by Eden Finley
“Max is always weird.”
We share a smile.
“And how have you been?” I manage to ask.
“Really good. I feel like I’ve gotten my life back, you know?” He winces again. “Sorry, my mouth is saying all kinds of wrong things today.”
I laugh, even if it sounds sad. “Yeah, but that’s fair.”
God, this is hard. I’ve heard about running into exes and how bad it can be, but I never imagined it would be like this with Ash.
“It’s not fair, and I didn’t mean it as a dig at you or anything. It’s just … if I’d known you were bringing someone, I might’ve skipped today, because I’ll admit seeing you with someone else is really fucking hard, but—”
“Yeah, well, hearing from my brothers that you’ve been sleeping around wasn’t exactly fun for me either.”
“I’m not. I mean … I’m not anymore. I’m, umm, well …”
“In a relationship. I know. The guys told me. And that’s completely okay, because so am I. That’s kinda what happens when you break up with someone, right? You both move on?”
I’m trying to move on and finally feel like I’m in a place to be able to do that.
“Yeah. You’re right. And I am.” It’s not until he reaches up to run his hand through his hair again—a nervous habit he’s had since we were kids—that I realize just how much he’s moving on.
My blood runs cold. “What the fuck is that?” I point to his ring finger.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Ash sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m engaged.”
For a minute, my body and my head don’t know how to react. It’s only been a year since we broke up, and as far as I’m aware, he was still sleeping around six months ago—if my brother’s word is anything to go by.
“That’s fast,” I blurt out, thinking I only say it in my head.
“It is.”
I don’t know if I have an opinion about it or not. Part of me really hates it, because we were together for four years and marriage was an abstract concept that was a future thing to worry about. For him to dismiss what we had so easily and so fast and decide this new guy has always been the guy for him …
I mean, can I judge that though? I’m here with Lennon, hoping for more. Then again, I’m not fucking marrying the guy.
I think I’m understanding Max’s frustration now. “Who is he?”
“No one you know. He started out as a client.”
“When?” I ask.
“When what?”
“When did he become your client?”
Ash looks away. “Two years ago.”
Anger surges up. “Did—”
“No, I didn’t cheat on you, and I knew that would be the first thing you asked. He came into the shop again about six months ago for another tat, and it just … happened.”
“That easy, huh?”
Now I’m filled with jealousy for a whole other reason. Lennon and me … we’ve been anything but easy. Is that what relationships are supposed to be? Easy?
Or are they supposed to be heart fluttering, chest aching, and my body in a constant state of want? Because that’s what it’s like with Lennon.
“Well, I’m happy for you.” Okay, even I can tell my words are fake and my smile is tight, but I don’t care.
It’s not that I want Ash back or that I’m still in love with him, but why does him moving on so fast sting like a motherfucker?
I want to move on with Lennon, and I want to date him and see him and possibly fall in love with him. But marriage? I’m so many steps removed from that it seems like a foreign concept for me.
Marriage? Vows of forever?
All I want is a proper date. That’s where my life is at.
And that’s why it never worked with Ash.
“I’m gonna go see if my boyfriend needs help.”
Ash steps forward. “Ollie …”
“I’m good,” I promise him. “I’m fine. It was just a shock, but congrats. I mean that.” Yet my feet scurry away as if I’m lying.
I have no destination in mind, but my gut seems to know, and it’s not until I run into Lennon and my mother laughing in the kitchen that I snap out of whatever fucking emotion I’m feeling toward Ash and suddenly realize what I’m doing to Lennon.
Bringing him here.
Forcing him to pretend to be my boyfriend for my family’s sake, when in reality, it’s for mine.
Because I want him.
I think I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Including the NHL.
My chest stutters, and I think it’s my heart protesting. This is too heavy. It’s too much. Ash, my family, my career … Lennon.
This is beyond unfair to him.
When they finally notice my presence, Lennon’s beautiful smile drops.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Of course, he asks. Because he’s a nice person.
Guilt gnaws at me every time I remember that.
“Yeah …” I croak. “I just need to lie down for a minute.” I rush up the stairs and slam the door by accident but then cringe when I realize the entire backyard would’ve heard it.
I will not let this get to me. My feet pace back and forth, the floorboards in the attic squeaking under the pressure.
It’s not that Ash is moving on. It’s not.
Is it?
Fuck, I don’t know.
Maybe it’s that he gets to have the life we were planning. It wasn’t going to be soon, but we’d discussed it. Our parents pushed for it.
Meanwhile, I’m sneaking a sports reporter out of my hotel room and jerking off with him like it’s no big deal.
I guess the problem is everyone involved—my family, Ash, me—all of us thought Ash leaving me would be a good thing. That maybe it would be the push I needed to come out.
Nope, all it did was make me want to convince them I’m happy even without him.
Am I happy, though?
I think about hockey, about my life in New York, my new friends, Lennon and Jet, and realize, yeah, I’m happy, but …
Clarity hits with such force, I have to sit on the edge of my bed.
That there is my issue.
I’m happy, but I’m not complete.
