by Rachel Reid
“What?”
“Everything you just said. I hate to stereotype, but hearing words like that coming from someone like you...”
“A big, dumb hockey player?”
Fabian shook his head, but then said, “Maybe. Not dumb, though. Ryan, you are so far from dumb. But you know how I feel about hockey players. About jocks in general. They were always around, invading my life, growing up. My parents placed boys like that—men like that—on pedestals. It was so obviously what they wanted me to be, and there was no way I could be that. Ever. As soon as they realized that, they lost interest in me.”
“I noticed,” Ryan said.
Fabian gave him a sad smile. “I know you did. That’s why you were different. You think I had other hockey players showing up at my recitals?”
Ryan’s heart skipped at the mention of Fabian’s recital. He hadn’t realized that Fabian remembered that night.
“Only you,” Fabian continued. “I never told you how much that meant to me.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was definitely not nothing. It was...” He laughed humorlessly. “My family couldn’t be bothered to make time to see me. That was my final recital at the Conservatory, and I was performing a piece that I had composed, and even that couldn’t compete with a goddamned hockey game. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“When I saw you there, at the back of that room. It meant everything to me.”
They had reached Fabian’s apartment building, which was awkward because they were kind of in the middle of a big moment. They stood facing each other at the bottom of the stairs that led to the front door, and Ryan had no idea what to say next.
Thankfully, Fabian spoke first. “I know I was probably rude to you when we lived together.”
“You weren’t.” It wasn’t entirely true. Fabian had been blatantly uninterested in Ryan, mostly ignoring him and, when forced to acknowledge him, his words had been clipped and dismissive. But over time he had thawed a bit, and they’d been able to forge a quiet and precarious friendship of sorts.
“I was. I expected you to be like all the others, so I didn’t even give you a chance.”
“At first, maybe.” Ryan gave him a shy smile. “But I think I won you over, right?”
Fabian smiled up at him, just as shyly, and Ryan’s breath caught.
Then the rain started. Frigid drops that were on the edge of being ice pellets stung Ryan’s face, and Fabian shrieked.
“Come inside!” he called as he dashed up the stairs. He fumbled with the lock. “Fuck this stupid piece of shit door! There.” He pushed it open, and Ryan followed him in.
When they were inside the tiny apartment, Fabian hung his coat on a hook by the door, and made a grabby motion for Ryan’s. “You may as well stay until the rain stops.”
“It might rain all night,” Ryan pointed out, but he handed Fabian his coat. Fabian ignored his weather report and walked to the bar fridge that was tucked in one corner, next to a two-burner cooktop and a sink. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.
“I haven’t even opened this one yet,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s warm up. And please make yourself comfortable. You can sit on the bed, or...well, just the bed, I guess.”
Ryan noted that the desk chair, the only other place to sit in the room, was piled high with discarded clothing. He sat at the very end of the bed, hands in his lap, back straight. He really should say no to the wine. And the bed. And being here at all. Instead, he said nothing, and took a moment to study Fabian’s home. The cluttered desk had what looked like three Catholic prayer candles, but when Ryan leaned forward he could see that the women on them weren’t the Virgin Mary, but Dolly Parton, RuPaul, and Beyoncé.
Fabian handed Ryan a goblet that said Mom’s Time to Wine on it. “It’s the second-cheapest pinot grigio they had,” he said, before sitting near the head of the bed, resting back against the pillows. His own wine glass said Bride on it.
Ryan took a sip of wine, because he didn’t know what else to do. “It’s good,” he said. “The wine, I mean.” It could be terrible. It could be actual battery acid. Ryan’s brain was in a million pieces right now. Why was he here? Why were they both on Fabian’s bed? Was Fabian trying to seduce him? Did Ryan want him to?
Fabian tapped a socked foot against Ryan’s thigh. “You don’t have to sit there with your back to me, you know. Relax.”
