Chapter Thirteen
Layton
I was expecting Adler, so didn’t hesitate in calling for the person knocking on my door to come in. Since coming back from Michigan, he’d just been there all the time. Staying over with me, kissing me, loving on me, and bit by bit he was cracking the shell around my heart. We hadn’t made it super obvious that we were a couple here at the rink, but if I turned a corner at the arena and he was there, then you can bet your bottom dollar there was kissing.
I smiled up as the door opened, but it wasn’t Adler standing there with that damn mistletoe in his hand. Nope, it was Mr. 69 himself, Dieter Lehmann, left wing and all-around sex god if I recalled our first meeting.
“Do you have a few minutes?” he asked, edging into the room like there was a dragon inside and he didn’t want to be spotted. This wasn’t the Dieter I was used to, not the brash skater who had just turned twenty-five and who had to make a deliberate effort not to say something that was politically incorrect. He’d been the easiest to talk to about the implications of his words for the team, and for himself, but he also seemed to forget them as soon as he walked out the door. I wasn’t entirely sure he was listening to me; he often looked like his mind was elsewhere. He was a very good hockey player, or so I’d been told, someone who had worked away in the lower levels of the hockey leagues, the AHL, in the team that fed new talent to the Railers. He skated on what I now knew was the fourth line, and he was up with the Railers covering injury.
“Of course,” I said.
He stepped in fully and shut the door behind him. “Shit,” was all he said, not moving from the door, still gripping the handle, his knuckles white. This wasn’t good—this was distinctly bad, and I had a horrible feeling that my already shitty day was going to get worse.
“Sit down,” I said, and gestured to the chair, into which he collapsed so hard that it squeaked in protest. “Are you okay?” I asked, even though what I really wanted to say was, “What have you done now?”
“I think things are… not good.” He searched for those final two words so hard that his face creased with a deep frown. Surreptitiously, I pulled my notebook in front of me and picked up the Montblanc pen that I had taken to using now, much to Adler’s glee.
“How are things not good?”
“She’s only doing it because stupid Ten and stupid Coach decided to spread their big gay love.”
My back stiffened as Dieter held up his hands when he spoke. He was agitated; shock had clearly given way to anger of sorts. Whatever. No man got to sit in my office and act like he was entitled to debate Ten and Jared’s choices.
“Shit,” he snapped, and scrubbed his eyes. He had very nice eyes; I’d noticed that in our last meeting, green and amber that at the moment were dull with misery. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded,” he said, and shuffled in the chair. Dieter certainly wasn’t the biggest on the team, but the chair was under a lot of strain.
The door opened and Adler stepped in without knocking and with a cheerful “Hey, sexy”. I looked from him to Dieter and back again.
Dieter’s eyes widened.
“I’ll be out in a bit,” I explained to Adler, who backed right out looking apologetic. Only when the door closed did I look back at Dieter, who was staring right at me.
“You and…”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
That was that—someone on the team other than me and Adler knew about us. Baby steps, I guessed. “So tell me what happened.”
I think the interruption was a good thing, as Dieter seemed calmer.
“My ex has a video, and stills, and she thinks I’ll pay her off.”
“She’s blackmailing you.”
Dieter shook his head. “Yeah, and I’m worried the photos will get out and,” he paused again, clearly searching for the right words, “cause embarrassment,” he finished.
“Okay.” I swallowed back the anxiety. This was my job and I could do it well. I scribbled some notes on my pad. “So what are these photos? Are we talking you covered up, in bed, or more explicit?”
He wrinkled his nose and looked at anything but me. “It’s me in bed, yeah. Well, on the bed actually, to start with at least. Then there’s video, of me off the bed, and um… yeah.”
“There’s more?”
“Well, she’s taking the video of me with the third we had in bed with us. A guy.”
I glanced up from my notes, a hundred questions in my head, not sure how to frame what I thought about Dieter at that moment.
He muttered something under his breath. “I was with the guy, okay, and I can see this undermines what you’re doing here. I get that, and I’m sorry.”
Oh. That was interesting.
“You identify as bi, then,” I said, and made a note.
“I identify as liking sex, all kinds of sex, but I’m not an addict.” He added the last bit with absolute conviction. “So she can’t accuse me of that, because she was part of it as well.”
“We can handle this if it gets out,” I reassured him. How I was going to handle it, I didn’t know, but the challenge was there and I felt calm and centered. “I’ll need to have all the information you can get. Okay?”
Dieter nodded. “Thanks,” he said, and stood. “I’ll get everything I can.”
“Don’t pay her,” I warned.
“I won’t unless I have to,” he said.
That wasn’t completely what I wanted to hear, but it was a start. Last thing I needed was to have to battle blackmail as well as a threesome on camera.
He was still standing there.
“Is there anything else?”
He slumped back into the chair and this time he buried his head in his hands. What could be worse than a sex tape?
