Page 85 of The Best Parts of Him
“Are there any other players here yet?”
“Some. Classes don’t start for another week, so they’re still trickling in. In fact, here are a few now,” Ryland said, spotting a trio of juniors entering the building, gym bags over their shoulders. “Let me introduce you.”
If there was ever a time to test out his manager-of-player-aesthetics muscles, this was it.
Dabbs stood just inside the Glen Hill College athletics facility’s main entrance and watched Ryland laugh with four of his players.
Ryland didn’t know it, likely couldn’t see it, but he looked at ease and confident. Like someone these kids could look up to. Someone they could come to with problems or if they needed advice. The role of manager of player aesthetics was a new one the Mountaineers had created, and Ryland had recently told Dabbs that he was determined to put his stamp on it and make it his own.
When Ryland had retired from hockey, Dabbs had worried that he’d be bitter and resentful about it. Who wouldn’t be when an injury forced them out?
But Ryland had seemed at peace with the decision from the moment he’d made it.
Three years ago, he’d had surgery on his shoulder during the off-season, and although he’d been injury-free for the following two seasons, the third had proved too much. He’d dislocated his shoulder again shortly before Christmas—which the doctor had warned him could happen despite the surgery, seeing as he played a high-contact sport—and his shoulder had plagued him right until the end of the conference finals.
“I’m already going to be living with shoulder issues for the rest of my life,” he’d said back in February. “And they’ll only get worse if I keep playing. I’ll finish out the season, but then I’m done. I’m not sacrificing any more of my body for the game.”
It was a smart decision. A mature one. He wouldn’t have been the first player to sacrifice too much for the game, but the fact that he’d chosen himself over hockey?
Dabbs had been so fucking proud of him.
And when Glen Hill College—a Division I college in Glen Hill, Vermont, less than an hour from Burlington—had come calling shortly before the season had ended?
It had been fortuitous.
Ryland not only had a job lined up after he’d retired, but he got to come home.
The place the two of them had bought in a quiet neighborhood in Burlington was a two-story, four-bedroom, Cape Cod-style house with a massive yard for their three dogs—Castle, Cosmo, and Chance, the Samoyed they’d recently rescued from a nearby shelter. The house’s white siding needed a coat of paint, and the kitchen had needed a renovation a decade ago—it was straight out of the 1990s with its beige linoleum flooring, white countertops, and yellow-painted cabinets.
But their shoes sat next to each other on the mat in the foyer and their clothes shared the same closet space and they’d chosen their everyday china together.
And there was always an ongoing Scrabble game on the coffee table in the living room.
Though Ryland wasn’t any better now than he’d been four years ago.
“Van Asten’s in the same major as you,” Ryland said to one of the players. “You can tell him which professors to avoid.”
“Oh my god, yes please,” said a shaggy-haired guy with a gap between his front teeth.
Together, all four players trooped down the hallway, which was when Ryland finally spotted him. He broke into a smile that was as bright as the wedding ring on his finger, and Dabbs’ heart did a long, slow roll in his chest.
“Hey!” Ryland jogged over, checking his watch as he did so. “I thought I was supposed to pick you up at the airport.”
“My four-hour layover in Denver turned into forty-five minutes,” Dabbs said as Ryland crashed into him. He stuck his face in Ryland’s neck and inhaled his scent. “There was an earlier flight to Burlington with available seats, so they put me on it.”
Ryland gave him a hard, fast kiss. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come to get you.”
“I didn’t want to take you away from work.” Pulling him forward by the T-shirt, Dabbs planted a second kiss on him. “You look good here, by the way. Authoritative yet approachable.”
“Do I? Because I’m flying by the seat of my pants.”
“I doubt that. You fit here.”
“Eh. I’m still finding my footing. Can you stay for a bit? Take a walk with me?”
“I came straight here from the airport. If you think I’m heading home before I get a chance to stretch my legs . . . ”
“Aw.” Ryland leaned into his space and tucked his hands into the back pockets of Dabbs’ jeans. “You missed me so much that you came straight here to see me instead of going home?”
