Page 115 of The Trade Deadline
Anders gave him a once over. Whatever he saw, he deemed it was going to require his full attention, because he carefully closed his book and waited expectantly.
“So like…I’m really confused,” Ryan said. He looked around to make sure no one was listening—nothing but empty seats, sleeping teammates, and headphones barely muffling music—and continued, “Do you hate your brother? Because he seems to hate you, but he visits you every summer, and the few times I’ve seen you together, you don’tseemto hate him. And I think you liked me because Lars likes me, and you get upset when people talk shit about him?—”
“I don’t hate Lasse,” Anders interrupted.
…aaaand that was it.
“Okay.” That wasn’t helpful. The only thing he’d learned was that Anders would stop him from babbling. “But do you like him?” Ryan pressed.
Anders sighed. There was something about the way he did it that conveyed he in no way wanted to have this conversation but he would, and only because it was Ryan asking, otherwise he’d tell Ryan to fuck off and mind his own business.
“He’s my brother. I love him. He’s just…very spoiled, and we’re very different ages. We didn’t spend much time together as he was growing up because I left, and that’s what he remembers. But before I moved, I spent every day with him. I made toys for him and taught him how to skate and played hockey with him.” A pause. “He hates that I left. He’s never forgiven me. He’s never understood that my life at home wasn’t the same as his. That Pappa had set expectations for me that Lars hadn’t experienced yet. When they died, it was simple for him to mourn Mamma and Pappa. It was…more complicated for me.”
Ryan nodded. Each revelation sat heavy inside him, explaining so much and reminding him painfully of his sisters. When they’d eventually moved out, he’d missed them, but it had been a gradual process where they went one by one. Even after they left, his parents had been there. It didn’t hurt that he’d been a lot older than Lars had. Ryan couldn’t imagine his family shattering when he was five.
It also made him feel like a dick that he’d asked. This was personal and he’d pried. As much as he wanted to know, it wasn’t his business to dig deeper.
Okay, it was maybe his place to say something on Lars’s behalf.
“Does Lars know all that?”
Anders shrugged. “He doesn’t want to understand. Like I said, spoiled. Only sees what’s convenient.”
Again, so much given so freely. Anders barely knew him, and only in connection to Lars, but that shouldn’t be enough. Why?
He didn’t ask, but the question must have been evident on his face because Anders answered it. “My brother likes you. He doesn’t like many people.”
Ryan laughed. “Lars likes everybody.”
He shook his head. “He charms everyone. That’s not the same. But he smiles at you even when you’re not looking. And he doesn’t talk to me unless he has to, but he texted me when he found out about the trade and told me to look out for you.” He rolled his eyes. “Toldme. The little shit never asks, only tells.”
“Sounds about right.” Ryan also assumed Anders hadn’t dignified that particular demand with a response. “Thanks for talking with me.”
“I’d say any time, but I would prefer not to do it again. Hockey, yes. My idiot brother, I’ll leave to you.” His eyes narrowed. “Coach said you’d be leaving the team to deal with your apartment.”
“Which is completely plausible, since I do still have an apartment in town.”
“But you’ll be staying at the hotel…?”
As much as Ryan didn’t want to answer, he felt he owed Anders a bit of honesty.
“Yeah. Seemed smart to keep my old life and new life separate so I could focus.” Then as a whisper, he added, “But I wanted to see him. Especially after…” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Everything.”
“I think you are a good influence,” Anders said approvingly. “There are only twenty minutes before we land, and I’d like to finish my book.”
Ryan accepted the dismissal and went back to his seat (and nervously tapping on the armrests).
* * *
When Ryan went right instead of left with the rest of the team, going to find a taxi while they went to the bus, it drew his teammates’ attention. There was lots of teasing about meeting up with a girlfriend or a booty call with an old flame, and it only made his cheeks heat up more when Anders told them to shut up.
The ride to Lars’s place was longer than he remembered. His heart was beating so hard he didn’t see much point in knocking—surely the whole building knew he was there—but he did and stood there in absolute torture. What if, what if, what if?
The door opened and he was abruptly pulled inside. He barely registered it shutting behind him before he was being kissed. Ryan melted right into it, giving in to Lars’s onslaught. It had been a long twenty-six days since he’d last seen Lars. Twenty-six days where he’d alternated between being so busy and so stressed that he had barely jerked off; once he’d found out he’d be here, in this painfully familiar condo held in wonderfully familiar arms, he’d avoided it altogether. He was so fucking pent up he’d probably be done as soon as Lars touched his dick.
He was reacquainting himself with the feel of Lars’s ass (still fantastic) and the taste of his mouth (intoxicating, more than usual), when Lars abruptly pulled away.
“Wha—?”
