Page 19 of Changes on Ice

“Yeah. It’s your mother.”

“Sure, be a secretive bastard.” Axel thumped Cross’s chest with his elbow but quit trying to read his screen, so Cross would take the bruise.

Cross shrugged. “My algorithm’s on point today.” If that algorithm happened to be Rusty’s, well, Axel didn’t need to know that. He turned his shoulders so Axel couldn’t see the phone.

In the last couple of weeks, Cross had spent more and more time chatting with Rusty. At first, it was all coaching. He’d watch the Gryphons’ game on his streaming service, focusing on the shifts where Rusty was on the ice, and then send him some tips. Also some pats on the back, since it was pretty clear Coach Frasier behind the bench wasn’t the type to over-encourage his young players. Rusty deserved to know he was talented, better than the scores and stats showed. Cross wanted to make him feel good.

Then Rusty had sent,~Sick goal!!!With a link to a video of Cross’s wraparound game-winner against Quebec.

Cross had sent back a clip of a ridiculous goal Scott made after getting his own rebound not just twice but three times. That had turned into an exchange of hockey clips and funny TikToks. As the days went by, they’d moved out of hockey to Star Wars and Dune, parkour and bad music videos, stupid pet tricks and cool street art. Until now, Cross found himself waiting impatiently for the buzz in his pocket, and spending time searching out anything that might make Rusty laugh. Connecting with Rusty made him realize that even with his teammates around him, he’d been lonely for years. He had friends, but he’d never been anyone’s first choice to spend time with.

He and Rusty wouldn’t go farther than friends, obviously. Right now, Rusty wasn’t getting along with his teammates, but someone that smart and determined and fun to talk to would find his niche eventually. Cross would become the guy who mentored him, back when. But until then, Cross would let himself feel that unfamiliar warmth when his messages lit up with Rusty’s name. He’d enjoy having a friend who made him feel smart and funny back, like there was more to him than just hockey.

A new text arrived.~I almost punched out Reno’s captain last night for messing with our goalie but I got him to punch me instead and then chase me. Earned him a two minute unsportsmanlike and five minute fighting. We scored twice.

~That’s my agent provocateur. Good job.

~Learning to keep my temper is one thing ignoring the bullshit taught me.

~Valuable lesson.Although Cross wished Rusty wasn’t learning it by ignoring whispers of “cocksucker” and “bet you got on your knees for the ref” along the boards. Not that Rusty had snitched, but Cross knew the shit Scott dealt with, and waspretty sure Rusty heard the same. God, sometimes Cross wished he could drop down a couple of leagues, just for a week. He might not be enforcer-sized, but he would make a few of those ECHL punks regret their life choices.

Cross had to give Rusty credit though. He’d seen him on video working for the puck in the corners with an opponent clearly running off at the mouth, and Rusty more often than not would ignore the chirping, come out with the puck, and leave the asshole in the dust.~Playing smart.

~Hey did you hear? Dale got into all the colleges he applied to. He texted me. I feel bad because we haven’t been in touch. My fault.

~He texted me too.Cross was beyond glad that Dale seemed to be getting his focus back and looking forward to college. He wondered if the young goalie who’d shared that terrifying ride at gunpoint had been more successful than him at banishing the nightmares. Ridiculous that dreams still shook him, since the things he dreamed about were disasters that never happened, not the ones that did.

Like the night Rusty stayed over. Cross had woken from a dream where a man with a gun lurked behind the door to Rusty’s room, someone who wanted Rusty dead, and he’d had to get up in the end and make sure all was well. Then he’d been caught listening for Rusty’s breathing through the door, hoping he’d move or snore.Outing yourself as a weirdo.But seeing Rusty alive and well had let him go back to sleep. Eventually.

Rusty went on,~I kind of ghosted Dale last fall.

Cross focused back on his phone.~Not your fault.

~Yeah it is. He was best friends with Mike, and I didn’t want to hear from him.

~You needed distance. You were coping with a lot.

~I guess.

Cross scrambled for something to take Rusty’s mind off his lost brother.~I’ll be home tomorrow no practice. You’re in Eugene, right?

~Yeah. Morning practice. No game.

~There’s something I’ve wanted to show you about your grip on your backhand passing. You want to come up after practice? We could order pizza.He immediately worried if that was too much. Young guy, Saturday afternoon— Rusty probably had better things to do, like getting laid.

But the answer pinged back right away.~Sounds great. I could use the help.

~You’re doing good. Just a few tips.

~Fucked up in Salt Lake City.

~Your D-partner didn’t back you up the way he should.Cross was not a fan of the Gryphons’ Bryce Wilkins. He was lazy and sloppy, especially when passing under pressure, and he didn’t follow through on his checking. Let guys muscle him off the puck and left Rusty hanging. Cross blamed Wilkins for Rusty’s mediocre plus-minus. Rusty was way better than his numbers looked.

~And Wilkie’s ugly when he snores.A photo came through of Wilkins in a bus seat, head tipped back, mouth wide open, a little drool on his chin.~I should’ve drawn a dick on his face, tip aimed just right…

Cross chuckled, warmth suffusing him. He loved that Rusty didn’t shy away from being himself, despite everything.

Axel reached over Cross’s shoulder and snatched the phone out of his hand. “That wasnota meme laugh. That was agirlfriend is funnylaugh. Lemme see.”

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