Breakaway

by Avon Gale

  “It’s all right,” Jared said, uncomfortable. They both watched the teams line up for the next face-off.

  “It isn’t, but it’s nice of you to say so.” She leaned forward in her seat. “If my son weren’t playing in a tie game, I’d ask you questions. Right now I have to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  Jared grinned. “If you learn that trick, could you share it?”

  She gave a soft, quiet laugh. There was something going on with Lane’s parents, but the game started back up, and Jared didn’t have time to think about it.

  The Marlies lost by a goal. Jared knew Lane would be pissed about the drop pass, and when he said this to Michelle Courtnall, she crossed her arms and gave Jared a look that was very familiar. “He should be. Maybe if we both tell him, he’ll listen.”

  Lane did indeed look like he was in a bad mood when he met Jared after the game. But the second he saw his mom standing next to his boyfriend, his eyes lit up like stars, and all the irritation vanished from his face. Jared’s heart flipped over in his chest.

  “Mom. You’re here. Hi. I’m sorry we lost.”

  “Yes. I’m here. You looked so fast out there, Lane. But Jared and I agreed you needed to stop those drop passes until you know your wingers better.” Lane’s mom gave him a severe look. “We’ve had this discussion about your passing decisions more than once, Lane.”

  Lane’s smile would have lit up Ricoh Coliseum in the event of a power outage. Jared knew he’d be annoyed about their collusion in a few hours, but he was clearly thrilled. “You guys agreed, huh?”

  “Yes. I would like to take you both to dinner, Lane, if you don’t have plans already. If you do, that’s all right. Maybe the next time.”

  “Nah. It’s fine. Hey. I gotta go get something, though. J, is the car clean?”

  Lane had made plans for after the game and was clearly going to cancel them. His mother was clearly aware of it too. These people were terrible at lying. “Clean? I didn’t drive it through the mud, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No. Like, is there shit in the back?”

  Jared hit him upside the head. “Watch your mouth. That’s your mom.”

  Lane’s mother patted Jared on the shoulder. “I’m glad you have manners.”

  “Were you worried because I was a hockey player?” Jared asked. And oh, the look on Lane’s face. Jared wanted to hug Michelle Courtnall just for putting it there.

  “No. Because you’re American,” she said, absolutely deadpan, and Jared laughed.

  It was going to be okay. She did not look like a mother who wanted to disown her gay son. She looked like a mother who was maybe as bad at feelings as her son, and thought her son was mad at her, and had no idea how to fix any of it.

  They went to dinner at a sports bar down the street from their apartment. Mrs. Courtnall ordered a Molson. Lane had a Dr Pepper. Jared ordered a Coke, trying to make a good impression.

  “You usually drink beer, J. Are you not feeling okay?”

  Jared kicked him under the table, but Lane just asked him why he did that. Out loud.

  “He’s trying to make a good impression, son,” Michelle said, smiling.

  “That’s why he should order a beer. It’s Canada. I’m, you know. Playing. So I can’t have one.” Lane gave him a look that clearly said, “Don’t rat me out.”

  Right. Like that was going to work. “I didn’t know Dr Pepper made beer, Lane,” Jared said innocently, eyes wide. “Why did you just kick me?”

  Michelle patted Lane on the hand. “You can drink all the beer you want when you retire. It’s all right. But stop drinking so much of that Dr Pepper and drink some water.” While Lane regressed to a fourteen-year-old for a moment—that clearly happened to everyone, everywhere, with their parents—Michelle asked Jared about his family, his hockey career, and what he was doing in Toronto.

  “Living with me,” Lane reminded her. “Remember?”

  “Hey. Back up, Mr. Important Hockey Player. I am not just living with you. I have a job. I’m a coach,” Jared told her. “A new assistant coach actually, with the Markham Waxers.”

  “And where are you from?”

  “Michigan. Ann Arbor.”

  “Not a Red Wings fan, are you?” Michelle gave him a suspicious look. “We have a lot of those in Chatham. Bad parenting.”

  That made him smile. “Nope. I’m an Avalanche fan.”

