Page 45 of Changes on Ice
Well, fuck.
Cross typed out three answers, then gave up and hit the call button.
Rusty picked up. “Yeah?”
“I want you around. I always want you around. It’s just… soon. And Marie’s nosy and always in my business. I mean, I love her but yeah, she’s nosy.”
“I’m not trying to push you to tell her. I haven’t told anyone. Well, Kris maybe kind of suspects. She knows I was crushing on you last summer.”
“You were? There were a lot of hotter guys around.” Axel at least. Goldie was married but Zykov had muscles for days and flexibility too, and that dark, intense smolder thing when he wasn’t pranking people.
“No, there really weren’t.”
Cross couldn’t deny the little flutter in his chest. “Well, I do want you to meet Marie. My folks mean well, but Marie’s the one who was always on my side. I think she’d like you but… I just… If she knows we’re together, she’s going to ask questions I don’t have the answers for.”
“It’s okay. I have practice in the morning. I couldn’t stay late anyway. You should see her while she’s in town. We’ll have lots of time.”
“Yeah. Summer’s coming up, right? Sucks that you guys are out of the playoffs, but it means just four more days and your time will be your own.”
“I guess that’s a bright side.” Cross could hear that Rusty was still bummed about it, naturally, but then his voice brightened. “Hey, can you get me tickets to the playoff games? There has to be some advantage to a wealthy NHLer boyfriend.”
“I can get you tickets. Hell, I could fly you to the away games in a private plane.” Probably, if someone didn’t need the plane for more important family business, but it sounded good.
Rusty laughed. “That would pretty much kill our chances of staying under the radar. But I won’t say no to home games.”
“Absolutely. It’ll be cool to have you up there cheering for me. For us.”
“You. Well, also the team because go Rafters!”
“Right? Thank you.”
“I can’t wait to see you tonight.” Rusty took a breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be napping?”
A laugh bubbled up inside Cross’s chest and burst free. He chortled and coughed over Rusty’s, “Wait. What did I say?”
I have a sister and a boyfriend and I’m not as alone as I thought I was.“Nothing. You’re right. I’m heading to bed for a couple of hours.”
“Fucking right. Play great and I’ll see you afterward.”
“I’ll give security your name. I hope you enjoy the game.”
“Absolutely. Unless you have a gazillion turnovers and then I’ll giveyoutechnique advice.”
“You wish.” Cross couldn’t suppress the smile on his face, didn’t want to. “See you tonight.”
“Yeah, later.”
He headed to his room and went through his pre-game nap routine. Low-key anxiety he couldn’t shake, imagining Marie and Rusty chatting about him, kept him tossing and turning a long time, but eventually he drifted off.
He woke gasping, his throat raw, and fell off the side of the bed.
Fuck.Blinking hard, he focused on the familiar pattern of his quilt. Blue and brown and burnt orange patchwork. Not a tinted-window SUV. Not a shadowy figure with a gun. This time, it hadn’t been Scott with the barrel of the weapon held to his head, but Rusty. The kidnapper had retreated step by step down a long hallway, pulling Rusty with him, while Cross begged and pleaded and offered everything he owned…Fuck.
He got up, went into the en-suite bathroom, and splashed water on his face. He should be done with those nightmares. Then again, it’d taken something like seven years to stop having an anxiety dream about the draft— standing onstage sweating in the pool of an overhead spotlight while team after team picked someone else first, until he was the last one left unchosen. He hadn’t had that in a couple of years now, so perhaps he was in for a decade of waiting for the guns-and-SUVs version to fade.
No big deal. He didn’t have PTSD or anything. He rode in a similar SUV every day. They were just stupid nightmares. But the agony of watching Rusty hauled away from him while he could do nothing to help lingered in his chest.I’m going to be braver about this, about us. Whatever it takes to keep him.
Heading to the game in his favorite blue Cesare Attolini suit, freshly shaved and wearing cologne, he had to laugh at himself. Odds were, Rusty wouldn’t see him until he was all sweaty in his underlayers after the game. But still, maybe Rusty would hang out by the players’ entrance with the fans. Even for a one percent chance, Cross wanted to look good.
