Fuckin’ Way She Goes （24）

January 16

Day 34

One more day.

Hayes was almost there, almost at the end of his 35-day inpatient program at White Oaks. He'd remained completely sober, he was in the best physical shape of his life, and mentally, he was making great strides.

The depression that had come with him weaning off the oxy, made worse by being away from Ryan, still came in waves. And he'd have to be especially mindful of his mood changes since he'd officially weaned off both the buprenorphine and naloxone last week, but Dr. Rosa had taught him plenty of coping skills. The routine at White Oaks had helped, as sticking to a routine was one of the skills on which Dr. Rosa had put great emphasis. And as asinine as it sounded, crocheting had become somewhat of an obsession for him.

Tyler Hayes had been crocheting his ass off.

Every time Ryan had come for therapy, he'd hit up the craft store and brought him whatever he needed: needles, yarn, little beads for eyes. The boy had crocheted a menagerie of tiny little animals, one for everyone he currently gave a shit about.

An orange whale for JT.

A green whale for Osi.

Three blue penguins: one for Mar, one for his mom, and one for Ryan's mom.

A yellow chick for TK.

An orange octopus for Alan.

Fucking Alan. Who, as it turned out, was pretty dope.

And a beige pickle for Ryan…because it looked like a dick.

He was currently working on his magnum opus: a purple jellyfish for Dora, and he was desperate to finish it so he could get it to her before he left tomorrow. He was so close; all he had to do was stuff the head and he'd be done.

OK, so maybe he was kind of a hockey god. But crocheting made him feel like a total baller, having learned most of it on his own by watching YouTube videos, minus a few stitch-and-bitch freakout sessions with Dora.

"I'm never gonna be able to fuckin' get the hang of this shit!" he'd yelled one day, throwing the needles and his project to the ground. "Fuck it, I quit!"

"Ay! Ni se te ocurra, Morao! You want pity? You no get it from me. You go somewhere else," she'd scolded him, having none of his bullshit. She'd grabbed him by the face, squeezing both cheeks with her one-handed, old lady death grip. "You? Don't give up. You are no quitter. Pick it up and try again. Venga, dale."

And just like that, he'd picked the needles up, kept at it, and finished what he'd been crocheting.

"You're, like, the mom I never knew I needed, Dora," he'd told her, working his stitch and leaning his head onto her shoulder.

"Solo sabes dar la leta," she'd muttered, shrugging him off. "You're a real pain in the ass, Morao. You know what."

"Yo, that's so weird. You're literally the first person to ever tell me that."

"Mira que gracioso el nino."

Everything was squared away for his transfer into sober living. The NHLPA had arranged a ride for him the following day at 7 a.m. He'd be staying about 35 minutes outside of Tampa, as it was only a 10-minute ride to the arena where he'd be practicing with TK. His teammate would be staying at a similar facility about 20 minutes from his, the Isles brass having decided that it wouldn't be good optics if they were housed together, especially considering the rumors that had been spreading about them like wildfire.

Somany rumors.

And they were ugly.

Hayes would finish out his next 25 days at Regency Recovery Home, another high-end facility, where he'd have a private bedroom, private bathroom, access to an indoor pool, sauna, and all the finest amenities that his NHL salary could buy, as would TK.

The thing was, despite all the luxuries Hayes had been afforded, he was still that broke trailer park kid at heart. He had resolved right then and there that someday, somehow, he was going to use the money he made to help lessen the burden on people who weren't as fortunate as he'd miraculously become.

He'd even spoken to Dr. Rosa about it at their last therapy session.

"I'm serious. I'm gonna make it so kids like me have a chance, man. Maybe start like, a hockey program for underprivileged kids. I definitely wanna help LGBTQ+ kids get their shot, too. I…there's so much I wanna do. I feel like, I don't know, like I can help so many people, you know? Really make a fuckin' difference."

"Hayes, I love these goals you've set for yourself, and the fact that they're goals that go beyond you and extend to others? I'm so proud of you," she'd told him, and he swore he'd seen tears in her eyes. "You've come so far and I really think you're gonna go on to do amazing things with your life."

