“Should I …” I gesture to where Ollie disappeared to, but his mom shakes her head.

“He had to run into Ash sooner or later. Maybe give him a few minutes.”

“Okay,” I say but don’t take my eyes off the stairs.

“He’ll be fine.” Ollie’s mom gives me a reassuring smile. “I have a feeling Ash gave him his news.”

“What news?”

Her eyes drop and she turns her head to look out the kitchen window. “He met someone and is getting married.” The longing in her gaze and her voice is hard to miss.

“You wish it was Ollie he was marrying?” I ask.

She fakes a smile. “No, hon. I want Oliver to be happy. But I do wish he could’ve found it in himself to do the one thing Ash needed so it could’ve been him.”

I keep my mouth shut. Telling her how misguided that statement is, even if she thinks she’s being supportive, won’t get me anywhere.

“Then again, if he was truly happy with Ash, and he was the one, my son wouldn’t be here with you today, would he?”

“Umm …” Is that a compliment or an insult? I have no idea.

Her warm face and soft tone suggest she means it in a good way, so I pretend that’s what she meant. It’s probably the only way to make sure my mouth does, in fact, remain shut.

Footsteps sound behind us, but Max is a blur as he practically bolts past us and up the stairs. A knock sounds, and then the low voices from Ollie and Max disappear behind the creak of the door opening and closing.

“I’m going to take these dishes out,” Mrs. Strömberg says. “Are you all right to finish up the salad?”

I smile. “Of course.”

As she leaves, I contemplate going upstairs to check on Ollie. He just found out his ex is getting married. That’s gotta hurt even if he is over him like he says. But Max is up there. I’ll leave the brothers to sort their shit first. Max being the most intimidating brother isn’t the real reason for not going up there. Nope. Not at all. Okay, maybe a little. Or a lot.

Fine, I’m being a wimp because Max scares me.

When I put the remaining touches on the salad, I take it out into the backyard, where Ollie’s parents are herding the crowd like cattle toward the two long tables set up. Well, they’re trying to. It looks more like they’re trying to herd cats.

Ollie’s adorable grandmother sits at the head of the table, and she’s so freaking cute. Her gray, almost purply-tinged hair sits curly on her head but is combed in the front as if she can’t reach the back anymore, and her rosy cheeks are covered in so much rouge it almost looks like sunburn, but her smile … her smile seems to be contagious, and I can’t help returning it. I think it’s because Ollie inherited the same cheekbone structure, and her smile reminds me of him.

Damn. This is beyond out of control now.

I’m a few feet away from the table when I hear “Trust me. Clark isn’t gonna last. I give it one more month. Tops.” It’s Vic.

I freeze, completely dumbfounded.

“If you say so,” Ash mumbles. “I’m happy he’s moving on.” Ash’s voice cracking gives away his lie. “I’m moving on.”

“Don’t worry about that, either. His little hissy fit probably shows he’s not over you.” They’re both sitting with their backs to me and still have no idea I’m eavesdropping. “But he can’t exactly complain when he’s too busy being ashamed of who he is to see what he lost.”

I’m about to yell What the fuck? and lose my shit because they still don’t get it. I don’t think anyone in this family does. How has Ollie never sat them down and told them what it’s really like for him?

Ash huffs. “Guess it was dumb of me to think maybe, possibly, he’d see the ring and pick up his phone to fix it.”

Is he saying …

“You don’t want that though,” Vic says. “You and Taylor are getting married, right? It’s not like if Ollie had changed his mind, you’d break it off and go running back to him. He could promise all he wanted that he’d come out, but how many times did he say that while you were together?”

I glance sideways at the table to see if anyone else is listening. They don’t appear to be, but if this afternoon has taught me anything about this family, someone’s always listening.

“You’re right,” Ash says. “I just... Shit, I dunno. I guess his continued denial about the way he’s living is more proof he can’t face who he is.”

Their words play into my fears. That I’m here to make Ash jealous and that Ollie doesn’t actually want me. I contemplate running, but it’s their warped vision of Ollie’s position that keeps my feet rooted to the ground.

I take a deep breath and try to calm down, because it’s not my place to say anything. Nope. Not at all. Even if I was Ollie’s actual boyfriend, it’s not my place.

Don’t say anything. Do not … say … any—

I plonk the salad down in front of Vic and Ash. “Is that what you believe?”

Okay, great. Not only is my mouth not listening to me, but it’s also yelling. Everyone except the kids turn their heads to face me.

