Chapter Thirty-One

The next few weeks passed in a blur of hockey, friends, and hockey.

Rafael and Ian were as tired as he was, focused on getting as far through the playoffs as they could. Neither brought up anything that wasn’t team related and if it wasn’t the same attitude throughout the locker room, Dan would have accused them of coddling him.

When he’d made a decision about Bobby, he’d sent a message to everyone who seemed to have an interest in what he did, not to bring Bobby up, to let him handle it the way he wanted to. Everyone had been respectful. Kayla had tried a few times, half-hearted and sad, and though Dan had apologized and she had returned the apology, she backed off when it was clear he wouldn’t listen.

Helena, whose team had swept the playoffs for the second year, was watching Bear when he needed her to but had taken to talking to him instead of pretending it was Bear she cared about. Dan found it easier to deal with her than his family, especially when she dragged Polly over to his house and the three of them watched old game tape and judged each other’s performances.

“Maybe you’ll have a trophy at the end of this too,” Polly said, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that suggested she doubted it.

Dan shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “Honestly don’t care. Making it is enough to give my mom the middle finger.”

“Has she spoken to you?” Helena asked. She and Polly had Bear between them, his red fur a stark contrast against their black pants.

There had been a stony silence from his mother since his switching of agents and coming out, especially when asked about her son’s preferences. His mother was too media savvy to make a comment that could be taken out of context. She had sent a message just after the playoffs, a simple I can’t have made that terrible a choice, could I?

Dan didn’t know if she was genuinely asking or just making a point. He hadn’t replied.

“The fact that we made the playoffs makes her sure she made the right choice in trading me.”

Polly snorted. “No offense to your mom, but the Hunters weren’t your best fit.”

Dan was more than aware of that fact. There were other teams he had been hoping for, not that he would have chosen to leave BC at all. “Yeah well. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m where I am.”

Helena tipped her bottle in his direction in salute, then tilted her head at the television. “Nice pass. I couldn’t believe Alaric was right there.”

“Neither could I,” Dan admitted with a laugh. “I was just hoping I hadn’t miscalculated.”

“You’re more aware than you think you are,” Polly pointed out. “It’s why you scored that awesome game winner.”

Dan was expecting a wince from Helena, a usual sign from his friends when the Olympics or Bobby were mentioned, but she just rolled her eyes. “Please stop mentioning that. He’ll keep winning arguments with ‘how many game winners do you have’?”

It was a lie, Dan had never used that, but Polly was laughing, dislodging Bear from his comfortable perch, and Helena grinned at him over the lip of her bottle, and Dan let himself laugh, the rush of gratitude for them both overweighing whatever residual bitterness he had toward the Olympics.

Both Polly and Helena kept his spirits up through the playoffs with commentary on fellow players, opposing teams, and his own performance. Most of the time they were making jokes at his expense, but it gave him the lightness he needed to deal with the pressure and questions from every angle.

Dan had never been around Ian during the playoffs, always on separate teams, but he’d heard rumors through the hockey vine that he could get angry and belligerent, an understatement to the guy Dan shared a locker room with. Carry didn’t take his shit, managed to get him under control, but there didn’t seem to be a game where he wasn’t railing at Dan, bitching that he had no idea what it was like to play for a real playoff contender.

“You’ve been on the Hunters a year and you think you know what it’s like to deal with stress?”

“I don’t know, Ian,” Dan snapped, lacing up his sneakers. “I was on a team that made the finals twice.”

“Still don’t have a trophy though, do you?” Ian sneered, hands balling into fists.

Dan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t have time for this, Ian. Snap out of whatever this is and focus.”

“Focus like you?” Ian said snidely, and Dan knew what he was going to say next before he’d even formed the words. “You’re so distracted with shutting out your Olympic lay you don’t know whether you’re on ice or not.”

Shooting to his feet, ignoring Ian’s wide eyes and shoved out, sending Ian stumbling against his bench. “Fuck you. Fuck you.”

“Dan,” Ian started.

“Fuck off,” Dan snapped. “You know what this shit has been like for me. No, shut your mouth!” Ian’s mouth abruptly shut. “You’re right, it’s not easy focusing on playoffs when the whole League has decided my attraction to guys is responsible for my points losses, or the fact that my teammates can’t pass for shit is because I spend so much time pining after a figure skater!”

Ian was silent, cheeks pink, and some of the other guys in the locker room darted their gazes away. Dan felt viciously pleased with their discomfort.

“Bobby isn’t – wasn’t – an Olympic lay. I love him, you stupid fuck, so don’t pretend you know what it’s like to shut him out!”

It was so quiet in the locker room that Dan could hear people breathing, the rustle of every shift of fabric.

“Jesus,” he muttered. Rafael made to stand, but Dan shook his head. “Leave it. Just. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Nobody stopped him from striding out of the locker room, not even when he left his bag behind. He didn’t want to go back for it while everyone was still in there, resigned himself to sitting in his car until he’d calmed down. He felt like an idiot, his own words hitting him enough that he doubled over the steering column, grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck!”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when there was a knock on his window. Reluctant to move, fearing it would be Ian, he was surprised to see Alaric at the window. Hitting the button, the window slowly pulled down so that Dan could see his bag in Alaric’s hand.

“Thought you might want this.”

Dan rubbed at his face, embarrassed by the wetness on his cheeks, but popped the trunk, opening the door and getting out as Alaric rounded the car. “Thanks.”

Alaric dropped the bag in and stared at him, shutting the trunk carefully. “It’s none of my business, but if you need someone to talk to—”

“I feel like all I’ve done is talk,” Dan admitted. “It never makes anything better in here.” He touched his chest, scrunched his t-shirt in his fist.

“You love this guy?”

“Bobby,” Dan said automatically. Then, flushing, he shrugged. “I told Kayla that once and she was surprised, thought it was infatuation. I don’t think infatuation can hurt this much.”

Alaric rested a hand on the trunk of Dan’s car, keeping his distance, and it was that more than anything else that made Dan stand there and keep talking.

“It wasn’t just what we did at the Olympics,” Dan said, keeping details vague. He was sure neither of them wanted to discuss that topic. “He convinced me it was okay to be me. It feels stupid saying that aloud when it was such a short time, but I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Sometimes,” Alaric said slowly, holding Dan’s gaze. “It takes a while to realize you’re in love with someone. For other people, it’s an instant thing.”

Dan folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the side of his car. “How I felt scared me in the beginning. It still does. I hate that he wouldn’t talk to me, I miss him even though I don’t really know him.”

“Do you know some things about him?”

“I know that he wants to be a fashion designer,” Dan said, remembering their conversation from that first day. “He has problems with his father, and he’s been in love before.”

Alaric’s eyebrows raised. “Those are pretty personal things to know about someone.”

Dan hadn’t looked at it like that. He had felt comfortable enough with Bobby to confess he held back in hockey, that he had problems with his mother, and that Bobby was the first person he’d ever wanted. “God.”

“Just because you don’t know small things,” Alaric pointed out, “Doesn’t mean you don’t know what someone feels in here.”

Alaric pointed at his chest, to where Dan’s hand was still clenched around his t-shirt.

“Think about it.”