Page 47 of The Call-Up
The ref grabs it from him, and everyone takes their places around the face-off dot to the left of Ivanov’s net. He’s the first person I look at, mostly because I do not envy his job right now. Out of everyone on the ice at the moment, he’s the one who most needs to lock in. Everyone else in a Mules jersey at the moment is here to support him. To keep the puck and the pressure as far away from him as possible.
Right now, he looks locked in, focused and confident.
I let out a breath and focus on Ryan. He’s crouched and ready, and wearing a goddamn smirk like he knows he’s about to strip Winnipeg of any hope they have of gaining possession of this puck and tying this game.
When the ref drops the puck, Ryan is lightning-quick with his hands on his stick. Winnipeg’s center didn’t stand a chance. He doesn’t even see where Ryan sent it. But I do.
The puck slides directly to Reinhold. He passes it to Roysy, who skates it to the neutral zone as Ryan catches up with him. All six of Winnipeg’s players are chasing them. But there’s no use. Ryan has a clear shot on a completely empty net.
This first game of the playoffs is ours.
TWENTY
Ryan
It’s weird. Before Brandon, I didn’t have sex often, and when I did it was always a one-off with someone who would never in a million years know who I really was. Most of my hookups have all been told the lie that I work construction. It’s an excellent lie as it’s completely uninteresting. No one wants to talk about what it’s like to place drywall for a living post quickie. It also works as a plausible explanation for my abs.
But with Brandon, this is definitely not a quickie. At least that’s not what it is for me, and I hope to all the gay gods of Greece and Rome that’s not all it is for him.
I don’t think it is. He’s been quite the eager and willing participant. And tonight he was the one to text me and ask me to come get him.
Truthfully, though, when his text came through, I was already on my phone debating texting him. It’s getting harder and harder to come home to my empty apartment. And when I’m not playing hockey or wrapped in the sheets with Brandon, it’s getting equally as hard for me to block out all the old intrusive thoughts I have around my family.
So yeah, Brandon’s text was timed perfectly. It’s nice to want someone. Even nicer to be wanted back by them. And it’s not just Brandon. It’s everything that comes with him. His whole family wants me around. They always have, but I was too stupid to embrace it years ago when I had the chance.
But also, had I kept in touch with them, where would Brandon and I be now? Would what is happening between us still be in the cards? Or would he have arrived to join the Mules already tired of me and ready to throw me away like everyone else in my life?
I shake that thought off. Brandon and his family aren’t like that. They’re good, wholesome people with values. They’re grounded, humble, and always willing to lend a helping hand. At times, I wish Brandon could see that better. He’s surrounded by so much love and support and yet he still thinks he has something to prove.
Funny. That’s something we both have in common. I’m desperate to know I’m worthy of love, and he’s trying to prove that he’s worthy of opportunity despite the name attached to him. But slowly, I see him getting it. I see his confidence on the ice changing. He doesn’t want to hear it, but he’s why the Mules have gotten where we are. The last piece of the carriage we needed to fully become a wagon.
By the time I pull into Danton’s neighborhood, I’m feeling even more settled than I did after reading Brandon’s text asking me to come get him. But I’m also feeling quite excited. I have that warm flutter of anticipation in my chest. Turning off my headlights, I park in front of his neighbor’s house. And now I wait, with my eyes focused on my review mirror for signs of Brandon like a horny getaway driver.
Brandon
Look. I’m not alone here. Since we hooked up two weeks ago, neither of us can seem to get enough. Hence why I’m sneaking out of the Foleys’ house at ten p.m. while everyone else is asleep.
It’s easy enough to do. The basement being a walkout to theirbackyard makes for a quick escape. The trick is closing the door behind me quietly so as not to alert Moxy, followed by maintaining contact with the brick to avoid triggering the motion light.
Once I make it around the corner, the next step is to crouch so that I make it up the slope to the front of the house without casting my silhouette through any of the many windows. With all six Foleys in the house—seven if I include Moxy—the last thing I want is to catch the attention of roving eyes avoiding their bedtime.
When I make it to the front of the house, I’m in the clear and I can sprint to Ryan’s car which is parked in front of the neighbor’s yard. He pushes the passenger side door open for me and I slide in.
“Took you long enough,” he says with a wide grin on his face.
I close the car door and put on my seatbelt. “I’d like to see you try it.”
“I have tried it,” he says. “I lived here, too, remember?”
“Yeah, like two kids ago. Things were different.”
“Not so different that the front door wasn’t an option.”
I flip him off. “Shut up and drive, would you?”
“Why? Are you in a hurry?”
“You know I am!” I exclaim then sigh in exasperation. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