Chapter Eighteen
LENNON
“Should I …” I gesture to where Ollie disappeared to, but his mom shakes her head.
“He had to run into Ash sooner or later. Maybe give him a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I say but don’t take my eyes off the stairs.
“He’ll be fine.” Ollie’s mom gives me a reassuring smile. “I have a feeling Ash gave him his news.”
“What news?”
Her eyes drop and she turns her head to look out the kitchen window. “He met someone and is getting married.” The longing in her gaze and her voice is hard to miss.
“You wish it was Ollie he was marrying?” I ask.
She fakes a smile. “No, hon. I want Oliver to be happy. But I do wish he could’ve found it in himself to do the one thing Ash needed so it could’ve been him.”
I keep my mouth shut. Telling her how misguided that statement is, even if she thinks she’s being supportive, won’t get me anywhere.
“Then again, if he was truly happy with Ash, and he was the one, my son wouldn’t be here with you today, would he?”
“Umm …” Is that a compliment or an insult? I have no idea.
Her warm face and soft tone suggest she means it in a good way, so I pretend that’s what she meant. It’s probably the only way to make sure my mouth does, in fact, remain shut.
Footsteps sound behind us, but Max is a blur as he practically bolts past us and up the stairs. A knock sounds, and then the low voices from Ollie and Max disappear behind the creak of the door opening and closing.
“I’m going to take these dishes out,” Mrs. Strömberg says. “Are you all right to finish up the salad?”
I smile. “Of course.”
As she leaves
, I contemplate going upstairs to check on Ollie. He just found out his ex is getting married. That’s gotta hurt even if he is over him like he says. But Max is up there. I’ll leave the brothers to sort their shit first. Max being the most intimidating brother isn’t the real reason for not going up there. Nope. Not at all. Okay, maybe a little. Or a lot.
Fine, I’m being a wimp because Max scares me.
When I put the remaining touches on the salad, I take it out into the backyard, where Ollie’s parents are herding the crowd like cattle toward the two long tables set up. Well, they’re trying to. It looks more like they’re trying to herd cats.
Ollie’s adorable grandmother sits at the head of the table, and she’s so freaking cute. Her gray, almost purply-tinged hair sits curly on her head but is combed in the front as if she can’t reach the back anymore, and her rosy cheeks are covered in so much rouge it almost looks like sunburn, but her smile … her smile seems to be contagious, and I can’t help returning it. I think it’s because Ollie inherited the same cheekbone structure, and her smile reminds me of him.
Damn. This is beyond out of control now.
I’m a few feet away from the table when I hear “Trust me. Clark isn’t gonna last. I give it one more month. Tops.” It’s Vic.
I freeze, completely dumbfounded.
“If you say so,” Ash mumbles. “I’m happy he’s moving on.” Ash’s voice cracking gives away his lie. “I’m moving on.”
“Don’t worry about that, either. His little hissy fit probably shows he’s not over you.” They’re both sitting with their backs to me and still have no idea I’m eavesdropping. “But he can’t exactly complain when he’s too busy being ashamed of who he is to see what he lost.”
I’m about to yell What the fuck? and lose my shit because they still don’t get it. I don’t think anyone in this family does. How has Ollie never sat them down and told them what it’s really like for him?
Ash huffs. “Guess it was dumb of me to think maybe, possibly, he’d see the ring and pick up his phone to fix it.”
Is he saying …
“You don’t want that though,” Vic says. “You and Taylor are getting married, right? It’s not like if Ollie had changed his mind, you’d break it off and go running back to him. He could promise all he wanted that he’d come out, but how many times did he say that while you were together?”
I glance sideways at the table to see if anyone else is listening. They don’t appear to be, but if this afternoon has taught me anything about this family, someone’s always listening.
“You’re right,” Ash says. “I just... Shit, I dunno. I guess his continued denial about the way he’s living is more proof he can’t face who he is.”
Their words play into my fears. That I’m here to make Ash jealous and that Ollie doesn’t actually want me. I contemplate running, but it’s their warped vision of Ollie’s position that keeps my feet rooted to the ground.
I take a deep breath and try to calm down, because it’s not my place to say anything. Nope. Not at all. Even if I was Ollie’s actual boyfriend, it’s not my place.
Don’t say anything. Do not … say … any—
I plonk the salad down in front of Vic and Ash. “Is that what you believe?”
Okay, great. Not only is my mouth not listening to me, but it’s also yelling. Everyone except the kids turn their heads to face me.
“What’s wrong?” Ollie’s mom asks from across the table.
I stare at Vic and Ash, and Vic stares right back as if he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. How can he not understand?
Ash, at least, seems to know he messed up or he’s at least embarrassed, as he hangs his head.
“Is that what you really think? That Ollie is ashamed of who he is? That he can’t accept he’s gay?” I look at the rest of the people at the table, who all stare back with concerned scrunches in their brows, and holy fuck, this family’s genes are crazier than I thought. They’re all giving me the same look, and it’s uncanny how much they look alike.
“What do you mean?” his mom asks, her confusion matching everyone else’s.
Oh, God. They really do believe that.
