by Rachel Reid
“No,” said Ryan. “Haven’t played for any Western teams.”
“Ah. I thought I was going to be drafted by Nashville. My agent thought it was going to happen. But then...Toronto.”
“Were you disappointed?”
Wyatt grinned. “A little. But then I met Lisa in Toronto, so it all worked out.”
Ryan had only met Wyatt’s wife, a doctor, once, at a team dinner. She and Wyatt had met when Wyatt had been in the hospital with a broken collarbone. Ryan wasn’t surprised that he had managed to charm her in such a short time.
“Not that I ever get to see her,” Wyatt added. “The only thing worse than marrying a hockey player is marrying a doctor. Don’t do it.”
“Okay.” Since Ryan hadn’t even been on a date in over a year, it definitely wasn’t a problem he was worried about.
The plane turned, and then stopped, and Ryan knew they were about to take off. He hated this part. He hated all the parts, but he really hated this part.
“You can tell me to shut up if you want,” Wyatt said, “but does it help if I talk right now?”
“Yeah,” Ryan gritted out. “Keep talking.”
“You should come with me next time I visit the center.” Wyatt was a regular visitor to a community center in a low-income area of Toronto. He would hang out with the kids, playing floor hockey and distributing Toronto Guardians merchandise.
“You really think kids would be excited to meet me?” Ryan asked dubiously.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Wouldn’t they rather meet Kent? Or Barrett?” Ryan nodded his head in the direction of the two jerkoffs who also happened to be NHL All-Stars.
“I don’t think those shitheads should be allowed within a hundred yards of children. Or anyone. Bad influences.”
The plane’s engine roared to life and jolted forward, and Ryan shut his eyes and listed NHL teams alphabetically in his head. In seconds, he knew, this would be over. He just needed to get through it.
“I mean, they’ve mostly been getting visits from the backup goalie, so I’m sure a defenseman who plays actual minutes would be exciting for them,” Wyatt continued, politely ignoring Ryan’s increased state of distress. “Plus, you’re enormous. Kids love that.”
Ryan grimaced, but forced himself to reply. “Kids are scared of me.”
“Nah. You’re like Chewbacca. They’ll love you.”
By some miracle, Ryan actually laughed while being on a plane during takeoff. “Thanks a lot.”
Wyatt kept talking, telling him about some of the kids he’d met during his visits. Ryan didn’t respond much, but he listened intently. After a few minutes of Ryan listening silently with his eyes squeezed shut, Wyatt said, “I think we’ve leveled off, by the way.”
Ryan opened one eye, and then the other. It always astonished him how calm everyone around him seemed on a plane. His teammates were just chatting and joking around, or putting on headphones, or flipping down their tables to play cards. Some were asleep. Ryan couldn’t even fathom being relaxed enough to sleep on a plane.
“We made it!” Wyatt smiled at him.
“Great,” Ryan said tightly. Nothing to worry about when you’re forty thousand feet in the air.
Wyatt shook his head. “I can’t believe you put yourself through this. Is it always this bad?”
Sometimes it’s worse. “Yeah. It is.”
“There isn’t a pill or something you can take?”
“I do take something. Sort of.” Ryan didn’t really feel like getting into the details of his anxiety meds or therapy. No point in weirding out the one guy on the team who seemed to enjoy talking to him. He decided to change the subject. “What are you reading?”
Wyatt hauled his colorful book out of the seat pocket. “It’s a collection of Jack Kirby’s Mister Miracle comics. It was a series that spun out of his Fourth World comics for DC. Amazing stuff.”
Ryan had never heard of Jack Kirby, Mister Miracle, or the Fourth World, so he just nodded.
“If you ever want to borrow any books, let me know. My collection is pretty ridiculous at this point. Our basement is basically my comic lounge now. You should come over and see it some time.”
“Sure, yeah. That would be cool.” It would probably also never happen, but Ryan didn’t say that.
“Did you move into your new place yet?”
“Yeah. I still need to buy furniture for most of the rooms, but I’m in.”
