Chapter Sixteen
Adler
He thought I’d left. I guess I had in a way. I was no longer in his space or face, but I was in the hall, staring at the door to his place, willing it to open and to reveal Layton calling me back in. Maybe he’d changed his mind and wanted me around again. After thirty minutes and no open door, I had to accept that he wasn’t ready for me now… or ever. I hadn’t been good enough again.
And that fear and anger and helplessness and regret and pain all started to coalesce in my breast. I wanted to do something for him, but there was nothing I could do. I wanted to go back in time and find the motherfuckers who’d abused my man and beat them into paste. I wanted to punch holes in the walls of this nice corridor, but I couldn’t. So I left his building and I drove around Harrisburg until I ran out of gas. Then I walked. Somehow I ended up by the capitol building. It wasn’t open yet. I sat down on the west side on the grand stairs leading up the impressive white building. The ice on the steps made my ass cold. I got up after a bit, hands in my pockets, and continued walking.
I ended up by the Susquehanna River. There were big chunks of ice along the banks. My breath fogged in front of me. I felt hollow inside. Hollow and angry. Angry at that stupid, hateful, homophobic fan for refusing to let his son have a puck from a queer player, the press, my parents, and myself. Somehow my love hadn’t been enough for Layton. I hadn’t been a good enough boyfriend. Probably because I’d been hiding the fact that I was his boyfriend. I’d never been good enough…
And so the rage and self-disgust fed off the confusion and fear, and it quadrupled. It was so large come evening that it was all there was of Adler Lockhart. I was a skating ball of chaos who was on the edge. All it would take would be a comment or a nudge. I got both ten minutes into the game with Philadelphia. The nudge was from Gabriel Marsan, a defenseman from Philly known for being one of those players who likes to push. He rarely made the mistake of being way over the line, but if he could instigate and pull a penalty, then he would. He was good at both—pulling penalties and poking a humming hornets’ nest with his stick.
The first slash in the corner, I ignored, although the back of my hand would be bruised from the whack. The second and third slashes, I warned him about. He smiled and asked if I needed my mommy to come kiss the boo-boo. Maybe it was the cadence of his heavy French-Canadian accent, or maybe it was his face or his sweater number. Maybe it was the fact that the man I loved had said he needed time away from me. Probably it was the last, because Gabe and I had never had issues before. Usually I laughed at his attempts to lure me into being stupid. Tonight… well, tonight I was lost in the stupid-angry.
We met up behind our net during a little scrum. Our backup goalie, Jens Hedlund, had deflected the puck into the boards and it had careened behind his crease. Gabe and I arrived at the puck at the same time. The usual shoulder-to-shoulder pushing happened. We were both after the puck. It was all good. He managed to shuttle the puck between my skates where Tennant—who still looked haunted and sick with guilt about his best friend Stan’s injury—picked up the rolling puck and headed down to the other end of the ice. Gabe’s stick ended up between my legs in what should have been called a trip. I went down and took the big D-man down with me. Luck had me landing on top of him. The officials had followed the puck, or so I thought.
“Get the fuck off me unless you’re looking for a kiss, Lockhart,” Gabe snarled, then winked. Normally I might even have kissed him on the visor just for the yuks. Tonight I took that wink to mean something that, upon reflection with a clear and happy heart, it was not. Gabe’s helmet somehow ended up in my hands, and I proceeded to bounce his melon off the ice a few times. He got his stick up and cracked me on the chin with it. Blood began to flow. Whistles blew. Men in black and white grabbed at me and pulled me off Gabe, who was stunned by the violence. Sure, that’s hockey, but he and I had history, and we’d joked with each other for years now. I lunged at him, then was escorted from the ice. A trainer joined me, shoving a towel at my chin to catch the blood leaking out of me.
I heard the announcer calling my penalties as I stormed under the now covered tunnel to the home locker room. Nice. An instigator and a game misconduct. That was it for me this game. Most of what followed, I didn’t mentally register, aside from the fact that we’d lost the game. I got fourteen stitches in my chin, then got my ass peeled like a Cortland apple by Coach Benning. It was well deserved. The team was staggered from the loss of Stan coupled with the hate directed at Ten and Jared, and now I’d just added more stress to the situation. And the worst thing about the whole stupid fray was that now I’d vented some of that toxic self-loathing, I knew my actions would impact the one person I was trying my best not to hurt.
Layton.
