Rules of the Game #5
Rule #1: Don't fall in love with your best friend's brother
After Anders Lindholm lost his wife and baby daughter in a car accident, he knew he’d never find love like that again.
Hockey, routines, and his team are all that have kept him going since.
But as he approaches forty, an injury makes him consider what life after retirement will be like.
And when his teammate, who just so happens to be his best friend’s brother, offers him a helping hand—in more ways than one—it reawakens something in Anders he can’t deny.
Rule #2: Don’t let anyone know the real you
Kelly O’Shea has been in love with Anders since he was fifteen. He’s been hiding the fact that he’s gay for just as long.
He loves his family, but their over-protective meddling is what made him move halfway across the country and hide who he was.
Although Kelly and Anders both agreed it would stay casual, Kelly begins to hope that maybe they’ll eventually be more than just friends with benefits.
And the more time they spend together, the faster the ice around Anders’ heart melts.
But with a playoff spot to clinch, fractures within the team, and overprotective brothers to worry about, Anders’ fear of letting go of the past isn’t the only challenge they’ll have to overcome.
TRIGGER WARNING:
Off-page and non-graphic mentions of death of secondary characters including a child. Grief. Brief and non-graphic mention of suicidal ideation. Talk of homophobia and homophobic slurs.
Non-graphic mentions of sexual harassment and sexual assault.
ANDERS & KELLY
“The day I stop giving is the day I stop receiving. The day I stop learning is the day I stop growing.” -Wayne Gretzky
PROLOGUE
FOUR MONTHS PRIOR
“You should slow down, Kelly,” Anders Lindholm said softly.
Kelly O’Shea squinted at his teammate, wondering why there were two of him. One was bad enough. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
He proved it by tossing back another shot.
“That’s my boy.” Jack Malone pounded him on the shoulder, sending him slumping into Lindy, who caught and steadied him by wrapping an arm around his back.
The weight of it made the floaty feeling inside Kelly settle and his skin go hot.
Mmm, fuck. How does Lindy always smell so good?
Okay, maaaybe not deep in the postseason at the end of a game that went into double overtime when Anders’ pads were all nasty and gross. Though Kelly still spent a lot of time in his bedroom with his underwear shoved down and his hand on his dick, thinking about licking the sweat that trickled down Anders’ neck.
When they hugged on the ice, sometimes Kelly buried his head in the crook of Lindy’s neck and breathed, let himself enjoy those fleeting seconds of Lindy’s arms tight around him, pretending it was something he got to keep.
“Hey, you still alive in there, Irish?” Ryan Hartinger hollered across the table.
Kelly forced himself to straighten, though Lindy’s arm remained draped over the back of the booth, fingertips brushing Kelly’s shoulder.
“Still alive! Still partying!” Kelly shouted, his tongue thick in his mouth.
“Fuck yeah!” Malone shouted. It was a raucous club, and they were in the VIP section, so no one cared how obnoxious they got but Kelly still winced. One of these days someone would record their antics and blow it up on social media.
And with the ring on Malone’s finger and the random girl draped half on top of him, someone would post the damning evidence and land the team in hot water.
Kelly swallowed, sick with the realization that if he wasn’t careful, someone would also notice the way he looked at Lindy.
Maybe they already had.
Malone glanced at him. “Hey, you know what? We need to get you laid, Irish.”
“Yeah?” Kelly asked, trying not to grimace. Or sway. Was he swaying already? Or was it the room?
“Been a while, huh, bro?” Malone asked with a smirk.
Kelly shrugged. “I do all right.” The lie tripped off his tongue with ease because he’d said it so many times now.
Malone snorted. “You could be gettin’ it every night of the week, even with your stupid red hair.” He turned to the girl on his lap. “Hey, you got any friends?”
She smiled coyly. “Why, what do you have in mind?”
“Oh, well … how about you find someone who might want to hook up with us?” He palmed the curve of her ass. “And see if you have another friend who’s into fire crotches.” He nodded at Kelly.
Heat built in Kelly’s cheeks until he was probably as red as his hair. Yes, the carpet matched the fucking drapes. He’d been chirped enough times about that growing up. But what Malone suggested made cold dread build in the pit of Kelly’s stomach.
