by Rachel Reid
“Ryan used to live with my family,” Fabian explained. “When we were both seventeen.”
“Oh!” Understanding dawned on Tarek’s face. “You’re a hockey player!”
“Yeah.” Ryan fiddled with the button on his suit jacket, and wished for the millionth time that he’d had time to change.
“Do you still play?” Tarek asked politely.
Ryan wasn’t famous, exactly, but it was unusual for him to be speaking to anyone who didn’t know who he was. Unusual, and kind of nice, to be meeting people who had no expectations about him. “I play for the Guardians. For now, at least. I get traded a lot.” God. Shut up, Ryan.
“That must be tough,” Tarek said, and he sounded truly sympathetic. “I moved a lot as a kid. It sucks.”
Ryan nodded. “It does.” He desperately tried to think of something to ask Tarek, but was spared when a woman attacked Fabian with the kind of hug that was normally reserved for game-winning goals.
“Fabian! That was so fucking good!”
Ryan couldn’t see Fabian’s reaction, because his face was covered by the woman’s voluminous, curly blond hair. She turned her head to look directly at Ryan, without letting go of Fabian. “Wasn’t that incredible?”
“Yeah,” Ryan replied. “Amazing.”
She released Fabian and turned fully to face Ryan. “Who are you?”
The question was so blunt, it startled a laugh out of him. “Uh, Ryan. Just...we used to, ah...”
“Hi, Ryan! Are you a fan of Fabian’s?”
“I, um...”
Fabian came to his rescue. “This is Vanessa, by the way. She’s kind of a lot.”
“Definitely true,” she agreed. “I like the suit.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“What can I get you, Ryan?” Fabian asked, tilting his head toward the bar.
“You don’t have to—”
“A beer? I’m going to guess beer.”
There was a quirk to Fabian’s lips that let Ryan know he was being playful. Ryan answered in kind. “You shouldn’t make assumptions about people.”
Vanessa punched Fabian’s arm. “That’s right. You should know better. Ryan, I happen to know that the bartender tonight makes the most amazing lemon drop martinis. Give me the drink tickets, Fabe. You stay and keep your friend company.”
Fabian fixed a look on Vanessa’s face that probably said a lot of things that Ryan couldn’t translate, and handed her a strip of paper tickets. “I’ll have one of those martinis.”
Vanessa pointed at Tarek, and then Ryan. “Martini? Martini?”
“Sure,” Tarek said.
“Ah, I actually would just like a beer,” Ryan said shyly.
“Ha!” Vanessa looked delighted. “Beer it is. Tarek, come with me.”
“Subtle,” Tarek muttered as he turned to follow her.
* * *
Fabian watched his ridiculous friends make their way through the crowd to the bar, before turning his attention back to Ryan. “They might be a while,” he said. “Vanessa has a crush on the bartender.”
Ryan’s hair was tied back in a little bun tonight, which only accentuated the poofiness of his beard. “I don’t know how you write songs like that. Or play onstage in front of people.”
“Don’t you play hockey in front of, like, a million people all the time?”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s not?” Fabian genuinely didn’t understand how it wasn’t the same thing.
Ryan shook his head. “I can play hockey in front of a crowd, but I could never, like, sing the national anthem, y’know?”
Fabian tried to picture that, and smiled to himself. “That’s because you’re good at hockey. I’m good at this.” He gestured toward the stage. “And my audiences don’t tend to boo me when I make a mistake. I’ve heard that sports fans are less forgiving.”
Ryan’s mouth turned up a bit at that. “They can be pretty harsh for sure. And I’m not so sure I’m good at hockey.”
Okay. Well this was just dumb. “You play in the NHL, Ryan. Is there a higher league I’m not aware of?” He frowned. “Honest question. There actually might be one.”
Ryan laughed. “No. The NHL is the highest. But I’m not—” He stopped himself, and Fabian wondered what he had been about to say. He was startled out of his wondering when Ryan blurted out, “I like your outfit.”
