“Go for it. I have to go anyway.” Erik’s out of his chair and heading for the door of the meeting room we’ve commandeered before I can stop him. I let him go but make a mental note to talk to Eoin or Raðulfr about him.
“Hi, Riley. Are you here?”
“Out front,” he says loudly, probably to be heard over the hum of the people milling around out there.
“Okay, turn to your right and walk around to the side of the building. There’s another door there with a security guard at it. I’ll meet you there.”
“Got it. Thanks, Ari. This is already way cooler than Uncle Felix’s games usually are.” He ends the call abruptly, which is just as well, since I don’t think I was supposed to laugh. But I do.
By the time I get to the door for the VIP and suites entry, Riley is happily chatting up the security guard, who’s wearing a befuddled smile.
“…and like, he’s my uncle so I know he’s great, even if he’s the world’s sorest loser at Monopoly, right? But his goal streak this season isepic. I think it might be a Warhammers record. Most of the time they’re lucky if they get a goal or two in a game, yeah? So obviously I had to come tonight to cheer him on. It’s got nothing to do with being invited to a suite—well, maybe only a little bit. Is the food in the suites good?”
The guard waits a beat to make sure Riley’s really done talking, then says, “I’ve been told it is.”
“Sweet. Heh heh… get it? The food in the suites is sweet.”
I decide this is a good time for me to interrupt. “Hey, Riley.”
They both look over as I approach, and Riley’s face lights up. “Hi, Ari.” He turns to the guard. “This is Ari, my uncle’s boyfriend that I was telling you about.”
Something in me stutters at that label. I want it—want it so very badly. But it implies a commitment I’m not free to give. My life isn’t my own to share, no matter how much I want to give it to Felix.
But I’m not going to correct Riley, and especially not in front of a stranger. That’s for Felix to do, if he wants to.
“Thanks for keeping him company,” I say dryly to the guard, holding out my phone. “Here’s his ticket.”
He scans the suite pass, then smiles warmly at Riley. “Have a good game. I’ll be rooting for your uncle to score more goals. Come and let me know after if the food was any good.”
“I will,” Riley promises. “Thanks!” He waves as we walk away, then turns to me and says, in a serious tone that only a teenager can manage, “Thanks again for this, Ari. I can’t believe I’m going to meet a real-life actual elf king. Are my clothes okay? Mom wanted me to wear something nicer, but Dad said it’s still a hockey game and I’d look ridiculous in a suit.”
I bite back my smile. “I’m sure you look great in a suit, but there’s no need for it. Your clothes are fine. The king won’t be dressed up.”
“Phew!” He smiles in relief. “What do I call him? Like, sir, obviously, but is there something else? Kingship, or something?”
I’m not sure if he’s pulling my leg or not—kingship? Really?—but if he is, he’s doing it with a straight face, so I reply in kind. “You can address him as ‘Your Majesty,’ but he’s pretty informal most of the time, and this isn’t an official event. ‘Sir’ is fine.” I pause outside the door to our suite. “Ready?”
He grins at me. “For hockey and bougie food with a king? Heck yeah!”
Inside, I spot the king and Eoin talking with several of the VIPs that got invited tonight, including Brandt. Riley’s going to get a kick out of that when I tell him. Jared and Dáithí are in the seats at the front of the suite, watching warm-ups, and I feel a tiny pang of regret that I’m missing them.
Next time, I assure myself. I’m going to have hundreds—maybe thousands—of chances to watch Felix warm up for a game.
“Come on,” I tell Riley, who’s looking around with wide, appreciative eyes, and lead him over to the king. I wait for a break in conversation, and then say, “Your Majesty, I’d like to introduce Riley Ansas. Riley, this is King Raðulfr of the Elves; Brandt, the Wingleader of all Dragons; Perrin, the elven viceroy of North America; Sierra, the incubus and succubus species leader; and Eoin, my boss at the DEA.”
Riley squeaks, gives a jerky bow, then whispers, “No way.”
Eoin half turns and gestures to Dáithí as the king smiles warmly and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Riley. I like Felix very much.”
“Me too! I mean,” he stutters, “Uncle Fe is great. Uh, thank you for letting me come tonight, Your Majesty. I’ve never been in a suite before.”
“They have benefits,” Raðulfr concedes, “but during first intermission I’m going to talk Eoin into letting me go and hang out where some of our people are sitting. You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”
Eoin sighs, and Riley shoots him an uncertain look.
“You’re going to talk him into letting you? But you’re the boss. You can do whatever you want.”
All the VIPs laugh, and Raðulfr shakes his head. “If only. I’m at the mercy of my security team.” He leans closer, like he’s going to tell a secret. “The night I met Jared, Ari tried to stop me from meeting him for coffee.”
