by Avon Gale
It only took a few strokes and some more of Laurent’s enthusiastic fucking to bring Isaac off. He wasn’t lying. It did feel good when you were fucking someone and they came—all that tight heat clenching up around your cock. It wasn’t long before Laurent gave a low shout and shuddered hard on top of Isaac. He gasped something incoherent as his hips twitched and bucked and finally stilled.
“Saint?”
“Mmm?”
Isaac grinned and ran his fingers through Laurent’s sweaty hair. It was kind of like their moment on ice after the championship, but way dirtier. Isaac’s laugh was low and masculine. “You just fucked me like a goddamn champion.”
Laurent raised his head and gave Isaac a smug, lazy grin. “Damn right I did.”
“What did that mean?” Isaac asked him once they’d moved apart. “The word you called me.”
“What? Oh.” Laurent’s fair skin flushed, and he looked away. “Uh. You call me Saint, so….”
“Not an answer.”
“Fine.” Laurent crossed his arms. “It meant angel. Shut up. Seriously, Isaac. Shut up.” Laurent hit him with the pillow. “You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”
“That’s usually my line.” Isaac put his hands behind his head and smirked. “Maybe you should call me devil. Whatever that is in French.”
Laurent said something, but Isaac had played with enough French-speaking guys over the years to know what that word meant, and it sure as hell didn’t mean devil.
BEFORE ISAAC showed up, Laurent wanted nothing more than to tell him about what had happened, what he’d done, how he’d arranged for the meeting with the ECHL commissioner, and how he’d prevented his father from knowing anything about it until it was too late. He knew Isaac would be proud, and he needed that to offset the terror that kept threatening to drown him.
But once Isaac was there, all blue-haired and post-sex languid, in bed with Laurent after Laurent had fucked him—and God, that had felt so good, being inside Isaac—Laurent didn’t want to ruin it and start talking about his dad.
He tapped on the bed. Their signal.
Isaac turned his head and smiled at him. “Well, we kind of have to talk about him,” he said. “But I can get dressed first.”
“No. That’s not a problem,” Laurent said quickly. A little too quickly. Isaac leered at him playfully.
“Then what is it?” Isaac asked, idly stroking his fingers through Laurent’s hair. Of everything Isaac did to him, with every part of his body, that was still Laurent’s favorite.
No one ever touched him like that—kindly and wanting nothing but to comfort. It reminded Laurent that he was supposed to be brave, but he turned and pressed his face into Isaac’s shoulder. His skin was so warm. “It was terrifying, and I don’t want to think about it.”
“I know.” Isaac kept his fingers moving back and forth and tugged just a little. Like Laurent was a cat. He was silent for a moment. “I knew it was you,” he said at length. “Before Misha said it. Belsey called us to tell us about the hearing, how someone had gotten all these players together to report to the commissioner. And I knew it had to be you. So it’s okay that you’re afraid.”
“It is?” Laurent said, nosing at Isaac’s neck.
“Yeah. Because you did it anyway. It wouldn’t be brave if you weren’t afraid. Right?”
“If I had a dollar for every single thing you’ve said since you got here that sounded like a motivational poster, I could buy a house.”
“Says the man who left me the most dramatic note in the world.”
“You kept it, didn’t you?” Laurent lifted his head. “I know you did.”
Isaac’s warm laugh was as comforting as the fingers still buried in Laurent’s hair, but Isaac gave a sharp tug. “Maybe. Shut up. Like you don’t have that dumb duck with you. My duck.” He kissed him, and then they moved away from each other reluctantly. It was four in the afternoon, and Isaac’s phone had buzzed twice. Coach Samarin, no doubt.
The hearing was at nine the following morning. Laurent struggled with the urge to throw up, which was stronger than it had been in a while. He went through his mental exercises and tried to center himself in the present, but nothing worked. Finally he looked at Isaac. “I want to go throw up.”
“Please don’t,” Isaac said, and that was all it took. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Laurent looked down and pulled on his jeans. His fingers shook, but gradually the urge passed, and he settled somewhat. Finally he gave a short nod and pulled his shirt on. Then he geared himself up while he waited for Isaac to get dressed.