Fabian smiled. He was proud of his look tonight—a sheer T-shirt with black, baroque-style velvet flowers on it, black tuxedo pants, and a whole pile of sparkly necklaces he’d bought at Forever 21. He noticed Ryan’s gaze catch on Fabian’s chest, where the piercing in his right nipple was visible through the shirt. “Thank you.”
“I feel so ordinary,” Ryan said, then immediately looked embarrassed about saying it. He ran a hand through his hair and over his beard, a gesture that Fabian already recognized as a nervous habit.
“Just an ordinary seven-foot-tall hockey star. So boring,” he teased.
Ryan blushed. “I’m not seven feet tall.”
“Did I underestimate?”
“I’m six-seven.”
Oof. Six fucking seven. Fabian had never been with a man anywhere near that tall. What would it be like? Was kissing even possible? He would dearly love to find out.
Not that he was going to be hooking up with Ryan Price. For so many reasons.
“Come sit.” Fabian gestured at the empty table next to them. Sitting would at least remove the distraction of Ryan’s height. And of how well he filled out that suit.
Once they were seated, Fabian propped an elbow on the table, leaned forward, and rested his chin on his fist. “Tell me all about yourself, Ryan Price.”
His tone was probably a tad too flirtatious, because Ryan laughed nervously and looked away. “Not much to tell.”
“Do you live in the neighborhood? The Village, I mean?”
“Uh, sort of. Like, not right here, but a few blocks south. Near the drugstore there, where you work.”
“So...yes, then? You live in the Village?” Fabian couldn’t help his teasing smile, but it seemed to put Ryan at ease. He smiled back at him.
“Yes. Sorry. Long answer to a simple question.”
Fabian had to push this. He was burning with curiosity. “Did you know you were moving into the queer neighborhood?”
Ryan’s brow furrowed, as if he was trying to decide how to answer the yes-or-no question. “Yeah. I knew.”
No further information was offered, so Fabian backed off. He was intrigued, though.
They sat in silence for a moment, Fabian looking toward the bar as if he was extremely interested in the progress of their drink orders. He decided he would let Ryan ask the next question.
Instead, Ryan broke the silence by suddenly blurting out, “I’m gay.”
Even though Fabian had kind of guessed this might be the case, hearing Ryan say the words was... “Holy shit.”
“Surprise,” Ryan said with a shrug.
“Are hockey players even allowed to be gay?”
Ryan laughed. “It’s only a five-minute major now.”
Fabian looked at him blankly.
“Sorry,” Ryan said. “Hockey joke. A bad hockey joke. Yes, there are gay hockey players.”
Fabian considered this. “I guess there’s that guy in New York. The hot one.”
“Scott Hunter. Yeah. I’m the other one. The not-hot one.” Ryan smiled at his self-deprecating comment.
Fabian wasn’t so sure about that assessment, but he ignored it for now. “So why have I heard about the New York guy being gay, but not you?”
Ryan snorted. “Because I’m not a superstar. And I didn’t kiss my boyfriend on live television after winning the Stanley Cup.”
Ryan saying the words kiss my boyfriend made Fabian’s head spin a littl
e. Did Ryan have a boyfriend? Ryan dated men. Ryan kissed men. Ryan played hockey and he also kissed men.
“I also don’t talk about it much,” Ryan continued. “Being gay, I mean. Or anything, really.”
Well that was certainly true. Ryan didn’t seem to be any chattier now than he had been as an awkward teenager. “Your teammates don’t know?”
“Some of them do. Did. I get traded a lot, like I said.”
“Are they dicks about it?”
Ryan shrugged. “Most of them don’t seem to care. Or maybe it just helps that I’m big. I dunno.”
At that moment, Tarek returned to the table with a martini glass in each hand and a bottle of beer tucked in his elbow. “Vanessa is flirting with Callie.”
“Ah,” Fabian said, accepting his martini glass. “We probably won’t see her again.”
“Probably not,” Tarek agreed.
Fabian watched Ryan take a sip of his beer. He was turned away from them a bit, but he didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. Fabian was struck by how bizarre it was to be sitting at a table in one of his regular bars with his best friends...and Ryan Price. Ryan Price, who was apparently every bit as queer as Fabian, Fabian’s friends, and this bar they were in.