He shoved at Lindy’s shoulder. “Hey. Get up,” he yelled.
Lindy raised an eyebrow, but obediently shifted to let Kelly out from behind the table.
“Bring shots,” Malone hollered when Kelly finally staggered out of the booth. “I don’t know where the stupid waitress is. For what we’re paying, she should be living at this fucking table.”
“Gotta piss,” Kelly shouted. “And besides, I got the last round. C’mon, Coop. You’re up. This one’s on you, man.”
Brett Cooper grumbled but he got up. “Fine. What do you assholes want?”
“Eh. Whatever. If it’s got alcohol in it, I’m good.” Kelly waved vaguely at them before he turned to find the bathroom, stopping when someone grabbed his upper arm.
“You sure you’re okay, Kelly?” Lindholm asked, sliding his big hand up Kelly’s back, sending sparks dancing across his skin.
“Lookin’ for the bathroom.”
“Okay.” Lindy squeezed his neck and Kelly stifled the urge to sigh and press into the touch.
“Maybe take it easy on the drinks when you get back. And grab some water. You’re not as big as those guys and it always hits you harder.”
“Not small either,” Kelly squawked, offended. “Just not a friggin’ giant like the rest of you.”
Kelly eyed Lindy up and down, liking the way he had to tip his chin up to look him in the eye. God, he looked so good right now.
“I’m only looking out for you,” Lindy said, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. Kelly wanted to press his lips to it.
Knowing he couldn’t made Kelly’s words come out snappish and short. “I can take care of myself.”
Lindy pulled Kelly in for a second, not quite a hug but close enough to speak without shouting. “I know. But your brothers would murder me if I let anything happen to you.”
Kelly stiffened and pulled away, blindly striking out for the bathroom. He stumbled, turned around and unsure which direction to go, and felt a soft pat on his hip, guiding him toward the rear of the club.
Thankfully, Lindy didn’t follow him down the hall or into the bathroom, but Kelly’s guts still twisted with shame and arousal.
Sometimes he hated the way Lindy made him feel.
If only he didn’t look so good. Didn’t play hockey so well. Wasn’t the nicest goddamn person on the planet.
Kelly had no idea how everyone in the universe wasn’t in love with Anders Lindholm.
Kelly’s fingers were clumsy as he unzipped and pulled his cock out, aiming at the urinal. He braced himself against the wall, his eyes half-closed. The room spun but he was still half-hard from the warm brush of Lindy’s breath against his cheek.
“Stupid,” he muttered.
A guy a few urinals away shot Kelly a look but he didn’t respond.
How could Kelly explain this?
How could he put into words how desperate he was to have his teammate’s big hand wrapped around his cock, stroking? If Lindy touched him, Kelly would press up on his toes and push his head into the warm space at the crook of Lindy’s neck, panting against his skin as Lindy worked him over. Kelly wanted his big rough hands and his soft words, tinged with faint traces of his Swedish heritage.
Kelly shuddered, realizing he was more than half-hard now and his bladder fucking hurt. He needed to stop thinking about Lindy or he’d never go soft enough to piss.
Instead, Kelly thought about a guy he’d played with in college who’d had nasty toenail fungus. Kelly’s dick finally softened and he was able to let loose. He sighed as the pressure in his bladder dissipated and when he was done, he shook off to dry.
Probably the most action his cock would get all week. Or all month or all year. Because Kelly was sad and pathetic. Red hair or not, he could pick up girls fine, but he didn’t want them, never had.
Kelly’s stomach churned at the thought he’d have to fake it soon. It had been a while since he’d gone home with anyone. He fucking hated it but it was expected and Kelly always did what was expected of him.
Except moving to Illinois and being straight, and he might not be entirely happy about the whole being gay thing but even he knew he couldn’t change it.
Maybe someday he’d have what his teammates had, he thought blearily as he washed his hands, splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to sober up.
Maybe someday he’d be brave like Hartinger and Murphy and kiss someone he loved on the ice. Maybe he’d hoist the Cup and pose for pictures draped in rainbow flags for the local magazine. But for now, he wasn’t out, and he was sad and lonely and afraid of disappointing everyone.