Ryan set his glass on the desk and slipped his boots off. Then he carefully stretched out on the bed, leaning on one elbow. He kept as much distance as possible between their bodies, worried that the slightest invitation might cause him to jump poor Fabian, who was only being nice.
“So,” Fabian said breezily, “how’s hockey?”
Ryan huffed out a laugh. “Hockey is fine.”
“Is it?”
Ryan frowned. “Sure. I don’t know. I guess it’s been a little...tiring. Lately.”
Fabian traced the word Bride with his fingertip. “Do you ever think about quitting? Or retiring. However you say it.”
“Sometimes. I’m only thirty-one, but...”
“But?”
“My heart’s not really in it anymore.”
“Then why do you still do it?”
Ryan shifted on the bed, bending his knees and tucking them in closer to his body. “Because I know how lucky I am. I know how many guys would kill to have a spot on an NHL team. Throwing it away would just be...disrespectful.”
For a moment, Fabian said nothing, and then he said, “Did you know, after I graduated, I auditioned for the Toronto Symphony?”
“No. But I always imagined that’s where you’d end up. I was kind of surprised, to be honest, to learn that you weren’t playing with them.”
“It was always my dream. So I auditioned. And...I was offered a spot.”
“Wait. You were a member of the Toronto Symphony?”
“Mmhm. For two whole months.”
“What happened?”
“I hated it,” Fabian said simply. “I realized, very quickly, that it was not what I wanted to do, musically. I just didn’t...fit in.”
“Oh.”
“Now, I realize I could have stayed, and done my own music on the side. But it’s very time-consuming, being a part of something that big. That important. It’s the big leagues, right?”
“Thank you for dumbing it down for me,” Ryan said dryly.
Fabian smiled. “Anyway. I quit. It wasn’t an easy decision, and I knew I was torching a very important bridge by doing so, but I’ve never regretted it. Not even when I am restocking lip balm at the drugstore, or when I am freezing to death in this drafty, shitty apartment. Because this,” he waved a hand around, “is all me. I’d rather struggle to do what I love than devote myself to something I hate.”
This was a lot for Ryan to take in.
“So, yes. Maybe it was absurd of me to throw away a job that so many musicians would kill for, but wouldn’t it be more selfish of me to stay? I figured I should let someone else have that seat.” He shrugged. “That’s what I tell myself anyway.”
“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Ryan said slowly.
“And the other thing,” Fabian sat up, and stabbed his wine glass in Ryan’s direction, “is that someone else might want that symphony spot, or a spot on an NHL team, but guess what? They didn’t get it. And they didn’t get it because they aren’t good enough. We are. But being good enough does not obligate us to take those jobs. It’s okay to use your talent to create happiness rather than wealth. It’s okay to not use your talent at all! Fuck anyone who says otherwise.”
Ryan grinned at him. “You should be a therapist. Or a motivational speaker.”
Fabian snorted, and set his wine glass on his nightstand. “No thank you. My wisdom is for myself, and a select few people who I care abo
ut. Same as my makeup skills.”
Ryan liked Fabian including him in the select few people he cared about, even if inadvertently. “You don’t share your makeup skills?”
Fabian dropped onto an elbow, his face suddenly very close to Ryan’s. “I’d share them with you.”
“Me?” Ryan sputtered. “I’d look ridiculous in makeup.”
Fabian shook his head. “Not when I’m done with you.” His gaze dropped to Ryan’s mouth, and Ryan wondered if he was trying to decide what shade of lipstick would work best on him. He hoped so, because he couldn’t think about the other reason Fabian might be studying his lips.
“I wouldn’t look like you,” Ryan said hoarsely.
“Have you ever felt beautiful, Ryan?” Was Fabian’s face even closer now?
“No.” Ryan laughed as if the question were ridiculous. “Of course not. Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.” Fabian reached out and tucked a strand of Ryan’s hair behind his ear. “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”
“I—” Ryan could only imagine what the two of them, side by side, must look like right now. The stark difference between Fabian’s staggering beauty and Ryan’s old weathered barn of a body.