“Call Coach,” Laurent said. “Tell them to meet us—” He gave an uncertain glance at the bed, with the covers rumpled, the prominent wet spot, and the bottle of lube. “Maybe in their room.”
“You sure?” Isaac asked as he grabbed his phone.
“I only want to tell this story once,” Laurent said. “So yes.” And he had to do it then, while he was still bolstered by Isaac’s words and his presence and while the feeling of being inside Isaac warmed him all the way through.
“All right,” said Isaac, and he moved his thumb over the screen of his phone.
Laurent gave a pointed throat clear, and Isaac rolled his eyes and lifted the phone to his ear instead. He flipped Laurent off as he began speaking. “Hey, Misha? What’s your room number? We’ll be there in twenty.”
He ended the call and tossed his phone on the bed.
“Twenty minutes? It’s like two floors down.”
“I know. But I need a shower.” Isaac smiled ruefully. “Even though I’m sure they know what we were doing.”
Laurent didn’t want to think about that on top of everything else, so he pulled out his sketchbook and drew the duck he’d given Isaac—yes it was in his bag—with a pair of angel wings, a halo, and a pitchfork for its tail. He gave the duck a piercing through its lower beak.
Laurent quickly closed the sketchbook as Isaac came out of the bathroom and watched him with quiet pleasure as he dressed.
“I know you’re going to tell this whole thing, but I just want to make sure he’s not going to be there tomorrow.” Isaac pulled a shirt on over his head. Laurent had left bite marks on his shoulder.
He didn’t need to ask who. “No. Unless somehow he gets wind of it. But the commissioner promised me he would keep this between him and a few other administrative people who were coming with him.”
“Okay. Good. I think if he showed up, Misha would go for his throat. After they pulled me off of him.”
The idea of Isaac—or even Coach Samarin—anywhere near his father made Laurent want to hyperventilate. “Come on,” he said as he shoved his room key in the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s go get this over with.”
They left and headed down a couple of floors to Misha and Max’s room. Laurent remembered that Isaac said, “I’m sure they know what we were doing.” When they got there, he blushed hotly, tried to avoid anyone’s gaze, and pretended that Max’s cough was not a knowing sort of laugh.
Misha gave Laurent a glass of water, and Laurent drank it gratefully. Then he sat down and started to talk.
“I realized that if I didn’t do something, it was never going to stop. That if someone was going to get rid of him, it had to be me. I’ve played for him for years. I’ve seen what he’s like, but I’ve also heard him talk to players. Offering money to make sure someone on the other team couldn’t play.” Laurent sat stiffly in the hotel-room chair, hands folded tightly in his lap. Isaac stood behind him with his hands on Laurent’s shoulders.
Laurent took another breath and tried not to talk to his shoes. He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done. He wasn’t. “My father always took for granted that I’d be quiet. He didn’t censor himself around me or anything. And he’d have meetings sometimes with players at our house. He has a private investigator that he hires to follow his players around and find out things he can use against them if he needs to. That’s how he found out Xavier Matthews is gay. He�
��s always used that to make Matthews do what he wanted and to keep him from requesting a trade. Matthews’ family is super religious and involved in a church in Asheville.
“I remembered that Isaac said Matthews was a good guy, so when I got up here, I called him and told him what I was going to do.” Laurent looked back up at Isaac. “I stayed with him. I slept on the couch.”
Isaac’s smile was sudden and wicked. “Goddamn right you did.”
Coach Samarin cleared his throat pointedly. Laurent tried not to tense up more than he already was and continued. “I remembered some of the other guys who got offered an incentive but didn’t take it. All of them are done playing hockey, because you don’t tell my father ‘no’ without consequences. And I called a few of the other Ravens who are still on the team. One guy had a DUI when he was eighteen. He’s twenty-eight now and has two kids. My father said if he didn’t score enough goals, he’d make sure they found cocaine in his locker so he’d end up in jail. I told them I was trying to find a way to get my father away from coaching, and if they could speak to someone without worrying about reprisals, would they? They all said yes. Even Matthews.”
