Empty Net (16 page)

In addition to the team, Jack Belsey was also there, sitting at the bar next to a girl who looked younger than Laurent. She was blonde, had the figure of a model, and a diamond the size of a hockey puck on her left hand.

“Your father is a dick,” Belsey said, the second Isaac and Laurent made their way to the bar. “He tried to make me fire Samarin and Ashford. Said if not, there would be
consequences.
” Belsey rolled his eyes. “Can you imagine? Like I haven’t been threatened before with
consequences
. He’s gonna have to get in line.” Belsey eyed Laurent and said, “No wonder no one could stand you. You didn’t have a chance. You’re welcome for that trade, by the way.”

“Jack,” the girl said. She sighed. “He’s not very good with people,” she told Laurent. “Seriously. I know I’m twenty-three, but I learned more about tact living in a sorority house with seventy-five girls than he has in his whole life.” She smiled at Isaac. “Love the eyeliner. I’m Anna.”

Isaac grinned at her. “I think I like you. And I’m Isaac.”

“Oh. I know all your names,” Anna said. “I actually am a huge hockey fan. Don’t let my looks or the fact I’m dating the owner and GM fool you.” She elbowed Belsey. “Honey, order me another whiskey. And put the team’s drinks on your credit card. It’ll make them like you more.”

“I don’t pay them to like me,” Belsey muttered, but he motioned to the bartender.

“You barely pay us at all,” Isaac said and went to order.

Isaac got them both a beer, which were indeed charged to Belsey’s tab, and they went to join Hux and Murph at a table.

“Is that chick here with Belsey?” Hux asked as they sat down. “Fuck, man. She’s got a great pair of legs. I can’t imagine why she’d want to wrap them around wrinkly old Belsey when she could have, like, half a hockey team. Minus the dudes into dudes.”

“I think she likes him.” Isaac settled in next to Laurent.

Hux’s look was skeptical. “I think she probably likes his money.”

“So do we,” Isaac said, and he lifted his glass. “Drinks are on him tonight.”

That got a rousing cheer from the table, and then Murph introduced Laurent to his girlfriend, Erin. She was a cute girl with short dark hair and a friendly smile. She was less Belsey’s bombshell and more girl next door, but Murph smiled at her like she was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Ugh. Now you and Drake are both being dumb over someone,” said Hux. He waved a hand. “No offense, Erin.”

“If I took offense to the dumb shit you guys said, I wouldn’t be here.” Erin reached across the table and shook Laurent’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Laurent nodded, unsure what else to say. Luckily the conversation drifted onto other subjects, and he could just listen instead of participate.

Laurent had a few more drinks, and things actually went well. His teammates sat in odd groups, some with girlfriends and others flirting with girls they’d just met at the bar. Laurent was maybe not having
fun
, but he wasn’t miserable. And no one was glaring at him, so there was that.

Belsey and his girlfriend left without much notice, but they announced they’d picked up the tab for the guys, which earned Belsey a toast he wasn’t there to witness—which was a good thing, because it was sort of mean—but was nonetheless heartfelt. Laurent was just beginning to relax into a conversation about comics with Hux when suddenly he heard Drew Crowder say, “Fuck. Is that some Assville Ravens?”

Oh no. Laurent felt his stomach drop, which was unpleasant after drinking too much. Why in the fuck were his former teammates here?

“Oh. It’s just Xavier,” said Isaac, who half stood on his chair to see. He had one hand resting on Laurent’s shoulder as he craned his neck. “And… some other guys. Oh, fuck. That one dude scored a goal tonight. Saint, who’s the guy with the face that looks like he got hit with a rock?”

Laurent thought about that. “Probably Tyler Simon, since he scored a goal tonight. Which you should have stopped, by the way.”

“My boyfriend, the buzzkill,” Isaac sighed. “Is he a dick?”

“Your boyfriend?” Hux grinned. “Definitely.”

“You’re asking me?” Laurent ignored Hux’s comment. “I hate everyone. Remember?”

Isaac actually gave him a fond smile. “I know.” He rubbed his hand over Laurent’s hair, which messed it up and made him scowl.

“Simon’s mission in life is to be my dad’s adopted son,” Laurent offered.

“So the answer’s yes,” Isaac sighed. “I should have known. He acted like he just scored a game-seven, Stanley-Cup-winning goal on me earlier.”

