“Go,” Forest says. He puts the paper bag in my hand and then turns me toward the door. “Eat this chicken sandwich. Go on. We’ll talk later. Ride with Stoneman to the bar, okay? I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
After one more soul-breaking glance at Forest, I turn and go.
Forty-One
Having a Huge Night
Forest
Sportsballs ends up having a huge night. As soon as the first couple of Cougars walked into the bar, Scully put the news on blast. Which meant that a hoard of regulars turned up to rub elbows with greatness and ask for autographs.
By the time I get there, Scully and Izzy are deep in the weeds.
“Forest!” Izzy yells. “Happy to see you! How was the game?”
“Legendary.” I tie on an apron. “I’ll never forget it.”
She gives me a warm smile and hurries to wash some of the dirty glasses piling up in the sink.
Hudson Newgate—jersey number 68, hot as blazes, and the first out bisexual player for the Cougars—approaches the bar. “Hey, man. What do you have for light beer these days?”
“Lagunitas Daytime—carb count is three grams. Devil’s Backbone Bright Tangerine Ale is our new one, with just two grams of carbs. It’s fruitier than a regular beer. Then again, fruity is a theme around here.” I wink.
Newgate laughs. “Fine—you sold me. One of those, please.”
He pulls out his phone to pay, and I push it away. “Cougars drink free tonight. How’s your kid? She have a good hockey season?”
“She did!” He grins. “High scorer for her team. I tried to talk her into playing D, but she wants the glory.”
“Kids, amirite?”
He takes his drink and I get back to work, making drink after drink, before finally catching a glimpse of Beck near the door. He’s a sight for sore eyes, too. Smiling. Dimple on display. His roommate stands proudly beside him. It’s almost certainly Rigsy’s first trip to a queer bar, but he looks like he’s having a blast.
I send Izzy over there with a whole bucket full of Beck’s favorite beer and over the next several minutes, watch it rapidly disappear. Beck is surrounded—literally—by famous hockey players and people who love him.
I fight a familiar reflex of disbelief. He’s got life by the balls, and yet he chooses to love me?
“He’s in his glory,” Scully says, following my gaze. “And somehow, you’re the one he’s going home with tonight.”
“Yeah, there’s no accounting for taste.”
He gives me a stern look. “Stop that.”
“I’m joking.”
“You’re not, though,” he says. “That’s the problem. Last year, some guy stole your joy. You downplay it, but he got away with more than your wallet, Seth.”
I gulp. “That’s not something I talk about.”
“You don’t have to.” He grips me by the arm. “Your friends can see it anyway. That guy stole your will to live. If I ever find him, I’m gonna end him. Or at least knee him in the nuts. If you could just learn to accept help, consider starting there.”
“Scully. We have a bar full of thirsty customers. Maybe we could have this conversation later?”
“Nah, man.” Without releasing my arm, he shakes his head slowly. “Did we learn nothing tonight? No more putting the important stuff off. That era is over. Tell me you understand.”
Instinctively, I glance toward Beck, who’s deep in conversation with Volkov, the Cougars’ veteran goalie. They might be talking about glove-hand positioning. Or, knowing Beck, they might be ranking gas-station breakfast burritos by their effect on lateral movement.
I care about him so much.
