by Avon Gale
Lane wisely kept that to himself.
“But if someone said that about me, and about ‘she’s got Sloan on her back enough,’ what would you do?”
“Laugh?” Lane thought that was funny, but clearly this was not the right answer.
“Right. So, I’ve lost all your respect by sleeping with Ryan. I get it.” Zoe stared at the road, sniffling in the same way she did when they watched a movie and she was crying and didn’t want Lane to know.
“Zoe? I really don’t know what to say and I think maybe I should stop talking, because everything I say makes you mad and pretend not to be crying.”
“Fine.”
Uh-oh. That was definitely not a good word when a girl said it. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Just forget it,” she snapped, but kept talking because girls did not make any sense, not even a little. “Just, talking about a girl like that, it’s like she’s nothing.”
“But I thought that’s what you wanted with him,” Lane pointed out. “And he didn’t say that, Zoe. I did. To you. Could you just stop being mad?” He poked her in the arm. “It’s Christmas.”
“Ugh. I know. I’m being totally irrational. I’m sorry. I hate going home. It’s dumb, Lane, but if I told my parents I was with a guy now, my dad would talk to me again. Even though I’m just using Ryan to get off, and because he lets me smack him. And yet, I was in love with Erin, and we were living together, and she was going to be a lawyer. My father is a lawyer. But that didn’t matter. He couldn’t see past the fact she had tits.”
Was it tits or boobs? Lane was so confused about that. “But you’re not in love with Ryan. Right?”
“Oh my God, Lane. No. Though I like him more than I did when we first met. Really, he’s a pretty nice guy.” She shot Lane a sheepish look. “Sorry. God, Lane, I totally went mental on you. Ugh. Do you want some of my milkshake?”
“Don’t I always?” He took the milkshake and sipped, but it was mostly gone. At least she wasn’t mad anymore. They still had an hour left before they got to Savannah.
They went directly to the restaurant, where Zoe and Jared met for the first time. When Zoe said, “Lane talks about you a lot,” Jared responded with, “Same with you,” and then, “I’m not sure if I should apologize for that.”
“Me neither!” Zoe said, grinning, and they both laughed.
Lane was glad to see they were getting along and that Zoe seemed to be completely over whatever that thing was in the car. She gave him a Christmas present before she left—a picture of the two of them—and then showed him a tattoo on her arm that she’d gotten for him. It was a much cooler version of the Storm’s logo, with his number on it.
“That is so cool.” Lane was very impressed, but he had a secret terror of needles. Zoe was such a badass. She could totally be one of those roller-girl chicks. “That’s a way better looking sea tornado than the one on the jersey. Zoe got my jersey,” Lane said to Jared, going for nonchalant. “Because I’m so awesome at hockey.”
“He’s worse than this on the ice,” Jared said to Zoe. “That’s why I hit him when we first met.”
“No, I threw my gloves off to fight you,” Lane reminded him. “You had to hit me, remember? I made you.” He scowled when Zoe started howling with laughter.
“You never told me that. Aw, Lane, you’re so bad at dating,” she giggled, gleeful.
“I was beating him up to get my team to like me,” Lane tried to explain, and Jared interrupted him with a whoa, whoa and a knock to his shoulder.
“He got beaten up to make his team like him, Zoe. He punched me once in the face, and it didn’t even hurt.”
“Zoe’s kinda into that,” Lane said, and then wondered if he had some kind of death wish.
“So I hear,” Jared said with that grin that made Lane hard—and made him wish they were back in his apartment. Alone. In bed. Naked.
Zoe turned red again, and waved her hands and looked, all of a sudden, like a total girl.
She thinks Jared’s cute, Lane realized, and that made him happy.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Lane asked her innocently when they were back at Jared’s after dinner. He sat next to Jared on the couch, and while he didn’t want her to go necessarily, he was definitely ready for them to be alone.
“Yeah. I should just get on the road. But it was nice to meet you, Jared.”
“You too, Zoe.”
She hugged Lane, and she and Jared did an awkward “should we hug or shake hands” thing and then laughed and hugged quickly. Why did that never look awkward when it was other people doing it?
