SIXTEEN
The Chicago Rebels made the play-offs for the first time in fifteen years.
It wasn’t without drama, of course. Shay and Petrov had to be restrained from beating the shit out of each other before the final game, the circumstances of which had made it clear that the Russian was sleeping with his coach and Rebels’ team owner Isobel Chase. Isobel resigned her consultant position on ethics grounds, and didn’t Dante feel swell accepting that when he had also crossed that line. But coach and player were now together, their reunion coming just in time to propel Petrov to stellar heights of play and a game-winning goal in double overtime.
All in all, a nice end to a soap opera of a regular season.
At the postgame celebration, Cade and Dante both seemed to have the layout of the Empty Net bar—and their positions in it—imprinted on their brains. Neither of them took a step without the other knowing it, all so they could ensure no accidental run-ins.
So Dante had his job, a team in the play-offs, vindication as a productive pro team managing exec—and a personal life in the toilet. And now he was about to do something that would probably not be so productive, but was absolutely necessary for his peace of mind and the sanity of one of his players.
He pulled his rental into the driveway of a low-slung ranch-style house in Terrell Hills, just five miles northeast of downtown San Antonio. He’d hoped he’d have a couple of minutes’ respite to psych himself up for what lay ahead, but the front door was already opening and Tucker Burnett was already stepping outside.
They exchanged pleasantries about the drive from the airport, the killer temps, the live-armed kid the Missions were fronting this season, all while Tucker led him through the house and Dante searched feverishly for hints about Cade’s upbringing. He thirstily drank in the sight of art, trophies—even the worn furniture that Cade had likely sprawled over while he watched hockey on TV as a kid. One wall was filled with photos, most of them of a woman with Cade’s hazel eyes and warm smile.
“Want a beer?” Tucker Burnett raised a bottle of Bud from the fridge and gestured at Dante.
“Sure.”
“Let’s take this outside.”
There was no missing the rather ominous emphasis on “this.” Dante followed Tucker out to a patio overlooking a picture postcard backyard, the perfect advertisement for summer in the burbs. Whorls of smoke eddied from a heating grill; the Texas sun gleamed off the paving stones.
Tucker sat in a blue Adirondack chair and jerked a chin at its pair opposite. Dante sat, then inhaled a slug of his beer. Good in the ninety-five-degree heat.
“Surprised to get your call,” Tucker said, but that surprise couldn’t have lasted long. They both knew why Dante was here.
“Your son’s in a lot of pain, Tucker.”
“That’s on him.” He coughed, then glared accusingly at the beer bottle in his hand. “He was fine before you joined up.”
Yep. This was going to be about as tough as he’d expected. “That’s not really how it works, and I think you know that.”
“What the hell are you expecting here, Moretti?” It was evidently a rhetorical question, as Tucker continued to speak. “Cade’s still pretty young, and I expect he’ll snap out of it. And when he does, we can work on rebuilding what we had.” He looked off into the distance at a row of cypress trees at the end of the well-tended yard. “He had some strange ideas when he was a kid, but he grew out of it.”
Fury rose in Dante’s chest. “So you’ve suspected, or worse, known all along, and you’ve chosen to bury your head in the sand? Let him think what he was feeling was wrong?”
“You have no right to come here and insult my parenting skills, Moretti. This is between me and my son and—”
“Cade Burnett is a player on my team. I have a responsibility to ensure the physical and mental health of those men.” He blew out a breath, then dragged on the weak-as-piss beer, anything to calm the rising tide of emotion. He needed another way to get through to him. Tucker Burnett was a family man, so reframing this in those terms might be the way forward.
“I haven’t spoken to my father in nine years.”
Tucker’s mouth formed a tight seal that pronounced him unsurprised by this revelation. But he remained quiet, so Dante continued.
“He’s known I was gay for longer than that, but the day I went public when I was twenty-six years old, he stopped speaking to me. My mother, too. I have to arrange visits to my sisters in New York in such a way as to ensure there’s no chance I’ll run into my parents. I couldn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral, a man I was closer to than my own father, so no one would be offended by my presence. I don’t return home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, even though those holidays meant the world to me when I was younger. And that’s just my family. When I came out, people I thought were my friends turned their backs. The press went wild, and since the advent of social media, it’s only gotten worse.”
Tucker was looking at him now, confusion on his face rather than disgust. “Then why do it? Why upset everything just to make some statement?”
“What kind of statement am I making other than to demand that people accept I can love whomever I want? Do you think gay people are bucking society’s so-called norms to mess with straight people’s minds? Do you honestly think your son is choosing to hurt you, Tucker? You two have always been close. He loves you, and I know you love him, but there comes a time when a person realizes that respect for self overrides the feelings of others. Your son is not doing this to spite you. Your son is doing this because he’s been unhappy for a long time and now he sees a light at the end of the tunnel. Don’t be the fucking boulder blocking the light.”
