Breakaway (17 page)

He’d sent them each a Sea Storm T-shirt with his name and number on the back, and they’d sent him a card with some American money and a note to take Zoe out for a nice dinner.

When his mom said, “Say hi to Zoe,” he stood there with his heart in his throat and the words “I’m actually at my boyfriend’s apartment” on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t make himself say it. Instead, he said okay and hung up. Then he sat in the chair on the balcony and stared at the parking lot. Shivering a little because he was barefoot, he huddled in his new hoodie and wondered why he was such a coward.

Jared had called his parents and left a message, then called a friend of his, named Alex, who he’d mentioned before. At one point, he heard Jared say, “No, Lane’s here. Yeah, the guy from Jacksonville. Maybe. I don’t know. I like him. If you meet him, I might never see him again,” which meant he’d told his friend about Lane and Lane couldn’t even tell his parents about Jared.

“You okay?” Jared asked as he came out to the balcony.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” Lane looked up and met Jared’s light blue eyes, which were narrowed in concern. He hadn’t shaved in a day or so, and there was reddish-blond stubble on his cheeks that had given Lane a bit of a burn in certain places. The scar from where he’d been cut by a skate as a kid was a pale sliver of skin on his cheek. He had smile lines next to his eyes.

“My parents think I’m at Zoe’s. They think we’re dating. I never said we were, but they assumed. And they just said to me, ‘Say hi to Zoe,’ and I said,
okay
.”

Jared listened, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Come inside,” he said, his voice warm. “It’s all right.”

I love you.
Lane thought it, but he didn’t say it. Instead he followed Jared inside and sat on the couch, messing with the sleeves on his new hoodie. Jared sat next to him, waiting, rubbing at the back of Lane’s neck in a way that made Lane feel safe, guilty and, because he was twenty, horny.

“My mom walked in on me kissing another guy when I was sixteen. She didn’t say anything, just… walked out of my bedroom and closed the door. And she never said a word, but I could always…. It was always there. You know?” Lane looked at him. “They came to visit, and they were so happy, Jared. They were thrilled, and I thought it was because I was playing well. I was part of a team, and I had
friends
. And you know what they were so happy about? Zoe. And not because she was the first friend I’d ever made that had nothing to do with hockey. No. They thought it meant I wasn’t
gay
anymore.”

Jared was still quiet, and Lane continued. “She told me to say hi to her just now. And I didn’t tell her where I really was. And I didn’t tell her who I was really with either. I just said okay, because I’m a coward. And even though I was so mad, and even though Zoe told me that it shouldn’t matter who I sleep with, I still feel awful that they’re disappointed in me.”

Lane sighed. “What does that say about me, when I decide ruining my parents’ holiday is not worth telling them about you?”

Jared made a soft noise, and to Lane’s surprise, it was kind of a laugh—not a mean one—and his smile was sad. But he didn’t look angry, or worse, disappointed. “It means you’re not ready to tell them yet. That’s all.”

Lane didn’t like that Jared was being nice about it, because it would make him feel better—by making him feel
worse
—if Jared yelled at him. He deserved it. Didn’t he? “Zoe told me too, that I shouldn’t tell them I was gay just to tell them that she wasn’t my girlfriend. That I should wait until someone mattered, so I could tell them I was gay because I was…” he stopped, unsure if he should say it. But what the hell. “I was in love with someone. And that’s what I should do.”

He stared very intently at the stitching on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Can I just get some clarification real quick on why you’re not telling them?” Jared asked. His voice sounded weird, like he’d been in the middle of coughing.

Lane felt horrible again. Christmas was terrible, he was terrible,
everything
was terrible, and it was all his fault. “Because I’m a coward. I told you.”

“Ah, that’s not what I meant.” Jared still had that strangled tone to his voice. Great. Lane had killed him. That was awesome. “Maybe you’re not telling them, because you’re not. You just have someone who isn’t… that you don’t, not that you… do.”

Lane stared at the stain on the floor where he’d knocked over a Dr Pepper, and tried to put all those words into an order that made sense. “You’re losing Artex in the swamp, here, J. I don’t know what that means…?”

