Page 91 of Bro Code

Riley tiptoed around him as he put on his towel, because he looked like a man who didn’t want to be disturbed.

He was sitting on the bench in front of his stall five minutes later with his jeans on, tying up his sneakers, when Liam came in with a towel around his waist. He acknowledged Riley with the tiniest nod as he went to his locker. They’d never resolved the weird vibe between them, but was okay. He didn’t need to be buddy-buddies with everyone on the team.

He stood and was turning to pull his shirt out of his locker when, to his surprise, Liam said, “You didn’t play like dogshit today.”

Riley frowned over his shoulder, not sure if that was a compliment, question, thinly-veiled insult, or what. He said, “Thanks?” Liam nodded. They dressed in silence for a minute, then Riley said, “I thought it was pretty baller the way you came out at that press conference.”

“Thanks, it was terrifying,” said Liam, in his matter-of-fact monotone.

“I bet.” Riley zipped up his hoodie. “I guess I always kind of wondered why you didn’t just do that Vanity Fair interview with me and Arsenault in June.”

Liam squared his jaw as he reached into his locker and didn’t answer right away. He pulled on his shirt, shoulders still slightly damp, and said, “I don’t do press.”

Riley nodded. “Fair. I don’t like it either, to be honest.”

“Yeah, obviously. It got way in your head this season. Think I made the right call.”

Riley’s eyebrows jumped. “It wasn’t really the media,” he said. “It was more like…well, everything, I guess.”

“You know Nic has a person for that.”

“For what?”

“The head shit. A therapist. She’s good. I see her too. I can get her number. If you’re looking for someone. And you don’t wanna go through the Player Assistance Program.”

Riley felt a small tug in his chest. He’d never thought help might come from Liam Harris, of all people. Just…offered like that, without Riley even having to ask. It was oddly humbling. “Thanks,” he said, quietly. “That would be great.”

They finished dressing in silence, then Riley ventured, “How’s it going for you, since that press conference?”

One shoulder lifted and Liam said nothing. Apparently, the conversation was over. It turned out, you could talk to Liam Harris: just not about Liam Harris.

Riley checked his phone. He had an appointment with a realtor to finally check out a place and was about to be running late. He pulled down his duffel bag and stuffed his water bottle into it, hitched it onto his shoulder, and was heading for the door when Liam said, “Rick handles a lot. So that makes it easier.” As if they were still in the middle of the conversation.

Riley stalled, awkwardly hovering with his bag half on his shoulder, halfway to the door. What question was that an answer to? He said, “Um, okay.” Then, “Oh, Gallagher, you mean? He’s your agent too, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Handles what for you?”

“With the press he mostly just tells them to fuck off.”

A bitter scoff escaped Riley as he adjusted his bag strap and headed for the door. “Must be nice.” Liam looked up from where he was buttoning his shirt, and Riley waved that off. “Never mind.” He put his shoulder to the door. “Having an agent that actually works for you. Sounds nice. He doesn’t do shit for me. I’ll see you later.”

Liam scowled so darkly Riley thought he’d offended him. “Is that true?”

Sighing, Riley paused, leaning on the door. “No, not completely. He’s fine. I just…Rick got totally blindsided by that trade from New York and I felt like he could’ve done better.”

Liam turned and folded his arms. “So he’s fucking up?”

“N—o…I don’t know. He’s your agent too, right? Doesn’t sound like he’s fucking up for you. I figured he just doesn’t have time for me because he spends it all managing Pretty Boy Nic Arsenault. Sorry, no offense: your boyfriend is pretty.”

“I’m aware.”

“But it sounds like you’re happy with him, so probably I’m just expecting too much. He’s the first agent I’ve dealt with on my own, so I don’t know how it’s supposed to go.”

Liam studied him a long moment with his arms folded and face drawn into a scowl, then said, “He’s not too busy managing Nic.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Riley leaned on the door. “Didn’t mean to offend.”