Lane walked her to the car and gave her another hug good-bye. “I have a lot of respect for you, Zoe. I’m sorry if what I said about the jersey made it sound like I don’t. I wouldn’t not respect a girl—or anybody really—for liking sex. Because I like it too. I think you’re supposed to like it. I hope your parents are nice to you.”
“No, that was me being crazy. The thing is, umm. So, when I said I got your jersey, Ryan goes, ‘why not mine, princess?’ And then after I hit him for calling me that, I uh.” Zoe wouldn’t look at him.
“You said he was on your back enough, didn’t you.”
“Yup.” She smiled nervously at him. “I’m sorry. Really. And hey, Jared is hot. And I’m sorry, but I almost said I was going to stay, just so I could sneak out of the bedroom and watch you two make out. Wow.” She gave a whistle. “Good job, Lane. And he’s nice. And he put his arm around you. That makes me really happy. But I’m still going to boo him at the next Storm-Renegades game.”
“Damn right.”
Zoe kissed him on the cheek, and Lane watched her drive away, glad they’d worked that out and that she liked Jared and wasn’t mad at him.
Later that night, when they were in bed, Lane asked Jared, “You’re not going to get sick of me, are you?”
“Probably not, but if I do, you can sleep on the couch.” Jared’s voice was warm, amused. “I like Zoe. You two fight like siblings. It’s kind of hilarious.”
“She liked you too. She thought you were hot. Which you are.” Lane rolled on his side and inched closer. “Do you have any Dr Pepper? If I had one, I could totally go again in about twenty minutes.”
“Well, I can go again right now,” Jared informed him, pushing Lane on his back. “So it’s your turn to catch up, pipsqueak.”
“That’s the least sexy thing you’ve ever called me, J.”
“What? Now you’re criticizing my pillow talk? Is the magic over, Lane?” Jared bit him on the shoulder.
“I thought you said you could go again. So no, it’s not over. And Jared, I wouldn’t like it if you made the pillow talk, either,” Lane said seriously, and kissed him. Just in case he didn’t know Lane was kidding. Sometimes that took a while for people to figure out.
At first it was weird not to spend Christmas with his parents, though Lane was still mad at them—and he was getting laid. A lot. He and Jared really did spend most of their short holiday in bed, although they found time to watch hockey, and once they went out for dinner because they were both tired of pizza.
Lane gave Jared his Christmas present, which was a copy of Patrick Roy’s biography. He knew Roy was Jared’s favorite player. It was called Winning, Nothing Else, and in the cover, Lane wrote He got better as he got older too. He was a goalie, though. I’m glad you’re not, because sometimes they’re crazy. Merry Christmas.
Jared laughed, and he seemed pleased with the gift. He gave Lane a sweet Leafs hoodie, which he said he was pretty sure Lane could use as a winter coat in Jacksonville.
After Lane gave Jared his other present, which was a very long, slow blowjob in the shower, and after Jared reciprocated with a much shorter one—“You’re like a rocket, I swear, Courtnall”—Lane put on his new hoodie, went out onto Jared’s small balcony, and had a very stilted phone conversation with his parents.
He’d sent them each a Sea Storm T-shirt with his name and number on the bac
k, and they’d sent him a card with some American money and a note to take Zoe out for a nice dinner.
When his mom said, “Say hi to Zoe,” he stood there with his heart in his throat and the words “I’m actually at my boyfriend’s apartment” on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t make himself say it. Instead, he said okay and hung up. Then he sat in the chair on the balcony and stared at the parking lot. Shivering a little because he was barefoot, he huddled in his new hoodie and wondered why he was such a coward.
Jared had called his parents and left a message, then called a friend of his, named Alex, who he’d mentioned before. At one point, he heard Jared say, “No, Lane’s here. Yeah, the guy from Jacksonville. Maybe. I don’t know. I like him. If you meet him, I might never see him again,” which meant he’d told his friend about Lane and Lane couldn’t even tell his parents about Jared.
