Buzz (The Riley Brothers Book 1) (3 page)

After the first night, the hospital insisted that Jackson couldn't stay in Cam's room. Cameron tried to pay for a downtown hotel, but Jackson said he had reward points to use up. When he came back, he smuggled in a pizza to share between nurse visits.

Cameron fucking loved his big brother.

Jackson had always been there for him, and now was no exception. Not that he blamed their little brother, Thomas, who was stuck in Halifax with work. He'd texted back and forth for a while with Cameron to pass on his best wishes and concerns. He was clearly worried, but Jackson and Cameron had both insisted that he should stay at work for now.

Having Jackson there for him was so much better for Cam. Those first few crushing hours facing the prospect of no passion, no job, and no boyfriend had passed. With company, he was more grounded and optimistic.

The first day or two of bed rest was a nice break from the constant intense training schedule.

By day three, Cameron was ready to break out of the hospital. Coach Walker had visited, as had many of his teammates. Most of them met Jackson for the first time, many for only the second or third, and all instantly liked him.

Everyone did. Jackson was just easy to get along with, for the most part. It made Cam smile.

Then, the doctor asked to see them all together – the coach, his brother, and him. That was reason to stop smiling.

Cardiac specialist Dr. Whitfield had been working on his case for the last couple days, but no tests had been conclusive so far. As he gazed at them all from across his imposing desk, Cameron already knew where this was going.

“So, you said you have conclusions for us?” Coach Walker wasn't buying into the ominous silence for a second.

Jackson nodded with the coach's words. Coach Walker sat on one side of Cameron, while Jackson flanked the other side.

“Yes.” Dr. Whitfield fidgeted with the file folder on the desk in front of him. “Here's the thing, gentlemen. I've been going over it, over and over, and... nothing adds up. This is going to need some serious testing done with a cardiology team... assuming it
is
a heart problem. There could be some other invisible illness causing it.”

“Lupus?” Cameron quipped. Both Jackson and Coach Walker shot him looks. “Sorry.”

Dr. Whitfield nodded. “Something like that. It's... you know, we can't guarantee your safety or even your life if you keep playing. All we know is that reaching peak physical exertion seems to trigger the response. Dizziness at first, escalating to fainting, obviously. Our fitness tests haven't replicated that yet, so we can't see
what
it is. It's stress-linked, too.”

“So you're saying he should stop playing.” Coach Walker's eyes were difficult to read. He wouldn't let the doctors slide away under some BS excuse.

Dr. Whitfield nodded. “Avoiding prolonged periods of elevated heart rates or short periods of highly elevated heart rates is best.”

There was a long moment of silence while Cameron's stomach churned with distaste.
Come on, talk to him. Make them do more tests before they let me go.

“You're not the first guy who had to leave right before he got an offer.”

No.

“Or even after.”

“No way,” Cameron gritted, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“You're young, you can find another career and kill it, whatever you choose. You've got the guts and strength. You're driven and loyal. You're
able
to do it.”

Coach Walker had never talked to him this frankly, and Cameron wasn't ready to handle what that meant. “But--”

“Take two weeks off first, Cam,” Coach Walker told him, and from his voice, there was no negotiation. Jackson watched him closely, just as the doctor and his coach were watching. “Spend time with your family and friends before you decide. Doc, how long before the referrals come through?”

“We can try to fast-track you if you go private, but... months.”

“And private isn't--”

“Cam,” the doctor said, and the nickname from the professional made Cameron recoil and pay attention to him. “That first referral won't fix everything. How long have you been living with these symptoms?”

Cameron bit back his retort. Months, if he was honest, but it had started so small he hadn't noticed. There had been a little dizziness he'd attributed to performance anxiety every time he was on the ice. Then, numbness in his fingers or toes, a moment of heartsick tension in his stomach...

“That's what I thought,” the doctor said. “This has been escalating, and it's not worth your life. If you're meant to play, you'll play in a year or two, when this is settled.”

“Can I at least stay in shape?”

“Yes, but you
have
to stop at the first sign of relapse,” the doctor said sternly. “No stressing out over it, no pushing yourself to your limits. You can rebuild muscle later, but your heart...”

