Page 14 of The Shots You Take

Later, when he was dusting shelves, he told Lucky, “I know he seems nice. He’s perfect, right? AdamfuckingSheppard.”

Later still, when he was picking at a ham and cheese sandwich, he said, “You don’t know what it feels like, to have your heart stomped onrepeatedly. It took me years to get over him, okay? So it doesn’t matter how helpful he wants to be or how good he fucking looks.” He sighed and tossed Lucky a piece of ham. Adam really looked good. His gray-flecked hair and stubble, his fancy millionaire coat, and those fucking eyes. “He’s bad for me. I needed to be an asshole to him. It’s for the best.”

Much later, when the sun had set and Riley had gotten most of the mess off the middle of the floor at least, he said to a sleeping Lucky, “Why is he staying? It doesn’t make sense.”

Riley was behind the counter, his ass resting against the top of it, staring at the framed photos on the wall. There were a few of Riley from his years with the Northmen, and one from his brief stint with Dallas. There was one of Riley and Adam hugging after a goal Adam had scored, Adam smiling and Riley yelling in his ear, arms wrapped around him tight. They’d been playing together for five seasons when that photo was taken, and they’d been fucking for two of them.

There was a photo of Dad wearing an Avery River minor hockey jacket and smiling. Riley stared at it until his eyes burned. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confessed to the photo. “I can’t be you. I wish I could be.”

He knew what Dad would say: “You just need to be Riley Tuck.” Riley wasn’t sure that was true, though. This town needed Harvey, and Riley was a poor substitute.

His gaze traveled back to the photo of the goal celebration. God, they’d been so young. Like different people. Riley had been so hopelessly in love with Adam, he’d have done anything for him. And he’d been stupid enough to think Adam had felt the same way.

He sighed, then pushed off the counter. He wasn’t going to be calling or texting Adam, that was for damn sure. Adam could stay at the River Bend Motel for as long as he fucking wanted, sleeping on a lumpy mattress and thin, scratchy sheets. Riley had heard from plenty of people how uncomfortable those beds were.

It was probably hell on Adam’s shoulder.

Whatever. Fuck him. Riley had things to do, unlikesomerecently retired superstars. Like right now he was going to go check on his mom, then hopefully get a halfway decent night’s sleep, then get back to cleaning up his mess at the shop tomorrow.

“Come on,” he said, gently nudging Lucky awake. Lucky grumbled as he lifted his head, probably irritated by having to do something that wasn’t sleeping or eating—the two things Riley himself had been unable to do for days.

“Sorry your life is so hard,” he said.

Lucky woofed quietly in agreement, then followed him out of the shop.

* * *

After leaving the shop, Riley went to his parents’ house and found a living room full of people staring expectantly at him.

“What?” he asked.

Mom, her sister Ruth, Lindsay, Josh, and even the two kids all had more or less the same expression on their faces. That expression said,So how did it go?

“What?”Riley said again.

“So,” Mom said, “how did it go?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, Riley,” Lindsay sighed. “Were you rude to him?”

Riley curled his fingers until his nails bit into his palms. “I wasn’t rude to him,” he lied. If Adam was going to show up in Riley’s town twelve years too late, at a time when Riley was already an emotional wreck, he could fucking expect some rudeness. “He didn’t stay long. Whatever. Thanks for the lunch, though.”

Lindsay gave him a questioning look, then changed the subject. “Josh is going to take the kids back home tomorrow. I’m going to stay a bit longer.”

“How will you get back to Halifax?”

“I’m, uh.” Lindsay glanced at Mom, who nodded, then said, “I’m going to take Dad’s truck. We were talking about maybe selling it, and I know someone in Halifax who’s interested.”

“Oh,” Riley said. He felt like he was falling backward into a pit.

“I’ve never liked driving that big old thing,” Mom said. “May as well let someone else make use of it.”

“Right. Yeah. Makes sense,” Riley said tightly, then he turned and escaped to the kitchen. When he got there, he placed his hands on either side of the sink and stared out the dark window, hoping he wasn’t about to throw up. He watched a raindrop trail its way down the glass, joining a blob of water that had pooled in one corner. He watched more drops do the same, and he breathed. Even though he’d seen the tiny box that held Dad’s ashes go into the ground, the idea that the man would never drive his beloved truck again seemed impossible. That Dad would never pull into Riley’s driveway, ready to help with whatever home improvement project Riley was working on. That he’d never show up at the rink again with a tray of coffees and a big smile. That he’d never pull a silly little float in Avery River’s Canada Day parade again.

“Hits you like a ton of bricks, doesn’t it,” Mom said from behind him.

Riley turned and saw his mom standing in the middle of the kitchen with open arms. He went to her and hugged her tight. “He loved that truck,” he said.

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