“You okay?” Jared asked as he came out to the balcony.
“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” Lane looked up and met Jared’s light blue eyes, which were narrowed in concern. He hadn’t shaved in a day or so, and there was reddish-blond stubble on his cheeks that had given Lane a bit of a burn in certain places. The scar from where he’d been cut by a skate as a kid was a pale sliver of skin on his cheek. He had smile lines next to his eyes.
“My parents think I’m at Zoe’s. They think we’re dating. I never said we were, but they assumed. And they just said to me, ‘Say hi to Zoe,’ and I said, okay.”
Jared listened, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Come inside,” he said, his voice warm. “It’s all right.”
I love you. Lane thought it, but he didn’t say it. Instead he followed Jared inside and sat on the couch, messing with the sleeves on his new hoodie. Jared sat next to him, waiting, rubbing at the back of Lane’s neck in a way that made Lane feel safe, guilty and, because he was twenty, horny.
“My mom walked in on me kissing another guy when I was sixteen. She didn’t say anything, just... walked out of my bedroom and closed the door. And she never said a word, but I could always.... It was always there. You know?” Lane looked at him. “They came to visit, and they were so happy, Jared. They were thrilled, and I thought it was because I was playing well. I was part of a team, and I had friends. And you know what they were so happy about? Zoe. And not because she was the first friend I’d ever made that had nothing to do with hockey. No. They thought it meant I wasn’t gay anymore.”
Jared was still quiet, and Lane continued. “She told me to say hi to her just now. And I didn’t tell her where I really was. And I didn’t tell her who I was really with either. I just said okay, because I’m a coward. And even though I was so mad, and even though Zoe told me that it shouldn’t matter who I sleep with, I still feel awful that they’re disappointed in me.”
Lane sighed. “What does that say about me, when I decide ruining my parents’ holiday is not worth telling them about you?”
Jared made a soft noise, and to Lane’s surprise, it was kind of a laugh—not a mean one—and his smile was sad. But he didn’t look angry, or worse, disappointed. “It means you’re not ready to tell them yet. That’s all.”
Lane didn’t like that Jared was being nice about it, because it would make him feel better—by making him feel worse—if Jared yelled at him. He deserved it. Didn’t he? “Zoe told me too, that I shouldn’t tell them I was gay just to tell them that she wasn’t my girlfriend. That I should wait until someone mattered, so I could tell them I was gay because I was...” he stopped, unsure if he should say it. But what the hell. “I was in love with someone. And that’s what I should do.”
He stared very intently at the stitching on the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Can I just get some clarification real quick on why you’re not telling them?” Jared asked. His voice sounded weird, like he’d been in the middle of coughing.
Lane felt horrible again. Christmas was terrible, he was terrible, everything was terrible, and it was all his fault. “Because I’m a coward. I told you.”
“Ah, that’s not what I meant.” Jared still had that strangled tone to his voice. Great. Lane had killed him. That was awesome. “Maybe you’re not telling them, because you’re not. You just have someone who isn’t... that you don’t, not that you... do.”
Lane stared at the stain on the floor where he’d knocked over a Dr Pepper, and tried to put all those words into an order that made sense. “You’re losing Artex in the swamp, here, J. I don’t know what that means...?”
Jared finally reached over and tipped Lane’s face up to his. He looked kind of freaked out too, and his breathing was quick and light. And why was Jared scared? It was Lane who was fucking up. Not him. “Do you want to tell your parents?”
“I don’t. I want them to know, but I.... Do I have to keep explaining this? Because it makes me sound really awful and like I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”
“Here. Let me tell you something really quick. Okay? You’re not the only one of us that has issues and stuff.” Jared looked pained, and Lane definitely understood that. Feelings were horrible. “Mine aren’t the same, but... can you just figure out what I’m asking here?” He looked hopefully at Lane.
“You sound like me,” Lane told him, smiling a little. “And I’m just as lost as you usually are.”
Jared closed his eyes, then spoke as if he were giving an interview to the press—the kind where your coach told you what to say, and you’re trying to repeat it and sound natural. “You said that... you should tell them when you loved someone. Right?”
