Chapter Two
Olle sat crammed in the back of the Smythe-Morrison minivan, his belongings packed in around him, barely leaving a view out the back window of Jamie following in his car with his hot friend Chris riding shotgun and Chris’s equally hot boyfriend, Tim, in the backseat.
They were all smiling and laughing a lot.
They hadn’t asked Olle to ride with them. Not that he was surprised, but he could have lived without being stuck in the family truckster with Dad and Dad, trying to stay off the grape jelly smeared across part of the seat.
Most guys got traded and they had to fly to wherever their new team was playing and jump right on the ice. Olle got traded and he got twenty minutes to pack up admittedly meager belongings at his apartment and a six hour drive with his new boss and his new boss’s husband, who was unreasonably proud of his cherry-red minivan.
Olle decided it was time to buy a car once he got to Moncton, and quickly. Jamie used to drive him sometimes in Edwardston, but that was before that ill-timed trip to the men’s room.
Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about that.
“You okay back there?” Rupert asked.
“Did you do the trade to save Jamie?”
Rupert’s eyebrows went up while Callum studied Olle in the rearview mirror. He tried not to squirm. He had no fucking idea why he’d asked. It was none of his business. And it wasn’t like Rupert would tell him the truth. He probably had a canned media response ready to go.
“I did.”
Olle blinked. So, no media response, then. “Oh. Well, sorry you got stuck with me in the process, I guess.”
Rupert turned in his seat, facing Olle as much as he could while wearing his seatbelt. “We’re not stuck with you, Olle. You’ll both fit perfectly where we had gaps.”
There was the media response. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
Olle shrugged. “I know they wanted to get rid of me. I’ve had a rough stretch.”
“You’ve had forty-eight penalty minutes in nine games,” Callum said with a chuckle.
Olle looked down at his knees, cheeks hot, and shrugged again. He had no excuses, and it was horrifying that someone he grew up idolizing was calling him out on it.
“Which is actually why we asked for you along with Jamie,” Rupert said.
Olle’s eyes locked on his new, and apparently crazy, GM. “What?”
“We don’t need a penalty box bench warmer, but I watched the games. All of them.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Closely.”
Olle stared at his hands in his lap, face burning.
“You were protecting him,” Rupert said—and there wasn’t any question in his voice. Olle’s new GM was crazy and astute.
Olle glanced up but didn’t say anything.
Rupert’s gaze narrowed. “Did Jamie ever figure it out?”
“No.” And that was how he wanted it.
“I figured as much,” Rupert said with a nod, “given the suspicious looks he was shooting you.”
“He doesn’t trust me.” He shouldn’t.
“That’s too bad. Maybe you could fix that by telling him the truth.”
The truth? The truth was Olle was a lousy friend. He should have stayed and supported Jamie in the bar that night. Or in the locker room the next day. Or at any time other than on the ice.
Olle stared out the window. “What’s to tell?”
“What’s up with you and the gigantic hotty?” Tim asked from the backseat.
“That’s Olle,” Jamie said, keeping his voice even. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Wow. That was really convincing,” Chris said. “If he’s such a nice guy, why did you keep looking at him and frowning?”
Jamie sighed. “I just—I thought he was different. I thought we were friends.”
“So, what happened?” Tim asked, leaning in.
Jamie focused on the road. He hadn’t told Chris the details, just that he’d been outed and it wasn’t going well. But Jamie trusted Chris, and Tim made Chris happy, so Jamie figured he trusted him by proxy, or something.
“Olle and a bunch of guys from the team caught me giving a guy head in the men’s room at a bar,” he said evenly.
“So?” Tim asked, as if this were something that happened every day.
Jamie decided then and there Chris had great taste in men.
He shrugged, his hands clenched white on the steering wheel. “So, he hasn’t spoken to me since. Or looked at me,” Jamie said shortly. And it hurt, damn it.
Tim flopped back into his seat. “Fuck. That sucks.”
Chris frowned. “Wait, has he been an asshole about it?”
Jamie shrugged. “Not really, I guess? I don’t know.”
“Did he join in with the others in the locker room?” Chris asked, his eyes narrowing.
Jamie was grateful for Chris’s protectiveness. “No. He just…sat and glared,” he answered truthfully.
“At you?”
“At the wall, mostly.”
“Huh,” Tim said. “So he didn’t say anything bad?”
“He didn’t say anything at all. Until that night, I…”
Whatever was on his face made Chris’s eyebrows go up and Tim smirk.
“You never mentioned you had a thing for him,” Chris said.
“It was…new? I don’t know. We’d gotten to be friends and were hanging out. It wasn’t a big thing. I never thought he would reciprocate or anything.”
“Why not?” Tim asked.
“I don’t know. He’s hard to get a read on, I guess. He’s a quiet guy. Shy.”
“That’s probably good since he’s the size of a fucking house. And he’s an absolute fucking beast on the ice.”
“He is. But he’s really gentle, too. And once he knows you a little, trusts you, he’s got a lot to say. Or, he did.”
Jamie missed that Olle. He’d been funny and sweet.
He’d also tucked Jamie in close with his arm over his shoulder while they’d watched a movie or a game the last couple times they’d hung out. It had cut through Jamie’s loneliness and he’d leaned in, assuming it was a Swedish thing. Most of the world wasn’t as uptight about men touching as North Americans were.
God knew what Olle thought of all that now.