Fabian was stroking his hair freely now, his fingertips gliding over Ryan’s scalp, then down his cheek into his beard. Ryan wasn’t sure when he’d closed his eyes, but when he opened them, Fabian was looking at him like he was something precious.
“Tell me again,” Fabian said softly. “About the men you like.”
Oh god. “I should go.”
“It’s pouring out there. Can’t you hear it?”
No. I can’t hear anything over my blood pounding in my ears.
“Stay. Tell me. Please.”
Ryan shuddered when Fabian’s fingers traced over his lips. There was no question where this was going now, and he knew he should stop it, but instead he told Fabian what he wanted to know.
“Beautiful, confident men. Men who go against everything we’re taught to believe about masculinity in locker rooms. Men who aren’t afraid to be themselves.” He swallowed, and wished he could stop himself. “Men who aren’t afraid to walk away from their dream job if it’s making them miserable.”
That seemed to be all the invitation Fabian needed. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Ryan’s, a sweet and gentle kiss that Ryan was too stunned to return. For a second, at least, and then he was kissing Fabian back. His lips were so soft and lovely, and Ryan allowed himself a moment to savor them before he forced himself to stop.
When he pulled back, Ryan kept his eyes closed and said, “Please don’t.”
“You don’t want to?” The scepticism was strong in Fabian’s voice.
“I do. I—you know I do. But you don’t want this. Trust me.” He opened his eyes, and saw Fabian’s affronted expression.
“If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be doing it.”
Ryan shook his head. “I’m not—”
“Unless the rest of that sentence is interested in you, then I don’t want to hear it. I want to kiss you, Ryan Price. I wanted to kiss you then, and I want to kiss you now. May I?”
Ryan’s mouth fell open. “You wanted to kiss me then? Like, when we were teenagers?”
“You seem surprised.”
“Yeah, I’m surprised.”
Fabian flopped onto his back and draped an arm over his eyes. “Ryan. I had a huge teenage crush on you, okay? I’d rather not dwell on it, because it’s embarrassing, but yes. I wanted to kiss your adorable mouth when I was seventeen. If I had thought there was even a chance you would have been into that, I would have done it.”
Ryan sat up. “What?”
“I didn’t think you were gay, Ryan. Of course I didn’t.”
“I would have kissed you.”
“Well, yes. I do realize that now.”
“I wanted to kiss you. Do you remember—”
Fabian lifted his arm enough to peek out from under it. “The ferry. Yes. I’ve replayed that moment a few times over the years. So it was real, was it?”
Ryan nodded. “It was real.”
Fabian covered his eyes again. “Damn. That would have been one hell of a first kiss.”
Ryan wanted to walk into Lake Ontario. He could have kissed him. It would have been Ryan’s first time kissing a boy. Instead it had been a dude he’d met online when his junior team had traveled to Victoriaville the following season.
“Well, no sense crying about it now,” Fabian said. He rolled off the bed, onto his feet, and grabbed the wine bottle. “But I still don’t see why we can’t make up for lost time a little right now.” He splashed more wine into Ryan’s glass, even though Ryan had barely drank any, and handed it to him. Ryan took a large gulp.
“Maybe this isn’t obvious,” Ryan said after swallowing, “but I’m a fucking mess.”
Fabian rolled his eyes. “God, who isn’t?”
Ryan shook his head. He was torn between unloading his entire laundry list of flaws on Fabian right now, or shutting the fuck up and kissing Fabian senseless.
Or leaving. Which is exactly what he was going to do. Right now.
He stood and set his wine glass on the desk. “I’m gonna head out.”
“It’s still raining.” Was Fabian pouting?
“I’m waterproof.”
Fabian stepped into his space, crowding him against the desk. “I don’t understand.”