  “Jared’s really contrary,” Lane piped up. He sounded proud because he was demented. “That’s why he doesn’t like the Wings. And his favorite player is Patrick Roy.”

  “Yes. I seem to recall you have a fondness for playing goalie,” Michelle murmured. She looked at her son pointedly. “Hesitating with an open net? Lane.”

  “I know, Mom. But the scout for the Leafs said I showed character.” Lane sat up straighter. “Because I didn’t beat Jared up or anything for that.”

  “You didn’t...? He tried that, you know,” Jared informed Lane’s mother. “Beating me up. I feel like I should apologize for hitting him.”

  Michelle took a calm drink of her Molson’s. “That’s not necessary.”

  Lane threw a coaster at him.

  “Lane Edward Courtnall, you have better manners than that,” his mother chastised, giving her son a disapproving look. “And I better not hear about you starting any more fights. You’re not a fighter. You’re a goal scorer. Leave the fights to the gentlemen who are better suited.”

  “Can you adopt me?” Jared asked her, charmed. No one had ever referred to his position in hockey as being played by a gentleman who was better suited for it.

  “No. Because then we’d be related, and that’d be weird,” Lane announced. “Mom, Jared’s parents have never been to any of his hockey games and don’t like sports.”

  Michelle Courtnall looked like Lane had just informed her that someone ran over Jared’s puppy, then turned around and came back to run over its mother too. “Why haven’t they been to your games? They didn’t even watch you when you won the Kelly Cup?”

  “My parents aren’t sports people. My dad actually was an administrator at the University of Michigan, who thought all sports programs should be abolished.” Jared smiled wryly. “My friends’ parents hated him. They were all raving U of M football fans.”

  “Jared borrowed his sister’s figure skates,” Lane interjected. “Why was that okay and hockey wasn’t, J?”

  “I guess my parents thought that was art, and hockey was just institutionalized brutality.”

  Michelle made a sound. “Your parents, Jared? Are they... still like that?” She looked so horrified, Jared wanted to comfort her and lie, if it made her stop looking so sad.

  “Well, no. Because your son made a DVD of my season highlights and sent it to them.” Jared wasn’t mad about that anymore. And, in fact, he thought it was kind of sweet. Which was why he kicked Lane under the table again. “Jerk.”

  Michelle was looking at her son with obvious approval. “I can’t imagine not going to any of Lane’s games. How strange.”

  “You didn’t go to the ones before this one,” Lane pointed out. “And Jared’s parents are weird, but they called me his life partner and don’t care that he’s got a boyfriend.”

  That killed the conversation for a little while, and Jared couldn’t tell if Lane regretted saying it or not. He knew Chatham was three hours away from Toronto, but he also knew Lane’s parents had traveled farther than that for games when Lane was living at home. He reached under the table and rubbed a hand over Lane’s knee.

  Lane grabbed his hand like it was a life preserver.

  After dinner, Lane’s mom asked to see their apartment. Jared could tell it wasn’t that she wanted to see it, but that she wanted to say something to her son. Lane, because subtlety was his mortal enemy, looked really confused and asked her why.

  “Is our place clean, Jared?” Lane asked as they made their way to the car for the short drive.

  “Hey, I work now too, Prince Court
nall. Pick up your own clothes.” Jared tossed Lane the keys.

  “What about the whole kept-man thing? And the supermodel threesomes?” Lane winced. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “I can pretend not to hear things,” Michelle said from the back. Jared had tried to get her to ride in the front, both to the restaurant and to the apartment, to no avail. “You lived in my house for eighteen years, Lane Edward. It’s fine if you haven’t had a chance to shove your dirty laundry under the bed.”

  Jared laughed again. He couldn’t help it. It was fun hanging around with someone who had Lane’s number. It really was.

  “You think this is funny. Wait until Christmas when I laugh at stuff your family says,” Lane muttered. “Oh yeah, Mom? I thought you and Dad might disown me, so I said I’d go to Jared’s for the holiday.”

  That made for a pretty quiet drive back to the apartment.