“Cool. Apartment, right? Downtown?”
“Yep.” Ryan knew he could be doing a better job with the back and forth of this conversation, but he didn’t want to tell Wyatt where his apartment building was. Not that living in a sky-rise in the heart of Toronto’s LGBTQ Village meant anything necessarily—it was a downtown neighborhood with expensive properties where lots of different people lived—but Ryan knew for sure that none of his teammates lived there, so his address might raise questions. And Ryan did not like answering questions.
The plane hit a bump and he gripped the armrests. Normal. This is all normal. Like a bump in the road. Like waves under your uncle’s boat. You’re safe.
He tried to imagine that for a while, that he was on a boat instead of a plane. He’d grown up on boats back in Ross Harbour, Nova Scotia. His mother’s father and brothers were all lobster fishermen, and almost everyone in the small village owned some sort of boat. Boats comforted Ryan, even though they were probably statistically more dangerous than planes.
Thinking about boats made Ryan’s brain call up one of his favorite memories: a chilly April night, standing close enough to Fabian that their arms brushed as both boys leaned on the railing of the Halifax-Dartmouth ferry and watched a giant container ship pass in front them. Its massive hull had blacked out the lights of the city across the harbor, and Ryan had said something embarrassing about feeling small. Fabian had said something back, but Ryan could only remember the way Fabian had smiled up at him.
That smile.
It had been so sweet and shy. Ryan didn’t know—would never know—if he’d imagined the invitation in Fabian’s eyes. If they had actually moved closer together. If Fabian had tilted his head slightly, and parted his lips...
When Ryan opened his eyes, he could see Kent and Barrett were grinning at him again. They turned back around as soon as he met their eyes, because they were both fucking cowards.
Ryan pulled his book out of his seat pocket, determined to ignore his idiot teammates, and to stop daydreaming about Fabian.
And Fabian’s eye makeup.
Ryan had not been at all prepared to see Fabian with his eyes painted like that—jade-green shadow and black winged liner that made the dark brown eyes and long lashes that had enchanted Ryan as a teenager even more striking. It was an image he wasn’t going to be forgetting anytime soon.
God, he’d looked good.
He wasn’t much taller than he’d been as a teenager, but his jaw was sharper, his chest and shoulders broader. He was still very slim, but it was a man’s body. When Fabian had crossed his arms over his chest, Ryan could make out the slight bulge of lean muscle in his arms.
Nope. Stop thinking about Fabian.
Fabian, the first boy he’d almost kissed.
The first boy he’d desperately wanted to kiss.
Fabian had mentioned a show he was playing. At a place called the Lighthouse? Ryan was pretty sure he’d said it was next Saturday. Ryan was playing a game in Toronto that night, but maybe it would be over early enough that he could check out Fabian’s show.
But Ryan couldn’t go to that, could he? It’s not like Fabian had invited him. It would be weird if Ryan showed up. What would he even say? Hi, it’s me. The guy you were probably just being polite to in the drugstore the other night. I’m stalking you now.
Nope. Absolutely not.
But he did say it was a fundraiser. Ma
ybe Ryan should go. As a good and charitable citizen. That wouldn’t be weird. Right?
Good god. Ryan was losing his mind. And that certainly wasn’t something he could afford to do. Not again.
Chapter Four
Fabian blinked awake and had to stifle a groan when he saw who he was snuggled up against.
All of the events of the previous evening came flooding back. Fabian having a wonderful time at Ian’s Halloween party. Fabian running into Claude at the party. Claude looking so fucking good in a slim-cut dark denim shirt and tight black jeans, because Claude was too cool for costumes. Claude’s breath tickling Fabian’s ear when he leaned in to tell him how much he missed him, his Québécois accent sounding a whole lot less ridiculous than when Tarek did his impression of it. Fabian’s hand slipping into Claude’s, as if he had no control over it.
And then Claude coming home with him, back to the apartment that, while shitty, Fabian didn’t have to share with anyone. He often felt that Claude mostly liked him because he had a place to himself. They’d made out forever on Fabian’s bed, and Claude had told him that he missed him. In the moment, that had sounded great. It had sounded great again later when Claude had been fucking him.
