Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Hayes

F un fact: while I’m apparently good luck for Rylan, I don’t spare any for myself. My good-luck gene must have only activated when I met him because it’s not something I’ve ever had much of.

Case in point, my fellow Jilted Exes want to get together to watch Rylan’s game at Donovan’s tonight—only for them, it’s not Rylan’s game; it’s the Rebels’ game. While we haven’t made it to Anthony’s bar yet, we’ve been getting together about once a week. I’ve stopped pretending I’m not going to go, though I do still grumble to Rylan about it. The truth is, I like Donovan and Anthony. And I like feeling part of something because I never really have before.

My phone buzzes with a text as I sit in front of Donovan’s house.

Rylan: Wish me good pucking luck, cutie.

I grin. It’s such a stupid nickname, but evidently, I’m starting to enjoy stupid.

Me: Good luck.

I’m not saying good pucking luck. I hit Send and then feel my chest get tight, worry creeping in, so I send another text.

Me: And be careful…don’t let anyone hit you.

He comes home bruised a lot, especially along his torso. A few weeks back he’d gotten a black eye, and I might have overreacted, but it was the first time I’ve seen someone I care about hurt that way. Even though I know it’s from his game, it doesn’t feel good. It’s weird because I find myself wanting to take care of him when stuff like that happens. It makes my chest hurt to see Rylan in pain.

Rylan: Aww, I love that you care, but it’s kinda part of the job. I’ll do my best, though. And you’re supposed to say good pucking luck.

Me: No.

Rylan: Yes.

Me: No.

Rylan: Please?

Ugh. I sigh.

Me: Good pucking luck.

Rylan: That can be our thing. We should have a thing. Talk tonight?

Why is he asking me that? We talk basically every night. When he’s on road trips like he is now, Mads always leaves the room to give us time to jerk off together. When he’s home, we often talk in the evening even when I’m not with him. It’s almost as though, for the first time in my life, I have a best friend. One who likes to have orgasms with me.

Rylan has been acting a little different the past week or two. I can’t put my finger on what it is, though. He’s just…attentive. And sometimes I’ll be sitting there petting Puck or watching TV, and I’ll catch him staring at me like I have something on my face. When I ask him what he’s looking at, he’ll make a joke and turn away or just lean in and kiss me. It’s confusing as hell.

Me: Yeah. I’m with the Jilted Exes, but I’ll be back home so we don’t miss our time.

Rylan: If you’re having fun, don’t leave just for me.

My pulse throbs against my skin. Rylan is so caring. I hate that I didn’t see it in the beginning. He’s going to make someone an awesome boyfriend one day.

Me: I’ll be home.

I’ve gotten to the point where I look forward to my conversations with Rylan. A couple of weeks back, I quizzed him with a bunch of hockey questions after his game, and he didn’t even get annoyed with me. When he noticed I was surprised, he said, “I like that you want to know more about the game I love.” And then we’d just sorta looked at each other before busting up laughing.

Rylan: Okay. If you’re sure. I’ll make it worth it. Gotta go. Talk soon.

He ends the text with a wink emoji…and then an eggplant, followed by a peach because he’s Rylan and of course he has to do something like that.

I bite my bottom lip, looking at the messages and ignoring how fast my heart is beating. He’s absolutely ridiculous in every way, but he’s also fun, and makes me smile, and confuses the shit out of me.

On that note, I tuck my cell away, grab the veggie tray I agreed to bring for tonight, and get out of the car.

After I knock, I’m surprised when a guy I don’t recognize answers the door. I try not to frown, wondering if this is a party and I didn’t know it. I assumed that like always, it would just be the Jilted Exes. “Hi. I’m—”

The guy holds out his hand. “Hayes. It’s great to finally meet you. I’m Eric.”

Oh. Eric. That’s Donovan’s best friend. He’s mentioned him a lot. “Nice to meet you.”

We shake hands, and he holds the door open for me. The house smells delicious, the sliding glass door open and smoke coming in from the grill.

“I’m making my special wings,” Eric says.

“He’s a really good cook,” Donovan tells me as I join him and Anthony in the dining room.

“I wouldn’t say really good, but at least I keep this guy fed. He would be hopeless without me.” Eric wraps an arm around Donovan, who rests his head on Eric’s shoulder.

“Really, I don’t know what I would do without him.” Donovan kisses him on the cheek and then pulls away.

Has something changed between them? The three of us have talked about how we have no desire to get into another relationship, but they seem very affectionate.

“They should be just about done, and then we can eat before the game,” Eric says before going to check on them.

“How ya been?” Anthony asks as I set the veggies on the table.

Oh, just nervous to watch the game with them tonight. Afraid I’m going to make it obvious that I’m having sex with the right defenseman for the Los Angeles Rebels. Not that I can say any of that to Anthony. “Good, and you?”

We chat as we continue getting the food together, and then we all sit down outside to eat. I can’t help noticing Eric and Donovan together. The two practically finish each other’s sentences and anticipate each other’s needs. Donovan picks up the salt and hands it to Eric without him asking, and when I try to put ice in Donovan’s glass for him, it’s Eric who tells me he doesn’t like drinks with ice unless he has a straw, and they’re out.

