Page 50 of Man Advantage

But he’s not, Cam, so pull yourself together and don’t spend all this time pining.

I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t. But… I did indulge in a moment to adore his cute little gesture with the crayons.

Just a moment, though. Then it was back to figuring out what to do with all this time to myself.

I left the crayons on the shelf, dug a protein bar out of a box, and closed the cabinet. Then I wandered the house.

When Trev had first given me a tour, I’d been aware of a lot of the photos on the wall, but hadn’t looked closely at any besides the ones of his kids. Today, I paused by some of the framed photos I passed multiple times each day, and I actually looked at them. These were from Trev’s hockey career, starting with his first couple of seasons in the minors and all the way through to the present. There were shots of young Trev holding up a trophy after his college team won or biting a medal after some international competition. An old framed photo showed anadorably young Trev grinning down at the Winnipeg jersey he’d pulled on over his shirt and tie at the draft.

Across the top of the wall, a row of eight-by-tens documented his professional career in his annual team portrait. First as a baby-faced rookie playing for Winnipeg’s minor league affiliate, then after he was traded, playing for Pittsburgh’s farm team. In his third season, he’d been on the starting roster for the Pittsburgh Rebels, and every portrait after that showed him growing up in that jersey. His features had sharpened. His haircut had gotten shorter and neater. His scruff had darkened to something I’d have killed to trail my fingertips over. He also seemed to evolve from a starstruck kid to a slightly overwhelmed early-twenty-something to a more confident man who knew he belonged there.

Maybe I was just feeling a little maudlin today, especially after the crayons, but I almost got choked up as I gazed at the portraits. I hated that I’d missed so much. Watching him on TV and reading about him in sports articles just wasn’t the same. The absence of my best friend had weighed on me for a long time, and I resented Daniel for that more than I did a lot of his other bullshit. This visual of all the time Trev and I had lost—that was heartbreaking.

And what if I’d never caught Daniel cheating? What if we’d never split up? What we’d gotten married like we’d talked about, and I’d never found myself desperate for a solution to my living situation? What if Trev’s ex hadn’t given him an ultimatum at the same time my life had been in chaos?

I swallowed hard as I gazed at Trev’s portraits. We’d lost so damn much time, and it was only through dumb luck and asshole exes that we’d come crashing back into each other’s lives.

That thought lingered for a second, and I chuckled to myself. We both apparently had terrible taste in men, but hey, theyweren’t completely useless if they’d made my path cross with Trev’s again. Would it be petty to text Daniel and tell him that? Probably, yes, but it sure was tempting.

I laughed again in the silence of the hallway. No, I wouldn’t actually do it, only because I didn’t want to reestablish contact with him. A clean break was the best thing.

It was just super satisfying to imagine the look on his face.

I moved on from those portraits to the other images from Trev’s career. The shot of baby-faced Trev celebrating a goal with Anson Harper, a legendary player who’d retired after Trev’s first season with Pittsburgh. I could only imagine how much Trev’s inner fanboy had lost his mind over being in the same locker room with that guy, never mind being on the same ice with him.

In fact… ah. The framed puck beside the photo made sense. White tape had been wrapped around it, and someone had written in black Sharpie,Goal, Pit vs. Wash., Allen from Harper. So that veteran had assisted on one of Trev’s goals. God, I wished I could’ve been there to see him afterward. I could imagine him sitting at home afterward, clutching that puck like a gift handed to him by Santa Claus himself.

Beside that photo and puck was a larger image of Trev sporting a full playoff beard as he hoisted the Cup. The photographer had caught him mid-shout, and Trev was the very picture of joy and elation.

Beside that, there was a shot of Trev beside the cup, one baby in the crook of his arm, the other inside the Cup.

Wow. He’d been on top of the world that year. A new dad. Won the Cup. Still happily married. His dreams from the time when we were young had been to get married, have kids, and win a Cup as a pro hockey player. It was amazing to see him enjoying all three of those things at the same time.

I’d watched that win on TV. I’d celebrated as if I’d been there with him. My chest had been ready to explode from the sheer joyof watching him achieve one of his biggest dreams, and it had ached because I’d missed him so damn much.

I traced my fingertip along the edge of the picture frame. For years, I’d followed Trev’s career from a distance, watching games and highlights whenever I could be sure Daniel wouldn’t catch me.

It was weird to see them now while I was here. In Trev’s house. Back in his life.

I was glad to see that while part of his world had fallen apart, not all of it had. His marriage had imploded, yes, but he still had his boys. He still had his career. Though the divorce had been hell and his ex-husband still insisted on being a pain in the dick, Trev hadn’t lost everything.

And through it all, he was still the same sweet, amazing man he’d been when we were kids. More mature now, but still Trev. Still the friend I’d been missing all this time. Still the man I’d regretted drifting away from.

By a series of minor miracles, we were back in each other’s worlds.

And like hell was I ever losing him again.

The restless boredom did not, in fact, kill me, though I wondered a few times if it might. An hour in the gym helped. Food helped. Watching Trev’s game on TV helped.

But I was definitely not used to being alone without some panic to keep me occupied, and by the time I called it a night, I was both exhausted and wired. Tired from hours on end trying to chill, keyed up from all the thoughts that had been banging around in my skull all day.

And now that I was in bed, there was nothing to pull my focus.

Well… almost nothing.

Because spending a day alone, feeling untethered and occupying myself with photos of Trev and thoughts of him while I sat around in his house… had let me think about him. A lot.

Trev as a dad. Trev as a hockey player. Trev as the breath of fresh air he was after I’d wasted so much time with Daniel. Trev as the kid I’d experimented with who’d had the audacity to grow into a man who had no business being that goddamned gorgeous.

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