“What’s wrong?” Ollie’s mom asks from across the table.

I stare at Vic and Ash, and Vic stares right back as if he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. How can he not understand?

Ash, at least, seems to know he messed up or he’s at least embarrassed, as he hangs his head.

“Is that what you really think? That Ollie is ashamed of who he is? That he can’t accept he’s gay?” I look at the rest of the people at the table, who all stare back with concerned scrunches in their brows, and holy fuck, this family’s genes are crazier than I thought. They’re all giving me the same look, and it’s uncanny how much they look alike.

“What do you mean?” his mom asks, her confusion matching everyone else’s.

Oh, God. They really do believe that.

“Hasn’t Ollie ever told you what it’s like for him? Hasn’t he ever told you about what happens in locker rooms? Let’s just say the word fa—” I glance at the kids, who’ve now turned their attention to me too. “Not nice F-words are thrown around like candy. When the guys screw up on the ice, they’re called ladies, and the whole sporting industry thinks anyone who’s gay isn’t man enough to play sports.”

They barely blink at me. No reaction, no realization. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in one of my nightmares. I’m back in high school being stared at for being the only gay boy in school. Not that I ever was, but I was the only out kid in school thanks to the football team.

While self-consciousness tries to make me run away, my anger builds. “None of you understand, do you?” I turn to Vic. “You’re in professional sports. How can you sit there and not empathize with Ollie at all?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know any gay guys in MMA.”

“How many people train at your gym?” I ask.

Another shrug, like a sulking teenager being sent to the principal’s office. “About twenty who could go pro if they work hard enough.”

“Chances are you know at least, at least, one gay guy in your sport. Why do you think they haven’t come out?”

“Nah, if someone was gay, they’d say it. Our gym’s inclusive. Like, anyone is welcome, and …” As he says the words, the realization kicks in—that maybe he only sees what he wants to see, and some closet doors are made of fucking steel. I can practically see the moment he finally gets what I’m saying, but for some reason, my mouth feels the need to drive the point home.

“What about your gym screams inclusivity? Pride flags on the walls or is it in some membership rule book under tiny font no one reads? Do you guys have any idea what it’s like to have to hold your breath every time someone finds out who you’re attracted to in case they react badly? Try having to do that in a work environment where you have to come out to an entire team of testosterone-filled men who fight for a living.”

Nic pipes up to defend his brother. “No one’s truly that ignorant anymore about that kinda stuff, are they?”

I scoff. “How can you be this ignorant?”

They really don’t get it, and how Ollie has not blown up at them after all these years is beyond me. I’m not much for confrontation, but this … I can’t. I just can’t.

“The world has progressed in so many ways, but in others, it’s as bad as it always was. We may have tolerance in most places now, but we’re far from acceptance. Are you all really that blind to the world Ollie and I live in? I’m a sports reporter, and I still get told I’m in the wrong journalistic field by assholes at my magazine. They say I should be covering fashion instead. These are people in media—the news source to the entire world. You still wanna sit there and tell me the world is no longer ignorant?”

“Sports reporter?” Ollie’s dad asks.

Fuck.

“I thought you were in business,” his mom says.

And now I’ve not only screwed everything with Ollie’s family, but with Ollie as well.

“I … I have to leave,” I say in a voice much smaller than I’ve been using, because I let my tongue run away with my thoughts, and now I’ve screwed everything up.

I turn to go, but Ollie’s right there with Max flanking him.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask. His stoic face gives nothing away.

“Long enough.”

Without warning, he steps forward and takes my mouth in a punishing kiss. It’s all tongue and no hesitation, and a few grumbles about PDA are murmured throughout the group. When he pulls back, he’s … smiling.

“I—I … I’m not in trouble then?” I stammer.

His fingers interlace with mine, and he turns to face his family. “Guys, I want to introduce you to Lennon Hawkins.”

Silence. Dead silence.

His mom is the one to break it. “The reporter who hates you?”

Ollie turns to me and whispers quietly. “Sorry. You know how pissed I was when—”

“It’s okay.” I turn to Mrs. Strömberg. “For the record, I don’t hate him. He has an ego you may or may not be aware of, and I may or may not have accidentally crushed it.”

There are a few sniggers around the table.

Ollie pins his mother with his hazel eyes. “He’s not Clark, he’s not my actual boyfriend, but more importantly, he’s the only person who’s ever stood up for me like that.” His gaze finds mine again. “Including myself. And it’s only now I’m realizing why that is.”

“We always stand up for—” his mom starts, but he cuts her off.

