Safe Harbor 2: Hiding in Plain Sight (8 page)

The image of Vlad looking like a marathon runner but with that log of his between his legs tickled Joe, and he snickered.

Sorry.

He got up to fix himself a snack, bringing the phone with him.

I don’t think you are sorry at all.

Joe grinned.
Nope, not in the least
. With his snack made, he went back to the couch. The bathroom wasn’t finished, but he was done cleaning for the night. Any of the original enthusiasm he’d had for the project had long since vanished. Flipping on the television, he found a movie he’d already seen a dozen times and settled back with his beer, lying back against the arm of the couch and balancing a bowl of salsa on his belly and the chips between his legs.

He thumbed out another text.

Okay, you got me. I’m not sorry.

Joe took a minute to turn up the sound, enjoying the effect of the surround-sound speakers during the fight scene playing out on-screen.

I’m going to shower, hopefully jerk off without my roommate seeing me, and go to bed. Later.

Shaking with laughter, Joe put a hand down to keep the salsa from landing on the couch.

Good luck tomorrow. Call me so we can set up this date thing.

Relaxing once more, he watched the movie and ate almost half a bag of chips. If he kept this up, he’d have to step up his workouts. Right now, he was getting away with hour-long sessions two or three times a week, but the minute some pudge started to show, he’d step it up. Joe wasn’t sure if all men were like this, but many gay men, himself included, were pretty vain when it came to their appearance. If the straight men he saw around work were any indication, they didn’t give two shits what they looked like. Just today Joe had watched in morbid fascination as a coworker had downed four burgers and two orders of fries, washing it all down with an enormous soda pop. Gross.

Joe fell asleep on the couch, and when he awoke around three in the morning with a crick in his neck, he winced. If he didn’t stretch the kink out now, experience told him he’d be hurting by the time he got up in a few hours. He took a few moments to stretch his lower back and legs as well, stumbled into the bedroom, and dropped face-first on the bed. He grabbed the covers, rolled over, and promptly fell back to sleep.

Chapter Five

Joe worked some weekends, but on this particular weekend, he was off. It bummed him out Vlad wasn’t around, but at least he’d be back tomorrow. Maybe they could even go on their date tomorrow night. He tried to look on the bright side of not having the man around. Tonight he could watch Vlad play without worrying about having to get to bed for work the next morning, listening to the radio while he worked, or any of the other dumb things he’d been contending with when Vlad was playing.

Having grown up in a small town about ninety minutes from Pittsburgh, Joe was naturally a fan of the Phantoms, but he’d never taken an interest like he was now. They were playing Boston, and both teams were in the thick of the playoff race. Right now, Pittsburgh was two points behind New Jersey for the lead in their division, while Boston was four points ahead in theirs but had played two more games than the team right below them.

After spending the day cleaning the rest of the house and running errands, Joe made a pot of spaghetti sauce and sat down to eat like a civilized adult. It was easy to just sit on the couch or the floor in the living room and chow down while he watched television, but with spaghetti, there was potential for a disaster. As a nod to trying to eat better, he’d purchased one of those complete salad-in-a-bag things. He dumped the contents into a bowl and made himself eat that before the noodles.

He finished up and cleaned the kitchen, stowing away the remainder of the sauce in the freezer, and went into the living room. The pregame had just begun, and he sat down to watch. The camera zoomed in on Vlad near the bench area, one skate up on the boards as he bent forward to stretch. Of course the sight caused an erection as Joe’s brain flooded with the ways he could bend Vlad to his liking. Joe sighed, forcing his attention back to the screen. The camera had moved on to highlight some other players, but Joe still watched Vlad, who was now in the background doing some stretch that made him look like a frog.

Joe’s phone rang, and he picked it up. Obviously it wasn’t Vlad, and his parents were down in Florida for the month and virtually unreachable with their antiquated cell phones. He hadn’t reconnected with too many people in the time he’d been home. He hadn’t wanted their sympathy, and none of the friends he’d had before deployment knew he was gay.

His heart skipped a beat when he checked the caller ID.
Brendan.

Joe took a deep breath. “Hey, man! How ya been?”

