Page 87 of The Shots You Take

“You okay?” Adam asked.

“I’m okay,” Riley assured him, because in that moment, he was. Maybe later he’d feel like crying again, but for now he was good.

He put away the last of the dishes, then he and Adam went to the living room, where Mom was tidying while Lucky supervised.

“Do you mind if I show Adam around the house a bit?” Riley asked.

“Of course I don’t mind. He’s always been welcome here.” She straightened a throw pillow on the sofa, and Riley was hit by the memory of making out with Adam on that same sofa, nearly eighteen years ago.

He glanced at Adam to see if he might be having similar thoughts, but Adam was inspecting a cluster of framed photos on the wall over the fireplace. One was of Adam handing Riley the Stanley Cup, both men looking young and jubilant and sweaty. They were both in profile, smiling at each other like nothing bad had ever happened to them, or ever would.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this photo before,” Adam said.

“Harv ordered prints of a whole pile of photos from that night. I can’t remember which photographer it was who took that one.”

“It’s a good one,” Adam said quietly.

Riley had always hated having to look at that photo when he visited his parents, but Dad had loved it, so he’d never said anything. He wasn’t sorry it was here now, though.

“We were so proud that night,” Mom said. “I mean, it was enough of a thrill for Harv that Toronto had finally won the Cup, but for his own son to be on the team. Well, it was really special.”

“It was,” Adam agreed. “I’m glad we were able to win it for him.”

A few minutes later, Riley led Adam up the creaky stairs to the second floor, and then into his childhood bedroom. It was still full of Riley’s old hockey trophies and medals, and a poster of the Stanley Cup was still tacked to the wall. His old twin bed with the blue-and-green quilt his grandmother had made was against the same wall it had always been against.

Adam had sucked Riley off for the first time on that bed. They’d had the house to themselves for a short window and had been making out when Adam had shocked him bytaking two of Riley’s fingers into his mouth and sucking them. Riley hadn’t dared to hope for more, but then Adam had released his fingers and said, “I want to blow you. I want to try.”

And he had. On his knees in Riley’s childhood bedroom while Riley sat on the bed. Objectively, it had probably been a terrible blow job, but Riley had only lasted about a minute anyway.

Adam sat on the edge of that bed now, legs spread, and Riley had to look away.

“Looks the same,” Adam said.

“I don’t spend much time here.”

“I have good memories of this room.”

Riley wondered if he was talking about the blow job—or the other furtive sexual experiences they’d enjoyed in here—or if he meant the more innocent nights when they’d talked and laughed in the dark, Riley on his bed and Adam on an air mattress on the floor. Riley had always offered to take the floor, but Adam always refused. What Riley had really wanted to offer was to share the bed, even though it would have been uncomfortably small.

“Me too,” Riley said, which made Adam smile. Which made the eye creases appear. Which made Riley’s heart bounce. He sat beside Adam, and the ancient bed creaked ominously. “I loved those summers.”

“They were the best. Does your family still have the boat?”

“I bought Dad a newer one a few years ago. I guess maybe it’s mine now.”

“Maybe next time I’m here you can take me for a spin,” Adam said as he bumped his shoulder against Riley’s.

Riley smiled, picturing it. “Maybe I will.”

* * *

That afternoon, Riley showed Adam his greenhouse.

“This is amazing! You grew all this? From seeds?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“What’s this one?” Adam leaned down and sniffed one of the larger herb plants that Riley had managed to keep alive through the winter.

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