Page 118 of The Shots You Take

Chapter Thirty-One

Riley had braced himself for total emotional and mental collapse after Adam left, but he found, as each day passed, that he was doing…okay.

It had now been five days, and Riley had stayed busy for all of them. He’d gone to work, he’d visited Mom, he’d taken Lucky for runs on the beach, and he’d worked on his garden. Yesterday he’d talked to his therapist, and although he’d spent a good chunk of the hour crying about his dad, it had been helpful. He’d booked another appointment at the end of the session.

He’d also been sleeping reasonably well and eating when he was supposed to. He’d been texting his friends and Lindsay, and was trying to run more errands around town, just to talk to people.

And he talked to Adam. They texted, mostly, though there had been a couple of short phone calls. Just casual stuff: about hockey, about Adam’s kids, about Lucky, about the shop. Sometimes Adam would send him a blurry photo of something. Adam was doing exactly what Riley needed: he was giving him space, while also staying in touch, and Riley appreciated that more than he could say. He missed Adam like crazy, but being able to talk to him again, knowing they werefriends, felt wonderful. Being apart hurt, but not as much as the agony he’d carried before, when he’d cut Adam out of his life. He wouldn’t do that again.

Now Riley was on his couch, watching the Northmen game. They’d managed to win another game, and now the series was tied at two wins each. Game five was back in Toronto.

As he watched the opening minutes of the game, he found himself transported back in time, remembering the rush of the playoffs. When every second of every game mattered so fucking much. Riley had loved the playoffs; he’d been able to let his emotions off the leash becauseeveryone’semotions were cranked up to a million. Losses were devastating, clean body checks invoked blood vengeance, bad calls by the refs made everyone see red, and wins made grown men scream with triumph and sob with relief. Playoffs were the only times he’d felt normal.

Suddenly, the broadcast was showing the team’s private box, and there was Adam, flanked by two other former Northmen. Riley’s heart stopped as he watched Adam wave and smile at the crowd. He must be on the big screen at the arena.

“And you can hear the love from the fans for Adam Sheppard, who’s in the building tonight after being absent for games one and two,” said Charlie Pullman, a longtime Northmen play-by-play announcer, on the broadcast.

“I was talking to Shep before the game,” said the commentator, Grant Rollins, “and he told me he was in Nova Scotia for the funeral of Riley Tuck’s father.”

“Riley Tuck,” said Pullman with a laugh. “I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“Jesus Christ, Charlie,” Riley said, which made Lucky briefly raise his head at the other end of the couch.

“Nope. Not someone I’d thought about either,” said Rollins.“But condolences to him and his family, and I hope he’s doing well. Nice to hear that Shep still keeps in touch with him.”

“Well, that’s just the kind of guy Shep is, right, Grant? He was known for helping his teammates, and even when—well, we know Tuck had his difficulties, but Shep would be there for guys like that. He was a hell of a captain, and that’s why he’s getting this ovation right now. I don’t think there’s ever been a hockey player more beloved in this town than Adam Sheppard.”

“No sir. And that is saying something.”

Pullman laughed. “It sure is.”

Great. So now the nation had been reminded of Riley’s existence, and his “difficulties,” via an on-air appeal for the sainthood of Adam Sheppard.

It seemed suddenly impossible that Adam had been here, in Riley’s house, only a few days ago. Riley couldn’t connect the smiling god being worshipped by thousands on his TV screen with the man who’d been giddy about spotting a deer in Riley’s yard. The man who’d released some of that deer-fueled adrenaline by blowing Riley on this very couch.

The man who Riley was definitely in love with, possibly in a vague relationship with, and who absolutely wasn’t here right now. In that moment, Adam felt very far from Riley, in every sense of the word. Becausethiswas Adam’s life: luxury boxes and standing ovations and hockey broadcasters gushing about his greatness. He likely lived in a house that people around here would call a mansion. He was adad. He wasimportant. Riley’s life had once been glamorous, but now it was just a life. Did he really expect Adam to live here, even part of the time? Adam was meant for better things than a sporting goods store, minor hockey banquets, and dinners with Darren and Tom. He was meant for better things than Riley.

His phone lit up with an incoming text.

Adam: Did you eat dinner?

Riley stared at the message. Had Adam really sent thatnow? While he’d been receiving that standing ovation, had he actually been worried about Riley not eating?

Riley wrote back:yes.

Adam: I miss you.

Riley smiled, and wrote:Are you not being adored enough at the Northmen game?

Adam: I’d rather be watching the game on your couch.

It couldn’t be good for Riley’s heart, the way Adam kept making it bounce wildly against his ribs. Riley wrote back:I’d probably fall asleep on you.

Adam replied:I know, punctuated with a smiley face emoji.

The broadcast briefly cut back to a shot of Adam, and Riley couldsee himsmiling softly at his phone.

God, Riley’s heart was going to burst out of his chest.

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