“I am an addict,” he said through his hands.
“A sex addict,” I said, summarizing where I thought we were in this conversation. I could deal with this; there were things we could do.
“No,” he lifted his face and I was startled to see his eyes bright like he was trying not to cry. “Pain medication.”
I didn’t know what to say, and I knew I was sitting there like an idiot. I really needed to get a grip.
“You want to tell me?”
“No,” Dieter said, with complete honesty. “But I guess I have to. No one here knows, it’s not public record, I’m clean now, working hard to stay that way, but you need to know what else could come out.”
“This girlfriend…”
“Marianne.”
“Marianne knows about the meds.”
He looked at me and he seemed so lost. “I don’t know.”
This I could handle. “Okay, anything that happens, we can deal with it.”
“Really?” He brightened, like I’d just handed him a million dollars.
“You need to talk to me though, keep telling me how you’re doing.”
“Okay,” he stood up and extended his hand and we shook again. “Thank you.”
I locked up my office after Dieter left, finding Adler in our usual meeting spot. We kissed quickly, then I took his hand and faced him head on.
“Management has offered me a position here full-time. I’d like to take it.”
I wanted to add a question, like, “What do you think of that?” Even ask for his approval, like, “Is that okay?” I didn’t need to when his lips curved in a smile that made his blue eyes spark.
“That’s good news,” he said. Then he kissed me, pulling me back into the shadows of the corridor. Anyone could walk past, but I didn’t care. I had purpose here, and I had Adler, and I felt good.
Like nothing from my past could touch me.
* * * * *
Stan’s New Year party was like nothing I’d seen before. Apparently New Year is a big thing in Russia, and he opened up his large house to everyone on the team. I wasn’t the best person at parties, never the life and soul, and I generally ended up in the kitchen. Let’s be honest, if it had just been me then I would have made excuses.
But I was with Adler, who wanted to dance and mingle and joke, and through it all he was dragging me around. The party was team only, and although some of the team looked at our joined hands, no one actually called us out on it.
Until Mikhail arrived.
He was Stan’s friend from their KHL time in Russia, and a Flyer, which apparently meant he was open for all catcalls and derogatory sarcasm. None of which appeared to faze him, because he gave as good as he got. He was a tall guy—way taller than a lot of people in the room; more a basketball player if I’d been asked to guess—which was where my problems started.
He was loud as well; had this booming laugh that I found just a bit too much. He was in the kitchen when I managed to get a break from the chaos in the main room, and at first I thought about turning around and leaving.
“Hello,” he said, in less accented Russian than I’d come to expect from Stan.
Stan tried really hard with his English, but he’d picked up some pretty awful phrases that he used at any given moment. I tried to explain to him when things he used in a sentence weren’t completely appropriate, but he just grinned at me, the big idiot.
“Hey,” I said, and opened the huge fridge in search of a drink. I didn’t really drink a lot of alcohol—always too much of a control freak, I guess. Which explained why I’d fallen asleep after three sips of eggnog on Christmas day.
I shut the door, jumping a mile when Mikhail was right the fuck there, smiling at me.
“Jesus,” I cursed, and stumbled back and away.
He held up a hand in apology. “My bad.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
“When you come and sort Flyers?” he asked.
“Sort ?”
“I think everyone on Railers is gay,” he announced, and I bristled a little. Not everyone was gay—just me, Adler and Ten, and Jared and Dieter were bi. “We have gay man on team. He is scared,” Mikhail added. “He like friend.”
He stepped forward even as I moved back, until I couldn’t move any further, my ass against a cupboard. With hindsight I was sure I would realize that Mikhail wasn’t trying to intimidate me, or loom over me, or any one of a million triggers that were causing the tightness in my chest. But right now, my back was against the wall, I was trapped in the corner, and I really didn’t fucking like it one bit.
“I’ll give you my number,” I said, and sidestepped a little, gauging how I could get past the big Russian and through the door to the party beyond. He crossed his arms over his chest and just stood there.
Okay, was this some Russian thing, standing still and looking all brooding and sulky?
“Excuse me,” I said, my mouth dry. This was stupid. “I need to find Adler.”
“Lockhart? I like him,” Mikhail said. “Fast on ice. I feel bad I knocked him into glass at our last game, but feel good I caught him.” He grinned like he’d made a joke, and he probably had, but his delivery was a little stilted.
“Uh-huh,” I said, and straightened as the door opened and Adler came strolling in like he had all the time in the world. He stopped dead by the door and looked at the two of us—the tall, hulking Russian and his much smaller boyfriend who probably looked like a rabbit in a trap.
He was by my side in an instant, casually putting himself between me and Mikhail, holding my hand.
“Petrov, you fucker,” he said with a smile in his voice, and held out a fist to bump.
“Lockhart,” Mikhail said, and bumped him back. “You still got one past me.”