“Relax, Saint. We’ve got your back.” Hux gave Laurent a slap on the back that nearly sent Laurent toppling over the table. It wasn’t that hard of a pat. It just wasn’t expected. Only Isaac ever touched him.

“Hey,” Isaac snapped as he reached over and hit Hux on the back of the head. “Remember what I said about beating him up?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You don’t know your own strength, dude,” Murph said cheerfully. “But don’t worry, Saint. It’s probably cool. Matthews ain’t that bad. Drake dated him and everything. Maybe he’ll keep Smushed Face from doing anything stupid.”

Laurent wasn’t sure about that, but he was busy digesting the information that Isaac had dated Xavier.

“Before you say anything, because you look like you’re going to, he wasn’t out, and I’m not into that.” Isaac shrugged as he watched Xavier make his way to the bar with his teammates. “And it wasn’t dating. We hooked up a few times. That’s all.”

It seemed like everything would be fine at first. The Ravens players got their drinks and exchanged a few nods with the Spitfires. There was no reason why Laurent’s heart should be pounding as hard as it was. Guys who were not him, guys who were
normal
, left the game on the ice when it was over.

He turned to Isaac. “Xavier Matthews is your type? He’s blond. I thought you went for brunets.” Laurent studied his former teammate and sipped his beer. He still felt weird about knowing Isaac had been with Matthews. Was he jealous? He didn’t think so, but the idea of Isaac being with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made him frown.

“I go for pretty.” Isaac elbowed him slyly. “You’re way prettier. Does that make you feel better?”

“I don’t feel bad,” Laurent said, and he shrugged. Even if hearing that did make him happy. “I was just curious.”

Isaac leaned back in his chair, and his shirt pulled a bit over his stomach. Laurent watched the way Isaac lazily studied their surroundings, the way his eyeliner was slightly smudged, and thought it was weird he ever had to wonder if he thought Isaac was hot or not.

When it became apparent the Ravens weren’t there to start anything, Laurent went back to his conversation with Hux and put them out of his mind. After another few drinks, he realized he was actually having fun. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

Of course, when he went to the bar to get another beer for himself and Isaac, the universe had to prove him wrong. Because not all of his ex-teammates had left, and Tyler Simon stood in front of Laurent and smirked.

“So Savvy J. Tell me, is Drake the Fag wearing
makeup
? No wonder I scored a goal on him. It’s like playing hockey with my little sister.”

Laurent had no idea how to respond to that taunt, so all he said was, “Don’t call me that.”

“And I can’t believe you’re bringing him a drink. Shouldn’t it be, like, a Cosmo or something girlie?”

“Shouldn’t you go back to sucking my father’s dick and leave me the fuck alone?” Laurent snapped. The alcohol in his veins made it impossible to shut down and disengage, and Laurent was tired of doing it anyway. He wanted to stand up for himself, for once. The problem was he immediately resorted to cheap-shot insults, out of habit.

“I’m not the dick sucker here, but it looks like maybe Drake’s gay is infectious.” Simon’s eyes glittered, and he smiled meanly. He made a blowjob motion with his hand next to his cheek. “Taking it up the ass from the fag, are you? Pathetic. Glad we traded you.”

Laurent and Tyler Simon had never been friends, and Simon had always been jealous of him for being the coach’s son. Laurent would have gladly signed whatever paperwork was necessary to turn that dubious distinction over to his odious former teammate. “Yeah. Everyone wins. Now will you get out of my way or not?”

“You’re such a pussy. Can’t even man up when I’m insulting your boyfriend?” Simon laughed. “Looks like you fit right in with the SpitSwallowers.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Simon.” Laurent thought that Assville Ravens was much better as far as insulting team nicknames. Just as dumb, maybe. But it sounded less lame. “And you’re not insulting anyone, because I don’t care what you think or what you say. Now get out of my way.”

“Or what?”

Jesus-effing-Christ. What the fuck? Were they twelve? Laurent leveled a stare at Simon. “I’m sure it wouldn’t get you points with my father if he found out you were trying to start a fight in a bar.”

“Maybe not.” Tyler’s face lit up with cruel pleasure, and he leaned in and said, “But it might if I beat your gay ass up like you deserve.”

“There a problem? Geez, Saint. Did you go grow the hops for that beer, or what?”

Isaac was there, but his voice wasn’t lazy or amused, even if he was trying to come across that way. Isaac’s eyes flickered to Simon, dismissed him, and went back to Laurent. “You could stand a little closer, Simon. Jesus.”