"Well, a big part of it is thanks to you, lady…I mean, Dr. Rosa. You…you covered for me, saved my ass. You didn't have to do that. And you never gave up on me. I know I'm not…the easiest, you know? What I'm tryin' to say is thank you. Seriously." The tears had formed in his own eyes. "So, this is it for us, eh? You only work here?"

She'd nodded. "This is it for us, Hayes. But I know Dr. Ozbeck over at Regency and he's amazing. You're really going to like him. He's going to pick you up where we left off with Seeking Safety. I've sent all your records and he's very excited to meet you."

Hayes had worked feverishly all morning to get that jellyfish's head stuffed, having skipped breakfast so he could finish it and hand-write a note to Dora, in which he thanked her and left his number so they could keep in touch. Finishing just in time for his morning group session, he excitedly stuffed the note and the jellyfish into a Dora the Explorer gift bag that he'd asked Ryan to bring him and headed over to the meeting hall.

As he entered, he was startled when everyone stood and clapped for him. He scanned the room, noticing that some treats had been put out for him, along with a banner that everyone had signed that said, "Congratulations and best of luck, Hayes!" Immediately, he lost it, going around the room and tearfully hugging everyone, even though he didn't know who 95 percent of them were.

Despite his best efforts to remain hidden, they'd seen him.

And they were proud of him.

There was, however, no sign of Dora.

When the meeting had ended, he approached the counselor, bag in one hand and a half-devoured strawberry glazed donut in the other. He hadn't been eating any of that crap since he'd been here but figured one little treat wouldn't kill him. "Eh, DeAndre? Where's Dor? I didn't see her and I have somethin' for her."

The face DeAndre made instantly caused Hayes's heart to sink into his stomach.

"Signed herself out last night AMA, man. I'm sorry."

"What the fuck do you mean? She's…she's gone? She just left?"

DeAndre nodded.

"How the fuck can you let her do that?" he yelled. "I don't…she was…"

"This isn't a prison, Hayes. Everyone is here on their own free will, and that includes the ability to leave whenever they want."

Hayes knew she was so close, as she'd always let him know the countdown to her 60-day mark. Last they'd spoken, she was on day 44. "Nah, fuck that," he mumbled, flopping onto a nearby chair, dropping the bag and the donut, and letting his head fall into his hands.

DeAndre sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. "It happens a lot, Hayes. More people leave than actually complete treatment, unfortunately. The fact that you made it, that you're doing this? It's awesome, man. You're well on your way."

Hayes wiped his eyes, nodding.

"What did you wanna give her?" DeAndre asked, patting Hayes on the shoulder a few times and removing his arm. "I can put it aside and if she happens to come back, I'll make sure she gets it. They…sometimes they do come back, Hayes."

He reached onto the floor and picked up the bag, handing it over to DeAndre. "It's…if she comes back, you have to make sure she gets this, OK? I'm not fuckin' around. It's real important."

"Of course. I'll make sure I give it to Alan. He has a whole locker full of this stuff in the back. And Hayes? Look at me," DeAndre instructed, and Hayes obliged. "Getting sober? That's the easy part. Staying sober? That's the challenge. When you leave here, you have to make sure you take it seriously, and you have to make sure you utilize the skills you've learned in every single aspect of your life. There are things that are gonna trigger you to want to use that you would have never imagined would. Don't let your guard down for a second and don't stop fighting. This is a marathon, not a sprint. You feel me?"

"Yeah, I feel you," he said softly, patting DeAndre on the leg. "Thanks, man. I just…I still can't believe she's gone."

DeAndre sighed. "Fuckin' way she goes."

???

Ryan had arrived at the Brandon Ice Sports Forum for his birthday practice around 3:30 p.m., signing a few quick autographs on his way inside. Since the practices were free and open to the public, this wasn't something out of the ordinary. And Ryan had made a promise to his dad to never get too big for his britches, so to speak.

