Page 128 of The Trade Deadline
But also Lars is on the crabs so maybe you’re still cheering for them?
Well
Good luck!
I’ll be watching :)
Tanner must be high.He never babbled that much unless he was baked or on the rare occasions when the power was out and his Switch had run out of batteries. And this was next-level babbling. Like holy crap Ryan was glad he wasn’t there in person, because he suspected Tanner would’ve wrapped him in a hug and trapped him while he went on and on while periodically offering him some of his weed.
thanks bro
hoping to win ofc
if the crabs beat us, lars moving on is a consolation prize
and no i don’t know if he’s my boyfriend. seems like a bad time to ask
He couldn’t even imagine how that conversation would go.Hey, I know we fuck on the regular and our teams are about to face each other for a minimum of four intensely physical games where one of us gets eliminated at the end, with the added baggage of you playing against your brother that you sometimes hate and me playing against the team that didn’t think I was good enough to keep, but hey wanna sit down and figure out our relationship status? And then if that conversation goes to hell, we can both play like shit?
It had been an awkward enough prospect to broach the subject when he’d still been in Baltimore. It was next to impossible now. He’d wait.
Besides, competing against each other beforehand might make it easier. Things between them were fine, steadier than they’d been in the wake of Ryan’s trade, but they hadn’t quite settled. It never really could, with them hundreds of miles apart and never hashing things out. If they couldn’t survive this playoff run, then that difficult conversation never needed to happen. If they did, well, maybe it’d be a much easier talk than he feared.
Don’t pretend you’ll be fine if this falls apart,a voice whispered in the back of his head.You’re probably in love with him. Which would be worse: not winning the Cup or losing Lars?
He couldn’t afford to think about it.
In the last eight years, Ryan had never really gotten a chance to compete for the Stanley Cup. There’d been a few times he’d played in the playoffs, but he’d had minor roles on those teams and they’d never made it past the first round. He’d been in a devastating Game Seven loss where he’d been benched in the third after an accidental Delay of Game penalty. He’d been forced to watch, powerless to do anything while his team got hammered in the last five minutes of the game. They hadn’t even made it to overtime.
For years, it had haunted Ryan. That he hadn’t been good enough, that he’d let himself and his team down. The closest he’d come was a first round exit. Now Ryan was starting to understand that the real tragedy was that he hadn’t played. Hecould’vemade a difference, and he should’ve stood up for himself with the coaching staff or made it clear with his media interviews after the loss that he should’ve been in that third period. It wasn’t his fault, and he wouldn’t let it be his fault again.
He parked his car in the player garage at the stadium. Others were arriving, all dressed in suits for the walk to the locker room through media and fans. Ryan’s hand had gotten sore from signing autographs the first day of Game One, and he expected a similar experience today. It still surprised him how many RUSSELL #6 jerseys and shirts he saw. He’d been on the team about two months and yet the fans had taken him in with open arms.
As he straightened his suit jacket, he saw a familiar blue Audi pull into the lot. It was Anders’s car, large and sensible for a family and not nearly as ostentatious as some of the other cars their teammates drove. Ryan lingered by the elevator to wait for him. Although he didn’t want to pry, Ryan wondered how things had gone with Lars the day before. He’d sent Lars a text but only gotten back a vague thumbs up in reply, which could’ve meant anything from “we’ve patched everything up and are BFFs” to “I successfully didn’t get murdered by brother and will be able to play tomorrow.”
When the passenger side door popped open before the driver’s side, Ryan barely had time to adjust his expectations before Lars appeared. His hair was tied back in a bun that only just held it out of his eyes, which was distracting enough. Then he slammed the door shut and Ryan got a good look at his outfit. He was wearing possibly the ugliest blazer Ryan had ever seen, a pale blue tweed with navy blue crab patches stitched onto it. It was, quite frankly, a monstrosity. A sin against fashion. An affront to the eyes. And the bastard looked incredible in it: perfectly tailored, the perfect shade of blue to bring out his eyes, he looked like a high-fashion runway model instead of a goofy hockey player wearing an equally goofy outfit.
Ryan wanted nothing more than to tear it off of Lars and run his tongue down?—
Anders got out of the car next, looking prim in a mustard suit and orange tie that looked equally ridiculous but suited him. It was unfair that the brothers could look so handsome in clothes that would make Ryan feel like a circus clown, but at least Anders’s appearance had scrubbed the dirty thoughts from Ryan’s mind.
They spoke to each other in Swedish, and though Ryan didn’t understand a word of it, he could hear Lars’s usual playfulness and his brother’s more somber responses. It reminded him of the All Star Game, where they’d bickered but otherwise gotten along.
Maybe things had gone okay, after all.
Ryan was torn between stepping forward to talk to Lars and remaining very still so he wouldn’t be seen. In the end, he stayed put and watched the brothers. It felt like he was back on his parents’ ranch, trying not to spook the horses.
Soon enough, Lars stuck his tongue out, his hands in his pockets, and then walked towards the far end of the garage where he’d no doubt be able to find his own team.
Anders didn’t spot Ryan until he’d nearly reached the elevator, and only a slight stutter in his step gave away his surprise. He nodded to Ryan and they waited in silence until the beep chimed to announce the elevator’s arrival.
“He apologized,” was all Anders said once the doors sealed them in. He wasn’tsmiling, but he had a quirk in his lips that was the Anders equivalent of a toothy grin. He looked down his nose at Ryan. “You’re good for him.”
Too stunned to know how to respond to that, Ryan pulled at the collar of his shirt and said, “Think we’ll do the same lines as last time we played the Crabs?”
The lines were basically the same as they’d been since he’d joined the team, and it was clearly an attempt to change the topic, but Anders considered him seriously. “I think so, yes. No reason to change when it’s worked before, and it’s how we beat New England.”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Ryan agreed awkwardly. Anders politely let the conversation die. It was a pleasant silence, broken only by the doors opening once again and their footsteps as they went down the long hallway to meet the rest of the team.
