After Sebastian dropped him off, Tristan broke down for a few hours. He let himself have a good cry—because fuck that macho bullshit about how men should be stone-faced and never express their emotions.
There might not be any crying in baseball, at least not according to Tom Hanks, but there was plenty of crying in hockey. It didn’t usually pertain to boyfriend troubles, but hell, Tristan could swear his heart was being torn in two. If he wanted to chug some beer and sob into his pillow, he was goddamned allowed.
He woke the next morning with swollen eyes, a splotchy complexion, and a murderous hangover that made him grateful for the optional morning skate—since he was opting not to move from his couch. No way could he show up at the practice facility looking like he’d been on a three-day bender. The coach would have his ass, and his teammates would give him the third degree. Better to stay home, alone, and lick his wounds.
Once he stopped feeling like his head was going to explode, Tristan buried himself in his studies. He filled his brain with business model components, analytics, marketing strategies, and public policy, and tried very hard not to think about his boyfriend and their last conversation.
Of course, over the next few days, his mind continually went back to it anyway. He replayed Sebastian saying, “But the truth is, I’m in love with you” about a thousand times and wished he’d heard those words under different circumstances. Then maybe he could’ve said them back instead of pretty much fleeing the car before he burst into tears. Because his truth was, he didn’t have a damn clue what to do. There was no easy answer he could give Sebastian in that moment, and so he ran rather than make a complete spectacle of himself.
He’d known Sebastian’s position from the beginning. And Sebastian had known his. Maybe they’d been deluding themselves by getting involved anyway. Maybe they’d willfully set themselves up for failure when they’d decided to keep things going beyond that first night. Maybe, in reality, their relationship had been dead before it’d even gotten off the ground.
Lust made people stupid sometimes. It was one thing when he and Sebastian simply couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was an entirely different scenario when lust turned into need and need turned into love.
Tristan had royally screwed himself by letting it go so far. Now he couldn’t decide if the relationship he so desperately wanted to keep would be worth the potential consequences of publicly coming out.
Nearly a week went by. Tristan took his exam—and thankfully passed it. He checked his phone so often it felt like it was becoming a tic. He practiced and worked out with his teammates.
During their next home game, Tristan played like a demon, throwing hits left and right, racking up a bunch of penalty minutes, and adding another sweet goal to his season’s numbers—and hopefully some highlight reels. But off the ice, Tristan was distracted and sad, and he knew it had to be obvious to his team.
After the game that night, when Ryu texted to say he was outside of Tristan’s building, Tristan didn’t feel a hint of surprise as he buzzed Ryu upstairs. He’d caught the looks Ryu had been casting him at practices, on the bench, in the locker room. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before Ryu confronted him.
Ryu entered the apartment, studied Tristan for a second, and shook his head pityingly. “Tell me what happened.”
They settled on the couch with a couple of beers, and Tristan spilled the whole sad story—from his intense attraction to Sebastian to the plagiarism accusation to the Phloydian Slip concert to coming out to his parents, and every little thing in between.
When he finished, Ryu regarded him contemplatively. “First, I think you should know I’m gay too.” Tristan’s jaw dropped open, but before he could summon a response, Ryu continued, “I suspected about you, especially when you were really careful not to say whether your professor was a man or a woman, but well . . . I figured if you wanted me to know, you would’ve told me.”
Tristan started to answer, but Ryu held up his hand.
“Don’t get me wrong—I’m not upset or anything. I get it. Trust me. I just wanted you to know about me, so when I say I understand how you feel, you’ll know it’s not some empty platitude. I mean it. Your secret is safe with me. But I hope you knew that already.”
Tristan nodded, swallowing thickly. “Thanks. I, um . . . Yeah. Yours too, of course. I’m thankful you trust me enough to tell me.”
Ryu inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Sighing, Tristan raked his hands through his hair. “I . . . This is a lot. I’m only twenty-three, man. This is huge. I don’t want to lose my friends. I don’t want to lose my career. My team.”
“You won’t.” Ryu’s tone was as calm as his expression. “I mean, I won’t lie and say there won’t be problems, but look at how far the league has come. Everyone has to go through sensitivity training now. Teams are having Pride Nights. It’s not the same league it was ten, hell, even five years ago. Times are changing. Look at how well your family took it. And Tristan?” Ryu waited until Tristan met his gaze. “Anyone who would cut you out of their life because of your sexuality isn’t worth knowing. You’re an amazing person. The loss would be entirely theirs, not yours. Feel me?”
Tristan ducked his head to hide the rush of moisture in his eyes. He felt a quick, light squeeze to his biceps, but he couldn’t risk looking into Ryu’s face again. Not yet. He was too close to losing his composure.
“Tristan . . . please forgive the cliché, but Sebastian’s not the only fish in the sea. There are men who’ll understand your position, men who won’t mind keeping things quiet until you’re ready to retire. If you decide to come out to the team, you can’t do it for some guy. You should only do it for yourself, when and if you’re ready.”
“He’s not ‘some guy,’” Tristan rasped, unthinking. He couldn’t allow Sebastian to be reduced to those terms. “I’m in love with him. He makes me happy. He makes me feel smart. Everything about him just . . . does it for me. I don’t want to let him go.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
“Is it that simple, though?” Tristan turned to Ryu. His eyes were damp and probably bloodshot, but it wasn’t like Ryu couldn’t already tell he was crying. “I mean, really?”
Ryu smiled serenely—and it was so unlike his typical smirk or the wry twist of his lips that usually passed for a smile, Tristan couldn’t help but stare at him, shocked.
“It’s only as complicated as you make it, Tristan. Will it be easy? No. To be totally honest, it’ll probably fucking suck.” Ryu cringed, shuddering a little. Then his expression grew serious again. “But here’s how I see it. If he loves you, and you love him, if you think he’s worth the aftermath of coming out, talk to him. Come to a compromise you can both live with. Communication, right? That’s what relationships are all about. Or so I hear.” One corner of Ryu’s mouth curved up sardonically. “And you can tell him about me if you need to. It might make him feel better to know someone has your back in the dressing room. That’s why I wanted you to know about me too. You’re not alone, Tristan. Never forget that.”
Tristan’s laugh was thick with tears, more of a sob than anything. But he felt better than he had in days. Ryu had given him something to think about. At the end of the day, maybe it really was as simple as how he and Sebastian felt about each other—or rather, how he felt about Sebastian. Tristan had been fighting feelings of resentment about how any compromise between them had to come from his side. Sebastian was already out to his coworkers and friends. What did he have to lose? What was he giving up?
But maybe it was time to stop thinking about it in those terms. Sebastian had made his stance clear from the very beginning. Tristan wanted to be with him anyway—then and now.
Maybe it was time to let go of the fear.