But he was still a hockey player, and Fabian had been very glad to eliminate all traces of hockey from his life as soon as he’d moved to Toronto to start university over a decade ago. Having Ryan here, in one of Fabian’s favorite spaces, should have been annoying him more than it was.
Ryan was different. Fabian had felt it when they’d been seventeen, and he still felt it now. Unlike every other hockey player who had entered his family home, who Fabian had gone to school with, who had been coached by his father, Ryan had never made him feel uncomfortable. When they had lived together, Fabian had actually enjoyed Ryan’s quiet presence. When they’d done their homework together at the kitchen table, or watched Finding Nemo together with Amy (again), or walked to school together, it had always been in almost total silence. But Fabian had always liked having him around. He was like...a big, sweet dog.
Fabian grimaced at the unflattering thought, and took a sip of lemon drop martini.
For several long minutes, no one at the table said anything. Ryan was still looking away, his back half turned to Fabian, and Tarek was engrossed in his phone.
“How do you get all of your gear home?” Ryan asked suddenly.
Fabian was surprised by the question. “Usually a friend or two helps me. I have a system: all the pedals and cords go in a backpack with my laptop, so it’s just the violin, the keyboard, and the stand that need to be carried. Sometimes I take a cab, but I only live a few blocks away from here.”
Ryan nodded.
“About that,” Tarek said slowly. “I’ve been messaging with this guy, Mario...”
“Mario the flight attendant?”
Tarek smiled dreamily. “The very same. He’s in town and he’s got a hotel room, so if you’ve got someone else helping you, I’m gonna...”
Fabian waved his hand. “Go. Enjoy Mario. I’m sure I can—”
“I can help,” Ryan said quickly. “I’ll carry your gear. I don’t mind.”
Fabian stared at him, then smiled. “Cool. Thanks.”
Tarek stood and kissed the top of Fabian’s head. He waved at Ryan and said, “Nice meeting you” before making a quick exit.
“And then there were two,” Fabian said, his voice more sultry than was appropriate. There was a trace of alarm in Ryan’s eyes, so Fabian leaned back in his chair and returned his voice to normal. “You don’t have to walk home with me. Really.”
“Oh.”
God, he looked disappointed. “I mean, you can. Of course. I’d like that.”
Ryan’s face brightened. “You would?”
“Sure. Big, strong man carrying my gear for me? Who wouldn’t like that?”
Ryan snorted, but he looked less enthused than he had a second ago. “Right.”
Fuck. “I’d like to talk to you. Away from this noise,” Fabian clarified. “It would be nice to catch up.”
That seemed to do the trick, because the beard area around Ryan’s mouth curved up.
Twenty minutes later, Fabian was making sure he hadn’t left anything near the stage when Vanessa planted herself in front of him. “Time to go?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to walk with me.”
Vanessa frowned. “Uh, yes I do. Tarek bailed and you need help. Unless you’re taking a cab.”
“It’s fine. You can stay and hang out with Callie. Ryan is going to help me.”
“Oh,” she said. Then, “Ohhhhhh.”
Fabian rolled his eyes. “Nope. Just friends. Or whatever.”
“Sure.”
“As if I’m going to fuck a hockey player.”
Instead of laughing, or arguing, Vanessa made a weird face that Fabian interpreted as Ryan the hockey player is standing right behind you.
Shit.
Chapter Six
Fabian turned and, sure enough, there was giant, sweet Ryan, holding the keyboard in one hand, the stand in the other, and had the heavy backpack full of gear slung over one shoulder.
“Is there, uh, anything else?” Ryan asked. He was very obviously pretending he hadn’t heard Fabian’s awful comment. The parts of his face that weren’t covered in beard were flushed and he was looking at the floor.
“Nope!” Fabian said, overly cheerful. There was no reason to address what Fabian had just said. It wasn’t like sex was on the table anyway. Ryan was a hockey star, and Fabian was...the worst. “I’ve got the violin.” He raised the hand that was holding the case, waving it around as if it were hard to see.
