Epilogue
Adler
June
It was stupid to check. I knew that. Yet…
“Are you still not ready?” Layton padded up behind me.
I gave him a quick glance over my shoulder. The shoulder that still didn’t have a shirt covering it. He held up a pale blue sweater and shook it. Then his gray eyes flickered to the phone in my hand. He lowered the sweater he’d bought me as concern darkened his incredible eyes.
“Maybe they’re just out of service somewhere.”
“Yeah, maybe not.” I shoved my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, then took the sweater from Layton. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s only my birthday. Why should they stop being Cole and Karrie Anne for ten fucking minutes and wish their only son—” I pulled in a calming breath while tugging the sweater over my fat head. “Forget it. We can’t make people be what we want them to be, right? We can only control our own narrative.”
“That’s right.” He gave me a wan smile, then handed me my wallet and car keys. I crammed them into a front pocket. “You really do listen when I talk.”
“Always, Foxy Man.”
I leaned over to steal a fast kiss. His lips were soft, warm, and just too damn tempting. Knowing where one innocent kiss could lead, Layton slipped away before I could get my hands on him.
“The show starts in thirty minutes,” he reminded me.
“A night at the arena. Yay.”
His scathing look was top notch. “It’s not like you’re out on the ice.” It was a special final show featuring several Olympic figure skaters at the ice that was being melted tomorrow and removed for the summer break. “It’s the perfect gift for the man who skates for a living.”
“Layton, they wear toe picks.”
I pushed my arm into the sleeve of my lightweight dark grey jacket. I’d bought it because when I wore it I was reminded of Layton’s eyes. Not that I needed a coat to trigger any kind of memory of the man. He was with me everywhere I went. Buried deep in my heart, calming my brain and making me feel still. That’s a rare feeling for me. Only Layton Foxx has ever been able to do that. And make me come so hard with just a whispered word that I nearly black out from sheer pleasure.
“Yes, they wear toe picks.” He sighed dramatically. I’d explained the sort-of-friendly rivalry between hockey players and figure skaters. How we chirped each other about who was tougher, better skaters, and which ice sport was harder. “And bright costumes.”
I followed him out the front door of his place and waited as he locked things up. I was there pretty much 24/7 now, which gave Apollo all kinds of privacy. I wished he could find someone as amazing as Layton to love.
Since Layton had gone to great trouble to get tickets to the show, I stopped whining about it being a busman’s holiday, toe picks, and Trent Hanson, the big star of the ice extravaganza that had rolled into Harrisburg for a one-night-only show.
We hustled to my car parked next to his, a soft summer breeze ruffling his hair.
“Hey,” I called, and tossed him my keys. His eyes flared. “You drive.”
“Wow, this really must be love.” He grinned, grabbed a hard kiss, then got behind the wheel of the Beemer.
“Must be,” I said after sliding into the passenger seat. He gave me a sly look, then cued up one of his CDs. “Okay, I’m not sure I love you that much,” I groaned when “Young and Beautiful” by Lana Del Rey drifted from the speakers.
“Yes you do.”
“Yeah, I do.”
He eased us out of the parking lot and out into light traffic. We talked about nothing and everything. His cell chirruped about halfway to the arena. He pulled over to the curb to see who was calling. I could tell it wasn’t a cheery call by the way the skin on his forehead furrowed.
“Let me take this,” he said. I turned the stereo down and leaned back into the seat, watching people walking by enjoying the early summer sun. I caught sight of one woman in a Railers’ jersey with Stan’s number on the back. Even though the team hadn't made it past the second round of the Stanley Cup finals we had done this city proud, and our following was growing.
Every journalist said one thing; next year we could go further.
“No, Dieter, just let me continue working on the problem. I know. We’re going to handle it, but it has to be done properly. Yep. No. I didn’t forget. It’s okay, I know you’re worried. Okay I’ll... No, just… Right. That’s probably for the best. Good, okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
He ended the call, closed his eyes, and searched for some Zen while I waited.
“Can’t talk about it yet?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s confidential.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “You know I’d tell you if I could.”
“It’s cool. He’s entitled to his privacy. I mean, look how long we kept us a secret.”
“This one is complicated.”
“You’ll get it worked out. You’re the best at what you do.”
A snort bubbled out of him. “Leaping from one potential social media nightmare to another, you mean?”
“We do keep you busy, huh?” I thought of all the stuff he’d handled since his first day as the Railers social media guru. Tennant and Jared had been huge. Then there had been me, with my mouth that didn’t connect with my brain. And now, it seemed, Dieter had something brewing that required Layton’s touch.
“You coming out to the team was much easier than Tennant and Jared’s coming out to the world.” He hit the turn signal, then eased back into traffic. “You still okay with it just being the team and those close to us who know?”
“Yeah, I’m good. The shit with Ten and Jared still hasn’t settled. I see the signs at the games and listen to the bigots on TV. I know that’s still keeping you and your team dousing blazes.”
“And then some,” he chuckled. I patted his thigh just to feel his firm flesh twitch under my hand. His gaze touched mine for a second. “The time will come for us to go wide. I want you to be happy.”
“There is no possible way I could be any happier than I am right now.” He wheeled us into the parking lot of the East River Arena.
“I’m sure there must be something that would make you a little happier.” We slipped around back and grabbed a slot right by the players’ entrance. Being a Railer had its advantages.
The car had no sooner stopped than someone was hammering on the window beside me. I glared through the glass at Apollo. Wait. Apollo? I put the window down.
“Where have you been? We’ve been out here for like twenty minutes and I need the bathroom!” My best friend snapped.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Layton put my window up, turned off the engine and got out. Apollo was dancing and rubbing his biceps when I got out of the car. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”
“Mr. Foxx—Layton, sorry.” He gave my man a meek smile. Old habits are hard to break. He’d grown up calling everyone who wasn’t in my family’s employ Mister, Missus, or Miss, so his formality with Layton was understandable. “Layton wanted your family to be here for your birthday present.”
I turned to look at Layton standing beside me. He looked smug. That worried me a bit.
“Adler, would you come tell this man we know you?!” The sound of Mrs. Vasquez giving me the business bounced off the sides of the arena. I gaped at the sight of Apollo’s parents up by the players’ entrance door. Short Mrs. V with her hands on her hips, and tall Mr. V standing next to her all quiet and thoughtful looking. They looked great. “I told him the story about when you were six and ate twenty-five boxes of raisins and pooped like a goose for three days, but he says we need ID.”
The security man gave me a wave and an apologetic look.
I swung my attention to the man on my left.
“Everyone should have their family with them on special days,” Layton said softly.
And by all that was holy, he was right. This small group here… this was my real family, my true family. Apollo and his parents, Layton and his monstrously huge and over-protective kin, and the Railers. Sure, Cole and Karrie Anne had given me their DNA, but nothing else other than money. And money is a poor substitute for affection.
“I swear I love you more than life, Layton,” I choked out, then pulled him into my arms.
He melted into me, his arms moving around my waist as if they were made to be there. “I’m pretty fond of you too.”
My mouth dropped over his. The kiss held all kinds of promise.
“Let’s get your family inside and Apollo to a bathroom.”
I slid my fingers into his. We walked into the East River Arena hand in hand, with my family chattering away around us, my arm draped around Apollo.
Best birthday ever. Even with the raisin story coming to light.
THE END