“Wow,” Chris said, watching Jamie. “You really had a thing for him.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a moot point now, right?” Jamie said, focusing on the road.
Welcome to Moncton.
The sign was the first things Olle saw as he was rousted from his nap by Rupert poking at his knee.
“You barely fit in this car,” Rupert mused.
Olle sat up straighter and hunched his shoulders, pulling all his limbs in to take up less room.
“Please don’t do that,” Rupert said, watching him with a bewildered expression. “You can lounge all over the car if you want. I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”
Olle should be used to his own size by now, but sometimes he still felt weird about being too big for what most people considered normal spaces. He made every vehicle, even minivans, look like a clown car.
“Sorry?”
Rupert sighed. “Please don’t apologize. We signed you in part because of your size. It’s an asset and I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”
Olle blinked at Rupert. He was definitely a departure from any other hockey management Olle had experienced to date.
“Anyway,” Rupert continued when Olle couldn’t come up with anything intelligent to say, “I woke you up because we’re almost home and you have a choice to make. I’ve gotten a text from Chris that Jamie will be staying with him and Tim while he gets settled.”
Rupert watched him, waiting for some response.
“Okay?” Olle said.
“Right, so we can recommend a couple hotels, or you can come home with us.”
Olle was sure he’d heard that wrong. “What?”
“You are welcome to stay with us. We have a guest suite, if you’re worried you would have to share a bathroom with the kids. Though, honestly, they’re tidier than this one,” he said with a poke at his husband’s arm.
Callum smirked. “Careful, dear husband, or I’ll tell Olle all your bad habits.”
Rupert was clearly not concerned, and shared a look with his husband that felt too intimate to witness.
“Okay. That would be nice. Thank you,” Olle blurted, something in his chest loosening at the idea of not having to live alone, even if just for a little while. He almost regretted agreeing when Rupert’s face lit up like a camp counselor meeting a fresh pack of campers.
“Wonderful. We’ll head straight there to introduce you to the family and get some supper, then I can bring you to the rink tomorrow. Do you not drive at all?”
“No, I do. I need to get a car.”
“We can help you with that,” Callum said easily. “And you’re welcome to stay as long as you wish, through to the end of the season if you’d like, but if you want to go apartment hunting, you can ask Alexei about it over dinner.”
“Alexei…Belov? The goalie?”
“Yes, he’s making dinner now, and it should be ready when we walk in the door.”
Callum said it like it made sense, which it definitely didn’t. Nor did the massive warehouse they drove directly into in order to park in a row of cars hidden inside. Or the insanely large and terrifyingly rickety elevator that took them up to the fourth floor.
By the time the doors opened to reveal a hallway better suited to the royal palace in Stockholm than an industrial building anywhere, Olle was revisiting his rabbit-hole theory.
A young boy stood waiting in the hallway. He stared up at Olle. “You’ve brought Thor round for supper, then?”
His accent was like Rupert’s. And so was his face, for that matter. This had to be the younger brother Olle had read about.
Callum laughed and scooped the boy into his arms. “Oliver, this is Olle.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Oliver said politely. “I’m Oliver, but some people call me Ollie. It sounds like your name but it’s not the same, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Olle agreed with a smile. Mine is pronounced Olle. It’s close.”
Oliver cocked his head. “Like what people shout at a bullfight? Olé!”
Olle laughed. “It does sound a bit like that. I never thought of that.”
Oliver grinned back, an instant bond formed over their names.
“Come in, come in,” Rupert said with a wave, leading Olle into an apartment. It was warm and welcoming, with wood floors and thick, colorful rugs, big couches, and a brightly lit kitchen that gleamed with copper and granite. He couldn’t even be surprised at this point. He was half-expecting the Queen of Hearts to join them for dinner. Or the Cheshire Cat to be curled up on his bed.
At the counter stood Alexei Belov, a man Olle knew well by reputation and because he couldn’t get a fucking puck past him to save his damn life, and Mike Erdo, who was usually half the reason for that puck problem.
Olle waved like a complete dork. “Hey.”
Mike waved back, equally dorky. Alexei rolled his eyes.
A teenager wandered into the room, carrying a baby.
“Ah. Perfect timing. This is Christian, and he’s holding Eleanor,” Rupert said. “Christian, this is Olle. He’s going to stay here for a while.”
Olle did more dork waves. Christian, slim and pale and better dressed than anyone else in the room—probably not a hockey player, then—went bright pink.
“Oh,” he said quietly, blinking up at Olle. “Hi.”
Christian couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.
“Well, then!” Callum said loudly, nudging Christian toward the couches. “How about I show Olle to his room?” He led the way down into the hallway just off the kitchen. Olle could see stairs going down at the end. “The family sleeps downstairs. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come get us. But you’re in here,” he said, pushing open a door on the right.
The bedroom was huge and beautiful, the bathroom nicer than any Olle had ever had. “Umm…okay. Thank you. This is really—”
Callum slung his arm around Olle’s shoulder. Olle froze.
“Look, I don’t know what the hell happened in Edwardston. I only heard the rumors. But none of that shit matters here. Respect me, and Rupert, our family, and our team, and you’ll always be part of the Ice Cat organization, even if you end up on another team someday. That’s how we run things around here. That’s how we run this family. We look out for one another. If you step out of line, you won’t last long.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Olle vowed.
“Good. Then it’s a clean slate. Do something with it, eh?”