Page 74 of Scoring Position

The Fuel have a lot of decisions to make. Rees should be able to capitalize in the weeks before the trade deadline if he plays his cards right. He will also have his work cut out for him this summer as he wades through the roster’s free agents.

If nothing else, the Fuel may turn out to be more interesting in the off-season.

ON THEplane, Nico shoved his tablet into his bag, relieved that he had the excuse of the upcoming descent to escape the article. He knew better than to read articles about himself, but this latest piece showed up on his dash, and he’d given in to the impulse to click. Rees’s potential upcoming moves made him nervous. He knew what kind of shakeup a bottom-tier team could get.

He’d been surprised that the author’s take hadn’t been to unload Ryan as fast as possible to a desperate team at the trade deadline, but the suggestion that they flip Yorkie might hurt worse. Maybe because they used Nico as part of the logic.

The idea that Yorkie—heart-of-the-teamYorkie—would get traded because Nico was his younger, cheaper copy hurt.

Scowling, Nico shoved his hands in his pockets and did not pull out his phone. Reading the article on a different device wouldn’t change what it said.

There were some luxuries Nico would never get used to, that he could never justify. Paying extra for first class was not one of them. Being able to get off the plane the moment the doors opened was worth the price tag. Even more so when he was walking through baggage claim and heard a familiar whistle.

He shouldn’t turn around and encourage this behavior… but he’d been conditioned.

He didn’t get far enough, though. Before he’d managed to do more than look over his shoulder, a weight landed on his back. “Oof.” Nico instinctively let go of his suitcase to grab Ryan under his thighs. “Are you determined to make a scene?” But he didn’t let go, and he couldn’t make himself sound anything other than happy to see Ryan either.

“Gotta give the internet its thrills somehow.” Ryan pressed his cheek against Nico’s and squeezed around his shoulders. “Smile for the cameras.”

Nico sighed and looked around the airport. One or two people did indeed have phones pointed in their direction—their attention drawn by the whistle, no doubt—but he didn’t drop Ryan right away. Call it sentimentality. “You’re a menace. Are you finished ruining my back? If Coach scratches me again, everyone will say you threw my back out.”

“I think they already said that week before last.” But Ryan slid off of him.

Once again Nico decided to be grateful that he didn’t read the press. No wonder his dad had been leaving him cranky text messages. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought your flight was supposed to get in hours ago.”

“Snow delay.” Ryan grabbed his duffel from where he’d dropped it and slung it over his shoulder as they moved toward the exit. “Just landed.”

“Lucky timing, then.”

“Mm-hmm. So, how was Barbados?”

Nico refused to blush as he recalled Ella’s laughter the day she saw Ryan’s reaction to the volleyball post. “Hot. How was Whistler?”

Ryan grinned. “Cold. You gonna warm me up?”

God, he was predictable. Nico couldn’t help a smile as they made their way to the parking deck, all trade rumors forgotten. “I could be convinced.”

THE FIRSTgame after a long break always felt, to Ryan, like the first day back to school after winter holidays. You were excited to see everyone again but not exactly in the work mindset.

It shamed him to admit it, but he was guilty. For the first thirty-six hours he was back in Indianapolis, he was glued to Nico. They’d texted over the break, but that was it, and he’d gotten a look at what his life would be like when Nico wasn’t in it anymore.

He was already in too deep; he might as well enjoy the water before he drowned.

No surprise that they dropped their first decision to Columbus or that practice the first day back at home was a nightmare. Coach insisted on micromanaging the power play, even though special teams were Phil’s job.

“What crawled up his butt?” Chenner muttered as they stood on the sidelines, watching Nico’s power-play unit face off against Kitty’s PK.

Ryan butt-ended him as subtly as he could. “Watch your fucking mouth, kid. Christ.” Was he trying to get scratched again?

Coach blew his whistle. “Stop, stop. Kirschbaum, you’re out of position. Granger, switch spots with him. We want one-timers here, not limp wristers.”

Half the guys stopped. Probably half of the rest didn’t know what that even meant. Ryan’s blood started a slow, inexorable simmer.

Coach blew the whistle again. “Come on, let’s go, again!”

“Did he just—?” said Chenner.

“Just. Don’t right now,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. Suddenly he needed some space. He took a few strides away, halfway between the bench and where Phil was standing against the boards.

---