"Don't ever forget where you came from, Ryan," his dad had warned him. "There are gonna be kids who look up to you like you're their hero. Don't let them down. Humility is a virtue in this game."

That'd always stuck with him, especially since his father's passing. Ryan Baylor always strived to be that guy who would stand around and sign autographs until there was no one left who wanted them.

And he usually was, but right now, he was really late.

"Hey, listen. I'm running late, OK? I'm not trying to dip out on you," he told a group of fans, making eye contact with an especially bummed pre-teen kid. "After practice? Give me about a half-hour and I'll meet you right back here, sign whatever you want and chat for a bit. I promise. Deal?"

"Yeah, right," the kid muttered, turning away. "He sucks anyway," Ryan heard him say to his dad.

"Hey!" Ryan yelled, turning back toward him while he made his way toward the locker room. "That's not very nice, especially since it's my birthday. I promise you. And I'll bring some friends, so you better be here when I get done!"

It'd been one hell of a day so far.

He'd agreed to watch JT for a bit so Amara could run out to the store by herself and pick up a few things, and when Jake had stopped home for lunch, they had gotten into it.

Ryan hadn't meant to overstep, but that's exactly how Jake had taken it when he'd approached him about Amara's declining mental health. When Ryan had found her crying on the kitchen floor a few weeks ago, he'd waited, thinking maybe she'd just had a really rough day.

And things had been OK since then.

However, when he found her outside crying in her car yesterday, having left JT alone and screaming in the house, and he'd had to carry her back inside, he knew he needed to do something.

"Hey, Jake? Um, I need to talk to you about Amara."

"What about Amara, Ryan?"

Ryan detected a hint of defensiveness in his voice, so he tried to tread as lightly as possible. "I don't think…I don't think she's OK, man. I found her crying again yesterday. She was in her car alone and JT was in here screaming. She's…been crying a lot lately and I don't…"

"And you think you need to tell me this? You don't think I know my own girlfriend? You think I can't take care of my family, Ryan?"

Ryan had been taken aback. "That is…absolutely not at all what I said."

"Well, it sure fucking sounds like it!" Jake had snapped. "She's a new mom, Ryan. This is all new to both of us. And unlike you, we don't have youth on our side, man. We're…really fucking old to be doing this shit. She's tired. We're both tired."

"Jake," Ryan had said cautiously. "It's more than that. I think…I think she's depressed…"

"Again, you don't think I know this?"

"I'm not really worried about what you know, Jake," Ryan had shot back, feeling himself beginning to fluster. "My only concern is for her and that little boy. And she's not well. She needs help."

"Ryan Baylor to the rescue! Always the savior. I've seen the kind of help you can give her, kid. And I'm not interested. I've got it from here. I can take care of my family."

"Then maybe try doing it," Ryan snarled. "And don't worry, I'm heading out to sign the lease on my new place today. I'll be out of your fucking house as soon as I get back from my road trip!" Ryan pushed past Jake down the foyer toward the front door but had returned momentarily.

"Know what? Do me a favor, OK?" he'd yelled, pointing at Jake, causing him to take a step back. "Don't get so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you forget to pay attention to what she's going through. I did it with Ty and look what the fuck happened. Don't lose her, man. Listen to her. She's screaming for help, Jake. Fucking listen!"

With that, he'd snatched the keys off the console table and stormed out the front door, hopping into the brand-new Carpathian Grey Range Rover Velar he'd bought himself a week ago to go sign the lease on his brand new, 1500-square-foot luxury waterfront apartment.

Fucking baller.

Most of the guys were already either fully dressed or heading out onto the ice as Ryan entered the locker room.

"Baylor! Nice of you to grace us with your presence, you fine motherfucker. Hope we're not interrupting the rest of your day with our silly little practice," the defensive coach, Rob Cenzi, busted his balls as he set his things down at his stall and began to undress.

"Sorry, Coach. I was signing the lease on my new place and it took a bit longer than expected. It won't happen again."

