“I’m sorry,” David says.
“Would it be cool with you if I told my family about us?” Jake says.
“Us?” David asks.
“Like,” Jake says. “You know. That we’re — you know.”
“What?” David says, then, “No.”
“They’re not — they wouldn’t tell anyone,” Jake says.
“You don’t know that,” David says. And it’s irrelevant anyway, because even if they didn’t tell anyone, they would know.
“I do,” Jake says. “I really—”
“I said no,” David snaps, and Jake flinches, looks back at the TV, still blank.
“What’d you decide on?” Jake asks finally.
“You pick, I don’t care,” David says.
“David,” Jake says.
“I don’t,” David says. “Just — you pick.”
“Fine,” Jake says, and he turns on something with more explosions than actors, his usual fare, the sort of movie David can follow even if he doesn’t pay much attention.
David pays a lot of attention to this one. He can’t remember a single thing about the plot when the credits are rolling, Jake still a foot away from him on the couch.
“I should head back to the hotel,” David says.
Jake doesn’t say anything.
“I should probably spend more time there,” David says. “Since I’m paying for it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jake says. “Makes sense. You want a ride?”
“I can just order—” David starts.
“I’ll drive you,” Jake interrupts.
“Okay,” David says.
Jake’s quiet on the ride home. Well, they both are, but only one of those things is unusual. It feels present, the silence, physical in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. It’s a relief when Jake pulls up to the lobby, a relief not to have the silence weigh him down.
“Thanks for the ride,” David says.
“David,” Jake says, then, when David looks at him, “See you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” David says. “Of course.”
David doesn’t sleep very well that night. The bed feels wrong, too soft compared to the mattress at Jake’s, too wide for one person, so much space to stretch out. Or toss and turn, which he does, because he can’t stop thinking about it, that Jake wants to talk about it. He thought they understood each other, he thought Jake had as much to lose as him. That’s why Jake was safe.
At least, he thought Jake was safe. But now Jake’s breaking the deal. And he knows it’s just Jake’s family, he knows family is meant to be something separate, inviolable, but —
He just doesn’t understand why Jake would want to tell them. Why he’d open himself up to that when he doesn’t have to. Because he trusts them, presumably, he spoke with confidence when he said they wouldn’t tell, but there’s trusting someone, and then there’s —
David doesn’t understand it at all.
*
Jake picks him up after training camp. It wasn’t that David didn’t think he would, exactly, just, well. Maybe he was a little worried he wouldn’t. He isn’t quiet like he was in the car last night, talks about his day, how hard Majors is riding them now that they’re getting closer to the charity game. It’s in less than a week. Less than a week, and then Jake’s going back to Detroit, David to New York. He doesn’t want to think about it.
“What do you feel like for dinner?” Jake asks.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” David says.
Jake frowns at him, like he’s disappointed.
“Greek?” David ventures. “Souvlaki?”
“Sounds good,” Jake says. “Souvlaki it is.”
They order delivery when they get back to Jake’s. David sets the table while Jake makes the call, because Jake is just as happy eating out of containers, so it’s unfair to make him do it. They watch the news while they wait, and it’s quiet, but not quite the same way as it was. Still uncomfortable, though, like something is carefully unsaid.
The food is good. Well cooked, well seasoned. That’s pretty much all they say over dinner. It feels a little like dinners with his mother back in Ottawa.
David wonders if his mother would refer to Jake as ‘that gay young man in your league’ if it had been him caught instead of Riley. But then, that’s a stupid thing to wonder. If Jake had been caught kissing another player, that player would have been David.
“Are you okay?” Jake asks.
“Your family—” David says, isn’t sure how to finish the question, and Jake looks so hopeful when David says it that he regrets saying it at all, especially knowing he can’t retreat from it now that he has.
“Do they know that you’re—” David says. He’s not sure what Jake is. He knows he likes girls too, that he doesn’t just pretend to, so he’s not gay, and David doesn’t know if he’d consider himself bisexual, or just that David’s an exception to being straight. Though, despite the fact he’s not actually having sex with all his friends, David knows he isn’t the only guy Jake’s been with. He just doesn’t want to know more than that. “That you like guys?”
“Yeah,” Jake says.
“Really?” David asks, taken aback. “And they’re…fine with that?”
“Yeah,” Jake repeats, just as easy sounding as the first time. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
“I—” David says, isn’t sure how to answer a question that sounds absurd to him.
“I don’t know,” he lands on finally. “They’re really fine with it?”
“They’re really fine with it,” Jake says.
“Oh,” David says. He hates the look on Jake’s face, expectant. He doesn’t know what Jake’s expecting. Or he does, it’s just not something he can provide.
“I wish you were on my line again this year,” David says, the first change of topic he can think of, and, worried that’s saying too much, “My linemates are slacking off during drills.”
“For real slacking or just compared to you slacking?” Jake asks. David doesn’t know why working hard is something to make fun of, but he’s so relieved Jake’s allowing the topic change that he doesn’t take offence to what is probably a chirp.