Jackson reached out to grip Cameron's shoulder. “I'll make sure he doesn't push it,” he promised.

Fuck, he didn't want to go home and face that shame – well, no, face Nathan. Would they become ugly roommates now? The kind who brought home men to spite each other?

“The whole family's gonna be home this weekend,” Jackson told him. “Everyone has things to talk about. This has been... a scare for everyone.”

Fuck. Stubbornly sticking around and killing himself over this sport would be selfish as hell.

With the weight of his involuntary decision lifted a little, Cameron nodded. “I'll come home with you.”

***

The shuddering underneath became a smooth glide. The plane whined in the background, its props fighting through turbulence. Cameron leaned against the wall, gazing down as the plane climbed.

There went the tower, the harbor, the island, the arena...

Fuck, the arena.

He'd wandered past the shining glass and chrome, the giant red letters spelling out the centre name, so many times. He'd sat in the bleachers, studying games, and he'd been invited into the locker rooms a few times.

It wasn't the coliseum where
his
team played, but... it was the home of the team he
dreamed
of playing for.

As they banked in one more smooth swoop before turning east, Cameron pushed the window shade down and leaned back in his seat.

He was leaving his skates, stick, and goddamn heart in Toronto.

Noah groaned as he rolled over in bed. His cellphone never stopped ringing these days. Even on a nice Saturday morning when he wasn't scheduled to work the exhibits, he couldn't have a moment's peace.

Then, he got over it and stirred awake, grabbing his phone and clearing his throat before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Noah, it's your uncle Bill.”

“I know who it is,” Noah laughed as he sat up. He'd had his number in the phone for years, but Bill still didn't get that cellphones had caller ID. “What's up?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

Noah had a pretty good idea he knew what it was. It was farmer's market day. Every Saturday, Bill sold his honey, beeswax candles, honeycomb, beekeeping supplies, books, and more. His stand was well-known among the locals now and many people stopped by just to chat about the bees and how they could help save them.

His uncle probably needed help running it. Of all the things to do on a Saturday morning, the market wasn't bad. He knew all the other vendors by now.

“There's a swarm.”

“Ah.” That made it more urgent, then. Noah climbed out of bed and opened his drawers to find a clean, presentable outfit to wear. He was almost out of laundry. No time to do it while negotiating loans and commissioning pieces for the new hockey exhibition he was running at the local arena.

He resisted the urge to groan. It had been a fucking long week, one of those weeks from hell. But he wasn't going to say no to his uncle. “Um, give me... half an hour? I'll try and be faster.”

“Thanks a bunch, kid.”

“See you, Uncle Bill.” He hung up and tossed his phone onto the bed, then ran his hands over his face.

A lot could happen to an unguarded swarm in half an hour. He headed straight for the shower, grabbing a towel along the way. There was no time to waste.

***

“Early swarm this year,” Noah greeted his uncle when he managed to slide through gaps in the crowd and duck behind the table.

Bill shrugged helplessly. “I don't know why. The homeowner's panicking.”

“Right. Go on, you better catch 'em,” Noah encouraged him. “I'll take care of things here.”

“Thanks a lot,” Bill answered, clapping his shoulder as he rushed for the parking lot.

Finally, Noah breathed out. He hadn't even grabbed a proper breakfast – just a banana. He'd have to ask Susan or Lucy from the fudge stand if they'd watch the stall for a minute while he grabbed a pastry later.

He liked to be presentable all the time, even though he wondered why he bothered sometimes. On his sloppiest days, he styled his hair and wore a short-sleeved t-shirt over his t-shirt. He joked that he wanted to be ready to propose a date to some hottie.

Even when he had a boyfriend, he believed in looking his best at all times. It only ever earned him attention from the ladies at the fudge stall, but at least he scored free fudge.

Hmm. He could do fudge for breakfast. There was a brief gap in the crowd and Noah raised a hand to wave. “Morning, Susan!”

***

By eleven in the morning or so, the market was always at its busiest as people who woke up late came to shop or socialize. It was exhausting keeping up with everyone who wanted his attention.

Large groups of people wandered past the stalls together, pausing to glance at jars of honey or pollen. It was a whole different atmosphere – one that required a more extroverted touch than morning sales.