"Don't care. Dress and get out there. We've got work to do. Blue line shuffles with passing since lately, your passes couldn't hit the broad side of a barn." Coach Cenzi smacked him on the ass as he left for the ice, leaving Ryan alone to gear up.

He heard his phone buzz and decided to take a quick peek. He knew it couldn't have been Hayes yet, so he was curious as to who it could be.

J: Ryan, I'm sorry about earlier. You didn't deserve that.

J: I talked to Mar. She's gonna talk to her doctor tomorrow.

J: I love you, kid. I was a dick.

He smiled before typing a quick reply.

R: Thank you. We're good, man. I love you, too.

He set his phone back down and pulled his practice jersey over his head. That was one thing he could say about Jake: he'd always been quick to apologize when he was wrong. And Ryan couldn't blame him; this was all new to him, not to mention being a brand-new father at almost 50 years old had to be rough. And it's not like JT was the easiest baby, either…

"Baylor."

He snapped out of it, startled, as he'd thought he was alone. He turned to find Koski standing there holding one of those mini cupcakes with a candle in it in one hand and a Zippo lighter in the other. "You take forever to get here. Anyway, paljon onnea vaan. Is how you say ‘happy birthday to you' in Finnish. Go on and make wish."

Ryan laughed before closing his eyes and blowing out the candle, taking the cupcake from his teammate's hand, and setting it on the top shelf of his stall.

"I guess you can't tell me what you wish for or it won't come true, eh?"

Ryan shook his head. "No can do. But you?" Ryan looked around, making sure they were alone before grabbing hold of his jersey and pulling him close. "Are adorable." Their tongues met instantly, followed by their lips for the quickest of kisses. Ryan pulled away first as they both adjusted their cups. "Thank you, Joss."

"Dinner with me tonight?" Koski asked, tapping him lightly on the shin with the toe of his stick.

Ryan nodded. "You gotta hang out and sign some autographs with me after practice though, OK? I promised some kid I'd meet him out there since I was running late and couldn't sign for him."

"Such a good guy, Baylor. You know I will do it. See you out there."

Ryan watched him as he left for the ice, smiling and biting his bottom lip as he felt his face flush.

"It was fun, but it doesn't have to mean anything. It was just for fun."

Yeah, that'd turned out to be number one bullshit, as evidenced by the butterflies currently flitting around wildly in Ryan's abdomen.

When Ryan had first seen Koski again after the hookup on his boat, he'd expected it to be awkward. But it hadn't been. They'd talked and skated together like nothing had even happened.

And when Koski had offered him a ride home from the game that night, they'd never made it back to Jake and Amara's. Instead, they'd ended up at Koski's waterfront luxury apartment, where he and Ryan had smoked a blunt together and had sex three more times.

"What happened to that girlfriend you really like?" Ryan had teased him as they lay tangled up together in the Finn's bed, Koski mindlessly tracing Ryan's chest tattoo again.

"Perhaps she is with that ex-boyfriend you were supposed to get back together with," Koski had shot back.

"Touché."

After a few minutes of silence, Ryan spoke, running his fingers through his teammate's tousled blond hair. "Hey. Like, what are we even doing?"

Koski had shrugged, moaning slightly at Ryan's touch. "I don't know, Baylor. But whatever it is, I don't want to stop. Do you?"

Ryan had shaken his head. "I should. But I'm kinda obsessed with the way you fuck me."

"Then stay and I'll do it again tomorrow. Perhaps sooner."

So, after texting Amara to let her know he wouldn't be coming home so she didn't worry, Ryan had spent the night at his fellow d-man's apartment.

Which happened to be the same waterfront apartment complex where Ryan had just signed a lease for an apartment of his own.

The apartment at which Hayes would be staying for at least two nights a week very soon, as tomorrow was his last day of inpatient treatment and they were supposed to be working on putting their relationship back together.

Oh yeah, and since they'd both agreed to fuck TK, he'd most likely be joining them there.

mess

/mes/ noun: a situation or state of affairs that is confused or full of difficulties

Yep.

That about summed it up in a nutshell.