Page 51 of Two for Roughing

“Meeting. It was one, and she didn’t tell me there were trade talks going on either.” Kilian laughed darkly. “I should have guessed.”

Phil shook his head. “This isn’t how I want the team to be run. I became a coach so this shit wouldn’t happen. You should have had a say in this.”

Kilian shrugged. “Should have talked to Derek sooner, I guess.”

Thankfully, Phil didn’t press the issue on the drive to Kilian’s apartment. He also didn’t comment on the shitty elevator or the tricky lock or the dinginess of the apartment.

What would be the adult thing to do in this situation? Probably make sure the fridge was empty so nothing would spoil. Kilian opened the fridge. Nothing there but condiments. Mission accomplished. “You need any hot sauce?” he asked Phil.

“I’m good, thanks.”

That was the kitchen dealt with. In the bedroom, he pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. With two hours to go until his flight, he wouldn’t be checking any luggage, so he stuffed clothing in indiscriminately. A week’s worth of boxers and T-shirts should do it for now. He packed the dark blue suit and a few shirts. All of Kilian’s clean workout gear bore the Sea Lions logo, and he didn’t have space for sheets, so he shut the suitcase on top of the three charging cables he found under the bed.

He hoped the Firecrackers had a hotel room ready for him, and he hoped they would give him enough of their own team-branded clothes to hit the weight room. He’d been skipping too many workouts.

The thought of Firecrackers gear made him groan.

From the doorway, Phil made an inquisitive sound.

“I’m going to look so shit in the Firecrackers’ home jersey.” It was fire-engine red, not a great look with his darker hair and pale skin. At least the away jersey was black with red detailing. Ugh.

Phil laughed, the asshole.

With his bag packed and time ticking down, there was nothing keeping Kilian. He thought longingly of the bottom drawer of his dresser, the lace he still hadn’t tried on, but he couldn’t pull it out with Phil watching. Phil might know he was gay, but he didn’t need to know Kilian was that kind of gay.

On the ride to the airport, Kilian realized he’d forgotten to pack a sweatshirt for the flight, leaving him in nothing but his jacket covering the crop top. It rode up at the waist, and goosebumps proliferated on the sliver of exposed skin. He also hadn’t brought his water bottle, so he’d have to pay airport prices for more drinks if he wanted to stave off the hangover already building in his temples.

He checked the time on his phone. Close to two in the morning.

“Sorry I’m keeping you out so late.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Your husband must be waiting up.”

Phil laughed so hard he snorted. “Are you kidding? Ben will have passed the fuck out four hours ago. Charlie might be up playing Overwatch, and if he is, I’m gonna ground him.”

“Know what’s really easy to do when you’re grounded?”

“Hm?”

“Play more Overwatch.”

Phil cursed.

Kilian studied him from the passenger seat. He wore a checked shirt that wouldn’t look out of place on a restaurant manager, and he had a pen sticking out of the breast pocket. When Phil had played on the team, Kilian had thought he was the coolest of the alternates. Being ripped as hell made his questionable style choices look intentionally retro. Now that he knew Phil a little better, Kilian understood him not as a deliberate trendsetter but as a man moving into middle-aged dad status with relish.

Proving Kilian’s theory, Phil said, “Even if you’re in Chicago, I hope you know you can talk to any of us about…”

“About?”

“About, um. Sexuality stuff.”

“No offense, Phil, but when I pictured having a gay mentor in the league, I never pictured you.”

Phil breathed a sigh of relief. “Good call on your part, honestly. I don’t know shit; I just wanted to marry a guy, so I did.”

“Good for you.” Kilian ignored the pang he felt at how little angst the topic seemed to cause Phil. He’d give anything to be equally nonchalant. “Who would you talk to, if you were me?”