“Yeah?”
Jared opened his eyes, and then he actually shook Lane by the shoulders. “Would you just—I love you, idiot. Okay?”
“Okay,” Lane said very slowly. He didn’t say it back, assuming that Jared had to know Lane felt the same way. How could Lane not love him?
“Okay,” Jared said. His face was shutting down, and his eyes were going cold, like the lights behind them were slowly dimming. He stood up abruptly and said in a tight voice, “You don’t have to tell anyone about us if you don’t want, Lane. I’m not in this to mess up your relationship with your parents, or your career, or whatever else.”
“Why do you sound mad, though?” Lane asked, worried. He was still thinking Jared was pissed about him not telling his parents. When Jared said he was going to take a shower, it didn’t make sense. They’d been in the shower for so long earlier that all the water had turned cold.
Lane tried to point that out, but all he got was a slammed door for a response. He sat there, miserable. Then stood up and took off his hoodie, folded it, and went into the bedroom to put it back on the bed. The sight of it made him want to throw up. Jared was in the bathroom but the water wasn’t running. He was just so disgusted with Lane that he couldn’t be in the same room with him.
Lane grabbed his bag and shoved his stuff inside of it, zipped it, and tossed it next to the hoodie.
Lane was shaking, and this was stupid. Why didn’t he just tell his parents? Call them and tell them, right now, and don’t lose someone who loves you because you’re afraid. He knocked once on the bathroom door. “Will it make a difference if I call them now and tell them? I will.” Once his fingers stopped shaking, that was.
The door opened, and Jared, who had shaving cream all over his face, stared at him with eyes that weren’t so cold, but were definitely wary. “What are you talking about?” He saw Lane’s bag on the bed, and he looked.... Lane couldn’t put a word to it, but it was awful.
He swallowed hard and said softly, “Never mind. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Jared said, not looking at him. “And you can’t make yourself feel something you don’t.”
Lane was missing something. “Wait.”
“Lane—”
“No, just hang on.” He sat on the bed, thinking about it like it was a hockey play. He made up a diagram in his head, offense and defense, and carefully arranged all the elements of the situation, until he realized what the problem was.
You can’t make yourself feel something you don’t.
Lane felt a sense of relief wash over him that was so strong it nearly made him start giggling. He walked over to Jared, put his arms around him, and kissed him soundly. “Don’t worry, Artex. I got it.”
“Are we even in the same room, right now?” Jared asked, staring at him like Lane was maybe crazy. “And can we stop having conversations that reference The NeverEnding Story? Please?”
“I love you too,” he said, and watched as the light came back in Jared’s eyes. He smiled a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I thought I said that already.”
“I told you, and you just said okay, Lane. Also you look ridiculous. You have shaving cream on your face. Do you even need to shave? Or do razors refuse to touch your face ’cause it’s so pretty?”
“That’s a terrible chirp,” Lane informed him. He kissed him again and pushed him back into the bathroom. He could see his face in the mirror over Jared’s shoulder, and he did look pretty silly. “Guess I need another shower.”
“Guess so,” Jared murmured, and pushed him back out, toward the bed. “It can wait. I’m kind of getting off on the whole Abercrombie-and-Fitch Santa thing you’ve got going on here. Which is weird. But Lane, being your boyfriend means accepting the weird and going with it. This is what I’ve learned.”
And with that, all the joy came back to Christmas.
That night they had Chinese take-out and watched a movie from Jared’s DVD collection of exactly four movies. Two were the Avalanche’s Stanley Cup DVDs, one was Slap Shot, and the other was Sudden Death with Jean Claude Van Damme. They watched that one. Lane figured they’d end up making out before it was over, but it was actually pretty entertaining, so they watched the whole thing.
Right before they fell asleep, Jared told him, “You know, I meant it... what I said before. About how you don’t have to tell your parents until you’re ready.”
“Oh. Really?” Lane smiled in the dark. “That wasn’t just you being dramatic?”
“Do you know what I’m ready for, Courtnall?”