Noah sold all the honeycomb by noon, plus half the honey jars and three books. He even passed out business cards for people who were interested in buying beekeeping supplies.

Now and then, he had a chance to chat.

“Hey, Ray!” he called out, waiting to attract the attention of the man at the houseplant stand on the other side of the aisle. “The game tomorrow's at three.” Ray nodded, then kept wolfing down his sandwich.

Noah helped run a little field hockey league – nothing serious, and he was pretty bad, but everyone involved had fun. Whoever won, they drank and laughed at bars downtown after each game.

That sandwich looked good and Noah's stomach was growling, too. He was considering stepping away from the stall to grab a samosa and run back. Before he moved away, though, someone approaching the table caught his eye.

Noah was starstruck.

This man was tall, broad, yet subtly muscled – not hulking with gross veins popping out everywhere. He wore a light t-shirt despite the spring morning, and Noah tried to drag his eyes away from the nipples poking against his white shirt.

Holy shit, his face was gorgeous. The stranger had dark brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a smile that would charm the pants off a monk. And Noah's gaydar was going off like
crazy
, which made him ten times more nervous than if this had been some hot straight guy.

The stranger fidgeted as if nervous, too. He let another section of the crowd pass by, then slipped between them nimbly. Once he reached the table, he glanced down at the honey instead of at Noah.

Say something.

This was the moment to clinch the sale. Noah drew a breath, trying to act completely nervous. He rested his hands on the table to keep them from shaking. “Hello. Can I help?”

Holy shit, Jackson's house was cramped.

His brother had been trying to find a bigger place for a couple months now, but he'd never gone through with it. Something was always wrong – a flood risk or it needed too much work or it was
too
finished.

Cameron was grateful to stay with his brother, though he was getting too familiar with Jackson's basement laundry corner. He was wearing the same few outfits over and over from the duffel bag Jackson had grabbed from his house while he'd been in hospital, and laundry was getting old.

As Jackson paged through real estate listings, Cameron tried to ignore the morning news. He hated watching the news. It was depressing and it never actually told him anything useful. Just more stabbings in Halifax and shit, and he didn't need to be worrying about Thomas all the time.

“I'm going down to the market,” he told his brother. The farmer's market was something of a Fredericton tradition. A lot of people went to socialize in their small town and catch up with old buddies, not just get their produce. It would be nice to run into a few people he knew, even if most people he knew here had been his high school graduating class.

A lot of that crowd was still hanging around, most of them done university now. Some had moved back home and some had never left. Then there were the older folks, friends of his parents' or teachers, who were glad to see him back home. He told them all it was a vacation back here after too long away and they always agreed.

“You should think about moving back,” his old English teacher, Ms. Crawford, encouraged. “There's a lot going for young people. All the tech companies moving here. It's all from that town Internet access program.”

“Right, right,” Cameron nodded. He knew shit about Internet access programs, but it sounded like it made sense. “I've thought about it.”

“I mean, unless your big sports career keeps you away. But a lot of folks here would be glad to see you back,” she assured him.

Cameron smiled. “Well, you never know,” was all he'd commit to. “It depends which teams want me.”

“There's one starting up here.”

“Really?” There had been rumors for years. Cameron would believe it when he saw it. The town just wasn't big enough to sustain a pro team of its own. Minor leagues here never lasted long before getting bought out by another team and moved.

“Oh, yes. You should talk to people about it,” Ms. Crawford told him. She juggled her vegetable basket from one arm to the other.

“That looks heavy. I won't keep you,” Cameron nodded. “See you, Ms. Crawford. Great to meet you again.”

God, he'd sucked at her class.

His cheeks burned as he remembered the red ink on one paper with a typo in the title and three Wikipedia sources. He waved goodbye, then escaped through the crowds.

Honey? Sure. He could use honey... save the bees and all.

Oh, shit.

The man
behind
the honey table almost stopped him from going over to it, but not because he was unapproachable. Quite the opposite: he was
beautiful
, and there was no way in fuck he was straight. He stood tall, but he hadn't quite spotted Cameron yet.

It wasn't a rebound fling if Cameron just wanted to have a word with him. There was no way he'd wind up being single.