“You guys have been friends since you were kids, right?” Anthony asks.

“Yeah. I was sick a lot as a kid. I was left out because I couldn’t do all the things other kids could do…plus, some of them were just assholes. I was gay, smart, small, and quiet. My younger years weren’t great. They were only bearable because of him.” Donovan motions toward Eric, who puts his hand on Donovan’s nape and rubs. “He was always my friend, even when he got teased because of it.”

“I liked you better than them.” Eric winks, and I feel emotion clogging up my chest.

I should offer something about me. That’s what Rylan would do. That’s what the annoying hockey player would tell me to do if he were here. “I didn’t grow up with many friends either. I wasn’t teased, but I just never connected. I always felt like an outsider looking in. Even when I was with other people, I knew they would rather I wasn’t around, or just didn’t care enough about me to be bothered if I was there or not.” Wow…holy shit. I can’t believe I just said that. The difference is, I hadn’t had an Eric, but now I have a Rylan, and maybe a Donovan and an Anthony too.

“I was painfully shy as a kid,” Anthony admits, and I must say, I’m shocked. He’s a dancer in a bar and is very vocal about his hookups. He laughs, noticing my surprise. “I know, right? But I worked hard to change that. I don’t give the important stuff easily, but I’ve learned to be able to do the rest of it. It’s interesting, though, how all of us were loners when we were younger. I think that’s something else Malcolm targeted.”

“That, and the way none of us had much relationship experience, if any,” Donovan adds.

“I fucking hate that bastard.” Eric’s fists tighten.

“But he’s out of our lives now and he’s brought us all together,” Donovan replies. He’s always looking on the bright side.

“And not only do we have our own group of friends, but we’ve reclaimed Jilted Exes. It’s ours now,” Anthony says to a round of agreements.

I can’t help smiling, enjoying this evening with them, and strangely, wishing Rylan were here to see it.

He would be happy for me.

*

“Oh my God! Go! Go! Go!” I jump to my feet and shout at Rylan. He and New Jersey’s center are fighting over the puck, sticks hitting each other’s, bodies ramming as they somehow manage to stay on their feet and not eat shit on the ice the way I would.

I hate seeing him get hit like this, but I’ll worry about that later.

Rylan manages to flick the puck away from the guy and send it straight toward Volkov. He takes off down the ice, and Rylan does the same. I’ve noticed that Stevens seems to stay close to his spot on the blue line more than Rylan does. Rylan seems to be more of a scoring defenseman than Stevens is. I’m not sure if either of them is right or wrong, but I assume they’re doing what they’re supposed to and that each man plays defense a different way.

One of Jersey’s players is heading straight toward Volkov. Right before he takes a hit, Volkov sends the puck flying toward Rylan again. He’s fast as he skates from the left to the right, then pulls back with his stick, the small black disk there one moment and gone the next. It soars right over the left shoulder of the goalie and into the net.

I pump my fists in the air, heart racing, my cheeks hurting from my smile as Rylan and his teammates celebrate his goal. The camera pans to Rylan, getting a shot of him as he skates back to his position. My stomach gets wobbly, my skin buzzing with excitement for him. “Hell yes!”

It’s not until I hear, “Wow. I had no idea you liked hockey so much,” from Anthony behind me that I remember I’m not alone. That I’m yelling at the television, jumping up and down with three other people in the room.

I immediately sober. You can’t judge a book by its cover and all, but I’m pretty sure I don’t look like the world’s biggest hockey fan, and I can’t remember if I ever told them that I only went to that first game because Malcolm liked it.

“Yeah…it’s…new.” Ever since I started banging the guy who just scored. If I were Rylan, I’d make a scoring joke right there.

I try to look like I’m not dying inside as I make my way back to my chair. Why does it suddenly feel like I’m on a mile-long hike through the desert rather than in Donovan’s small living room?

I sit back down, pretending to be completely normal. Nothing to see here.

“We should go to a game sometime,” Eric says. “I’ve been trying to get D to go with me forever.”

“We don’t have to do everything together,” Donovan replies playfully.

“Yeah, but everything’s more fun with you.” I wait for Eric to snicker, like he’s joking too, but I’m pretty sure the guy is serious. The two of them are definitely close.

“If it’s a sport, Eric likes it. I don’t mind going, though. It’s fun every once in a while,” Donovan adds.

“I’d be down. I like hockey.” Anthony points to me. “And we know Hayes likes it too.”

I’m not sure if I make a face, but when everyone looks my direction, they must see something there, or remember the fact that the only reason we’re all in a room together is because I proposed to Malcolm at a Rebels game. That one choice sent us viral as the known Los Angeles members of the Jilted Exes’ Club.

“It’s probably too late in the season to worry about that,” Donovan says. He’s a peacekeeper. The type of man with a big heart who wants to make everyone feel better.

“Yeah, maybe next year,” Anthony adds, and…I’m a strange mix of emotions. I don’t really know how to feel or why my heart feels so much bigger. Words escape me. I should say something, right? But when I don’t even know what’s going on, it’s difficult to make anything come out.

“And the Rebels score again!” I hear in the background, and the people around me erupt into cheers.

I sit back and allow myself to enjoy the rest of the game.