But now...
Fabian shifted carefully away from Claude, not wanting to wake him. Or maybe he should wake him so Claude would leave.
Fabian studied Claude’s face. When he was sleeping instead of talking, Claude was...
Oh god, he was pretty. His silky brown hair was covering the eye that wasn’t hidden by the pillow, and his full lips were parted. Claude’s lips were...well, they were distracting.
He had an artist’s body, slim to the point of almost appearing malnourished. His skin was pale, like a young, sexy vampire. And he may as well have been one because Fabian certainly seemed to be ensnared by him.
Fabian grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The screen was full of missed texts from Vanessa.
I saw you leave the party with Claude.
Did you go home with Claude???
DID YOU SLEEP WITH CLAUDE???
FABIAN! ARE YOU HAVING SEX WITH CLAUDE RIGHT NOW???
Stop having sex with Claude, Fabian. Right now.
Goddammit.
We are TALKING ABOUT THIS at Bargain Brunch. Don’t bring Claude.
Fine. You can bring him. But he’s not allowed to talk. Make this CLEAR.
Fabian snorted at that last one, which caused Claude to stir awake.
“Fuck,” Claude croaked. “What time is it?”
“Nine thirty,” Fabian said.
Claude made a face like the hour of nine o’clock was the grossest thing in the world. Fabian wanted him gone. He wanted to erase this entire bad decision.
“It’s Bargain Brunch day,” Fabian said. “You can come if you want.”
“God no.”
“Well, I’m leaving soon, so...”
“Fine.” Claude made a whole production of hauling himself out of bed and into the bathroom. When he came back, he started aggressively searching for his clothes. “Fuck, where are my smokes?”
“I don’t know, but you’re not smoking them in here.”
Claude snatched his jeans off the floor. “I know.” He glanced around. “I had a jacket.”
“On the chair,” Fabian said helpfully. He wanted Claude to leave so he could take a shower. He was more than ready to wash the sins—and residual glitter—of last night away.
Claude stopped grumpily throwing his clothes on and reached for Fabian. Fabian sighed, and stepped into his embrace. “We can keep doing this,” Claude said in that infuriatingly sexy voice. “It can just be casual.”
“I can’t keep doing this,” Fabian said. “It isn’t what I want. We have to stop.”
“You say that, but...”
He shook his head. “I mean it. I’ll see you around, all right?”
Claude stepped back, and gave him an obnoxious, knowing grin. “I am sure you will.”
Fabian cursed himself after Claude shut the door behind him. He had finally broken things off for good with Claude, and then he’d run into Ryan goddamned Price of all fucking people. Like, what the fuck, universe? Hi, Fabian. Remember that hockey player you were obsessed with when you were seventeen? Well, here he is! And he’s a giant, sexy lumberjack wet dream now!
Not that seeing Ryan had anything to do with sleeping with Claude again.
Okay, Fabian pledged to himself as he stepped into the dingy shower stall, no more Claude. No more thinking about Ryan Price. Just music, and normal, healthy things from now on.
* * *
Fabian’s friends had a semi-regular Sunday tradition that they affectionately called Bargain Brunch. The three major components were: frozen waffles, cheap skin masks from the drugstore, and gossip. Everyone brought a topping that they thought would elevate the frozen waffles to haute cuisine. After the week Fabian had been having, friends and facials were exactly what the doctor ordered.
He hit the buzzer on the door to an apartment that was next to the door for a vape shop and heard footsteps bounding down the stairs immediately. When the door opened, he was greeted by a very enthusiastic Vanessa.
“Fabian! Yay!” she said, and threw her arms around him.
Fabian laughed and hugged her back. “Miss me since last night?”
“You smell like Claude.”
“Fuck off. No I don’t.”
“You do. You smell like cigarettes and condescension.”
“Shut up.”