Cameron approached, picking his way through the crowd until he reached the table and the man greeted him.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

He sounded cheerful and bright, his voice warm and somehow familiar. It was the kind of comforting voice you'd expect from a nurse or physiotherapist.

No, I need to get out of that mindset.
Not everything was about sports anymore.

“Hi,” Cameron answered, dragging his gaze from the honey jars up to the man. Angled cheekbones, the full, feminine lips, the bright brown eyes... the scruffy blond hair gelled up, then messed with.

He was offering Cam a smile and not the distant, suspicious expression he'd expected. His stereotypical once-broken nose and general broad build made people think he was a bouncer or a scrapper sometimes.

“Um, just taking a look at your honey,” he answered, gesturing at the jars.

“Well, we're sold out of our fresh honeycomb, but we have lots of liquid honey left. There's small sample jars of a hundred mill's,” the man gestured towards them. “And larger ones, of course.”

“Is it all local?”

“From my uncle's hives.”

Cameron licked his lips. “Oh, cool. He sells you it?”

“Oh, no, this isn't my stand,” the man smiled. “It's his. He's off catching a swarm, actually.”

“A swarm?”

“Bee swarm. When they leave the hive en masse.”

“Wow. I see.” Cameron tried to think of something else to say just to hear that warm voice again. Sometimes it caught when he drawled his way through a syllable and that gorgeous Atlantic accent came out.

Cameron had missed the accents from home.

“Yeah. He has several hundred hives of his own, and manages a network of about a thousand more through a co-operative profit-sharing agreement.” That sounded like a spiel.

“On his own?”

“Yeah. He wants an apprentice, but it's hard to find anyone our age who's interested in it. He tried twice and the guys left a month or two later. We're all leaving for Toronto or Fort Mac... you know how it goes.”

Cameron frowned.
I was one of the kids who left for Toronto, too. Not doing the oil fields, though...
“Uh, is he still looking?”

The man stuck out his tasty lower lip in thought. “He might be. If you wanna stop by next week, he'll be here and he can talk to you about it. Or I can take your number...”

“Oh, I don't – I don't have a local number yet.” Cameron didn't want to give away his Toronto number and get charged long distance – or worse, sound like he was trying to pick up this guy for a fling. Most Ontarian visitors did that: fucked their way through town on vacation and left. He needed to sound interested in the job, though. “But I'll stop by next week.”

“Okay. I'm Noah, by the way.”

“Cameron. Or Cam's fine. Everyone calls me that.” What was wrong with him? He usually got quiet, not chattery, when he was nervous.

“Nice to meet you, Cam.” Noah reached over the table for a firm handshake. This was something else he'd missed: everyone did business with a handshake here, not sleazy contract lawyers and agents and the media. “See you later.”

This wouldn't be a bad place to move back to, relatively speaking.

“See you.” Cameron's skin tingled as he drew back, his heart still flip-flopping. For the first time in days, it wasn't in a bad way.

On his way out, Cam passed a plastic house-shaped box with a stack of real estate listing booklets. He opened the creaky metal handle to pull down the door and reach in for a brochure, then let it snap shut.

He flipped through the brochure as the scents of food and the sounds of excited residents faded. One listing in particular caught his eye.

Score this hat trick of houses.

He rolled his eyes but scanned underneath.

A triple listing: great for an investor or a big family.

Cameron's mind raced as he scanned through the three houses. They were each priced the same and had roughly the same features, but differed slightly in their upgrades. One had a better garden, another a better kitchen, the third had a good media room in the basement, and so on.

They all needed a little fixing up, but that was nothing he couldn't handle. He knew his way around light home renovations. He'd learn more from the hardware store or YouTube tutorials. Plus, the summer was coming up and it sounded like there was a job opportunity for someone to make a living as a beekeeper...

As Cam waited at a red light to cross the street despite no cars coming the other way, he thought the small town life was kind of tempting. Maybe moving back here would be the kind of change Coach Walker was talking about. Hell, maybe he could stop blaming himself for everything.

***

“Thomas! God, it's great to see you,” Cameron grinned as he held the door to his parents' house open for his little brother.