Jared finally reached over and tipped Lane’s face up to his. He looked kind of freaked out too, and his breathing was quick and light. And why was Jared scared? It was Lane who was fucking up. Not him. “Do you want to tell your parents?”

“I don’t. I want them to know, but I…. Do I have to keep explaining this? Because it makes me sound
really
awful and like I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”

“Here. Let me tell you something really quick. Okay? You’re not the only one of us that has issues and stuff.” Jared looked pained, and Lane definitely understood that. Feelings were horrible. “Mine aren’t the same, but… can you just figure out what I’m asking here?” He looked hopefully at Lane.

“You sound like me,” Lane told him, smiling a little. “And I’m just as lost as you usually are.”

Jared closed his eyes, then spoke as if he were giving an interview to the press—the kind where your coach told you what to say, and you’re trying to repeat it and sound natural. “You said that… you should tell them when you loved someone. Right?”

“Yeah?”

Jared opened his eyes, and then he actually shook Lane by the shoulders. “Would you just—I love you, idiot. Okay?”

“Okay,” Lane said very slowly. He didn’t say it back, assuming that Jared had to know Lane felt the same way. How could Lane
not
love him?

“Okay,” Jared said. His face was shutting down, and his eyes were going cold, like the lights behind them were slowly dimming. He stood up abruptly and said in a tight voice, “You don’t have to tell anyone about us if you don’t want, Lane. I’m not in this to mess up your relationship with your parents, or your career, or whatever else.”

“Why do you sound mad, though?” Lane asked, worried. He was still thinking Jared was pissed about him not telling his parents. When Jared said he was going to take a shower, it didn’t make sense. They’d been in the shower for so long earlier that all the water had turned cold.

Lane tried to point that out, but all he got was a slammed door for a response. He sat there, miserable. Then stood up and took off his hoodie, folded it, and went into the bedroom to put it back on the bed. The sight of it made him want to throw up. Jared was in the bathroom but the water wasn’t running. He was just so disgusted with Lane that he couldn’t be in the same
room
with him.

Lane grabbed his bag and shoved his stuff inside of it, zipped it, and tossed it next to the hoodie.

Lane was shaking, and this was stupid. Why didn’t he just tell his parents?
Call them and tell them, right now, and don’t lose someone who loves you because you’re afraid.
He knocked once on the bathroom door. “Will it make a difference if I call them now and tell them? I will.” Once his fingers stopped shaking, that was.

The door opened, and Jared, who had shaving cream all over his face, stared at him with eyes that weren’t so cold, but were definitely wary. “What are you talking about?” He saw Lane’s bag on the bed, and he looked…. Lane couldn’t put a word to it, but it was awful.

He swallowed hard and said softly, “Never mind. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jared said, not looking at him. “And you can’t make yourself feel something you don’t.”

Lane was missing something. “Wait.”

“Lane—”

“No, just hang on.” He sat on the bed, thinking about it like it was a hockey play. He made up a diagram in his head, offense and defense, and carefully arranged all the elements of the situation, until he realized what the problem was.

You can’t make yourself feel something you don’t.

Lane felt a sense of relief wash over him that was so strong it nearly made him start giggling. He walked over to Jared, put his arms around him, and kissed him soundly. “Don’t worry, Artex. I got it.”

“Are we even in the same room, right now?” Jared asked, staring at him like Lane was maybe crazy. “And can we stop having conversations that reference
The NeverEnding Story
? Please?”

“I love you too,” he said, and watched as the light came back in Jared’s eyes. He smiled a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I thought I said that already.”

“I told you, and you just said
okay,
Lane. Also you look ridiculous. You have shaving cream on your face. Do you even need to shave? Or do razors refuse to touch your face ’cause it’s so pretty?”

“That’s a terrible chirp,” Lane informed him. He kissed him again and pushed him back into the bathroom. He could see his face in the mirror over Jared’s shoulder, and he did look pretty silly. “Guess I need another shower.”

“Guess so,” Jared murmured, and pushed him back out, toward the bed. “It can wait. I’m kind of getting off on the whole Abercrombie-and-Fitch Santa thing you’ve got going on here. Which is weird. But Lane, being your boyfriend means accepting the weird and going with it. This is what I’ve learned.”

And with that, all the joy came back to Christmas.