  Which was clean enough, thankfully, because they didn’t have very much stuff. Lane showed her around, and he sounded defensive when he said, “And that’s the bedroom, through there. We only have one.” His chain was raised a notch, like he was expecting a fight.

  His mother gave him the same exact stubborn and humorless look in return. “You mean you’re not waiting until marriage?”

  Even Lane laughed at that. “You could show your mom the porch,” Jared told Lane, trying to get them together to have whatever important talk they needed to have in private.

  He should have known better than to try that with Lane. “But it’s cold out, J.”

  “I appreciate that, but I would like the two of you to hear what I have to say.” Michelle looked very much like her son a moment before, drawing herself up to her full height, which was nearly five foot ten, making Jared wonder if she’d been a hockey player herself. “Lane, I’m very sorry that it took me this long to come see you play, and to meet Jared. I understand if you’re angry, but I wanted to explain.”

  “You’re going to come to another one. Right?” Lane asked so hopefully that Jared might start yelling if she said no, despite how much he liked Michelle Courtnall. He moved toward Lane and put his arm around him, and Lane turned and put his face against Jared’s shoulder.

  “Of course.” She looked sad. “I’m not perfect, Lane. I’m a person with faults, just like any other.”

  Lane straightened, but he stayed close to Jared. “But Dad...? I guess he’s still mad.”

  Michelle blinked. “Oh no. He had to work. He’ll be at the next one.”

  That might have been a good thing to say about two hours earlier, but Jared kept that to himself. He felt weird being there, but if she wanted him to hear it, then fine. And she didn’t look thrown at all at how Jared and Lane were touching each other. Certainly nothing about how she was acting suggested she had a problem with it.

  “Oh.” Lane put his face against Jared’s shoulder and tried to move away, but Jared hauled him back and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Lane settled against him, relaxing a bit. “He’s not mad, though?”

  Michelle Courtnall’s eyes filled with tears. Jared almost wanted to hug her when she said, “No, sweetie. No one is mad at you about anything.”

  Lane nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “Okay. But why didn’t you guys come here before now?”

  Michelle blinked a lot, and Jared said, “Hey. Why don’t we... go sit down,” because they were standing awkwardly in the hallway. He practically walked Lane to the couch and pushed him into it, then went to the kitchen and came back with three beers. Mostly so Michelle could sit by her son, which she did. She gave him a grateful look when he handed her the bottle.

  “Because—Lane, I want you to know—” Michelle stopped and took a drink. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at these things. I wish your father were here. He’s better when it comes to talking about feelings.”

  Jared sipped his drink, wondering if Lane knew how he was just like his mother. Wow. It made him think about his dad suddenly, and how he’d been so vehemently anti-sports while working at a college that was crazy about them. Okay. Fine. Lane wasn’t the only one who missed things like obvious parental similarities.

  “I don’t like talking about them either,” Lane told his mother. “Maybe we don’t have to. You’re here, and... you’re here.” His smile was sweet. “Thanks, Mom. I’m really... I don’t even care that we lost. That much,” he added, putting an arm around her.

  She leaned in against him. “I care that you still won’t listen to me about drop passes, after all this time. And now you have a boyfriend who’s a coach saying the same thing? Lane. Stop being stubborn.” Michelle gave her a son a questioning look. “Should I call him your life partner?”

  “No,” Lane and Jared both said at the same time. Michelle looked a little relieved.

  “I’m sorry, Lane. I’m sorry that I didn’t know what to say when you told me about Jared, and I’m sorry it took me so long to come here and say this to you.” Michelle reached out and brushed her fingers through Lane’s hair. “Your father wanted us to come here and say this together, but I couldn’t wait. It was breaking my heart not to be here, sweetheart. Not only because I know how hard you’ve worked for this, but because you had someone important in your life that you wanted us to meet.”

  “It’s all right,” Lane mumbled, staring at the floor. “It was kind of... I sort of sprung it on you.”

  There was a soft noise that sounded like a laugh from Lane’s mother, though it was obvious she was crying. “Honey? Your father and I.... Lane, we’ve both known you were gay since you were twelve years old.”

