Page 12 of Tough Call

I couldn’t say I minded.

The church was fairly small, so it didn’t take us long to explore it. We eavesdropped on an English-speaking guide telling a group some of the history and highlighting some of the bones and skulls kept in glass cases. It was a little morbid, but mostly fascinating, and I couldn’t resist picking up a book on the way out.

All too soon, we were outside the gate again, our group standing on the sidewalk with our coats pulled tight around us. There was a small restaurant across the street, and lucky for us, they were empty enough to accommodate a group our size. They also didn’t seem to mind the banter and chirping that came with a flock of hockey players.

“I fucking told you it was real,” Mish said.

Jean-Pierre rolled his eyes. “Anyone would be skeptical of”—he gestured toward the church—“that.”

“Oh, just admit you were wrong,” Madars laughed.

Mish elbowed him. “Hey, you were skeptical too.”

“But I believed you after you showed me the website.” He gestured at Jean-Pierre. “He was still saying ‘no way’ at the door.”

Jean-Pierre gave him the finger, and the guys laughed.

The banter continued like that as we ate. After a while, Madars turned to me. “What did you think of the church? Did you enjoy it?” There was a subtle crease in his brow, as if he were truly concerned I hadn’t enjoyed the outing.

Why was it so hard to not put a hand on his leg or his forearm? I wouldn’t do that even if we were dating because we were in public and I didn’t know the guys at this table well enough, but also… we weren’t dating. What the hell?

I cleared my throat and smiled. “I did. It was really interesting. The book will give me something to do on the flight home.”

Madars made a face. “Ugh, I hate those transatlantic flights. So fucking long, and then there’s the jetlag at the end.”

Mish snorted. “You didn’t complain about anything being long when we were roommates.”

All the guys roared. Madars laughed, but he also blushed, and when he looked at me, there was a hint of “Sorry about my stupid friends” in his eyes. I just chuckled and nudged his foot beneath the table. He nudged back.

They all kept chirping while we kept eating, and I laughed along with them. Though playing professional hockey had never been in my future, I’d done my time on youth teams, and I’d always enjoyed the camaraderie and nonsense that came with being around hockey players. I’d been fortunate in that my dad had made sure I was on teams that weren’t as toxic and homophobic as hockey teams absolutely could be, so it had mostly been fun and lighthearted. I wouldn’t have traded those experiences for anything, and I enjoyed dipping my toes back into it with these men today.

One man in particular, of course. Every time I stole a glance at Madars, my pulse went haywire. And every time he burst out laughing at something a teammate had said—God help me. It was hard to believe this man had once been the cute, kind of shy kid who’d been my first kiss, but then there were moments when I was absolutely sure this was him. When one of the guys ribbed him just right to make him blush. When he got that wicked grin just before delivering the perfect chirp to one of his teammates. When he’d turn to me and silently ask if I was having a good time, and—when I confirmed I was—he’d smile that soft little smile that had been my undoing a decade ago.

How did I ever let you slip through my fingers?

I kept asking myself that over and over, and I couldn’t come up with an answer. Well, beyond the fact that we’d been young, focused on our futures, and we’d drifted apart. It happened. I could name at least a dozen close friends from high school and even university who I hadn’t spoken to in years for the same reasons.

But sitting here with Madars, those years felt criminal. Like I’d been a complete dumbass to not do everything I could to stay in contact with him.

Nothing I could do about it now. I wasn’t making the same mistake twice, though. I vowed to myself at least a dozen times during lunch that I wouldn’t lose touch with Madars after we both left Prague.

Eventually, Mish checked his phone, and he sighed. “We should get back to the city.” Eyeing Madars, he added, “Some of us have to practice today.”

Madars shrugged. “You probably need it more than we do.”

That got him another elbow while a chorus started up of “oh, fuck off” and “eat a dick, Mads” along with some comments in German and French. Madars just chuckled.

As he turned to me, though, his expression was sad and apologetic. “I guess I should go. I, uh…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to make them late.”

“No, no, I get it.” I shifted in my seat. “Or, um, I could give you a lift back.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the door. “I drove in.”

Madars raised his eyebrows, the obvious interest making my pulse jump. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” I shrugged. “My hotel is, what, two blocks away from yours? Something like that?”

“It’s not far at all.”

I nodded sharply. “Okay. No problem, then.”