Page 46 of The Shots You Take

Riley glanced at it, still frowning. “Not sure who that would be.”

“You have a landline,” Adam said.

“Mostly for emergencies. Cell service isn’t always reliable out here and storms take the Wi-Fi out all the time. Not many people have the number.” The phone rang again. “Shit, I’ll bet it’s Darren.”

“Darren?”

Riley answered the phone. Adam deciphered that it was in fact someone named Darren calling, and that Riley had been ignoring his texts and calls. That was all he got before Riley made a “do you mind?” face at him and Adam left the kitchen.

It was pretty adorable that Riley still had a landline and that he’d filled his house with antiques. Back in the living room, Adam noticed a record player sitting on a small, sturdy cabinet. The shelf underneath held a small collection of vinyl records. Adam crouched and flipped through them, curious. Riley had always been a country fan mostly, and Adam could see that hadn’t changed. Dolly Parton, Patsy Cline, Linda Ronstadt, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Emmylou Harris. All of the sleeves were well-worn, probably all purchased in secondhandshops. Adam wondered if Riley listened to them very often, and what he did while the music played. His house was so tidy, maybe he cleaned while listening to old crackly records. Adam found himself charmed by the image.

Lucky sneaked up behind him and nosed his thigh, as if letting Adam know he’d been caught snooping.

“Sorry,” Adam said. “I was just curious.” He slid the Roger Miller LP he’d been inspecting back into the cabinet. “I don’t even know how to use a record player. My parents would never let me touch theirs when I was a kid.”

“It’s pretty easy,” Riley said from behind him.

Adam jumped to his feet, startled and embarrassed. “Is it? I wasn’t—”

Riley’s lips tilted up again. “You’ve discovered my dark secret: I own a few records.”

Adam laughed nervously. “Yeah. Shocking.” He wouldn’t tell him how thrilling each tiny piece of information about Riley’s current life was to learn. He was so different now, so impressive and attractive for completely new reasons, but at the same time Adam could see how this man had always been there, waiting inside the young, emotional, and somewhat chaotic hockey player Adam had known so well.

“Takes a while to heat up a lasagna,” Riley said, almost apologetically.

“It’s okay.” Adam gazed around the room, trying to find a new conversation topic. He landed on the television. “You gonna watch any of the games tonight?”

“What?” Riley said.

“The playoffs start tonight.”

Riley’s eyes went wide. “Shit. Right. I forgot.”

“Toronto doesn’t play until tomorrow night,” Adam said quickly.

“Yeah,” Riley said quietly. Adam watched the color drainfrom his face, hating that he’d even mentioned hockey. Of course Riley had probably planned to watch the playoffs with his dad.

He took a step toward Riley. “We could watch together, if you want.”

Riley let out a slow, uneven breath. “I’m not really in the mood for hockey. Or anything, really. I should try to go to bed early.”

Adam tried not to feel disappointed. “Right. Yeah. Good plan.”

“Um,” Riley said, “I’m going to go check on the, uh—” He turned and left abruptly, but not before Adam could hear the strain in his voice.

Adam looked at Lucky, who was staring at him with a vaguely accusatory expression.

“I don’t think I’m helping much, Lucky.”

Chapter Fourteen

Riley wasn’t surprised to hear Adam enter the kitchen, and he was too exhausted to attempt to pretend he wasn’t crying.

“Hey,” Adam said softly.

Riley sniffed and said nothing. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, and probably looked like a perfect reference image for misery. Dimly he registered Lucky resting his chin on his knee.

He heard a cupboard door open, then another, then two more. Then the tap running. A moment later Adam placed a glass of water next to his elbow.

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