Page 56 of The Trade Deadline
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Their practice on Friday was absolutely brutal. Thompkins apparently saw two days of recovery between then and their next game and decided to torture his team. Ryan hadn’t done so many suicides since high school and he was gassed after five laps trying to keep up with Lars. Lars’s seemingly unending stores of speed and stamina only egged on Thompkins, who pushed the rest of them more and more until Lars took a hint and slowed down.
If Ryan had promised literally anyone else on the team to hang out after that practice, he would’ve taken a raincheck. Promise up and down to make it up to them next time. Instead, Ryan took a hot shower, some ibuprofen, and dragged himself to Rangoons without complaint. Because he was an idiot who liked Lars Nilsson more than his own body, apparently.
Lars was already at the bar with an order of crab rangoons, a margarita in front of him and a clear, fizzy drink at the empty seat next to him.
“This isn’t some vodka abomination, is it?” Ryan asked suspiciously as he sat down.
Lars looked insulted. “What? No. I know you only like ‘healthy’ drinks.” He did actual air quotes, his voice lilting deeper into his Swedish accent than usual as he said it. “It’s seltzer water with lemon. Fancy water.”
Probably not his first choice, but Ryan appreciated the thought. “Thanks. Though regular water’s fine too.”
“Americans,” Lars scoffed, nose wrinkled. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Good. Probably gained five pounds from all the food, but it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without overeating.”
“Americans,” Lars said again with fake disdain, then laughed when Ryan glared at him.
They slipped into conversation first about Ryan’s trip home, Lars wide-eyed and asking never-ending questions about what a real American Thanksgiving was like. He went through two margaritas in the process, licking the salty rim (Ryan did his best to ignore his tongue moving nimbly along the glass) and then downing it with long sips through the straw.
Then it was Ryan’s turn to demand a play-by-play of Lars’s adventure at pickup.He’d clearly enjoyed his incognito moments while everyone tried to figure out what was up with the new guy dangling around everyone.
“I didn’t shoot, though,” he promised. “I passed so much that my coaches as a kid would’ve been proud.”
“Bet you were a hero when they figured out who you were,” Ryan said and popped a rangoon in his mouth.
“Of course! I was in the locker room longer than I was on the ice, taking pictures and hanging out.” He sighed wistfully.
“What?” Ryan asked. “Looking forward to retirement when you can clean up in local beer leagues?”
“It’s not that. There was this couple there. They get to play together all the time.” Lars’s eyes were distant as he said it, like he was picturing the couple. “Hockey’s my favorite thing in the world. Seeing them…I guess I was thinking it must be nice to get to share that with someone you care about.”
The idea sat heavily between them, the earlier lightness dried up. It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about real things before. They were clearly good enough friends to talk about family and former-team drama instead of the superficial topics like reality shows and favorite flavor of protein shake. Relationships were a different beast entirely. They shouldn’t be, was the problem. If they were really friends, of course they could talk about this.
The trick was, Ryan didn’t know how to talk about it without his chest hurting. He dreaded finding out Lars’s ideal partner was someone he could never be…or someone that was just like him, because either way, itcouldn’tbe him. There was no reality where he and Lars Nilsson were anything but a one-night stand. One that maybe Lars had enjoyed at the time but ultimately forgot about.
And still, masochist that he apparently was, he didn’t change the subject.
“Would you want to date another hockey player?” Ryan blurted out, then worried he’d have to backtrack. Lars had never admitted to being into men, and Ryan worried he was implying something he shouldn’t be. How would he explain that he knew Lars liked men? Maybe he could sidestep it entirely.
But instead of deflecting or getting defensive, Lars looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Seems complicated. I…I’ve rarely even hooked up with other players.” His eyes darted to Ryan like he was watching for his reaction.
As nonchalantly as he could, Ryan said, “Same. A few times when I was younger, but only once since entering the NHL full time.”
Lars let out a breath through his nose. “Mind if I ask if it was a teammate or…?”
“Another AHL player, back when I had a two-way contract. From another team. We’d known each other in Montana, which made it easier, I guess.” Ryan stared at his glass and traced a line through the condensation on the outside. “Like you said, it’s complicated with other players. Probably more so if you’re on a team together.”
A pause. “I haven’t slept with another NHL player. The last time I was with another player, it was back in Juniors. An American or a Canadian, I think.”
Ryan tensed. “Yeah?” And then like an idiot, he asked, “Anyone I’d know?”
Lars shrugged and laughed. “No idea. It was after we won gold, and I was drunker than I’ve probably ever been. Well, no. Not as drunk as the first time I won the Cup. But the drunkest I’d been up until that moment of my life.”
“Oh,” Ryan said as neutrally as possible. He wasn’t sure what he expected or wanted Lars’s answer to be, and that should’ve been a satisfying one. Lars didn’t remember him because he probably didn’t remember much at all of that night. It wasn’t personal, just circumstances outside their control.
“He might not have made the NHL,” Lars said, more to himself than Ryan. “I feel like I would’ve noticed him at some point. Of course, I barely notice anyone on other teams, so really all I can say with certainty is he doesn’t play for the Prowlers.” A smile. “Or the Crabs, I suppose.”
