Page 100 of The Trade Deadline
“You’d totally eat those, bro,” Jordy said as he walked by.
“You guys suck,” Ryan called after him. To Lars he said, “I mean, I’dtrythem, but I’m no cook. I can’t make regular food taste good. No way I can make weird food edible.”
“You made scrambled eggs that one time. They were good.”
“It wassupposedto be an omelet.”
“Still good.”
“Shut up and finish your reps,” Ryan grumbled as he stepped aside for Lars to take over, though there was no bite to it.
Lars was distracted for the rest of training. He had to lower his weights and run a lighter speed on the treadmill or he’d hurt himself, because all he could think about was Ryan’s apartment. Which was stupid. He’d been to his apartment before. Slept there, ate there, fucked there. And it wasn’t like Ryan was moving out. His stay had always been temporary. A convenience thing, not long-term or a commitment or anything like that. They weren’t breaking up. They weren’t technically even together.
That last thought was way less reassuring than it should’ve been.
After a lackluster workout, Lars found excuse after excuse to delay leaving. Talking to Coach Thompkins about some ideas for the Power Play. Reminiscing about past All Star games with Jake. Complaining about American food to the Russians (and then about Russian food with the other Europeans). As long as Ryan’s stuff was still at his condo, nothing was changing.
Eventually there were no more excuses and he found Ryan in the lobby. He was playing a game on his phone, as patient as ever while he waited for Lars to get his shit together.
Unbothered by the change in their living arrangements.
Of course he was. He wasn’t losing anything. He was regaining his home, his privacy.
Lars knew his mood was darkening. He felt like he had when Anders had appeared in Vancouver: a bucket of cold water to ruin his expectations and make him act like a wet blanket. He tried to smile more and be extra helpful as they gathered Ryan’s things to combat his…annoyance? Hurt? Confusion? Fuck, he didn’t know what he was feeling, but he didn’t like it.
It didn’t take long to pack Ryan’s things. Despite nearly a month there, he hadn’t brought much other than clothes, and he’d kept those as organized as he did on road trips. There was a book he’d only opened once, his nice razor, the lucky necklace he only wore on game days, and that was it. Lars was secretly pleased when Ryan didn’t take any of his other toiletries—the toothbrush, the deodorant, the shampoo+body wash he preferred that smelled like nothing in the bottle but somehow gave Ryan a faintly pine smell—because it implied not only would be he be staying here again, but hopefully soon. Lars’s relief made his smiles come more easily, and he was able to joke on the drive to Ryan’s place without forcing it.
They took the elevator as usual. He remembered that surprising him, that Ryan didn’t take the stairs. For someone so intent on unnecessary exercise, it delighted Lars to see Ryan take it easy for once. When they arrived at his floor, Lars’s stomach lurched just as the doors swung open.
“Bro, you’re back!”
Ryan had barely taken a step off the elevator before a short-ish, skinny guy wrapped him in a hug. Lars watched curiously as the shaggy-haired guy with too-loose clothes and untied shoes hugged Ryan, who was left to awkwardly pat his back since his own arms were pinned to his sides. Ryan looked happy, though, with a shy smile not unlike the one he had when the coach praised his playing. Lars decided immediately that he liked this guy; he clearly appreciated Ryan the way he deserved.
“I’m back,” Ryan confirmed when he was released. “Thanks for your help. Everything good?”
“Yeah, it looks great. When you said you were coming back today, I double-checked that they fixed everything and got it cleaned up. The landlord had them replace all the damaged stuff, so it looks better than before, honestly. I forgot you wouldn’t have any food or I would’ve?—”
“It’s alright,” Ryan interrupted. “We picked some up on the way.”
“We?” And then he finally noticed Lars standing there.
Lars waved and held up the bag of food to prove Ryan wasn’t making up the meal. Or his guest.
“Tanner, this is my teammate, Lars. Lars, this is my neighbor, Tanner. He lives in the apartment below mine.”
Lars offered a hand; Tanner’s eyes went wide as he shook it limply.
“Lars Nilsson?” he said with the type of awe Lars was all too familiar with. He’d probably have to sign an autograph if the guy was a fan. He wondered briefly why Ryan hadn’t asked on his neighbor’s behalf before, until: “The Lars from Ryan’s hookup in Switzerland?”
He wondered briefly if he was dreaming.
“I’m sorry,what?—?”
“Yes, that Lars.” Ryan sounded both amused and very put upon.
Tanner’s handshake became much more enthusiastic. “Sweet! Nice to meet you, dude. I’m glad you and Ryan figured your shit out, or I’d maybe have to have words with you.”
At this Lars raised an eyebrow. “Words about what, exactly?” Then he put it together and was instantly mortified (and once again happy Ryan had a friend like Tanner). “You told him I forgot?” He put on his best wounded expression. He was pretty sure it was convincing, even though his niece and nephew never bought it.