Bargain Brunch was hosted by Vanessa, Marcus, and Tarek, who lived platonically together in a two-bedroom apartment they had converted into a three-bedroom apartment. Converted was perhaps too fancy a word for it: the living room was also Marcus’s bedroom. Vanessa led Fabian up the stairs and through the front door that opened directly into the living room/Marcus’s bedroom. Fabian slid his backpack off as he made his way to the futon where Marcus and Tarek were both sitting already.
“What did you bring?” Tarek asked.
“Pears.”
“And...”
Fabian pulled four thin packets out of his backpack. “Face masks! I have clay, avocado, sea kelp, and, uh...oh, grapefruit.” He spread them out on the coffee table like playing cards.
“What does sea kelp do?” Marcus asked.
“Moisturizes, nutrifies, and makes you glow like Zendaya,” Fabian said, with all the authority of someone who worked in the cosmetics section of a Savers Drug Mart.
“Sold.” Marcus leaned forward and snatched the sea kelp mask. He really didn’t need any help glowing; his dark skin was flawless.
Vanessa emerged from the kitchenette with four mugs, which she lined up on the coffee table. Marcus jumped up and went to the fridge to retrieve a container of orange juice, and a chilled bottle of Baby Duck Canadian “champagne.”
“The kettle is boiling for tea and coffee,” Vanessa said. She dropped into the worn-out armchair opposite the futon, draping one leg over the arm. “Mimosa me, Marcus.”
Marcus carefully filled the mugs with Baby Duck and orange juice, and distributed them. Fabian had barely taken a sip before Vanessa said, “I can’t believe you fucked Claude again.”
Fabian narrowed his eyes at her. “Moment of weakness,” he grumbled.
“I thought he was moving back to Montreal,” Tarek said.
“Well, he hasn’t yet. Obviously. And every time I see him I just...forget why he sucks.”
“I could make you a list,” Vanessa offered helpfully. “And you could carry it around with you.”
“That’s okay.”
“One!” she said, ignoring him. “He has absolutely no interest in you or anything you do.”
“He...is interested in me. Sometimes.”
“Two,” Marcus piped up. “He hates Bargain Brunch.”
Fabian pressed his lips together to keep himself from smiling.
“Three,” said Tarek. “He’s a snob.”
“All right, I get it.”
“Four.” Marcus again. “He is a filmmaker who is bad at making films.”
Fabian had to swallow his sip of mimosa quickly to stop himself from doing a spit-take.
“Five,” Vanessa said. “He complains when food isn’t organic, but he smokes cigarettes.”
Fabian was laughing now. He couldn’t help it. “Shut up. I know he’s awful, all right? He’s just...there. And I kind of needed someone last night.”
Vanessa stopped teasing him. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“Nothing really. I’m just burnt out, a little. I took some extra shifts at the drugstore this week, and I’ve been trying to finish some new songs. And get ready for the fundraiser show I’m doing this Saturday.”
“Oh, right! I’ll be there for sure,” Vanessa said. “I don’t work on Saturday at all!” She worked at a very cool lesbian-owned sex toy store in the Village, only a couple of blocks away from her apartment.
“I’m working that night,” Marcus said. “Sorry.” That was no surprise; he was a bartender at Force, the biggest gay nightclub in town.
“No problem.”
“I can go,” Tarek said. He was the only one of the four of them who had a nine-to-five job. He worked as an office assistant for an immigration services organization.
“Cool. It’s a good lineup.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one I’m going to see,” Tarek said.
“He’s the one everyone is going to see,” Vanessa said.
“As if,” Fabian said. He took a sip of mimosa from his tacky Niagara Falls souvenir mug. “I think I might debut a new song at the show.”
“Yay!” Vanessa said. “Oh my god, is it so beautiful? Am I going to cry?”
“Probably.”
“I’m totally going to cry. I still cry whenever you play ‘Ravine.’”
“That song is eight years old, Van.”
“Every. Time.”
Later, after their waffles were eaten, and the Baby Duck bottle was empty, the four friends lounged around with skin masks on their faces.