Page 12 of Overtime Goal
My chest tightened. We hadn’t shared a bed since California, and I considered refusing. Then his trembling lips caught my eye.
“Of course.” I tapped his hip through the comforter. “Slide over.”
I got in beside him, and after watching me for a moment, he closed his eyes. This wasn’t about sex; it was about safety and trust. Riley wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need me, and I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t care.
“Sure you’re all right?” I asked, rubbing his arm.
His head rustled the pillow as he nodded. “Now I am.”
“Take it easy, then. I’m right here.”
He let out a tight, pitiful sound. “Dad was beating me with his belt. He’d come home drunk, and Mom told him my English teacher sent a note saying my grades had dropped.”
As tears filled my eyes, my stomach balled into a hard knot. Riles had told me a little about his nightmares before, how they were tied to his abusive past. His parents should have gone to jail.
“He can’t hurt you now.” I patted his arm. “I know the dreams are terrible, but that one’s over. You made it through.”
“It wasn’t all my fault, Logan. The team had been on several road trips, and we all missed a lot of classes. I wasn’t the only one struggling. Sure, I fucked around some, but?—”
“I don’t care if you never cracked a book and told your teacher to go to hell, there was no excuse for beating you like that. If your dad was really concerned, he could’ve grounded you and insisted you study.”
“Yeah. He…” Riles’s voice broke, and it was a moment before he went on. “He didn’t really care about my grades, and neither did Mom. It was the same as always. He was pissed off about something else and took it out on me.”
“I’m sorry, Riles.” I laid a hand on his chest, trying to help him relax. “Focus on your breathing and try to let it go. They’ll never hurt you again.”
He put his hand over mine. “Thanks for being so good to me.”
“I’ll always be here for you.”
We didn’t say anything else. After a few minutes, his breathing evened out, but it took me longer to settle. The nightmare he’d shared was a weight on my heart. He’d borne the pain alone for years, which made it even worse. I didn’t know how to help him, but I had to find a way.
Jesus, my feelings for him were too big to control, and I was sure he liked me too. But could he ever care about me the way I did for him?
I remembered something my college coach used to say: “Nothing is as simple, or as complicated, as it seems.”
Riles and I were best friends, and we had to talk about what had happened in California. We couldn’t put it off because we needed each other too much.
He was quiet when we got up, but at least he looked rested. I made coffee, and while we made travel mugs to drink on our way to the practice facility, he teased me about my tragic distaste for cream.
We pulled into the parking lot at the same time, even though we’d driven separately. Since we were early, we had breakfast before changing into our practice gear. Coach Criswell kept things light because he wanted us to save our legs for the game against the Montreal Lynx. After a quick video session, we ran a few drills but skipped the usual systems work.
Riley headed home afterward, and I went back to my house. I wasn’t sure what to think about the night we’d had, especially the part where I crawled into bed with him. Although I’d promised myself to talk about LA, the idea of sitting across from him and bringing it up made my stomach hurt. I didn’t want to ruin what we had, but the situation was tricky. We’d lose each other if we said the wrong things and got into a fight, and we’d grow apart if we kept ignoring the gigantic elephant in the room.
After eating my usual pregame meal of chicken and pasta, I stretched out on the sectional and tried to sleep. It was impossible because I kept trying to think of a good way to start the conversation with Riles. Maybe we could talk on the coming road trip.
At the arena, I followed my pregame routine. The locker room was always lively before games, and Holky was usually the chief comedian and shit-stirrer. But he only had eyes for Dog, so Riley stepped into the chaos role. He nailed it, and everyone was in a good mood when we headed down the tunnel to the ice.
The Montreal Lynx were tough, so we needed to focus. Their years in the league’s basement had given them a hunger that could be hard to deal with. They played hard and took no prisoners.
Halfway through the second period, Riley was zooming around like he’d been shot out of a cannon. This was good because the rest of us were wearing down, and we were up against the Lynx’s first line. Led by their star center, Fox Painter, they didn’t give us a bit of breathing room.
Riley won a board battle against Adams, a Lynx defenseman, and charged toward the Lynx’s goal. He would’ve scored if not for a last-second check from Adams, who had tailed him down the ice. A minute later, Riles returned the favor, hammering into Adams and knocking him off course.
Without slowing down, he cut across the neutral zone, picked up the puck on a drop pass from Abdulov, or Abby, and accelerated through center ice. The Lynx were set up behind the blue line, but Riley deked right, then shoved the puck left and powered through. He jinked around Adams like he wasn’t even there.
Adams’s D-partner came in from a weird angle and drove his shoulder into Riley’s chest. Riley flew backward and landed hard, skidding across the ice until he eventually came to a stop against the boards. After a few seconds, he rolled onto his stomach and then didn’t move.
The linesman blew his whistle, and I was shocked into inertia. Riles stayed down too long, and just as I finally got my legs into motion, he pushed up onto his knees. His mouthguardhung from his lips, and when he got on his feet, he nearly went down again.