“Hasn’t Ollie ever told you what it’s like for him? Hasn’t he ever told you about what happens in locker rooms? Let’s just say the word fa—” I glance at the kids, who’ve now turned their attention to me too. “Not nice F-words are thrown around like candy. When the guys screw up on the ice, they’re called ladies, and the whole sporting industry thinks anyone who’s gay isn’t man enough to play sports.”
They barely blink at me. No reaction, no realization. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in one of my nightmares. I’m back in high school being stared at for being the only gay boy in school. Not that I ever was, but I was the only out kid in school thanks to the football team.
While self-consciousness tries to make me run away, my anger builds. “None of you understand, do you?” I turn to Vic. “You’re in professional sports. How can you sit there and not empathize with Ollie at all?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know any gay guys in MMA.”
“How many people train at your gym?” I ask.
Another shrug, like a sulking teenager being sent to the principal’s office. “About twenty who could go pro if they work hard enough.”
“Chances are you know at least, at least, one gay guy in your sport. Why do you think they haven’t come out?”
“Nah, if someone was gay, they’d say it. Our gym’s inclusive. Like, anyone is welcome, and …” As he says the words, the realization kicks in—that maybe he only sees what he wants to see, and some closet doors are made of fucking steel. I can practically see the moment he finally gets what I’m saying, but for some reason, my mouth feels the need to drive the point home.
“What about your gym screams inclusivity? Pride flags on the walls or is it in some membership rule book under tiny font no one reads? Do you guys have any idea what it’s like to have to hold your breath every time someone finds out who you’re attracted to in case they react badly? Try having to do that in a work environment where you have to come out to an entire team of testosterone-filled men who fight for a living.”
Nic pipes up to defend his brother. “No one’s truly that ignorant anymore about that kinda stuff, are they?”
I scoff. “How can you be this ignorant?”
They really don’t get it, and how Ollie has not blown up at them after all these years is beyond me. I’m not much for confrontation, but this … I can’t. I just can’t.
“The world has progressed in so many ways, but in others, it’s as bad as it always was. We may have tolerance in most places now, but we’re far from acceptance. Are you all really that blind to the world Ollie and I live in? I’m a sports reporter, and I still get told I’m in the wrong journalistic field by assholes at my magazine. They say I should be covering fashion instead. These are people in media—the news source to the entire world. You still wanna sit there and tell me the world is no longer ignorant?”
“Sports reporter?” Ollie’s dad asks.
Fuck.
“I thought you were in business,” his mom says.
And now I’ve not only screwed everything with Ollie’s family, but with Ollie as well.
“I … I have to leave,” I say in a voice much smaller than I’ve been using, because I let my tongue run away with my thoughts, and now I’ve screwed everything up.
I turn to go, but Ollie’s right there with Max flanking him.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask. His stoic face gives nothing away.
“Long enough.”
Without warning, he steps forward and takes my mouth in a punishing kiss. It’s all tongue and no hesitation, and a few grumbles about PDA are murmured throughout the group. When he pulls back, he’s … smiling.
“I—I … I’m not in trouble then?” I stammer.
His fingers interlace with mine, and he turns to face his family. “Guys, I want to in
troduce you to Lennon Hawkins.”
Silence. Dead silence.
His mom is the one to break it. “The reporter who hates you?”
Ollie turns to me and whispers quietly. “Sorry. You know how pissed I was when—”
“It’s okay.” I turn to Mrs. Strömberg. “For the record, I don’t hate him. He has an ego you may or may not be aware of, and I may or may not have accidentally crushed it.”
There are a few sniggers around the table.
Ollie pins his mother with his hazel eyes. “He’s not Clark, he’s not my actual boyfriend, but more importantly, he’s the only person who’s ever stood up for me like that.” His gaze finds mine again. “Including myself. And it’s only now I’m realizing why that is.”
“We always stand up for—” his mom starts, but he cuts her off.
“No. You don’t stand up for me. You stand up for the notion that everyone has to be accepted for who they are. And that’s great. But you ridicule me over the fact I’m not ready for the rest of world to know about me. I don’t know when I will be. You guys expect everyone to catch on easily, but I think it’s been proven that’s not gonna happen. Look at the NFL. Not much has changed since Matt Jackson came out.”
I could argue that, because the NFL has improved a lot since Matt came out, but that’s not the point of this discussion. Whether the NHL welcomes their first gay player and makes changes isn’t the issue. The issue is with Ollie’s legitimate right to not want to be that guy.
“Lennon pretended to be my boyfriend six months ago because you guys would not let up about how I’m screwing up my life. I love you guys. I really do. But I need a fucking break from all the pressure you put on me.”
“Ollie—”
He cuts his mom off again by turning to his grandmother. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I hope you have a great birthday lunch, but I have to go before I say anything else I can’t take back.” His hand on mine is tightening by the second, and his chest heaves. Despite his words to say he’s leaving, he either can’t make his feet move or he’s waiting for someone to stop him.
“Come on,” I say. “We’ll go cool off. I think we both need a breather.” I drag him away, and he follows easily.