Page 49 of Home Ice Advantage

Eric, in a heap on the floor, said, “I deserved that.”

Sully’s face, peering over the edge of the bed. “Never a dull moment with you, huh?”

By the time they had cleaned up and gotten back in bed, Sully was smiling, his eyes closed. “Thank you. For all of this. It’s probably the best Christmas I’ve had in a while.”

To cover his discomfort, Eric said, “Well, you’re welcome to come over and fuck me anytime.”

“I’ll keep that offer in mind, Eric,” Sully mumbled, and then he was asleep.

Eric lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time after that. Something had changed and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Didn’t even know if he knew how to describe it. Didn’t know if he even wanted to. Eventually, he fell asleep like that, listening to Sully shifting around in the bed, closer and closer to Eric’s body.

Chapter Nine

New Year’s Eve—January

It was funny, Ryan thought, as New Year’s Eve snuck up on them, how insanely quickly his life had changed. Turned completely upside down. This time last year he’d been at home, coaching peewee hockey with a wife who resented him for it, ignoring the fact that she resented him for it.

This year, he was on the bench for a matinee game in Las Vegas as the head coach of his childhood hockey team and the assistant coach standing next to him had just spent a few choice seconds whispering behind his hand all of the things he wanted to do to Ryan after the game.

Ryan had managed, pretty admirably, he thought, to keep a straight face.

“Eat some bad airport sushi before the game?” Petey asked.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t doing such a great job at that.

The coaching had been a pretty insane seesaw too. They’d had so many rough games where the team got blown out 6-1 or 5-0 or in one particularly memorable case, 10-1. Ryan had tried various ways to reset: intense practices that were not bag skates but about accountability, fun practices that engaged the brain, shuffling the lines repeatedly, rotating the unlucky thirteenth forward or seventh defenseman...pretty much everything that he could do except sitting down particular veterans on the bench and ripping them new assholes.

And then today, at a matinee game, the boys were decimating the Vegas Aces, who were consistently near the top of the Pacific Division. It was like a completely different team had shown up and Ryan felt the familiar pressure headache building up behind his eyes. The tantalizing glimpse of what hecouldhave once everything started clicking. The thing that would always be just out of reach until he could start shedding roster deadweight, the kids started coming into their own and the team finally learned consistency.

It wasn’t anything they could count on actually lasting. Not this season. Not when injuries made things unpredictable, not when the roster would inevitably regress, because that’s what he had to work with. But he would have to enjoy it while he could, on the afternoon before the new year. He could enjoy watching the team play disciplined, crisp hockey, not even letting the antics of Vegas’s resident rat, Leo Cohen, get to them. The game-winning goal was scored with Cohen in the penalty box, spitting mad.

After the game was over, Ryan faced the media with the usual questions. In the back of the room, he could see Petey and Eric watching him, Petey with sleepy eyes and Eric with sharper interest.

“Are you getting frustrated with Jesse Keen, Sully?”

He had to be careful with questions like these, the ones that were so pointed you knew that the reporter had a specific column in mind already and it was probably something likeCoach Sullivan Finally Loses Patience with Veteran Forward.

“I’m not getting frustrated, no,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “I would like to continue seeing a consistent effort from everyone on the team, and that includes Keener, but this will come with time.”

“Considering we are almost into the new year, do you think that we are maybe running out of time?”

Ryan shrugged. He rubbed his face as he considered the question, fingers dragging down his chin, and realized belatedly that he was echoing something that Eric had done to him the night before—gripped his chin and forced him to look. In the back of the room, Eric had that smirk on his face, like he’d realized exactly what Ryan was doing, too, and Ryan could feel the back of his neck turning red.

“Uh,” he said, trying to keep his composure. “To be blunt, this is a rebuilding year. Obviously, we would all like to make the playoffs, but we have to be realistic about what the team is and what state it is in right now. I’m happy with the performances we are getting from the younger players.”

The questions were cut off, thankfully, after a few more minutes, and Ryan excused himself. He stood in the hallway alone for a few seconds before the guys started coming out of the locker room and heading back to the bus. He took the time to wish them all a happy new year, to check in and see what their plans were, whether any of them had any issues with the accommodations. To Cook and Williams especially, he said, “I know we’re in Vegas tonight, but try not to go too crazy.”

Williams laughed and said, “Coach, I’m headed back to my hotel room to crash. If Caleb wants to worry about American drinking ages, that’s on him.”

“You said we were going to playCall of Duty,” Cook groused, “come on, old man, it was amatinee game,” and Ryan shook his head. The league was certainly a different place than it had been when he’d been coming up if the boys were spending more time in their hotel room playing video games than going out on the town.

It was late, but the coaches had agreed to go out for dinner together to celebrate the new year and the progress they’d made. Heidi hadn’t come on the trip with them, because her wife’s birthday was New Year’s Day and she’d asked to stay home. Ryan had let Petey make the reservations and it seemed like maybe he’d picked the spot solely based on the name, which was Peyote. He wouldn’t have put it past Petey, who had exactly that kind of sense of humor. The restaurant itself was bright and trendy and very pink. Eric took a picture of the table setup, rolling his eyes just a little. It was a feast of the seven fishes kind of meal, though, and the food was good, so Ryan didn’t complain.

Petey didn’t drink, but he toasted the two of them with his sparkling water. “To the two of you finally figuring shit out,” he said. “Sometimes felt like I needed to come to work in bomb squad gear just in case.”

“Laying it on a bit thick,” Eric drawled, knocking back his little champagne flute.

“Not at all. Sully, you can tell him he’s wrong.”

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