Page 16 of The Shots You Take

He closed his eyes and listened to Lucky breathe and to therain outside. He thought of Adam, then cursed himself for thinking of Adam. Fuck Adam.

Adam, who had seen the mess Riley had made of the shop. Who had offered to help fix it. Who had traveled to Nova Scotia to attend Dad’s funeral. Who wanted, for whatever reason, to be there for Riley. As if they could simply be friends again.

Riley was spiraling, and when he spiraled he made bad decisions. He wouldn’t make a bad decision. Not tonight. He would drag himself upstairs, go to bed, try to sleep, and forget about Adam Sheppard.

Chapter Seven

Adam had to admit to himself that he’d run out of logical reasons to stay in Avery River. Riley didn’t want him here, and Adam had probably done all he could to help. That had amounted to drying some dishes, delivering lunch, and fucking off when asked.

Still, he couldn’t make himself check out of the River Bend Motel.

Riley wasn’t going to text him. Of course he wasn’t. It was ridiculous for Adam to even think he still had his number saved, but he hadn’t been able to resist trying to find out. As if the fact that Riley still had Adam’s number in his contacts would mean something.

Adam had spotted the framed photo behind the counter at the shop, the one of Riley and him celebrating that huge goal. Adam had the same photo on display in his own house, back in Toronto, even though it hurt to look at. They’d been fucking magic together back then, on the ice. And off the ice…well.

Early in their second NHL season, they’d been praised by a hard-ass Northmen beat reporter for having “something special.” Adam had read the article aloud to Riley across their round IKEA kitchen table in the apartment they’d shared, andstill remembered the way Riley had tried to hide his pleased smile by stuffing a spoonful of Raisin Bran in his mouth. It had been thrilling, having someone else notice and announce that Adam Sheppard and Riley Tuck had a rare, magical connection. Adam had felt it every single day.

Kissing Riley for the first time had simultaneously been the most terrifying and easiest thing Adam had ever done. He’d been just drunk enough to not overthink kissing his male best friend, but not drunk enough to forget how fast his heart had raced, or how sweet Riley’s surprised gasp had been before he’d kissed Adam back. It had been about halfway through their third season in Toronto, and they’d both been twenty-one. Kids, really.

Later, when the orgasms were over and the alcohol had worn off, the overthinking had started. Adam had been so desperate to convince himself that it hadn’t meant anything—that it had just been sex, a spontaneous experiment—that he’d immediately begun to spout cliches. “We’ll pretend that never happened,” and “Man, how drunk were we, ha ha?”

Of course he hadn’t been able to pretend it hadn’t happened, and of course it had happened again. And again. Eventually he’d stopped pretending he didn’t want it, but he’d never admitted what Riley had really meant to him. He’d never allowed himself to acknowledge it, because there was no way he wasgay. NHL players weren’t gay.

Adam could blame the concussions he’d suffered during his hockey career for how slow he’d been to figure himself out, but the truth was he’d never been very smart about things that really mattered. And the other truth was that Adam the NHL playerwasgay and had always been gay. The truth was that he’d been in love with Riley, and probably still was.

The harshest truth was that he didn’t deserve to be.

Adam went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and endedup frowning at himself in the mirror for a full minute. “Don’t you dare tell him,” he instructed himself. “He needs a friend, not this mess.”

Adam could do that, he decided as he spit toothpaste into the chipped sink. He couldn’t undo the past, but he could be here now for Riley.

He got into bed and grabbed the book from his nightstand that he’d almost finished because he’d had plenty of time to read. He was two pages into the last chapter when a knock on his hotel room door startled him. It was late, almost eleven. “Who the hell?” Adam muttered as he left the bed.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Riley. It was raining again, and his hair was clinging to his temples and forehead. His eyes looked wild, and for a moment Adam worried he was about to get punched.

“Hi,” Adam said cautiously.

“Hey.”

“You, uh, want to come in?”

Riley stepped past Adam, his arm brushing Adam’s chest. He stopped in the middle of the room, then glanced around like he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there.

“You can sit,” Adam offered, gesturing to the metal desk chair with the cracked vinyl seat.

Riley didn’t sit. “Why are you here?”

“Well,” Adam said slowly, “this is my motel room.”

Riley’s jaw clenched, and he snorted, almost like a bull. “Fucking answer the question.”

“Okay. I’m here for you.”

His answer only seemed to infuriate Riley further. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need you.”

The words seemed to bounce off the thin walls for a moment, hopefully drowning out the shattering of Adam’s heart. He swallowed hard and waited. Riley’s head dropped, and hishands curled into fists at his side, then released, then curled again. Adam recognized this from years of living together: Riley was trying to calm himself.

“I get it,” Adam offered. “I shouldn’t have come.”

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