Tucker Burnett sat there, not unlike a boulder, his hand wrapped around a bottle to the point his knuckles popped white against his tanned skin.
“His mother would know what to do.”
“He thinks she was ashamed of him. She knew but she didn’t react well.”
The man’s expression flashed with a pain that clutched at Dante’s heart. He didn’t want to make it worse for him or do anything that tainted the memory of his wife, but he had to make him realize the harm his attitude was doing to Cade.
He had a living, breathing, amazing son who needed his father’s love.
“Cade told me that after her death, you two became closer. All these years, he’s held this thing inside: who he is. Who he wants to be. He kept that secret in deference to your grief and the strength of your bond. And while I recognize you never get over losing someone you love—I know this intimately—I hope you also recognize that he’s done nothing but respect you and your feelings for his entire life. That’s a long time, Tucker. It would be nice if you would do him the same honor.”
Dante put the beer bottle on a nearby side table. Piece said, duty done.
He stood and thrust out his hand. “Thanks for listening and for the beer. I’ll let you get back to your Sunday.”
Tucker stared at the outstretched hand and appeared to labor over a decision. Painfully long seconds ticked over before he spoke.
“If you don’t mind, I’m not going to shake your hand.”
Right. Dante had only made it worse.
Tucker drew himself upright. “I can’t pretend that this is going to be easy for me to come to terms with. But I love my son. I truly do.” He rubbed his forehead, his emotions appearing to almost get the better of him, but then his tough-guy Texas genes kicked in. “If you’re not in a hurry to get back on a plane, I’d like to talk to you some more. And if, after a steak and a couple more beers, you still want to shake my hand, then I’d be honored to accept it.”
The words to respond were stuck somewhere deep in Dante’s throat, so it took a moment for him to dig something out.
“Thanks, I’d like that very much.”
Cade opened the door of his condo and did a cartoon double take at the sight of his visitor.
“Dad!”
Tucker Burnett stood there, looking a lot tenser than any Texan should. “Son. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Cade stood back.
“Congrats on making the play-offs. That was some mighty fine work you did out there.”
“We all played well. It’s a team effort.” As his dad walked in, Cade asked, “Is everything okay? Aunt Maisey isn’t in trouble again, is she?” His aunt had a habit of leaving the nursing home half naked and getting herself arrested.
“As far as I know, she’s fine. Cade—” He placed a hand on Cade’s shoulder. “I didn’t handle . . . what you told me so well, did I?”
No, he didn’t. But now he was here and Cade had never been so glad to see someone.
“I probably should have told you in person, Dad. I’ll admit that I just wanted to get it out there because I had a feeling it wouldn’t go over well.”
“Shit, son, I let you down and I’m right ashamed.”
His father looked ashamed, but Cade loved him too much to feel any sort of vindication.
“It was a shock. I get that. I’m just glad you’re here. It means the world to me.”
“Well, you can thank your GM.”
Cade’s heart jerked. “Dante?”
“Yup. Came to see me in San Antonio. Laid out his story and made me look at things a little differently. Now, it’s gonna take me a while to get used to the idea of a son of mine being with, uh, guys, but if the alternative is never talking to you again . . . Cade, I can’t imagine any father doing that to a son he was so proud of.”
Like Dante’s father had done to his son. Cade couldn’t believe that Dante had flown out to Texas.
His father went on. “That Moretti kicker’s pretty sure of himself, and he hasn’t a bad word to say about you.” Tucker gave him a sly smile. “Yeah, not a bad word.”
Better nip this one in the bud. “Dad, that’s not how it works. Just because he’s gay and—” He stopped, realizing that he’d been about to say it for the first time, directly to his dad’s face. “And I’m gay.” God, that felt good. Strange, but good. “Does not mean we’re an automatic couple.” And that didn’t feel so good.
“Maybe not, but him getting involved like that seems above and beyond the typical duties of a manager. He sure got a kick out of seeing your trophies and all those posters of hockey greats on your bedroom wall.”
Cade’s heart sank to the floor. “Dad, you didn’t show Dante Moretti my room?” With . . . oh fuck, a poster of Moretti himself when he played for Philly.
His father grinned. “Yeah, he enjoyed that, all right.”
So it was embarrassing, but Cade would set that aside because Tucker Burnett was here, ready and willing to listen. As wonderful as this was, though, Cade couldn’t help aching for Dante, who was still on the outside looking in where his own family was concerned.
Hell, it was simpler than that. Cade just ached for Dante.