“No. You don’t stand up for me. You stand up for the notion that everyone has to be accepted for who they are. And that’s great. But you ridicule me over the fact I’m not ready for the rest of world to know about me. I don’t know when I will be. You guys expect everyone to catch on easily, but I think it’s been proven that’s not gonna happen. Look at the NFL. Not much has changed since Matt Jackson came out.”

I could argue that, because the NFL has improved a lot since Matt came out, but that’s not the point of this discussion. Whether the NHL welcomes their first gay player and makes changes isn’t the issue. The issue is with Ollie’s legitimate right to not want to be that guy.

“Lennon pretended to be my boyfriend six months ago because you guys would not let up about how I’m screwing up my life. I love you guys. I really do. But I need a fucking break from all the pressure you put on me.”

“Ollie—”

He cuts his mom off again by turning to his grandmother. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I hope you have a great birthday lunch, but I have to go before I say anything else I can’t take back.” His hand on mine is tightening by the second, and his chest heaves. Despite his words to say he’s leaving, he either can’t make his feet move or he’s waiting for someone to stop him.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ll go cool off. I think we both need a breather.” I drag him away, and he follows easily.

We make our way down the side of the house, but when we reach the front yard, he spins on his heel and backs me up, pushing me against the clapboard façade.

“What—” I try to ask, but then his mouth is on mine again. Just as punishing as in front of his family, only this time his hands go wandering too.

I allow myself exactly three seconds of this insanity before pushing him away. “You told them the truth.” My words come out all breathy, and I have to clear my throat.

“So?”

“So why are you kissing me? We’re not … you know … together.”

Ollie cups my face. “Because after that? I don’t care if we were lying to them. I want something real. I want …”

The hesitance and doubt must take over, because he can’t finish his sentence.

“I want you too,” I whisper.

We don’t make the mistake of promising anything long-term or even official. We just finally give in to what we’ve been trying to avoid.

He pushes me against the side of the house again, a little too hard this time.

I grunt.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

“I told you that day when you shoved me into the pressroom that I don’t mind being manhandled.”

That’s enough permission for him. Ollie groans and pushes against me, bending slightly so his hips line up with mine, and I let out an involuntary whimper.

“I need … I need …” His mouth is so close to mine I can feel his breath on my lips. “I need us to disappear.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve wanted you since I met you, even on the days I thought I hated you.”

“Aww, sweet.” I have to bring out the sarcasm because my skin heats, and I’m terrified I’m blushing at the sentiment.

He ignores me. Instead, he leans in farther and puts his lips to my ear. “Do you know how hard it’s been these last few hours to not touch you?”

“You’ve touched me. They thought we were boyfriends.”

He’s been holding my hand and doing boyfriendly things like getting me drinks, subtly touching the small of my back, and staying super close. Like crossing personal space boundaries close.

“I’ll rephrase,” Ollie says with a small smile. “I haven’t been able to touch you inappropriately.” A hand comes between us and moves over the bulge in my pants. “And then you standing up for me in front of my whole family? Doing something I’ve never been brave enough to do? I can’t wait any longer.”

I throw my head back, hitting the side of the house with a thud, but I don’t care. When this guy touches me … “Okay, yeah, we need to disappear.”

“Attic,” he growls.

We make our way to the front door and open it as quietly as possible, but it squeaks and then so do the hardwood floors when our feet step over the threshold. And then the sound of kids screaming and laughing comes from the living room.

We both freeze. Ollie tilts his head back out the front door.

With light steps, we head back outside.

“Don’t suppose one of these cars is yours?” Ollie glances out at the sea of cars filling the driveway, front yard, and street.

“I didn’t get a rental. I took an Uber.”

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Do you ever feel like the universe is trying to cockblock us? Your teammates coming back to the hotel when they shouldn’t be, your mom walking in on us, a gaggle of children providing a less than sexy soundtrack in the background …”

“We’re doing this. Fuck the universe.”

I slump. “Oh, man, why’d you have to go and say that? You’re gonna get hit by a bus tomorrow for sure.”

“And you think hockey players are superstitious.”

“Don’t come crying to me when you’re splattered all over the windshield of a bus. Just sayin’.”

“Well, if my fate is already sealed, I guess you better make the most of me while I’m still here.” Ollie glances out at the front yard, and his eyes catch on an old treehouse in the giant tree a few feet from the fence that lines the road.

The glimmer in his eye as he takes my hand should scare me, but all I can feel is excitement.