Page 62 of Hard Check
Dawson was at the bar. Same stool, book closed in front of him, a half-finished beer leaving a ring on the wood. He lookedup when Leo’s group came in and watched him cross the room without turning his head.
Jonesy was already waving Leo toward the booth. Carter had slid in. Russ was flagging down Wes. The whole team was pulling him in one direction, but Leo’s feet went in the other.
He dropped onto the stool beside Dawson and signaled Wes for a beer. His pulse was doing something stupid. He’d just scored twice in front of seven thousand people, and the thing making his hands unsteady was a man on a barstool who’d shown up because Leo asked.
“So?” Leo said.
“So what?”
“How was I?”
Dawson took a drink. “You were fine.”
“Fine?” Leo turned on the stool to face him. “That was fine?”
“I don’t know hockey.”
“You don’t need to know hockey to know I was incredible.”
Dawson’s mouth twitched. He was fighting it and losing. “You were fast.”
“Go on.”
“And that second one, the shot from the circle. I’ve never seen a puck go in that fast.” Dawson mock-swooned.
Leo gave him a playful shove. “Neither did the goalie.”
“So modest, Mr. Vargas.” Dawson shook his head, but the twitch had turned into a real smile, unguarded for half a second before he caught it.
Leo added this moment to the collection of memories: the hand-holding in Milwaukee, watching the sunset over a secluded lake, the sound Dawson had made on his couch. Every piece this man gave him cost something, and Leo cherished all of it.
“I think you’re my good luck charm,” Leo said. Quiet enough that the bar noise swallowed it before it reached anyone else.
Dawson’s hand tightened on his glass. He didn’t look away. “I’m sure you did just fine without me watching you play.”
“Nope, definitely better when you’re there,” Leo admitted. “The first game you come to see, and it was like everything finally clicked into place out there. I might need you at every game going forward.”
“Correlation isn’t causation.”
Leo grinned. “Did you just drop a statistics term on me in a dive bar?”
“I went to college for a semester. Some things stick.” Dawson drank his beer as the tips of his ears were red. Leo wanted to touch them, wanted to press his mouth right there where the flush started and feel the heat of it. He kept his hands on the bar.
Wes put a beer in front of Leo without being asked. Spotted Cow on tap. Leo didn’t think too hard about how he’d ordered a vodka soda the day he walked in, and now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank anything other than draft beer.
“Hell of a game tonight,” Wes said. “Ford let in that soft one, but don’t tell him I said that.”
“I would never.”
Wes winked and moved down the bar. At the far end, Gunnar was restocking the cooler. When Wes reached him, he said something low that made Gunnar’s mouth twitch. Wes hooked a finger through Gunnar’s belt loop, tugged once, and kept walking. Gunnar shook his head, but he was still almost smiling when he reached for the next case.
Jonesy materialized behind them. “V! Get over here. Carter’s buying a round because he’s the captain and that’s the rules.”
“Since when are there rules about who’s buying drinks?”
“Since I made them up thirty seconds ago. Come on.” Jonesy looked at Dawson like he was seeing him for the first time. “You should come over, too. Any friend of V’s is welcome.”
Dawson shook his head. “I’m good here.”
