. “On the ice or off it.”
Jared groaned, but there was a moan in there too. “If you want your dick sucked anytime soon, go back to telling me how great I am at things.”
“You’re great at things, Jared.” Lane nipped at his ear. “And hey. Now that you’re retired and can sleep even more than you did before, you should be able to keep up better and fuck me more often.”
“They say the secret to retirement is having hobbies,” Jared agreed and kissed him.
He forgot all about the present he’d bought for Lane, and Lane’s agent called the next morning, before Jared could give it to him.
It turned out that Lane did know how to tie a Windsor knot. “I’ve seen pictures on the NHL website. Guys wear suits, so I learned how.” He was very careful about tying it, his long fingers dexterously working the fabric in a way that made Jared really hot.
Jared insisted that Lane take his truck to his meeting, since he had air-conditioning. And then he went back to sleep and dreamed about snow and a fireplace they could actually use, and Lane naked beneath him, in front of it.
There was also something in there about supermodels, he was pretty sure.
WHEN HE
first got an agent, Lane was sort of afraid of him.
His name was Curtis Simpson, and Lane was convinced that if he said something stupid, he’d get dropped and end up playing hockey on a team with a ridiculous name in the middle of nowhere, in the hinterlands of the hockey-appreciating world and….
Hey. Wait a minute.
He’d talked to Simpson a few times during the season, and he always felt like he was supposed to have something important to share with him but didn’t know what it was.
He felt that way talking to a lot of people actually.
Curtis had always been nice to him, but he didn’t look at Lane when he talked and he also laughed in the middle of words, which was weird. Lane was expecting Curtis to be on the phone, so when he walked into the office where he was meeting Coach Spencer, he was actually surprised to see him standing there.
Lane was glad he’d taken Jared’s truck and wasn’t covered in sweat. “Oh. Hi. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Curtis shook his hand and said, “Yes. Well, it’s an exciting day, Lane! Of course I want to be here to share it with you.”
He only laughed once in there, during the word “share.” Lane didn’t realize that getting his client onto an AHL team in Syracuse was that big of a deal, but maybe it was a slow month.
Lane didn’t notice the other man in the room until Curtis introduced him to Lane. Joshua Cook, whoever he was, had a nice smile and was wearing jeans with a sports coat. Lane envied him immediately, and he wasn’t sure if they said who the guy was, but he figured he was someone with the Crunch, maybe.
Good. Maybe he could tell Lane what a Crunch
was
.
Coach Spencer gestured to a chair. “Lane, I want to tell you that I’ve enjoyed having you on the team this year. I had some reservations about you, probably because you didn’t know how to keep your mouth shut, and then couldn’t seem to open it again.”
Lane flashed a grin at him. “I’ve heard that from other people. But thanks for making me figure it out. I guess hockey is more than just pucks and things.”
Spence gave Curtis a sympathetic look. “Please tell me you’ve got some clients who will give better sound bites than this one?”
Curtis cleared his throat. “They’re all hockey players. So probably not.” He laughed, and at least this time, it wasn’t smooshed in the middle of a word.
“Anyway Lane, I’d love to have you on the team another year, but even someone as oblivious as you can probably tell that you’re not coming back this season.”
He’d sort of figured, but it was still bittersweet to hear it. Also he had no idea what to say. “Thank you” sounded mean, but “I wish I’d be there” was maybe not good for his career. So he floundered around and, in the end, just coughed.
No one expects me to be good at talking.
He could cough, though.
He missed what the Coach said and had to say, “I’m sorry, what?” Because it sounded a lot like—
“I said, you’ve been traded, Lane.”
“But you can’t trade me,” Lane informed him. “Tampa has my rights, so I thought…?”
“Yes, Lane,” Coach Spence said, sighing. “They do. And they traded you. That’s why your agent is here and Mr. Cook.”
“The guys from Tampa wanted you to know, Lane, it wasn’t that they didn’t appreciate what a good season you had. They did and they were impressed. But they need a bit more depth in other areas, and they were hopeful that you’d get to see actual playing time in the majors if you were given the opportunity.”
“They need a fucking goalie,” Coach Spencer muttered.
Lane was glad to hear that. It was nice to know he wasn’t being traded because he was a failure. This was part of it, and he knew that. His first trade.
“We’ve written up a contract for you,” Cook said, taking Lane’s attention. “And we hope you’ll be pleased. Curtis here has looked it over and thinks you’ll be happy. But of course, we want to know what you think. We’re excited about the potential of having you with us. And let me say, Lane, I was down here for the last game of the conference finals, doing some scouting. I know that game didn’t go like you wanted, but I was really impressed with how you handled yourself and your team after that loss. It showed you had a lot of character, and that’s why I suggested we take a look at you and see if the Bolts might be willing to trade.”
Wait, someone had wanted him and made a trade
for
him? Wow. That was crazy. And if he was hearing them right, he’d impressed them by… losing?
Who said Lane didn’t have any hockey sense? He was so impressed with himself, he wasn’t really paying attention to the contract except to glance down at it when they handed it to him.
It was nice, the paper was crisp and clean—white with a bright blue maple leaf on it. And they were saying something about when he should go to training camp. Lane looked up to make sure he was paying attention. It would probably be good not to admit he didn’t know where the hell he’d been traded to and ask if they’d repeat it for him.
Wait.
Lane looked down at the papers he was holding. White, crisp with a blue maple—no.
There was no way. The paper was shaking, which was really weird. Lane would worry about that in a minute because no. It couldn’t be. It
couldn’t
. “Wait, you’re saying I’ve been traded to—” He tried, but the words wouldn’t come out, so he just made a noise and waved the paper.
