Page 56 of The Shots You Take

“Have the boys been taking care of you?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, but—” Adam held a hand next to his mouth, shielding it from the view of the bar “—the beer here is terrible.”

Riley managed part of a smile. “I know. I think it’s half water.”

Adam lifted the glass and squinted at it. “Ihopeit’s water.”

Riley cracked open his Pepsi. “They’ve got bottled beer. I recommend that.”

“Good tip.” Adam pointed at the wall above their heads. “Look.”

Riley glanced at the jerseys. “Yep.”

“Sheppard and Tuck,” Adam said wistfully.

“Beauty and the Beast,” Riley said. It had been a popular joke about them.

Adam waved a hand. “Never agreed with that. As if you’re ugly.”

“I think it had more to do with our style of play,” Riley said, because Adam had been known for his incredible skating and his play making, where Riley had provided the brute strength, hitting hard, blocking shots, and keeping the crease clear. Though the nickname had probably also been inspired by Adam’s pretty eyes.

“Youwerea beast on the ice,” Adam agreed. “Fucking unreal. Never had a partner like you again. No one even close.”

Riley shifted in his worn wooden chair. “What about Thompson?” Adam had been paired with Kit Thompson for most of six seasons after Riley left Toronto.

“Nah. Tommy was solid, but we never had that thing, y’know? That magic.” Adam set his beer glass against the wall and put his elbows on the table. “When we played together—you and me—it was like I could read your mind on the ice. And you could read mine. Right?”

“I guess,” Riley said mildly, even though yes, it had always been exactly like that.

“Magic,” Adam repeated. “Fucking magic. I missed it every game after you left.”

Riley hadn’t managed to get his straw into the Pepsi can and was now bending it out of shape. “I think it was gone before I left.”

Adam’s brow furrowed. “What? No. We won the Cup together that last season.”

Riley held his gaze. “I remember.”

Now it was Adam’s turn to shift in his chair. Good. Riley wasn’t going to sit here and chat about the good times as if he hadn’t been falling apart for years leading up to that Cup win. Adam, of course, had been happily distracted by his new family, and probably never noticed that Riley had lost his love of hockey and had leaned into the violence of the game. Neither the team nor the fans had minded that, loving how hard he’d hit, and how brutally he’d fought. None of them knew that after games, and on nights off, he’d drink. Sometimes he’d feel daring enough to find a man to fuck, though he hadn’t really thrown himself into that until he’d been in Dallas, away from the microscope of the Toronto hockey world. More often than not, he’d just drink alone in his apartment, feeling very sorry for himself. It hadn’t felt magical at all, by the end.

“I loved winning that Cup with you,” Adam said quietly.

Riley wanted to choke him. “It was a really memorable fucking night.”

He enjoyed the way Adam’s cheeks darkened with shame. Then he remembered where they were, and that he really didn’t want to talk about any of this. He leaned back in his chair and said, “Whatever. It was years ago.”

“Riley—”

“It wasyears ago.” Riley said firmly. “Watch the game.”

Adam took a sip of beer, winced, then looked at the TV inthe corner over Riley’s shoulder. Riley turned to look too. It was still 2–0.

“I invited you here to cheer you up,” Adam said. “I’m not doing a great job, am I?”

“Nope. And I don’t think the Northmen are going to, either, by the looks of things.” Riley needed to keep the conversation focused on hockey.

“Could be nerves,” Adam said.

“Mm.”

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