How was he going to explain Vlad to Brendan? Was it even necessary to? He didn’t want to out the other man.

Your dick got you into another mess.

The line crackled, and Brendan’s deep voice answered, “Good, and I’ve got news.”

“Oh yeah?” Joe glanced at the screen. Vlad had just taken a shot in warm-ups, and Joe watched as he turned away from the goal. He frowned. Shouldn’t he be wearing a helmet? He realized Brendan had stopped talking.
Shit. Busted
. “Sorry man, you cut out on me some. Can you repeat that?” It was amazing how easily the lie slid off his tongue, even though he hated being less than truthful.

“I said they’re sending me home early. Did you see the speech the president made? He wants the troops out as soon as possible.”

“Didn’t see it,” Joe murmured.

“Anyway, I should be stateside in a few weeks and completely done about six weeks from now. Of course, those plans could get blown all to hell. You know how the army is.”

Yeah, I do.

“Wow. Congratulations.”

“I thought after seeing my folks for a couple of days, I could maybe come to Pittsburgh to see you.”

Joe closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Sure, man.” He was happy Brendan was getting to leave, but Joe was with Vlad now. Did Brendan just want to get together as friends? Did he want something more? Now was not the time to talk about things like that, so Joe kept his thoughts to himself.

“I miss you.”

Fuck
. “I miss you too.” They chatted about mundane things for a few minutes, but as the game was about to start, Joe said, “I gotta go. I’m meeting some friends. Um, call me when you get back to the States. We’ll work something out.”

“Awesome! Can’t wait to get out of the sandbox. Setting my boots on grade A USA soil for more than a few days will be fucking sweet.”

“I hear you, bud.” He winced. Joe had never called Brendan “bud” in the entire fourteen months they’d been stationed together.

Luckily Brendan didn’t appear to notice. “I’ll let you go. Later.”

Joe hung up and put his head in his hands. He and Brendan hadn’t made any promises to each other, but the niggling sense of guilt that he hadn’t told Brendan he was involved with someone was starting to eat at him.

The national anthem began on the television, and Joe stood. Even at home, he showed respect for his country. People who had never laid their lives on the line serving in the military didn’t understand the special relationship many veterans had with the United States. Sure, there were a lot of things wrong with the country, but Joe had traveled to several corners of the world while deployed. He’d seen atrocities he couldn’t even begin to describe, along with poverty, corruption—you name it, he’d seen it. Joe loved the United States fervently.

Vlad was on the ice, his skates sliding back and forth, presumably to keep his muscles warm. The anthem singer finished, and Joe watched, rapt, as Vlad took a couple of quick turns around the ice before skating up to the red line to take the opening faceoff.

The action was fast and furious for the first period, and Joe followed Vlad when he was on the ice and the entire play when he wasn’t. Vlad was never out of position, back-checked readily, and took the body when necessary. Joe had no idea why, but watching him play was pretty fucking sexy. The period ended, and Joe made some popcorn, grabbing a beer to wash it down with. He sat on the floor with his legs underneath the coffee table, leaned his back on the couch, and settled in for the second period.

About seven minutes in, the Phantoms were awarded a power play after a Boston player high-sticked a guy. Vlad came on as part of the first power-play unit. He took the faceoff in Boston’s defensive zone and immediately drove to the net. The puck came back to an eighteen-year-old phenom from Sweden who was stationed at the blue line. The kid let a shot rip, and Joe watched in horror as it hit Vlad down low, knocking him onto his back where he spun out of control, crashing into the net. He was holding his leg, his face contorted in pain. Play stopped. Joe’s heart stopped too as Vlad rolled onto his side on the ice, still clutching his leg.

The announcer was speculating about where Vlad had been hit, and Joe had a very real concern he was going to lose the contents of his stomach. He had a whole new respect for the spouses of professional athletes. Of course, it wasn’t too different from military spouses in some ways, but at least the spouses rarely had to sit there and watch their loved one be injured right in front of them, where they could see.