That night they had Chinese take-out and watched a movie from Jared’s DVD collection of exactly four movies. Two were the Avalanche’s Stanley Cup DVDs, one was
Slap Shot
, and the other was
Sudden Death
with Jean Claude Van Damme. They watched that one. Lane figured they’d end up making out before it was over, but it was actually pretty entertaining, so they watched the whole thing.

Right before they fell asleep, Jared told him, “You know, I meant it… what I said before. About how you don’t have to tell your parents until you’re ready.”

“Oh. Really?” Lane smiled in the dark. “That wasn’t just you being dramatic?”

“Do you know what
I’m
ready for, Courtnall?”

“I know what you’re
not
ready for, because you told me, ‘No, Lane, wait until you’re thirty-one and you’ll see why.’ That must mean you want to hit me.” Lane nodded, pleased with himself. “You’re not so tough, Jared Shore.”

“Oh yeah. Is that so? How many times has my team beaten yours? Three? And how many times have I beaten you up?” Jared leaned over and kissed him, then punched him in the shoulder. “I meant it, though. You don’t have to, Lane. That’s not…. I mean, I understand it’s important to you or whatever, but I’m never going to be that guy who makes you out yourself to anyone.”

“Thanks,” Lane said, relieved—even though he should really, really tell his parents. But it was nice that Jared understood, and maybe that was the kind of thing you should think through before doing. “I want to, you know. It’s not that.”

“I know, Lane.”

“I’m proud of you and all that stuff. I do love you, and I would—”

“Lane,” Jared leaned over him and kissed him again. “I
know
. Now who’s being dramatic? Go to sleep.”

Before he did, Lane said quietly, “And you don’t have to tell me your story until you’re ready, either. I can wait.”

Jared didn’t pretend not to understand what Lane meant by that, and Lane could feel him tense a little. He was curious, of course, about what Jared meant by “I have my own issues,” but if Jared was cool about letting Lane talk to his parents in his own time, Lane would do the same for him.

“Thanks,” Jared said quietly, and Lane closed his eyes.

THE REST
of winter—such as it was in Jacksonville—moved in a hurry toward the playoffs.

The Sea Storm won the next two games with their rivals, which was great, even if one of them again ended in the third round of a shootout. Bridey was thrilled that it had ended because, as he said, “Next they’re going to send the defensemen out there. I’ve seen it before when shootouts just keep going.”

Bridey didn’t have to take a shot, but in the next game, he took a slap shot to the knee and ended up out of the lineup indefinitely. It was an accident, and the Renegades’ player who shot the puck even came to apologize and ended up hanging out with Bridey in his hospital room for an hour. It turned out they played with a few of the same guys in the juniors, and there were clearly no hard feelings.

The fans didn’t feel that way, though, and the Renegades and Sea Storm rivalry was notched up a few levels. The crowds were steadily increasing, and Lane was both embarrassed and ridiculously pleased to see Zoe wasn’t the only one sporting a Courtnall jersey. That was weird.

Lane was finally able to buy a car, which was an eleven-year-old Toyota Corolla with a sunroof. Which was good, because the air-conditioning was broken and that would suck in the summer. He and Jared sometimes met for a night in Brunswick, Georgia, in the middle of the week. They spent a lot of time on the phone and on Skype. But the middle-of-the-week meetings became rare, and Lane looked forward to their next one—until he was told to pack a bag, grab his gear, and drive like hell to the Jacksonville airport.

He was being called up to play a game with the Syracuse Crunch.

Everything happened in a blur. Ryan hit him on the back three times, saying “all right, Courts, fucking all right!” Lane flew through his room, grabbed a Dr Pepper, and jumped in his car like a superhero on the way to battle dark forces. Since he was going to catch a commercial flight, it was pretty much the same thing.

He texted Zoe with
omg syracuse!!!
and called Jared, who he knew had a game that night. He left him a message that said, “Holy fuck. Going to Syracuse. Hate sex-canceling, but omg, man, Syracuse!”

Jared called him back when he was on the plane. He had a message when he got out into the freezing winter air—wearing only his Leafs hoodie, which in hindsight was a bad idea and made him feel like a failure as a Canadian.