“Okay. Should we head out?”
“Yes. Bye Vanessa! Have fun tonight!” Ugh. Fabian did not like the shame that was coursing through him like fire.
“I will. And thank you, Ryan, for helping. You seem like a great guy.” She glared at Fabian when she said those last words. Fabian wanted to die.
He turned his attention to Ryan with a forced smile plastered on his face. “Shall we?”
The crisp November night air didn’t do much to relieve the heat in Fabian’s cheeks. He wrapped his wine-colored pashmina scarf around his neck and buried the lower half of his face in it.
They made it one block, in silence, before Fabian couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry I said that. It was very rude and I feel like an asshole.”
He glanced up at Ryan’s profile, and he could tell he was deciding whether or not to acknowledge that he had, in fact, heard what Fabian had said earlier.
“It’s okay,” Ryan said finally.
“It’s really not. You came to my show, you’re helping me carry my gear home, you don’t even know me, really. I made a stupid joke and it was shitty and I’m sorry.”
“All right.”
They walked another block in silence, and then Ryan said, “I wouldn’t fuck a hockey player either.”
Fabian’s laugh sounded like a honk, which was humiliating, but he was relieved and delighted by Ryan’s joke. Ryan smiled down at him and it occurred to Fabian, in that moment, that this guy was fearlessly—and seemingly happily—walking beside a man who was wearing a full face of dramatic makeup. That wasn’t nothing.
Fabian nudged him with his shoulder, which hit Ryan somewhere just above his elbow. “So we have something in common. Besides being gay Nova Scotians in Toronto.”
“Yep.”
It only took a few more minutes to reach the street where Fabian’s shitty apartment building was. It was only then, relieved of some of his previous embarrassment, that he realized how imbalanced the load was between them. “Oh my god. Let me at least take the keyboard stand. I can’t believe I let you carry all of that.”
“It’s fine,” Ryan
grunted. But then he stopped and held out the stand. “Actually. Yeah. Sorry. My back has been bothering me a bit lately.”
Maybe a meteor could land on Fabian right now. The perfect end to a perfect evening. “Let me take the keyboard too. Or the backpack.” He managed a flirty smile. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“Nope. I’m good. Thanks.”
“Well, my apartment is just right there anyway.” Fabian gestured ahead of them with his violin case. “Ground floor too. Totally easy delivery job.”
A minute later they were standing together on the step at the front of Fabian’s apartment building as he struggled with the key. It was in an ancient two-story building that used to be an orphanage or a children’s hospital or something. Either way, it was, as Vanessa had put it, for sure haunted.
“This stupid fucking lock,” he grumbled, jiggling the key until it finally turned. They were greeted by the familiar cocktail of smells that Fabian now recognized as home: musty walls, garlic-heavy vegan cooking, and weed. There was a wooden staircase with worn carpet directly in front of them, leading to the three apartments on the second floor. On the ground floor, there was a door to each side of the staircase, and Fabian directed Ryan to the door on the left.
“This is me,” he said, turning the key in a lock that was only slightly less stubborn than the one outside. “Get ready to be dazzled by opulence.”
Ryan followed him into the tiny studio apartment. Fabian set the gear he’d been carrying against one bright red wall, and gestured for Ryan to do the same. “Thank you again. That really was very nice of you.”
“No problem.” Ryan carefully placed the keyboard and backpack on the floor with a quiet grunt.
“How’s your back?”
“Good as ever.” He looked enormous in the confines of Fabian’s apartment. He also looked extremely uncomfortable and out of place. Fabian waited for him to say something, but instead Ryan just stared at his hands, flexing them and rubbing his knuckles.
“Oh my god!” Fabian exclaimed. Without thinking, he took Ryan’s left hand in his own. “What happened?” There was dark bruising on the knuckles, and Fabian ran his fingers delicately over them, back and forth. “I can’t believe you carried all that stuff when your hand is busted up! Does it hurt? It must hurt.”