28. James
28
JAMES
OCTOBER
Toronto is exactly how I remember: beautiful, but already way too fucking cold. I tighten my Falcons hoodie as I walk down Bloor Street, hoping to block the icy gusts that are blowing down from the skyscrapers around me. I’m staying with my parents in Rosedale, so it feels like I’m back in high school, but I know I shouldn’t be here.
Since leaving Boston a month ago, everything’s been a blur. It’s hard not to feel lost going through the motions of physical therapy and not doing much else. Sure, I like spending more time with my parents, and I hang out with my friend Luke from high school sometimes, but all of them have jobs, which leaves me disastrously alone during the day.
I’m stuck in Toronto, away from the team and away from Ethan. We’ve been talking, but not really. We ask each other how we’re doing, and we text back and forth about other stuff sometimes. I can tell he misses me, and I miss him. For some reason, though, I don’t say it, even though I should. It sounds stupid, but I just can’t. I can barely get any words out of my mouth, let alone anything remotely emotional. Every time I try, my words come out bored and dismissive, and I’m left in a slump of wondering why talking to Ethan doesn’t cheer me up the way it used to.
As I walk up the drive to my parents’ house, my feet slip on the wet cobblestone, and I ungracefully flail around to keep my balance. Luckily, nobody is around to see me. I stomp inside, kicking my boots off and thawing in the inviting heat of the radiator. As usual for a Wednesday, the house is empty, so I kick back on the couch and pull my phone out. Staring at the black screen, I sigh and decide that I need to call Ethan. He’s not on the schedule tonight, so I’m guessing he’s doing something quiet at home before he heads to Greenwall Park to sit in the dugout for a couple hours.
With a deep sigh, I open my contact list and hit the video call icon next to Ethan’s name. It rings once, and then his face pops up.
“Hey,” Ethan says, his voice bright. He’s wearing a calm smile, but I can tell there’s something else behind his expression.
“Hey, how’s everything in Boston?”
“Pretty good, nothing much is happening, though. How’s your recovery going?”
“Decent. My physiotherapist here said I’m pretty much healed already.”
Ethan smiles a bit wider, and I feel like a jerk for not smiling back.
“And how are you doing?” I ask. Because that’s something I should ask, right?
There’s a pause, and then a sigh. “I’ve been okay, but honestly, it’s been a bit rough. I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Yeah, I get it. It’s been strange for me too. Toronto doesn’t feel like home.”
Silence is rarely awkward between us, and the fact that my stomach is quaking after a few seconds of it doesn’t bode well.
“I’ve been thinking about us, Ethan,” I start. “About how hard this has been.” My voice sounds weaker than I’d hoped. I swallow, trying to keep myself together. “I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing.”
“What do you mean?” he asks. “You don’t know if we’re, what?”
“This distance and not knowing when I’ll feel ready to go back is killing me. I miss you, but sometimes I wonder if we’re holding on to something that’s slipping away.”
“James, you’ve been gone for a month,” insists Ethan. “I get it. This isn’t easy. But are you saying things aren’t gonna work out between us? Because that’s what it sounds like right now.”
My head jerks up as I face the prospect of breaking up with Ethan. The twisting knot of unease in my stomach clenches hard, and I can’t think of anything worse.
“I don’t want to break up,” I say, because I really don’t. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that I don’t know how long we can keep doing this.”
“You’re gonna be fine, at least in time for our next season. I’ll wait that long if I have to.”
I shake my head, frustration bubbling up. “But what if I don’t get better? What if we keep drifting apart because of all this distance, and I’m not the same when I come back?”
“We’re not drifting apart, James. This is a shitty situation. The fact that you’re injured doesn’t change how I feel about you. Besides, you said that you’re almost fully recovered.”
“I don’t want to screw things up,” I say, almost as if I’m talking to myself.
“Look, I know you’re doubting everything right now, and I know this is hard for you, but we’re going to get through this, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, I know that, but I don’t know if I want to go back to Boston.”
Alarm flickers across Ethan’s face for a quick moment. “What do you mean? Like, ever?”
Shit, I’m saying all the wrong things today, but I can’t help it. “That’s not what I mean, Ethan,” I say with too much force than necessary.
“Then what are you trying to say? I’m not rushing you back or anything, but don’t you want to see if there’s a chance at coming back for the end of the playoffs?”
I sigh, which seems to be the one sound I make the most these days. “And what if they tell me I can’t? Then I’m sitting around in the empty apartment alone, and it’ll be like I came back for—” I stop myself right before I say for nothing . Even in my current state, I know that’s an asshole thing to say.
“James, I miss you.” Ethan fixes his eyes intently on me through the phone screen, sending a strange shiver down my spine. “Like, I’m not trying to make this about myself, but not having you here with me has been hell, especially since we aren’t calling that much.”
And here I am, drowning in a puddle of guilt for not feeling the same way, and for ignoring most of Ethan’s calls.
“I miss you too. I’m sorry that I’m not around, but being home has been good for my recovery and stuff.”
“Of course. I totally get it. That’s what matters.” Ethan’s voice is low, and I can tell he understands, even if it’s not what he wants.
I open my mouth to say something, but I swivel my head to the left when I hear keys in the lock.