Thomas was a couple years younger than him, clever as a whip after graduating at twenty. Cam and Jackson had looked out for him, because the two of them had actually
been
gay, yet scrawny Thomas had wound up labelled the gay one at school.

Then again, Thomas hadn't actually told any of them about dating a girl, even since moving to Halifax. Cam quelled speculation by saying the chances of all three brothers being gay were pretty fucking small, but he wondered.

Their little brother kept himself to himself, but he was sweet and as loyal to their little family as could be. He was beaming, a grin breaking across that narrow face as he strode up and crushed Cameron in a hug.

Cameron pretended to stagger to his knees. “Mom! Thomas is picking on me!”

“Settle down, boys,” she laughed. Their father was laughing from the living room as he waited to greet their son.

“Welcome home, Thomas,” Mom added, hugging and kissing his cheek. She sent him into the living room to greet Jackson and Dad.

As they caught up on their trips home, everyone headed to the table for supper. Cameron ate even more than the other two, but he always had, to fuel his muscle growth.

“So, you're better?” Thomas finally broached when they were done their main course.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Cameron assured Thomas, feeling the nervous silence descending. “I'm just taking a couple weeks off to visit you guys and... you know, recover.”

“It was a shock for all of us,” Mom spoke up, her voice a waver. Cameron had hugged it out when he'd first gotten back, but she still seemed upset. Not that he blamed her – he still couldn't even provide a diagnosis or explanation.

“Well, now that you're back here... I mean, are you gonna... go back?”

Dad cleared his throat, but Cameron shook his head. “No, I don't mind,” he assured them with a quiet laugh. He was a grownup. He'd tell Thomas to fuck off if he had to, but he honestly didn't. They shared many of their decisions and fears in this family. “I'm thinking about it.”

“His coach thought it was a good idea,” Jackson added. “He was pretty firm on that.”

Cameron rolled his eyes. “I'm not just gonna stop playing, but... if that means getting out of competition...”

“Oh, Cam,” Mom breathed out.

“Yeah, you worked so hard...” Jackson frowned, sympathetic despite his clear views that Cameron should quit.

No way would Cameron admit how much it stung. He just shook his head. “No, really. If I'd gotten signed, I'd have been moving all over the country, never seeing you guys... I mean, I missed it here a lot.”

“You've barely been home,” Dad agreed.

“Yeah, and that sucks. I mean, the money doesn't, but then all the guys blow it on...”
Hookers and cars and anything that won't show up on a test...
“You know, just empty stuff. Nobody banks it away.”
I would have.

“That's not a good lifestyle to be around if you don't want it,” Thomas spoke up. Youngest or not, he was a voice of wisdom sometimes.

“No, exactly. What, are your bank coworkers partying too hard?” Cameron teased to take some of the attention off himself and find out a bit more about his younger brother. They hadn't properly talked in so long.

“No,” Thomas laughed, then grew a little quieter. “No, but things are kind of sucking there, too. The new branch that opened up, where I'm working now-- uh, by the way, I transferred...”

“Yeah, I know.” Jackson had filled Cam in on Thomas's transfer. He'd switched branches last month to move to a brand new branch downtown, and Cam felt bad that he'd had to be filled in on something that big.

“Okay. Um, things are pretty harsh there. The new boss is bad, and we don't have any loyal regulars yet. There isn't the atmosphere I liked,” Thomas admitted, pushing his wine glass around. “I've thought about transferring here.”

Their mother was concerned but growing tired. She tried to hide her drooping eyelids, but Cam spotted it. She'd been working all afternoon on supper. “How about we go out to the bar and talk about it?” Cameron suggested.
I gotta talk to them about the houses, too.

“Yeah, good idea,” Jackson smiled. “Mom, Dad, you can get some rest. Now Thomas is in town, he'll be getting us all up early for family bonding time...”

“Shut up,” Thomas laughed. “That was
one
Christmas.”

Mom interrupted with a wave of her hands and a laugh. “Go on, all of you. We'll get the dishes.”

“We can--” Jackson started, but Dad shook his head.

“Just buy us dinner next time,” their father teased. “I'm sure you boys can manage that.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” they all clamored to agree. They all got to go out together so rarely that there'd be a fight to pay.

“Go on, scram. Let us get some peace, then,” Dad added.