It would be him pressured into making me look like less of an asshole than I was. I stripped off my gear and threw it into my cubicle, then showered alone. I scrubbed my face so violently that I tore out six stitches and had to have them resewn. This time I opted out of a shot to deaden the area. Maybe the pain would straighten me the fuck out. By the time I was done being sewn up, the other players were off the ice and heading home. I caught sight of Tennant as I exited the team doctor’s office. He was having a deep conversation with someone on his phone. His gaze met mine as I neared. He held up a finger, so I stopped in front of him.
“No, Brady, I’m handling it.” Ten rolled his eyes, but there was little humor in them. None of us were feeling particularly chipper. “Look, I have to go. Yep, I’ll tell Mads you said to hang in there. Uh-huh. Later.”
He shoved his phone into the front pocket of his dress slacks. He was ready to exit the arena as well.
“Big brother worried?” I asked.
“It’s his perpetual state.” Tennant sighed. “Walk with me. I want to talk to you.”
I fell in beside him as we began wending our way through corridors, past offices and skate-sharpening rooms, until we stepped into the now-empty press room. Tennant shoved the door shut, then gave the area a long look, his expression pensive.
“What’s up?”
“You know, I hate this room at times.” He scowled at the chairs that held the press corps. “I mean, it’s not the media that’s the reason for all of this hate. It’s really not,” he added, then glanced at me for confirmation. I nodded. “It’s people. People hate. Governments hate. Religions hate. And the press, they just pick up the vibes and report them.”
“Do you regret coming out?” That question had been on my mind ever since the presser that Layton had so magnificently orchestrated. Fuck, but I missed him. It was like I’d lost a limb or an organ. Well, my heart had shattered and blown away like dust, so I guess I had…
“No, not for a second.” He was adamant, but then the determination slipped from his face a bit. “Let me amend that. I do not regret the decision Mads and I made to come out. I do regret that our being in a relationship has brought pain and injury to one of my best friends. I just… I can’t stop feeling the weight of that moment. That Stan is now hurt because of me. That’s giving me some trouble.”
“Ten, it wasn’t you who hurt Stan, it was hate. Blind, stupid, black-hearted hatred that knocked our goalie out.” I bent to the side to catch his eye.
He bobbed his head in that way guys do when they want you to think they agree but they really don’t. “Thanks for that. Mads tells me the same thing on a fucking hourly basis, but the guilt is still there, like an anchor sitting on my chest.” He inhaled, then let the breath out slowly. “You thinking of coming out?”
My mouth and brain skipped out of sync. The first real smile in days appeared on Tennant Rowe’s face.
“I— What?” I stammered.
“Ad, seriously, it’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes in their head. The way you look at Layton Foxx and the way he responds to you entering a room? It’s evident you two have something powerful going on.” He leaned against the wall by the double doors, his sharp green eyes riveted on me.
“I… Uh, I’m not sure where we are, so it’s not like I’m ready to go talking about it, you know?” Wow. I’d just come out to Tennant. And it felt… okay.
“Oh yeah, I know,” he said with an understanding nod. “It’s like being paint in a can. You’re just this one bland color, right? Like dull old white. And then someone opens the lid and adds this beautiful new color. Maybe it’s aqua or violet or magenta. And then you both get put into a machine that shakes and stirs the living shit out of you. You want to puke and laugh and cry, but you’re spinning too madly to even know what emotion to feel. Then the whirling slows and you and he are this new, totally amazing color. A combination of colors that’s beautiful and makes your eyes water.”
“That was poetic,” I murmured. Ten’s nose wrinkled in embarrassment. “It feels like Layton and I are in the whirling and vomiting part of things now.” I shoved my hands under my armpits. “But after all the gyratory shit, it gets better, right?”
The door opened. Coach Madsen peeked around it. The look on his face when he spied Tennant answered my question better than any words could have. These two men loved each other so strongly it made me feel weepy. I wanted that with Layton.
“Hey, here you are.” Coach looked at Ten, then at me. “Adler, you going to be able to sit down anytime soon?”
“Not for a few days,” I replied, both of us referring to the ass-chewing I’d gotten from the head coach.
“Hopefully the league will go light on you.” He clapped my shoulder. “Ten, you ready to go home?”
“Yeah, give us a sec, okay?” Ten smiled at Mads. You could feel the adoration for Jared flowing from Tennant.
“Sure.” Coach Madsen gave his boyfriend a curious look but backed out of the room, leaving us to it.
“Okay, so here’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about. I got your back, okay? You and me, we fit. Our line is gelling. This team has potential. All our personal shit aside, you belong on this team, and I consider you a Railers player now. I mean, you have Arcanine on your freaking arm now. You’re one of us.”
“Thanks, that means a lot.” I offered him my hand. He bumped it aside and grabbed me for a fast, hard hug.
