Casey, Will, and Scott had invited him back to the ranch for Christmas, even offered to pay for his ticket from Eugene, but he’d lied and told them he was spending the day with a teammate. He’d had no money for gifts, and he hadn’t wanted to spend the holiday barely twenty miles from his family, and yet shut out. But on that cold Christmas day, eating microwave pizza and watching TV, he’d missed the hugs worst of all.
Scott thumped his back and let go. “Call Will. Or at least text him. He and Casey were ready to come out here and rip someone a new one over that truck.”
“You told them?”
“Of course. They care about you, kid. Let Will know we fixed it and you’re doing okay. Send him a picture.”
Scott’s older boyfriend Will was special, the kind of guy Rusty would’ve picked as a dad, given a choice. Great with horses and every other living thing. Warm and soft-spoken and practical and kind.Would Mike still be alive, if Dad had been like that?
But Will also said “If only” was a fool’s game. You had to live in the present. Rusty cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll text him.”
“We’ll head out then. See you in the morning, Cross. You need anything, Rusty, you call me.”
“Thanks.”
Once Zykov and Scott were gone, the garage seemed a lot bigger. Rusty shifted his weight, feeling awkward. “Is there cleanup I could start with?”
“Nah.” Cross opened the door to the house. “We’ll leave the fans on for three hours, then check on the paint job, start if it’s dry. Do you want a shower?”
“Yeah, absolutely.” Rusty looked around at the open garage doors, the probably-expensive cars under tarps, the array of tools behind a drape of plastic on the workbench. “You sure you don’t want to lock up first?”
“I’ll lock the gate once the guys are gone.”
“I can go do it if you give me the key.” Rusty had a lifetime of experience wrestling gates closed in the rain and dark.
But of course, Cross said, “It’s electric.” He did something with his smart watch. “Right. Come on in.” He led Rusty inside and turned away from the kitchen-family room area they’d hung out in while letting the primer dry. “Guest bedrooms are this way, and some bathrooms. I have six of each.” He gave an odd laugh. “I didn’t design the house. Anyhow, you can pick a room and there’s a bathroom between each pair.”
“Fuckingsixbathrooms?” Rusty’s brain caught up with his mouth a moment too late. He cleared his throat. “I just mean, I grew up with nine people sharing two.”
Cross laughed again, but his face had gone red. “I can pee somewhere new every day of the week. You don’t have to tell me it’s ridiculous for one person. My agent said it’s an investment.”
“Well, he’s probably right.” Rich folk had a bunch of ways to get richer. But seeing Cross look away, like he thought Rustymight make fun of him, made Rusty add, “Wait till you see what I buy when I have a million dollars. Gonna make this place seem like a barn.” He nudged Cross’s shoulder.
Cross nudged back and his flush ebbed. He pushed a door open. “Here. The ocean room. Bathroom’s there to the left.” He pointed at the next door down the hall.
Rusty peered around the revealed bedroom. The color scheme was blue and green with curtains that shaded from dark to light at the tops and a kind of swirl pattern on the walls. The bed looked like a king size, covered in a wave-patterned comforter so smooth it might’ve just came out of the package. “Big bed,” he said. Then in case that didn’t sound impressed enough, “This is awesome.”
“A teammate’s wife is a decorator. I figured if I had friends stay over, like after a party, they’d likely be hockey players and some of us are tall.”
“Do you throw a lot of parties?”
“Um, no.” Cross looked down and scuffed at the carpet with the toe of his shoe.
“Well…” Rusty didn’t like Cross looking uncomfortable again. He scrambled to change the subject. “I guess I’ll take that shower now.”
“I could throw your clothes in the washer,” Cross offered.
Rusty was going to refuse but the thighs of his jeans were white with sanding dust and he had sweated the pits of his shirt. He didn’t want to walk around Cross’s super clean house like that and he couldn’t exactly borrow from Cross. “If it’s not a lot of trouble.”
“I’m going to wash my own, anyhow. Put yours outside the bathroom door, and I’ll leave you a robe.”
Which was how Rusty found himself, twenty minutes later, back in his underwear— because he was not going to let Cross wash those— plus an amazingly soft robe and fuzzy socks, sitting on the couch next to Cross in the family room. Cross had showered too, and wore fancy sweats with zero holes in them, his dark hair damp and smooshed up like he’d toweled dry and forgotten to comb it. Rusty liked the look. Made him seem less put-together and perfect.
Cross asked, “Would you like to watch a movie? Or play a game?” He powered up the screen and a frozen image from some hockey game came on. Cross laughed. “Sorry, I’m all work and no play. I was reviewing tape. What do you want to see? I have a bunch of streaming options.”
Rusty took his courage in both hands and asked, “Could we actually watch some tape?”
“You want to? Why?”