He stared at himself in the mirror, the low light of the bar bathroom making his stupid red hair darker and less obnoxious, water glittering on his lashes like he’d been crying.
Something hurt right there in the middle of Kelly’s chest, and he let out a weird noise. The guy washing his hands—was he the same one who’d been by the urinal?—looked over.
“You sure you’re okay, man?”
“Yeah.” Kelly smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m okay.”
He’d never be okay about Anders but some stranger didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know Kelly was in love with the one man he could never have.
“You look kinda familiar,” the guy said, narrowing his eyes. “Do I know you?”
“I play hockey,” Kelly said, but he left the bathroom before the guy could ask any more questions.
Rather than go to the table, Kelly headed straight for the bar, ordering two shots, which he downed in quick succession.
They had two nights in Pittsburgh before their next game and he was determined to get obliterated enough to forget how pathetic he was.
* * *
Muffled swearing outside Anders’ door pulled him out of bed. He should have been asleep hours ago but he’d only just dropped into a drowse. He checked the peephole in time to catch a flash of red hair. He had the chain unhooked and door open before the next heartbeat.
“What’re you doin’ in my room?” Kelly slurred, slumping against the doorframe as he squinted at Anders.
“This is my room,” Anders gently pointed out.
“Oh.” Kelly stared at his keycard, freckled nose scrunched in confusion. “Guess that’s why this didn’t work.”
“I guess so. Do you need help getting into your room?”
“Umm.” Kelly looked up and down the hall. “I think maybe yes.”
Anders plucked the keycard from Kelly’s loose grip, slipped an arm under his shoulder, then steered him toward the room next door. “This is you.”
A single swipe of the card let him in the room and Kelly let out an excited whoop. “Hey, it worked!”
“Shh. Don’t wake anyone else up.”
“Oh, right.” Kelly giggled and turned his head, burying it against Anders’ shoulder. “Sorry.”
Anders focused on getting Kelly into the room and closing the door behind them. He gently deposited Kelly on the bed, where he continued giggling.
“You are going to feel it in the morning, aren’t you?” he asked under his breath. Thankfully they didn’t have a game until the day after tomorrow.
Anders coaxed Kelly into sitting upright long enough to drink a Gatorade, then set the trash can beside the bed. He removed Kelly’s shoes and, with Anders steadying him, Kelly stripped down to boxers, kicking his clothes away from the bed. He stumbled, lurching against Anders’ chest.
“C’mon. Into bed with you.”
“You could join me.” Kelly gave him an impish grin, locking his arms around Anders’ neck and tilting his head back.
Anders froze, staring at Kelly’s heavy-lidded gaze, his mouth stained redder than usual from the sports drink.
Absently, Anders brought his thumb up to wipe at the corner of Kelly’s lips.
Kelly giggled and nipped at his finger, the gesture so playful it felt alien to Anders. It had been years since he’d been this intimate with anyone, felt bare skin against his in a dim room, desire blooming through him until every little hair stood on end.
“You need sleep,” Anders said hoarsely, loosening Kelly’s tight grip. “You’re very drunk and very tired.”
“Kiss me, Anders,” Kelly begged. “Please.” He dug his fingers into Anders’ hair, the clumsy tug of it sending a wave of sensation through Anders, his body flushing hot before turning cool and clammy.
He felt feverish and dazed with Kelly’s lips close to his, begging him for the one thing he could never give him.
“I can’t,” he finally rasped.
Kelly pursed his unnaturally bright lips. “But—”
Anders pressed his finger to Kelly’s pout. “Don’t ask me to, Kelly. Please.”
“You’re no fun.” Kelly stuck his lip out further.
“Yeah.” Anders sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that. C’mon. You need to lie down, okay?”
Kelly gripped his hand. “Don’t go … stay with me for a bit.”
“Of course,” Anders promised him. “Of course I will.”
Because although he couldn’t be with Kelly the way he wanted, he would always look out for him. He would have done it even if Kelly’s brothers hadn’t made him swear to it.
Anders coaxed Kelly to roll onto his side, then pulled the covers over him. Kelly let out a sleepy murmur of thanks and quickly slipped into dreamland.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, Anders stared at Kelly a moment, smoothing his damp hair off his forehead, watching the flutter of his lashes against his freckled cheeks. He looked achingly young.