“It’s worth it, Adler,” he reassured me, then jogged off to find Coach Madsen and go home. Together. As a couple.
Knowing I had to apologize for being a fuckup, I left the arena, slid behind the wheel of my BMW, and ended up back where this whole miserable slide into the slurry pond had begun. At Layton’s place. My phone started ringing. It was Apollo. I let it go to voicemail. There was no way I could handle him right now. He’d be all in my face demanding to know what moronic madness had overtaken my brain. I turned off the engine and sat in my car until I could see my breath. Layton’s light was still on. He was probably working his social media magic to pull my sorry ass out of the fire. Like he needed that.
“I suck so much,” I sighed, the words a fat puff of steam that settled on the windshield and turned to more ice.
Without words to say, I made my way to his door. My chin hurt, my heart ached, and I just wanted to hold him because he was suffering too. I knocked. I could hear him walking to the door. There was a pause—him looking through the peephole, more than likely.
“If you don’t want to talk to me now, I get it. I just…” I put my hand on his doorknob and stroked it in lieu of him. My gaze dropped to my fingers. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry, babe. For everything bad that has ever happened to you. If I could, I’d carry that burden for you. I’d suck all the pain and fear out of your soul and carry it in mine.”
The knob was cool at first, smooth too, but as I caressed it the metal began to warm to my touch. I doubted the man on the other side of the door ever would again. The pain of thinking that nearly dropped me to my knees.
“I know I’ve added more shit to the mess you’re dealing with.” I blew out a long breath, my fingertips still resting on his doorknob. “I’m sorry for that too, Layton. The only thing I ever wanted to do was make you happy, because your smile? Wow. It’s all the beauty of the world wrapped up into one grin to me.”
The door opened. My fingers fell to my side and my gaze slowly climbed up over him. He was so fucking handsome, and I was so close to losing him. His gray eyes moved over my face and settled on the ugly black stitches in my chin.
“Why did you do that?” The question was soft and heartfelt.
I thought on that for a minute as I stared into pewter eyes that would be with me forever even though he probably wouldn’t be.
“I wanted to bleed for you. I wanted to feel the pain that you did. I wanted to hurt someone for the crime committed against you. Gabe was the unlucky person.”
He remained silent. I took that as my sign to leave.
“Okay, well, I just wanted to see you one more time. To tell you I love you.” I took a step backward and went to turn.
“Don’t go.”
“Yeah?” I couldn’t bring myself to look at him yet, in case I’d misheard.
“Yeah.”
I stood in the hallway, staring at a small stain on the carpet, scared to move even though my heart was flinging itself against my ribs like a newly caged bird.
“Adler, come in,” Layton said in a firm voice.
I glanced up. He looked like he might just still love me, even though I’d done nothing to deserve any kind of—
“Stop whatever self-hating ‘I’m not good enough for you’ monolog is running in your head now.”
“It’s the truth.” His eyes were warm, right? Was that warmth I saw in his eyes? “I love you so much.” That just fell out of me. It was the softness in his gaze that made me say stupid things.
“No, it’s not. You deserve to be loved, and I love you too. Now get in out of the hallway before the neighbors hear us pledging our troth.” Oh my God, he smiled a little.
I smiled a lot. “I don’t care if they hear me, Layton. Hand to all the gods above, I do not care. I want the world to know.”
“I can really only douse so many fires at once, Ad. I’m not Smokey Bear.” He waved a hand to encourage me inside. I slid into his space but not into his face. He closed the door.
“Would it be okay if I held you for, like, one second?” I prayed he’d say yes.
“I’d like that a lot. I can’t seem to focus without you close by.”
I opened my arms and let him step into my embrace. Nothing would ever match how good he felt in my arms. The tears just broke loose. I dropped my chin to his shoulder, hissed at the pain, but kept my face hidden. He needed me to be strong, not the other way around.
Layton pressed his hand to the back of my neck. “You can cry if you need to,” he whispered, and that blasted all the bricks in the dam to bits.
This was not how it was supposed to be. I was the hockey player. It was my job to hold Layton and give him succor.
“Oh, Ad, it’s going to be okay.” His hand rubbed small circles between my shoulder blades while the other massaged the nape of my neck. He pressed a kiss to the side of my head as I sniffled and coughed, my fingers tight to his sides.
“I want to be paint with you.”
“Oh…kay. I want to be paint with you too?”
A raspy, coughing laugh rolled out of me. “Cool. We’re going to make one truly vibrant and unique color, Layton.” I clasped him tighter, then spun him around a few dozen times to make sure we were well mixed.