Laurent slowly breathed in and out, felt the panic, and waited for it to recede a little. “Then I called the ECHL office and told them everything. I didn’t use any of the guys’ names, but I said I had plenty of people willing to talk about my father’s policies.
“At first they wanted me to contact the GM of the Ravens or the owner. But the GM…. He’s not a bad guy, I don’t think, but he does whatever my father tells him to. They hired him to be a yes-man, and that’s what he is. But they kept insisting I had to do that, unless I had some reason why I was afraid for my safety. So I told them exactly why I did have concerns about my safety. About what my father did to me at home. About my back. And Liz called them too.”
“Liz?” asked Max.
Laurent knew that Isaac didn’t go around telling his business to people, but it still warmed him a little to know that he’d kept Laurent’s visits with Liz to himself. “Liz Parks. She’s my therapist. I’ve been seeing her because I… I have—”
“I think we know why,” Max said a bit dryly.
“Well. Yeah. My father. But I also have… umm.” It was hard to say it. “I have an eating disorder. I’m getting help for it.”
“Oh,” Max said. And then, “I played with a guy in juniors who had an eating disorder. It can be dangerous. I’m glad you’re getting help, Laurent. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything was wrong.”
“I was good at hiding it from everyone.” Even me. Laurent didn’t want to talk about that.
Isaac kneaded Laurent’s shoulders, and rubbed his thumbs up and down the column of Laurent’s neck. Laurent leaned back into the touch. “It took two days before they called to tell me the commissioner was coming to meet with me. That’s why I didn’t call. Because if he hadn’t, I was going to go to the ECHL headquarters in New Jersey. I can’t let my father find out about this until after everyone’s had their say.” Laurent felt a rush of angry satisfaction. “It’s been a long time since my father’s had to stop something he can’t see coming.”
“I’m going with you to meet with him.”
Laurent blinked at hearing that, the first words Coach Samarin had spoken since Laurent started his story. He shrank back at the look of pure rage on his coach’s face. The inherent panic to flee was as strong as the urge to throw up. He’d done the wrong thing. Coach Samarin was angry with him—
“Misha.” That was all it took, that soft recrimination from Max, and a look, and Coach Samarin closed his eyes, rubbed at his temples, and took a few breaths. It was one of the few times Laurent had seen him visibly rattled.
He crossed the room in two long strides so he was standing in front of Laurent.
Laurent stood up. He didn’t know what other option he had, and besides, he hated how far he had to crane his neck to look up at his coach when he was sitting down. Isaac was supposed to be the short one.
“You have no idea how much I respect you for what you’ve done. I never managed to stand up to my own father, and he was much the same. It’s a very brave thing.” Misha’s heavy gaze didn’t waver. “And you are nothing like your father.”
The man Laurent’s father always wanted him to be wouldn’t have been moved to tears by that simple statement. But for the first time in his life, Laurent was proud of the man he’d become instead. And as he shook his coach’s hand, he didn’t bother to hide his tears. He wanted Coach Samarin to know exactly how much those words meant to him and how it felt to hear them.
You are nothing like your father.
Thank God.
Chapter Twenty
THE HEARING with the ECHL commissioner took place in one of the hotel’s nondescript conference rooms the next morning. Isaac was too nervous to eat, but he couldn’t sit still, so there was nothing to do unless he wanted to go for an aimless and pointless walk. No thanks.
He’d offered to go into the hearing too, but Misha informed him that it wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know what had happened to Isaac, and Simon had already been expelled from the league for the hit. He didn’t think it would take too much convincing—not with all the other evidence—that Denis St. Savoy had made it worth it for Simon to take out Isaac in the finals. He’d told Laurent what Simon had said. “I hope I broke your fucking leg, Drake.” And that was all he could offer. But he would gladly have repeated that to the panel if it meant he could be there with Laurent and Misha.
