Fletcher looked back up at him and kissed him on his chin, liking the way Taylor’s stubble felt on his lips. “A really good one.”
* * *
Last night had been a night of self-discovery for Taylor, to say the least. But probably also the best night he’d ever had. He had no notes. Everything kind of just made sense the way it had all unfolded.
He convinced Fletcher to go and get smoothies for breakfast, so they both quickly got ready and headed out the door. They found the nearest drive-thru smoothie place and took too longto figure out what they wanted, so they ended up parking and going inside anyway.
“I have an idea,” he told Fletcher as they got back into the car with smoothies in hand. They both got strawberry-mango. “Let’s say fuck the kids and flake on your father.” He bit back a laugh because he considered saying “your daddy” to Fletcher, but decided he’d save that word for the bedroom from now on—for obvious reasons.
“Tempting,” Fletcher said as he seriously considered it for a minute. “We can’t fuck the kids,” he said a few seconds later. “Don’t laugh,” he warned Taylor, knowing he was already about to. Taylor loved how much Fletcher understood his brain.
“Ugh. You’re right,” Taylor agreed. They were here for the kids. Not to appease Fletcher’s father. He just hoped Fletcher was on the same page about that. “I’m not wearing the shirt,” he told Fletcher as they reversed and pulled out of the parking lot.
“You don’t have to,” Fletcher assured him. “You could probably get away with murder considering the fact that they are all in love with you.”
“That’s kinda gay,” Taylor said sarcastically. “I’m not really into dudes.”
“Obviously,” Fletcher scoffed, playing along. “That would be abhorrent.”
“Repugnant,” Taylor added. “Sinful, even.”
A few minutes later, Fletcher parked at one of the empty spots in the athlete parking lot for the Manatees stadium. It was considerably smaller than Seattle’s, considering the Manatees stadium was much smaller itself. Even if they were a decent team, Taylor guessed the Jacksonville taxpayers would rather have their taxes allocated towards a bigger football stadium.
They grabbed their smoothies and skates from the back ofFletcher’s car before Fletcher guided Taylor through the back entrance. They found their way into a break room of sorts where Sean, Henri, and some other retired players were. Taylor noticed a handful of them were from neighboring teams.
“Good morning, boys,” Sean said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “Today’s going to be a great day.”
Taylor and Fletcher smiled politely and nodded at him.
“Here’s some shirts for y’all,” Joe Clemson said in his thick panhandle accent as he handed Taylor and Fletcher orange and blue shirts. Unlike most players for the Manatees, Clemson had been a true Florida native who somehow learned he had an affinity for playing hockey.
Taylor gave Fletcher a look that screamed “seriously?” He watched Fletcher sling the shirt over his shoulder. Fletcher gave Taylor kind of a dismissive look, which told Taylor he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
“Thanks,” Taylor said plainly as he took the shirt from Clemson.
Fletcher told him to follow him to the locker room where they dropped their gear bags down on the ground and changed into their shirts. Taylor pulled his shirt over his head, and Fletcher cleared his throat.
“What?”
“You’ve got a hickey,” Fletcher quietly pointed out. Taylor craned his neck down to see a deep, purple bruise above his collarbone.
“That’s not my fucking fault, asshole,” Taylor scoffed. He quickly threw on the shirt, hating how it smelled. He felt like he was betraying his team wearing these colors. “I’m going to burn this,” he told his boyfriend.
“Two weeks,” Fletcher promised. “Then you’ll never wearorange and blue again.”
“Thank fucking Jesus.”
* * *
Taylor actually had a little fun once they were out on the ice. He was grouped with middle schoolers, who laughed at every joke he told them. They were pretty impressive little players.
“I thought this was a beginners camp,” Taylor joked to them. “You guys are all naturals.”
He and two other defensemen worked on teaching the kids different defensive drills. One of the girls reminded him a lot of Marina. In other words, she was a bossy little diva.
“I don’t want to be here,” was the first thing she told him. She wore a lavender tracksuit and had white, fuzzy legwarmers. Very interesting outfit choice considering it was like. A hundred degrees outside. “My mom said I have to try it out because my little brothers wanted to do it.”
Taylor shrugged. “I kinda wanna go home too,” he told her honestly, trying to level with her. “I was brought here against my own will.”
