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“I didn’t see you at the arena before the game today.”
“I was supposed to be there,” Nolan said. “I can’t exactly do my job if I’m not around the team. But King came all this way, and he’s only here for the weekend, so I spent the day with him.”
“What’d you get up to?”
“We ended up driving to Woodstock. King wanted to see some covered bridges. Hey, did you know November is known as Stick Season in Vermont?”
Eli had to kiss him again, just for that adorable non-sequitur. “Yes. Because all the leaves have fallen, leaving bare sticks on the trees.”
“Yeah, we had lunch in Woodstock, and our server was telling us about it.” Nolan placed a hand on Eli’s thigh. “Thanks for coming tonight. King wanted to meet you.”
“So I’m best-friend official, eh?”
A puzzled expression crossed Nolan’s face. “Huh?”
“Your best friend has met me,” Eli explained. “It means I’m not a secret squeeze.”
The puzzled expression turned into a scowl. “No, of course not. Did you want to be?”
“No, of course not,” Eli parroted. “I’m not sure about telling Coach, though. How would that go? Hey, Coach, I’m dating your son, but don’t let that change how you treat me at work. I don’t want to be treated any differently from anyone else.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with him. Besides, we don’t have to tell him right now, right? There’s no rush.”
Eli opened his mouth to respond, but King returned.
With a souvenir cup filled to the brim with beer.
“Did you have to pay for that?” Nolan asked.
King scoffed. “Please. Have you met me? Here.” He held two beer steins by the handles in his other hand, and he deposited both on the table. “Got you these. You drink beer?” he asked Eli. “I can get you something else if not.”
“I drink beer. Thanks for this,” Eli said, taking one of the mugs and passing the other to Nolan. “So? What brings you to Burlington?”
“Good question.” Nolan sat back on his stool. “I’ve been trying to get that out of him all day.” He leaned closer to Eli and whisper-shouted, “He’s running from something in Toronto.”
“Ooh.” Elbows on the table, Eli cupped his chin in his hands. “What are you running from? Your lover’s jealous husband? The cops? A bad breakup?”
“A bad breakup, all right,” King muttered. “Not mine though.”
Nolan’s expression softened, and he touched King’s wrist. “Your parents? They’ve finally separated?”
“No, and that’s part of the problem. You know what?” King shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Eli said, because King appeared about ready to bust out of his skin. “Tell me how you two met.”
King and Nolan launched into a story about a couple of eight-year-olds at Pinewood Camp and the three-strikes-and-you’re-out rule—it explained the two pine trees tattooed on Nolan’s forearm. And they explained about how they only ever saw each other for two weeks at camp during the summer since they lived in different cities, but they kept in touch via mail—and later email and texting—the rest of the year. The story was a cute one, but even more fascinating was the way the two of them finished each other’s sentences and followed each other’s train of thought and chirped each other like they were the proverbial old married couple.
Eli would’ve been jealous if the vibe between them hadn’t been so obviously brotherly. There wasn’t an ounce of romantic or sexual chemistry between them.
Watching Nolan laugh until he had tears in his eyes at something King said reinforced the fact that Nolan was all alone here. He had his dad, of course, but Coach Madolora had a hockey team to run. And Nolan had the team, but he also didn’t have the team.
What was it he’d said in his letter about looking at the world through a dirty window? Constantly on the periphery, watching how the team connected without making any connections himself.
It was a lonely existence.
Without thinking too much about it, Eli squeezed Nolan’s thigh, earning himself a smile that made Nolan’s eyes dance.
Nolan excused himself to use the washroom, leaving Eli alone with King, and he was about to ask what Nolan had been like as a kid when he caught King’s expression.