Quite a few guys in suits came through the hotel doors, looking a bit nervous and asking for directions to “The ECHL Meeting.” Isaac didn’t recognize any of them until he saw Xavier Matthews, looking composed but definitely nervous. But his suit was impeccable, and he looked like a walking fashion ad. Isaac told himself not to stereotype, but it did figure that the best dressed guy there would be the gay one, even if he was obviously nervous as hell.
Isaac walked over to shake his hand. Xavier’s palm was clammy, but his grip was firm. “Thanks for this. What you’re doing. I know you never wanted to have to come out here.”
“It’s the right thing to do.” Xavier’s mouth set in a grim line. “He’s an awful person and a terrible coach. You can’t imagine what it’s like playing for him.”
Isaac thought about Laurent—his scars, the sneer he wore like a mask, how Misha’s simple declaration of respect had unwound him completely. “I have some idea.”
“Ah. Right. You know, I never knew Laurent was gay.”
“He’s not. He’s demi.”
“Uh.” Xavier blinked. “That’s, what? Like half-gay?”
Isaac snorted. “No. Demisexual. Look it up when you get home. And would it have mattered if you’d known?” Isaac smiled a little. “You don’t have to pretend like he wasn’t an asshole. He still is, sometimes. We’re working on it.”
Xavier gave a quiet laugh. “He was a lot different when he was at my place. But God. He talked about you, like, constantly.” Xavier gave a theatrical roll of his eyes. “Ew.”
“Ha-ha.” Isaac couldn’t help but notice that Xavier still looked like he was about to be executed. “You know, just because you’re doing this, it doesn’t mean everyone is going to find out that you’re gay,” Isaac said. “It’s not like they’re going to announce it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I came out to my family.”
Isaac didn’t need to ask how that went. The “dead man walking” look just got worse when he said it. “That bad?”
“They’re refusing to let me see Whitney until I undergo Christian counseling and successful conversion therapy.”
Oh holy fuck. What is wrong with people? Frustrated, Isaac ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, man.” He was too. Even in their brief time together, Isaac knew how much Xavier adored Whitney, his younger sister.
“I know. Look. It was time. I can’t live my whole life waiting for the moment I’m traded so I can finally admit that I
’m gay and hopefully have a normal relationship.” Xavier closed his eyes and composed himself with effort, then straightened his shoulders. “But I did it, and now it’s done. And even if nothing comes of this, St. Savoy has nothing to hold over my head anymore.”
“Relieved?”
Xavier nodded. “Actually yeah. It kills me to think about Whitney and what my parents must be telling her. But I’m glad it’s finally out there.” His voice turned momentarily vicious. “They weren’t even surprised. Oh, they pretended they were. But they knew.”
“So did mine,” Isaac offered. “They were just mad because I was going to come out to other people. What got them was how I wasn’t ashamed of it. That I’d dare tell anyone and be proud.” He stopped talking when he saw how visibly upset Xavier was becoming. He pulled him into a brief hug. “You did a good thing, X.”
“Thanks, Drake. You know, it’s not just this shit with St. Savoy. I mean, it was the reason why I came out, but you made me wish that I could have done it earlier. I think what you’re doing, being out in the league, I think it’s probably helping more people than you know.” Xavier attempted a smile as they pulled apart. “And not just guys who have a thing for piercings.”
That was good to hear. He never intended to make some kind of statement by being out. He just didn’t think he could pretend to be straight, and he’d never really wanted to—especially not when he was around as many hot guys as he was on a daily basis. But it was nice to hear that maybe it helped someone come to terms with their sexuality. The league wasn’t a hotbed of intolerance and bigotry—unless you played for the Ravens, and even that was more about the coach than the team—but fuck if he wasn’t sick of “fag” being thrown around as an insult.
The hearing took about an hour and a half, and Isaac and Max waited in the hotel lobby. Neither of them spoke much, and Isaac spent most of the time worried that Denis St. Savoy somehow got wind of the meeting and was on his way to stop it. Or something. It was a formless sort of worry, a general uneasiness that Isaac knew wouldn’t entirely abate until the entire thing was over and done with.