“Stan has vodka out,” Adler said, and Mikhail’s face brightened, and within seconds it was just the two of us left in the kitchen. The huge kitchen that felt way too small.
“Come on,” Adler said. He tugged my hand and went through a laundry room that had another door that opened into the front hall. From there he led me up the stairs, then seemed to consider which room he needed.
“I’m not doing this,” I said, and tugged at his hand. “We’re not getting off in Stan’s place.”
He gave me a look that said I was being an idiot and opened a door with a flourish. As soon as we stepped inside, he shut us in and walked to the wide patio doors, which he opened enough for the winter air to rush in. I inhaled in one greedy gulp and took the blanket that Adler handed me. He’d taken it from the bed, and it was thick, like a comforter.
“I stayed here one night before a game, when Apollo was away. Needed the company. How awesome is this room?”
The question was rhetorical, but I nodded and gave him a smile. I was tense, and hated feeling that way.
“This way,” he said, and pulled me out onto the small patio, taking his own blanket. The night was inky black, and there wasn’t a view as such, just the mass of trees that screened this beautiful house from the road. But the air was clear, and cold, and I needed the open space. We sat on recliners next to each other, and he moved his closer so we could lean on each other.
In silence, we sat for the longest time, until the fear in my chest subsided and all was left was absolute peace.
Adler did that for me.
And right there and then, I knew I’d fallen in love.
So he needed to know everything. It wasn’t fair that this thing we had happening between us should keep going when I had all these secrets inside me.
I cleared my throat. “So, when I was seventeen I was dating this boy on the football team. Oliver, his name was. He was a catch—you know, a jock. Not out, but still he looked at me and saw something he wanted, and I was flattered. I was a typical nerd—big on math, bound and determined to be the first of my siblings to go to college. I fell big time for Olly, and in my head it was hearts and flowers.”
Adler unwrapped a hand from his blanket and reached over, finding my hand in the folds of my cover and holding it tight. A brief rush of cold was a welcome balm for my overheated skin.
“I’m here,” he murmured, but he didn’t need to say a thing. He was by my side, but he was also buried deep in my heart, where I sometimes imagined I would like to keep him forever.
“He was part of the bullying I had to go through on a daily basis, but I ignored that because he would give me these secret smiles, like he didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Shit.”
“Things went bad quickly. Word got out that he wasn’t into girls as much as he needed to be—you know the sort of pressure jocks are under at school, right?”
“Yeah, but why do I feel like you’re excusing this Olly guy for something?”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m not. It wasn’t his fault, not really, but what his friends did… that was something else altogether. I was at a party; they spiked my drink. I woke up naked and on the side of the road. I don’t remember what happened. I went home.” Such a simple story for what had been a treacherous walk along a highway to my home.
I stopped, because it hadn’t been that simple. When I’d woken up I’d been covered in blood from various cuts, there had been more than enough evidence that I’d been raped, and there had been photos of me on my phone, which they’d left next to me. I hadn’t seen them until three days after the incident, when I’d finally charged the phone. Not enough of them had showed who had hurt me, just that it hadn’t been only one person.
“Please…” Adler said, his voice thick with emotion. Was he saying I should carry on or stop? I didn’t know. So I carried on, because I’d started now, and this needed saying.
“My brother found me in the front yard, took me inside, and I don’t remember a lot of what happened. The cops came, took my statement, took samples. A doctor was called, I was torn, and the shame of it all… like I was a piece of meat everyone wanted to test and poke at.” I couldn’t go on for a second, and I glanced sideways at Adler, wondering what I would see.
Naked anguish and eyes bright with tears. I’d put that intense feeling there, and I felt so sorry that I was doing this to him, but he needed to know it all before what we had could go any further.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice broken.
“There wasn’t enough to accuse anyone. I didn’t have any memories. There was Rohypnol in my system, and I was over reasonable alcohol limits, although I don’t recall drinking much. The cops tried—there were even some photos, but nothing helpful. When they finally found someone, a friend of Oliver’s, he denied everything and was acquitted. I finished school at home, left for college, and I only go back for holidays.”
“Jesus, Layton.”
“So there you go, you know it all now. I freeze up when you touch me sometimes, you’ve seen it, and I know that I have some sense memory of what happened in my head. I’ve seen counselors, worked through it, and I knew that one day I’d find a man who would make me feel I wanted to fix myself.” I turned to look at him again. “I love you, Adler.”
I waited for a response—some words to reassure me, or reasons why he couldn’t love me. How fucked was I that I couldn’t imagine anything between those two extremes?
I think he knew I needed words, but he seemed at a loss for what to say, so he leaned over and kissed me. Then softly, nothing more than a whisper on my lips, he murmured the words I needed to hear.
“I love you too.”
Those simple words promised everything; understanding, support, love.
And that was enough.