“Fuck you, fag,” Tyler hissed.

Isaac rolled his gorgeous, eyeliner-smudged eyes. “Oh, wow. That’s
so
original. Wait. Let me go make an angsty Facebook post with some Slipknot lyrics about how sad I am that a meatbag dickhead called me the most unoriginal gay slur in the book. Saint? That beer? It’s not going to drink itself.”

On autopilot Laurent handed him one of the beers. He was holding the other one so tightly, he was surprised the glass hadn’t given way beneath the force of his grip.

“Fuck. You’re pussy-whipped, Savvy J. Or should I say dick-whipped?” Simon was clearly not done. He made a boohoo face and rubbed at his eyes. “Guess Daddy didn’t hit you hard enough to turn you into a man.”

Laurent heard Isaac’s angry inhalation and knew he had to do something quickly, or Isaac was going to punch Simon and end up suspended. That was probably what his father wanted.

And if Laurent was good at anything, it was not doing what his father wanted. So why stop? Before Isaac could take a swing, Laurent threw his beer in Simon’s face.

“There,” he hissed. Simon blinked at him in astonishment, covered in the remains of Laurent’s pale ale. “That what you wanted?”

Tyler wiped a hand over his face and sneered. He looked ridiculous. And ugly. He did look like someone had hit him in the face with a shovel. “It’s what I expected. A drink to the face. Here I thought Drake was the girl, since he’s wearing makeup.”

Isaac laughed. “No amount of makeup would make you any prettier, so I see why you don’t get it.”

They were attracting attention of course, and Laurent could see the bartender moving toward them to find out what the hell was going on. Laurent shouldn’t have even given the asshole the satisfaction of noticing him the first time he spoke, because he had nothing to say to Simon. But before he could stomp off, Simon said, “Your dad’s right. You never do hit back.”

Laurent barely had time to process what he was hearing before Isaac shoved his beer at Laurent, reached back, and punched Tyler Simon in the jaw.

“PERHAPS YOU
would like to explain,” Misha said as he handed Isaac a cold pack to press against his face, “why are we once again having a conversation about you hitting people.”

Simon, the fucker, had landed one punch before Hux and Murph showed up—along with Simon’s teammate, Xavier Matthews—to break up their fight. Isaac was still pissed about that. Every time he remembered Simon’s comment, he wanted to deck the motherfucker all over again.

Nothing else happened after that. Hux shuffled them all out the door before someone called the cops. Xavier gave Isaac an apologetic look as he dragged Simon off, which Isaac didn’t give a shit about, because he was so angry. No one called the cops, but someone called Belsey. It was probably the bar, wanting to know if they could charge any damages to the credit card he’d left behind.

Belsey must have called Misha. Because he and Max were waiting for them the second they walked in the door. Misha pointed to the kitchen and said, “Both of you. Now.”

Laurent’s expression was shut down like he was in goal, but Isaac knew him well enough to know he was probably terrified. He’d tried to get Isaac to just go back to his place, but Isaac had been moved by some, probably stupid, urge to confess to his coach before he heard about it from someone else.

He’d forgotten for a moment how it must feel for Laurent to face the disapproval of an authority figure—and a coach, besides.

Isaac was an idiot. And his face hurt. He pressed the cold pack against the bruise he could feel forming and said, “He started it.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Max pointed out. “When it was Laurent.”

Isaac remembered hitting Laurent in his coach’s office. He winced.

“I deserved it,” said Laurent so quietly that only Isaac could hear him.

Guilt twisted his guts into a tight, hot tangle. “No you didn’t,” he said and reached out to put a hand on Laurent’s face. “You don’t deserve to have anyone hit you. I’m sorry about that.”

Laurent flinched at Isaac’s touch. It was a small but subtle gesture that made Isaac want to cry. Laurent’s wide, dark eyes looked blank and remote, but he didn’t say anything.

“If we could get back to you beating up other players in bars,” Misha said, his voice firm.

“I only hit him once,” Isaac mumbled. He couldn’t help but add “unfortunately.”

“No,” Misha snapped and hit his hand on the island. It made Isaac jump. He wasn’t used to Misha displaying much of a temper. And from the corner of his eye, he could see Laurent flinching again. “You do know that was exactly what he wanted you to do. Tell me you know that,
syn moy.
”