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“Where’d you disappear to last night, anyway? You go home with one of those birds who was molestin' you on the dance floor? Shit was like a fuckin’ porno, man.”
Ryan laughed. “Nah, I wish. Mar and I…we had a misunderstanding. We hashed it out. We’re all good now.”
“You and that woman are constantly fightin’, man. What the fuck you beefin’ about now?”
“Actually, it was about…you.”
“Me?” he asked, trying to sit up, but Ryan gently pushed him back down. “It was my birthday. Fuck did I do?”
“Speaking of pornos, do you remember making out with her in the middle of the dance floor?”
“Did we make out? Shit. You know how many people actually thought she was my mother? Did we make out in front of everyone?”
“In front of everyone. For like, five minutes straight.”
“Wow. Nope, don’t remember that.”
Ryan sighed. “I followed her home and we kinda got into it. We almost had sex again, but I stopped it. It was a long night.”
“Christ, Rook. You two need to stop bangin’ already. Every time you do it’s like you open a hidden portal to another undiscovered dimension of Hell. Don’t worry, I laid into her last week about it, too. It’s not healthy. You two just need to stay friends and leave it at that.”
“I think we may have gotten to that point last night. I don’t know. It’s…hard with her.”
“She tell you about her new man?”
“Yeah. Listen, I don’t really wanna talk about that. Why don’t you get some rest?” Ryan brought a hand up to Hayes’s head and ran his fingers through his hair, Hayes moaning slightly at his touch.
He grabbed Ryan’s other hand and held it, proceeding to pass out cold for the remainder of the bus ride.
And Ryan could not have been happier.
???
If the bus ride wasn’t bad enough, practice was a shit show of epic proportions. Between the number of guys who had to stop and throw up and the fact that no one could move, it was a miracle Hastings didn’t trade the entire team right then and there.
“Hayes? Why the fuck would you plan this shit the night before a game? Do you have any brain cells in your fuckin’ head, kid?”
“Sir, no sir,” Hayes groaned, lying down on the bench, having just yakked into a nearby trash can in the tunnel.
“Well, guess what? I’m not scratching your sorry ass. You’re gonna get out here, play like shit, let anyone scouting from the big club see you play like shit, and maybe you’ll learn your lesson. None of you are getting scratched. So suck it up, idiots. There’s literally no point in this practice. Go back to the hotel, take naps, and attempt to get your shit together for tonight. Jesus tap dancing Christ!” he yelled, kicking a Gatorade bottle and taking out an entire rack of twigs on the way back to the locker room. “Pick that shit up, Hayes!” he yelled from inside the tunnel, and it echoed throughout the arena.
Hayes crawled over to where the sticks were, starting to pick them up one by one and load them back onto the rack.
Ryan came over to help him. “I’m pretty sure we’re just gonna find him dead in his office someday. That man’s blood pressure has to be through the roof. This team is a fucking mess, man.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to play tonight? I can barely move.”
“You’ll figure it out. We’ll go back to the hotel and you can sleep for a bit more, maybe take a hot shower.”
They headed back into the locker room and Hayes plopped down onto the bench in front of his stall. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes when he felt someone beginning to untie his skates and take them off.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Ryan teased, a look of sheer disgust washing over his face as Hayes looked down at him. “Yo, your feet need an exorcism, man. My God.”
“Yeah, they’re brutal.” He leaned back again, but Ryan grabbed his hands and pulled him forward.
“Nope. Let’s get the rest of your gear off.”
“Can’t I just wear it back to the hotel?” he whined. “It’s literally across the street.”