Twenty-two felt like three lifetimes ago to Anders.
Twenty-two was long before he’d met Astrid and fallen immediately head-over-heels in love. Before they’d married. Before they’d had Elia.
Before Anders had lost them both.
Anders closed his eyes, throat going too tight at the memory of the twisted, mangled scraps of metal left after the car accident.
He reached up, gripping the chain holding two wedding bands, one large enough to fit the smaller one straight through. He brushed his thumb over the warm metal, the gesture as familiar as breathing after four years of loss.
Kelly let out a sleepy sigh and Anders shook off the past long enough to tuck the blanket more firmly around him, then retreated to the chair on the far side of the room to watch over him.
The seat was large and plush, comfortable to sink into. The lamp beside it spilled light across the room, illuminating Kelly’s bare shoulder and arm, muscular but not bulky, his body lean and tight, sprinkled everywhere with freckles.
Anders closed his eyes, remembering the sound of Kelly begging for a kiss.
Despite what his wife used to say sometimes, Anders wasn’t an idiot.
“Kelly is in love with you,” Astrid had announced one night after a team event. She’d pushed her headband up to get her blonde hair off her face and she looked at his reflection in the mirror, expression unusually grave.
Anders liked watching her go through her nightly routine, washing her face, brushing her teeth, smearing on various lotions. He liked it so much that when they’d remodeled the bathroom, she’d worked with the designer to pick out a chair suited to his large frame.
That night, Anders had looked at his wife in the mirror, thinking about her words.
“No,” he’d protested automatically. “Surely it’s hero worship. He’s straight. I’ve seen him leave bars with women.”
She gave him a pointed look before splashing water on her face, her voice slightly muffled as she patted dry. “As far as your teammates know, you’re straight too. You’re married to a woman.”
“True.” He gave her a rueful smile when she lifted her head.
When they met, he’d been upfront about his previous involvement with men. She’d merely nodded and treated it exactly the way she’d treated his obsession with Scandinavian military history. She didn’t fully understand it herself but offered him a casual but loving acceptance that it was simply a part of who he was.
He hadn’t expected anything else, in part because Sweden was generally much further ahead than the United States when it came to these things, but also because it was very her.
“I suppose Kelly could be bi as well,” Anders had admitted. “Are you sure he has serious feelings for me though? It’s probably just a minor crush.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Anders,” she’d tartly corrected him. “Kelly O’Shea is in love with you. It’s sweet. He’s absolutely devoted to you.”
Anders had thought about their previous interactions and nodded, his throat thickening. “He is.”
She’d met his gaze again. “Be kind. Don’t break his heart.”
Astrid had been a smart woman. Frighteningly so.
Not perfect. God no.
She’d left her toenail clippings on the bathroom floor and absentmindedly wiped her dirty fingers on her jeans when she snacked and read. She had the most appalling habit of kissing him when her tongue tasted of the salted licorice he detested, and she left a trail of belongings in her wake wherever she went.
But she’d been the love of his life. His breath of fresh morning air and his nighttime sigh of contentment and now she was gone, and he couldn’t breathe any more.
She’d left him in the blink of an eye and yes, Kelly loved Anders, and maybe Anders felt something for Kelly as well but it wasn’t fair to taunt him with something Anders couldn’t give him.
Tonight, he’d hated to see Kelly’s worshipful gaze and bright smile dim when Anders had denied him but no matter how much he cared for Kelly, Anders wasn’t the man for him.
Anders wasn’t whole and Kelly deserved someone who was.
Someone who would kiss every freckle and delight in his sense of humor and love him for all his imperfections the way Anders had loved his wife.
But losing her and their baby daughter had broken Anders in a way that would never heal, and Kelly deserved better.
The problem was, Kelly O’Shea was like a toothache.
The pain of having him around was almost pleasurable. Every time Anders bumped up against it, he flinched. But he found himself poking at it again, just to feel the sharp zing mellow to a sweet ache.
Just to feel anything at all.
Sunday Sport Stats
Rules of the Game
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Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.
EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com
Rules of Engagement #5
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