The kid whose shot had hit him skated right to Vlad and was bent over, resting his stick on his knees a few feet away as the trainer came out onto the ice. Joe felt bad for the guy. It wasn’t his fault. The shot was low, exactly where it should be. It wasn’t like he was trying to take someone’s head off. He looked pretty shaken up, though.

The trainer took hold of Vlad’s leg and straightened it. Vlad grimaced. They wouldn’t move his leg if they thought it was broken, would they? The television cut to replays from a couple of different angles, and Joe had to look away when the side angle clearly showed the puck hitting Vlad near where his foot and ankle met. They returned to live in time to see the trainer and the young kid put Vlad’s arms around their shoulders and start to slide him toward the dressing room. Vlad wasn’t putting any weight on his leg at all. Joe’s stomach churned, his heart in his throat. Ironically, it was the same feeling he’d had after he’d fallen and had known immediately he was badly hurt.

He rose and began to pace. They had to give some sort of an update, right? Finally, between the second and third periods, after Joe had circled his living room about a million times, the announcers said Vlad had a lower body injury and would not return.

“Lower body injury? Well, duh. Great powers of deduction. The fucking puck hit him in the foot.”

Joe would never understand why teams hid what sort of injury the player had suffered. It was clear in the replay it had been his foot or his ankle. Joe continued to pace, his teeth picking at his chapped lips until they bled. The game ended, and he kept the postgame on in case there was any news. Shortly after the coach’s postgame press conference, where the man gave the same bullshit explanation, his phone buzzed. Joe practically dived for the stupid thing. It was Vlad.

Got hit with puck. Big bruise on my ankle. Hit between skate and pads. Sucks. Will call tomorrow with more details. Gave me good painkillers.

With a hand over his heart, Joe took a deep breath. The news wasn’t good but could’ve been much worse, he knew. Those bruises were painful, but it shouldn’t keep him out of commission for too long. Joe had experienced his fair share of similar injuries and kept going. But hockey wasn’t exactly like Delta Force, where they regularly made lifesaving missions even while badly injured, so likely Vlad would get a few games off.

Get some sleep, baby, and let me know if you need any help. Do you have a ride home?

He sat heavily on the couch, relieved Vlad’s injury wasn’t more serious. A deep bone bruise, which Vlad most likely had, was nothing to take lightly, but he could’ve broken his leg or worse.

One of the guys can drop me off. If you are free tomorrow, maybe you can take me to pick up my truck.

Joey smiled.

Of course I can. I’m off work and at your disposal.

Yawning, Joe looked at the time.
Eleven o’clock on a Saturday, and I’m considering going to bed. What the hell happened to my twenties?
He made a derisive noise. The army happened. Joe didn’t regret joining the army, but there was no doubt it had eaten up a good chunk of time in the past several years.

Hmm. Interesting idea. Will call tomorrow after I wake up. Just took pills. Sleepy time.

He laughed, thinking about Vlad all curled up, his leg elevated who-knew-where. No doubt his ankle would be killing him for the next couple of days.
Maybe he’ll need a nurse. Perhaps a rectal exam
. Joey rolled his eyes.
Yeah, it’s definitely time for bed when stuff like that seems funny.

After turning out the lights, he crawled into bed. If he had anything to say about it, he’d be in Vlad’s bed tomorrow night.

* * * *

“Dude, we’re home.”

“Wha?” Vlad rubbed his eyes.

“We’re in Pittsburgh. This is traditionally when we get off the plane.”

He cracked an eye open. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute.” His teammate turned away. “Hey, can somebody take me home? I probably should not drive.”

The man turned back and smirked. “You do look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, I’ll drop ya.”

Vlad gathered his stuff and slowly followed his teammate to his car, leaning on the crutches they’d given him. Soon he was home again. After checking the time, he took another painkiller. They’d called it a bruise, a word that made his injury sound so minor, but his ankle was swollen to almost twice its size and had turned colors for about a six-inch circle around the point of impact. It hurt like a motherfucker, and if Vlad was going to sleep, he had no doubt drugs would need to be involved. He crawled into bed and pulled up the covers, wondering how much time he would be off before he was cleared to play again. At some point, it would become a pain issue, and Vlad could handle pain. He’d been doing it all his life, whether physical or emotional.