“You’re going to beat us at this rate,” David says.
“Awesome,” Jake says, smiles a little lopsidedly. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure,” David says.
“You pick?” Jake asks.
“Okay,” David says.
*
Things go back to normal, at least mostly. Not normal like Jake doesn’t want to tell his family anymore, or that he’s forgotten that he asked, but like he’s decided to pretend it never happened. David should be grateful for that, that Jake’s willing to do that, but the question still sits uncomfortably within him, not just the request, but the fact that Jake would even want them to know about David.
It bothers Jake, he knows. He tries to hide it, and he’s good at it, good enough that David wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t looking for it, but it bothers him that his family doesn’t know about them.
David supposes he understands that, to some extent, since by all rights they’re supportive of him, accepting. But that’s one thing David doesn’t understand — not that his family could be supportive of him, David knows families can be, though he can’t imagine they’d be happy that Jake didn’t have a girlfriend instead, given that he has the option, given what’s on the line if he’s found out.
But if they are fine with it, as fine with it as Jake thinks they are, he can’t see why they wouldn’t tell other people. The things you don’t talk about are the things you don’t want to talk about, the things you’re ashamed of. The things you don’t talk about are the things you can’t say.
“What’s the matter?” Jake mumbles, like David woke him up with his own insomnia.
“Nothing,” David says. “Go back to sleep.”
Jake slings an arm around David’s side, warm and heavy, and does.
*
Maybe David wo
uld have been able to drop it if they had training the next day, something to focus on that wasn’t the contradiction inherent in a family that would be supportive and secretive at the same time. David can’t untangle the threads of it, figure out how to make sense of it.
Maybe he’d have been able to drop it if Jake hadn’t looked so disappointed when David suggested he should head back to the hotel that morning, so disappointed that David couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t really want to either. The time’s slipping away so quickly, and it doesn’t make sense to be alone right now, not when he’ll have no shortage of time alone once he heads back to New York.
It’s a nice day. The weather, David means, though it’s too hot, but also the day itself. They go downtown, wander around like the tourists David supposes they are, eat dinner at a brewery, sampling a flight of the beer. David wouldn’t usually drink more than one beer with dinner, let alone half a dozen, but the samples are small, and he doesn’t like the majority anyway, Jake laughing and drinking the ones David dismisses.
“Snob,” he says, not quite a chirp, more gentle than that.
“I just like what I like,” David says.
“Uh huh,” Jake says.
It’s late when they get back, the sun fading in the sky, and David brushes his teeth while Jake showers, examines his too-pink cheeks in the mirror. He forgot to wear sunscreen. It’s unlike him. He supposes he’s preoccupied, but still.
David takes a short shower after Jake’s done, finds Jake on the couch flipping through channels, hair curling damply around his eyes.
“You want to watch something, or early night?” Jake asks.
“I don’t know,” David says, sitting beside him. “Maybe something short?”
“Okay,” Jake says, continues to flip through the TV listings.
“Jake?” David says, after Jake’s landed on an episode of MythBusters he’s seen before.
“Hm?” Jake asks.
“If your family is really okay with you being, you know,” David says. “What you are.”
“Into dudes?” Jake says. “Into you?”
“Um,” David says, flustered. “Sure.”
“They are,” Jake says. “I mean, I haven’t told them about you specifically, but yeah.”
“But if they were okay with it, wouldn’t they talk about it?” David asks. “About you being — you know, then — why.”
“You’ve totally lost me,” Jake says, sounding apologetic about it.
“You said they wouldn’t tell anyone if you told them about us,” David says.
“Yeah,” Jake says. “They wouldn’t.”
“But if you had a girlfriend—” David says. “They wouldn’t hide—”
Jake waits him out, but David’s not sure how to continue. It doesn’t even make sense in his head, so it’s probably impossible for him to say it in a way that Jake would understand.
“If they were actually okay with it, why wouldn’t they talk about it?” David tries finally.
“Like, me being with a guy?” Jake asks.
“If you told them about me,” David says. “You said they wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”
“I mean, they know how the NHL works,” Jake says. “That it could turn into a whole thing if people know I’m with a guy, especially if it’s you, so. They’ve got my back.”
He says it like he isn’t talking about a worst scenario situation, like it isn’t his own personal nightmare. David doesn’t know how he can say it so casually, how he can say it at all.
“So they wouldn’t say anything,” David says.
“No,” Jake says. “Like, if I asked them not to say something, they’d take it to the grave. That’s like, family stuff, you know?”
David wouldn’t, but then, a lot of Jake’s ‘you know’s seem to be rhetorical.
“Sure,” David says anyway.
“Look,” Jake says. “I get that you’re not — no pressure, you know? If you don’t want me to tell them, I won’t tell them.”
“Okay,” David says.
“Okay,” Jake says, then, when his phone starts buzzing with an incoming call, “Shit, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” David says.
“Can’t talk long, I’m hanging out with a friend,” Jake says, and David flinches, even though it’s unfair to, that there’s no other way for Jake to describe him, not if David doesn’t want Jake to tell his family.
