Page 36 of Finders Keepers
“Have I? I didn’t beat the shit out of him like I said I would.”
“Hey!” a new voice yelled.
A moment later, arms circled one of Nate’s shoulders and his other arm, pulling him away from Tommy. He struggled for form’s sake but didn’t really fight it. He’d crossed a line, and he knew it, but fucking homophobic trolls like Tommy needed to know that shit was not okay, not anymore, and certainly not in any locker room Nate stood in.
“That’s enough. Get back to your stall or go shower.”
Nate shrugged himself free and stalked to the showers, shoving off his shorts and briefs as he went, kicking them in the direction of a shower stall. He cranked on the water and let the heat and the pressure wash away the surface anger. He hung his head and sighed. Losing his cool was definitely going to come back and bite him. He’d have to apologize and then live with whatever disciplinary actions the team wanted to mete out.
Eventually, someone called out the all clear and he grabbed a towel before going into the changing room to get dressed. There was one other guy in there, young forward from Europe. Dark hair, big dark eyes. The kid just nodded and then disappeared.
Well, shit. He’d made the kid wary of him. He’d have to apologize.
An assistant coach poked his head in the room. “You’ll be getting a call.”
Nate nodded. Guess he wasn’t going out for pizza with the guys now.
He shrugged. As important as bonding with his new team was, he couldn’t deny he’d much rather be at home with Wesley.
* * * * *
Nate’s spirits lifted the moment he walked in the door. A rich, savory scent hit him. Something hearty and instantly mouthwatering. Stress slid from him like the snow shoveled off the ice surface during a tv timeout. Coming home to whatever that delicious aroma mitigated the lack of pizza. The kitchen was clean as if no one had been there all day, but the humming dishwasher and the fragrant scent of chicken and sauce said otherwise. He peeked into the crock pot on the counter. Chunks of chicken were nestled with veggies and some sort of cream sauce.
A sense of rightness settled within him at the sight of the table. A pair of place mats set with napkins and silverware sat at one end. Salt and pepper shakers sat in the swath of wood in between. Various piles of laminated illustrated words and pictures littered the end closest to the wall. A large map of the United States sat with a pair of scissors on it, ready for all the excess plastic to be cut away.
Until Wesley, Nate ate in the kitchen, leaning against the counter shoveling in breakfast or he sat hunched over his plate at the coffee table watching the golf channel.
“Hey,” said Wesley, coming from the hallway, a short stack of folded dishtowels in his hand.
Another surge of warmth washed through Nate.
God... Life had been eased—no, transformed—by the advent of Wesley in his life over the last week. Sending him home was going to suck hockey sticks. “You sure you don’t want to be my personal assistant? The pay is really good. Includes room and board.”
Wesley smiled that lop-sided grin of his, and Nate just went warm all over and yeah. The man had wormed his way into Nate’s affections, into his heart, but it would never work. For obvious reasons, of course, but for the not so obvious ones, too.
People didn’t stick by Nate. Not family. Not teams. Why would this situation be different? There was obviously something wrong with him. No reason to get his hopes up and his heart broken one more time.
He had no idea what the fuck was going to happen, but when you threatened and assaulted a team’s star D-man, no doubt you were in for some trouble. Well, Nate was too good to send back to the farm team, but life could be lonely and uncomfortable when you were the outcast.
A shame, too, ‘cause the guys had all seemed like a tight group and happy to have him. Of course, the Lumberjacks had been that way, too. Right up until they shipped him out. Of course, that had less to do with his teammates and more to do with team owners and the black eye they thought they’d taken after those pictures went viral.
“Nate?”
He blinked. “Huh? Yeah. Sorry.”
Wesley patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. Everything okay? You looked really pensive there for a moment.”
“Yeah. I mean no.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Fucking Tom—”
A long beep from the kitchen sounded.
“—my.”
“You hungry?”
His stomach growled just then. “Starved.”
“How about I dish that up and you tell me what happened over dinner?”