Ryan closed his eyes, because he couldn’t possibly say what he needed to if every sense was full of Fabian. “I’m no good for you. It’s nice of you to—”
“Don’t. You’re not a fucking charity case, Ryan. I want you. Did you already forget the part about wanting to kiss you since I was seventeen?”
“That’s just teenage hormones. It’s not—I can’t. I can’t do this with you. I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t. If he took this any further with Fabian, he would never forgive himself. More than that, Ryan would never recover from it. He was excited about being friends with Fabian, but he would give it all up rather than risk smothering him. He wanted Fabian too much to just have casual sex with him. He wasn’t much for casual sex anyway, but he absolutely couldn’t have a one-night stand with Fabian Salah. Ryan knew there were plenty of people who would happily fool around with an attractive friend while waiting for a rainstorm to pass by, but he wasn’t one of them. Having sex with Fabian—even kissing Fabian again—would mean too much to Ryan. Much more than it would to Fabian.
“Can I have my coat?”
“Of course,” Fabian said. His voice was clipped and angry. He stepped away from Ryan and grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. He thrust it at him. “Here.”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said again. He didn’t know what else to say.
Fabian held up a hand. “I get it. I feel like an idiot, but I get it.”
“You aren’t—” Oh god, there were tears in Fabian’s eyes.
“Goodbye, Ryan.”
Ryan wanted to pull him into a hug. He wanted to kiss his hair and tell him how much he wished he could just do this like a regular person. He wanted to tell him everything, and hold him until the rain stopped falling and beyond.
This whole evening should never have happened. The kindest thing he could do was leave.
So he left.
Chapter Thirteen
Goddammit.
God fucking dammit.
Stupid fucking hockey players and their stupid fucking everything.
The more Fabian replayed the events of the previous evening in his head, the more he could not believe any of it had happened. None of it made sense. Not Fabian basically throwing himself at a hockey player. Not Ryan being so obviously—openly—attracted to him, and kissing him every bit as sweetly and tenderly as Fabian had always imagined, and then
...not. It was like a switch had been flipped inside Ryan and no one else could possibly have flipped it besides Fabian; he’d been the only one there.
What had he done?
Nothing. That’s what he kept telling himself. He hadn’t done a damn thing except be open and honest about his feelings for Ryan. He’d even told him about the teenage crush he’d had on him, for fuck’s sake, which would have been embarrassing enough without Ryan flat out rejecting him.
No. If it had been a flat-out rejection, Fabian could have understood it. If Fabian had leaned in for a kiss, and Ryan had pulled away and told him that he just wasn’t interested. If Ryan hadn’t said such beautiful words about Fabian’s courage...
You don’t want this. Trust me.
Oh, fuck you, Ryan Price.
Fabian couldn’t possibly work on his music like this. His head was everywhere. He texted Vanessa. Are you at work?
Vanessa: Not for another hour.
Fabian: Coffee?
Vanessa: Uh-oh.
Fabian: Yeah. Meet me in ten?
Vanessa: k
Fabian had moods. He could admit it. And Vanessa knew if Fabian was asking for an emergency coffee meeting, then he was probably going to be agitated and unpleasant. But she was also the one person who was any good at talking him through these moods.
Nine minutes later he was in line at a Starbucks that was halfway between his apartment and Vanessa’s work. He ordered a coffee for himself and a latte for Vanessa. She walked in just as he was bringing them to a table.
“Trouble in hockey town?” she asked.
He groaned as he fell into one of the chairs. “What is wrong with me?”
“Depends on what we’re talking about. What happened?”
Fabian gave her the bullet point version, and waited for her to laugh at him. It would be understandable; this situation was absurd.
But she didn’t laugh.
“I wonder...” she said. But she didn’t finish her sentence, just tapped her fingers against her lips and stared right through Fabian.
“Wonder what?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know him, of course, but do you think he might be dealing with some sort of trauma, maybe?”