Jake doesn’t leave the room like he usually does, keeps the conversation short, his end mostly ‘uh huh’ and ‘same as usual’. He doesn’t look happy during the call. Not unhappy necessarily, but not happy. “Love you too,” he says, to whoever it is — father, mother, one of his sisters — easy, like it’s something he says all the time, something expected, and David looks down at his hands, feeling like he’s eavesdropping on something private, even though Jake knows he’s listening.
*
David sleeps better that night, but it’s not because he feels any more settled. Less, in fact. He wakes up the next morning feeling overtired, tries his best not to snap at Jake when he takes too long to get ready for camp. They’re precariously close to late when they walk in the doors, go to their separate locker rooms, and David feels like Caldwell’s looking at him, judging him for it.
“Okay,” Caldwell says, right on the hour. Two of David’s teammates aren’t there yet, but Caldwell won’t wait for anyone.
David feels disconnected from training that day, lucky that autopilot seems to be enough. Disconnected on the drive back, Jake managing conversation all by himself.
Or maybe disconnected isn’t right. Preoccupied, unable to get out of his own head. And guilty, he thinks. It isn’t a feeling he has a lot of experience with, and he doesn’t like it. He feels guilty when he cheats on his nutrition plan, or cuts short an exercise routine, but he doesn’t do either very often.
It isn’t fair, David knows, to withhold something Jake wants because David doesn’t understand it. For David, the idea of telling either of his parents, telling anyone —
It’s different for Jake. For one, his family already knows he’s not straight, and by all accounts it doesn’t bother them. At the very least, if it does bother them, they haven’t let Jake know that. They support him. Clearly love him, and he loves them back.
‘I feel like I’m lying to them’, he said, and it’s become clear to David that Jake isn’t a liar. And not in the way that David doesn’t make a habit of lying because he’s bad at it, and it’s easier to be silent and just let people assume what they want to assume, more that he lives...truthfully, David supposes. That what David initially thought was a friendly facade is exactly who Jake is. Shallow, but David doesn’t mean it in a bad way, really. Maybe simple is the better word.
David always seems to be the one making things complicated for him.
If it was anyone else staying in Jake’s apartment, sharing meals and showers and a bed, Jake probably would have told his family weeks ago. They wouldn’t have minded. But instead it’s David Jake’s stuck with. Or not stuck with. In a matter of days they’ll be leaving, and it’ll be like Toronto never existed, like they never existed, especially because Jake won’t tell anyone, and David can’t tell anyone. It’ll be like it never happened at all.
“David,” Jake says, drawn out, like it’s not the first time he’s said it.
“Hm?” David says.
“You know you have to actually put the food in your mouth, right?” Jake says with a grin. “You can’t get energy just by glaring at it.”
“I’m not glaring at it,” David says, but finally takes a bite of his spring roll. It’s gone lukewarm, slightly greasy. He chews slowly, puts it down.
“If you want,” David says, finds himself stalling before he’s even really started. It’s harder, with Jake’s eyes on him now.
“If I want?” Jake prompts.
“If you want to tell your family—” David says. “About us,” he continues, when Jake doesn’t prompt him again. “I w
ould be—”
Not okay with that. Okay isn’t the word. It’s not even close to the word.
“You can tell your family,” he says.
Jake nearly knocks over the container of rice in his rush to hug David, mumbling, “Thank you,” into his neck, and it's almost enough to make the coiled tight feeling in David's stomach disappear.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
David was half-expecting Jake to tell his parents the moment David allowed it, but he waits a day. David wonders if that means he’s nervous, if, deep down, he knows it’s a bad idea. He disappears into his room after they return from training, and David flips through channels, the TV muted in case he hears — what, raised voices? It’s not like he can do anything even if he does hear yelling.
It’s not that David wants Jake to be disappointed, or hurt, he just — he doesn’t expect it to go well. Maybe they are fine with the fact Jake likes guys, as Jake insists, but David can’t see that extending to Jake being involved with another hockey player, let alone a rival.
Jake’s gone a long time. When David hears the bedroom door open he turns the volume back on, trying not to look like he was waiting, though it’s undermined by how anxiously “How was it?” comes out of his mouth.
“Good,” Jake says.
“Really?” David asks.
“I mean, they were a little surprised, obviously,” Jake says. “But then my mom was like ‘that explains a lot’.”
“What does that mean?” David asks.
“Apparently I talk about you a lot,” Jake says. “Not like, about us, just. I guess I was watching your play pretty closely the past few years, you know?”
“But that isn’t unusual,” David says. “To keep track of someone you’re competing with.”
Jake shrugs. “Weird for me,” he says. “I don’t usually pay attention. Do things my own way, you know? Comparing myself to other guys isn’t going to make me a better player.”
“Right,” David says. “Of course.”
“Anyway, my parents wanted to know if you’d be cool with coming to Detroit for a couple days in August,” Jake says. “They really want to meet you.”
Coming in First Place (Between the Teeth Book 1) Page 15