Page 129 of The Trade Deadline
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After Ryan went through a few laps on their half of the rink, he made a beeline for center ice where Lars was not-so-casually stick handling.
“Your blazer is really ugly,” he said as he stopped next to him, bumping their shoulders.
Lars’s face scrunched up in confusion, and he looked like he was about to check what he was wearing.
“The crab one,” Ryan said, and when that didn’t seem to make Lars any less confused, he added, “I saw you in the garage wearing it. It’s hideous. Why’d I give you all my nice Crabs clothes if you were just going to buy something like that?”
“You saw me in the garage?” He looked hurt. “You didn’t say hi?”
Ryan winced in a way that hopefully looked apologetic. “Looked like you were having a moment with your brother. I didn’t want to interrupt, y’know? When you two were actually getting along.”
At this Lars huffed. “We can go five minutes without fighting.” When he saw Ryan's skeptical look, he flashed a lopsided smile that made him look mischievous. “I learned my lesson, I promise. No fighting. I have a game to win. I can’t afford distractions.”
Ryan poked Lars in the chest, right on the Blue Crab logo. “Excuse me, but you arenotwinning in this town.”
Lars brought a hand up to grab Ryan by the wrist and pull him in. Even though the gesture was familiar, it brought them too close. They weren’t teammates anymore. There weren’t a lot of excuses for being in each other’s space. Ryan swallowed reflexively, but he didn’t pull away.
“Can I come over tonight?” Lars asked in a low voice. “And the loser can take out their frustration on the winner?”
His cheeks burned. What a picture that painted…and what awful timing because how the hell was he supposed to focus on hockey after a proposition like that?
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Ryan joked as he shoved Lars away. “More like when I win,Ishould be able to tell you to get on your kn?—”
“Hey, RJ.” Jake hurriedly skated to a stop beside Lars, his voice light but his expression pinched. “Everything all right here?”
Ryan’s brain replayed what he’d just said and wondered how much Jake might have heard. Not that Jake would judge them or do anything, which was why Ryan couldn’t understand why Jake seemed upset.
“We weren’t really arguing,” Lars drawled. “We’re just messing around.”
And then Ryan remembered the pushing and jersey poking, and realized how that might look to an outsider.
“Jake,” he said in disbelief.
Jake relaxed and had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry. Had to be sure. Playoffs and all. Lots of emotions.”
Ryan was torn between anger and resentment. Did Jake think so little of him, know him so poorly?Not understand how much he cared about Lars? He couldn’t imagine the circumstances where he’d actually fight him, and even then he was sure he’d pull his punches. Why would Jake?—?
“Do I have to hold you back?” Lars whispered. He had a hand on the bottom of Ryan’s jersey and was holding him from drifting closer to Jake, who had already retreated to the Crabs’ side of the ice.
“What? No, I’m not going to fight anyone.” His heart was hammering in his chest; suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
“Good.” Lars let him go. “It’d be awkward to have to pick between you and my team in a fight.” His wry smile suggested it wouldn’t and he’d already made up his mind.
With a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest that almost made him feel drunk, he said, “Good luck tonight. I’m not going to lie, I’m going to do my best to make sure you guys lose, but…”
But I wish this was something we didn’t have to take away from each other. That we could win or lose and have it be completely separate from us.
“I know,” Lars said gently. His eyes flicked up to the scoreboard. They probably didn’t have much time left before warm-ups ended and they were officially enemies for the next few hours. “If it can’t be us, I hope it’s you.”
“Same,” Ryan said wholeheartedly. He knew how much it would cost them each to see the other move on. Anders. The Crabs. The trade. Another year, another chance, gone. He wanted so much to hug Lars or kiss him ordosomething. The horn blared above them. Time was up. “Promise it doesn’t matter,” he blurted out. “Whoever wins, it won’t change anything.”
Lars’s expression softened. “It doesn’t matter,” he agreed. He didn’t even hesitate, which meant more than his assurance. “I?—”
“Nilsson!” Coach Thompkin’s sharp call interrupted and they were forced to face reality. They were the last people on the ice and even the benches had mostly cleared out, with only Thompkins glaring at them and on the Otters’ side, Anders lingering at the entrance to the tunnel. Ryan didn’t dare look at the fans gathered around the rink, their eyes wide and their cameras honed in on them.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lars said breezily. He winked at Ryan before skating off. “I’m coming. What do you think he’s going to do, recruit me?”