“To the Maple Leafs,” Josh Cook said, smiling. “It’s great when I can tell local boys they get to play for the hometown team. You’re not one of those Wings fans that pop up in Ontario every now and then, are you?”
Lane shook his head. He couldn’t speak. He just looked down at the paper and saw his name, the Leafs logo and
On behalf of the Maple Leaf organization, we would like to invite you to attend this year’s training camp….
“I can assure you with about 99 percent certainty that you’ll be with the Marlies to start the season. But if you read that contract, you’ll see it’s a two-way deal, and I’ve been told that it’s all right to tell you, Lane, that it’s likely you’re going to see some ice time for a game or two this season.”
“With the—” He waved the paper again.
“The Maple Leafs,” Cook answered, grinning. “I love this part of my job. That’s why I came down here in person. Even though I really think I’ll die in this heat. Why is it like this?”
“Oh. It’s Florida, and maybe it’s closer to the sun? I don’t know. I was bad at geography.” Lane was still in shock. He was going home to Canada, which was mildly depressing if you thought about the winters, and completely joyful when it meant playing for the team he’d grown up cheering for.
“That’s not geography. That’s science,” Spence said. But he was grinning too. Even Curtis was laughing at him. But whatever. Lane didn’t care.
All he cared about was going home and telling Jared “we’re moving to Toronto.” If he practiced on the way home, surely he’d be able to say the words by the time he got back to his apartment. Right?
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Lane remembered shaking hands and nodding a lot. And the drive back to his apartment was surreal, like he was flying. He got honked at three times at a light, because he kept looking down at the contract to make sure it was still there.
Jared was awake when he got home, freshly showered and shaved and making breakfast. Apparently that was toast with shredded cheese, and chocolate milk, because those were the only things in his apartment that weren’t leftover pizza, Dr Pepper, or beer.
“We should probably learn how to go grocery shopping at some point.” Jared presented him with a plate of toast. “You’re welcome. Add cheese toast to the list of stuff I’m great at.”
Lane stared at him. He tried to speak, but it didn’t work out so well. He didn’t even take the toast.
“You’re looking at me like we’ve never met. Hi, I’m Jared Shore. I’m your boyfriend. You like gay sex. I hope that’s not a problem…. Lane?” Jared waved the toast at him. “It’s just like pizza, only without the sauce. Have I blown your mind with this? I have, haven’t I?”
After a moment, Jared set the toast on the counter. “Could you blink once for yes, twice for no?”
Lane blinked. Several times in a row.
“Oh my god. You even blink excessively, like you talk.” Jared’s smile was slow and suggestive, and he grabbed at Lane’s belt to pull him closer. “I have ways of making you talk. It’s not cheese toast, but it’ll still blow your mind.”
“Umm.”
Jared finally realized Lane wasn’t being a weirdo for no reason, and his brows knit together. “Lane, I’m mentally prepared in every way to hear you tell me we’re moving to Syracuse. If there are tears, ignore them. I’m just weeping for the warmth I’ll never see again.”
“We’re not moving to Syracuse.”
“Holy shit. Are we going to Tampa?” Jared’s eyes went wide. “Fuck me sideways, Lane. I will go right now and buy you an Egg McMuffin at McDonalds.”
Lane shook his head again, just slightly. “No.”
“Okay, fine. A sausage biscuit? It’s ten thirty. But if you want a cheeseburger, I guess I could wait…?”
“No, I mean. Not Tampa. I got traded.”
When no other words were forthcoming, Jared looked very patiently at him. “You’re in shock. Right? I forgot this hasn’t happened to you. By traded, you mean the Lightning traded your rights. Yeah?”
Lane nodded. And then, because he remembered, blinked once.
Jared snorted. “Okay. So you’ve been traded… where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Jared tugged him closer with his fingers on Lane’s belt. “Or you’ll have to kill me?”
“No. I can’t.”
“Kill me? What? Lane, this conversation has gone on ten minutes longer than it should. Which, I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Jared kissed him on the neck, trying to get him backed up against the counter. “We’re not getting in a car and driving around until we magically hit the city we’re moving to. So I’m just going to make out with you until you tell me.”
Lane was distracted by that for a minute, but he managed to push free of Jared’s hands on him and
that
got Jared’s attention immediately. “I can tell you’re into it, because you’re you, and you’re always into it. What’s going on? You can’t tell me where we’re going? Why?”
“Because, J, if I say it,” Lane explained, very reasonably, “it won’t be real.” He handed over the contract, which he was still holding in a death grip. “Read it, and then maybe you can say it, and that’ll be okay.”
“Why didn’t you just
tell me
it was hockey superstition, idiot? I get that,” Jared muttered, grabbing the contract from him. He stared at it, and the smile he gave Lane was so bright it was nearly blinding. “Holy shit, Lane. Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Lane agreed. He pointed at the papers in Jared’s hand. “It says what I think it does. Right?”
“Yup. I can’t believe we’re moving to Montreal,” Jared said, in a tone of fake reverence, referring to the city where the Leafs’ rival team, the Montreal Canadiens, played. “I don’t even know French.” He started laughing. “Dude, you should see your face right now. Priceless.”
“It still snows in Tor—there,” Lane said, shaking his right hand, which had cramped up from how tightly he’d been holding that contract. “But there’s another thing? Umm. It’s a two-way contract. And the guy who was there said I’d be….” Lane put his face in his hands. “Probably on the ice with the Leafs a few times.”
“That you’d what? Probably have lice with Steve on a futon? Ew.”