  Jared wasn’t surprised to hear that, but Lane clearly was.

  “What? But... when you found me with Derek... you just closed the door.”

  Michelle wiped at her cheeks, sniffling, but her smile was surprisingly impish. “I would hope you’d do the same, if you walked in on your father and me.”

  “No.” Lane jumped off the couch, springing up to his feet. “Wait. Yes, I would, but.... You were disappointed. Don’t lie to me and say it was okay all along, Mom. It wasn’t. I saw the look on your face.”

  Michelle stood up, but she put her arms around herself just like Lane did when he was feeling vulnerable. “Oh, Lane. Honey. I’m—I wish I could explain this to you. But sweetheart, it is okay. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, or that it’s a sin. Neither does your father.”

  “But—” Lane shook his head, his expression troubled. “Mom, why were you so happy about Zoe? In Jacksonville. You were. You thought we were dating. You were happier about that than you were about my playing well.”

  Jared wondered if his situation with his own parents was as obvious to an outsider as Lane’s was to him.

  “When you were eleven, your hockey coach called your father and me to a meeting and told us, point blank, that you had a very good chance of being drafted. You were always... different from other boys on your team. And no. Not because you’re gay. Because you’re you.”

  Lane muttered something Jared couldn’t hear beneath his breath.

  “But you never seemed that way on the ice, when you were playing. Not ever. You looked so happy. Free. And I told myself that the second you told me you were done, that hockey was something you would always love but wouldn’t be the center of your life.... I told myself, ‘All right. Then you’ll tell him you know he’s gay, and that it’s all right.’ But you never did. And you kept playing. And Lane, do you know that all your father and I want is for you to be happy? Nothing ever made you as happy as playing hockey, so we did all we could to make sure you could keep playing.”

  Lane was staring at his mother like he’d never seen her before. “Why couldn’t it be both, Mom? Why couldn’t—” he stopped, and turned briefly toward Jared. Then he squared shoulders and stood up straight, voice evening out. “Why couldn’t I be happy playing hockey, and be gay too? Why did it have to be one or the other?”

  “Because we thought it did,” Michelle said softly. “Lane, I’m your mother.
I carried you beneath my heart for nine months, and I would do anything for you. My son was happy playing hockey, my son was good at hockey, and I—your father and I—we just... wanted to help you have this thing that made you glow. We wanted to protect you.”

  “Mom, I’m bigger than you are,” Lane told her very seriously. “You don’t have to protect me.”

  She reached out and gently touched his face. “I’m still your mother, no matter how tall you are or who you play hockey for. And your father and I... we wanted you to have what you worked so hard for, this dream of yours that was actually in reach... when it wasn’t for so many kids who had the same one. And I promise you, your father and I were thrilled you were playing well in Jacksonville. But sweetheart, we never thought you’d play any other way, because you always played well. Our concern with your career was never that you couldn’t play.”

  “Just that I liked boys? You were so happy about Zoe. You can’t—you can’t tell me you weren’t.” Lane was also wrapping his arms around himself, and Jared went over and put his arm around him again. “You didn’t look so fucking—sorry—you didn’t look so disappointed in me. Because you thought I had a girlfriend and wasn’t gay.”

  Jared could see the logical flaw there, but he wasn’t sure that Lane could.

  Luckily his mother explained it. “I thought you had a girlfriend. Yes. But that doesn’t mean I thought you weren’t interested in men.”

  “But you thought it was better for me. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Michelle said a little loudly. “Yes, Lane, I did. I won’t lie to you and say that I didn’t think that. Because it is easier. No parent wants their child’s life to be hard, sweetheart, and that’s all your father and I could think about. How hard you’d worked for this thing that you were so, so close to having, and how the stupid prejudices of others might take it all away from you.”

  “I don’t care about them,” Lane whispered. “I just care about you and Dad.”

  “I know that. We were wrong, Lane. And I told myself so many times that it would be okay if you were gay and you weren’t playing hockey, that I convinced myself it had to be either-or. I know that it doesn’t and that it wasn’t the right thing to do.