“My parents are home, but we’ll talk soon?”
Ethan looks surprised for a second before he catches himself. “Sounds good. I’m not scheduled for tonight’s game, but I should still get going soon.”
“Makes sense. I’ll call you tomorrow?” I say, thinking that I need to hold myself to some kind of promise.
We sign off and I hang up before collapsing onto the couch. Mom comes over and looks questioningly at me.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I lie.
She doesn’t prod any further, and I get hit with even more guilt over the fact that my parents and I are barely speaking, either. I’ve been off, and it’s like nothing matters anymore. It might be depression, but part of me thinks, and hopes, that it isn’t. If it’s just related to my injuries, it’ll pass as I recover.
“Anyway,” Mom continues, putting a bag on the counter. “Dinner will be at six.”
“Sounds great,” I mutter, heaving myself up off the couch and toward my room.
Dinner is silent. It’s jarring and awkward. My family is never silent, but there’s tension in the room and all of it is coming from me.
Mom puts her fork down with a little more force than would be normal, which snaps me out of whatever foggy thoughts I was having.
“James. What’s going on? You’ve been sad and mopey ever since you came back.”
“I don’t know. I’m in a mood because I’m injured and stuff.” My voice is mumbly and I get flashbacks to being an interrogated teenager.
Dad also puts his cutlery down. “You’re almost fully healed.”
Mom shifts in her chair, and I can tell she’s thinking carefully about what to say. “Have you thought about talking to someone about this?”
“Yes, and it’s not depression,” I insist, hoping that saying it out loud makes it true. “I know I’m almost fully recovered. I’ll be ready to play next season.”
Mom and Dad exchange a patient glance, but I can tell that they want to know what’s going on.
Dad leans in a little, his voice quieter. “You came back here a month ago out of nowhere. You sent us a text after you landed, asking to be picked up from the airport. Now you’re just, I don’t know, existing here.”
I exhale, trying to collect myself. “It’s only the injuries.” My voice sounds unconvincing, even to me.
They don’t believe that for a second. “James, talk to us. We’re worried about you.” Mom implores.
Resigned, I give up, unable to keep trying to hide the truth from my parents. “It isn’t only the injuries. There’s more.” My voice is softer now, and I grip the table to ground myself. My parents sit up a little straighter and I stare down at my plate, feeling a familiar twisting knot in my stomach. I don’t know how to start.
The only thing keeping me from telling my parents about Ethan and us is that they’re not expecting it, and honestly, I’m not even sure if we’re going to last. I sure hope we stay together and make it through all this, but I know I’m not doing enough to make that happen.
At least I know my parents are supportive and that they’ll be fine knowing that I’m not straight.
Here goes nothing. Deep breath, and exhale.
“I’m dating Ethan. I’m bi.”
More silence. Mom and Dad stare at me. They’re obviously processing the major bombshell I just dropped on them.
“That’s great, James!” says Mom. “Your dad and I support you, and we both love you just the same.”
My parents smile weakly, and Dad purses his lips. “Are you feeling down because you’re still coming to terms with yourself?” he asks.
I jolt up. “No. That’s not what’s happening. I’m 100% okay that I’m into dudes too.”
Both my parents exchange a glance, their shoulders easing.
I continue. “I’ve been having a hard time being away from Ethan, but I also know that going back to Boston will make me feel worse.” It’s odd, putting it in words, but the fog in my head thins out, if only a bit.
“Why do you think going back to Boston will make you feel worse?” Mom asks.
I hesitate. Even though I know that it’s because I’ll be alone all day, I can’t put a finger on how that’s different from what’s going on here.
“I don’t want to be alone in Boston, with all the reminders of why I can’t play. But being away from Ethan has been difficult, and the injury makes me think that I’m shitty and useless.” I don’t catch myself before swearing in front of my parents. They’re concerned enough to not call me out on it.
Mom exhales. “You’re going through a lot, and it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. You’re not letting anyone down.”
“It’s not just that, though,” I continue. “I’ve been acting really shi— inconsiderate with Ethan. I barely call or text, and I dumped a ton of random doubts on him earlier today. He thought I was about to break up with him.”
Dad speaks up, his voice calm. “You’ve always been hard on yourself, James. Ethan will understand that you aren’t at your best.”
“I’m scared to mess things up with him. He means everything to me, and I miss him so much it hurts.” Pausing to let in a shaky breath, I steel myself to keep going. “But going back to Boston seems pointless right now. Ethan’s gonna be gone for games and on road trips all the time, and I’d be sitting around all day with nothing to do.”
“James,” says Mom. “It sounds like you’re punishing yourself.”
I stare back at her, not knowing what to think. Feeling moisture start to pool up in my eyes, I avert my gaze toward my plate.
Mom sees right through me, though. “You’re practically in tears talking about how much you miss Ethan, yet you’re adamant that there’s nothing for you back in Boston. If you go back, at least you’ll have Ethan there.”
My eyes are burning as the realization sinks in. I got up and left Boston to come home because I was injured, and I didn’t want to sit in an empty apartment. I left Ethan alone. He’s the one coming home to a dark, quiet, too-big apartment that I asked him to move into. He’s the one who’s been calling, texting, and checking in on me to see if I’m recovering well. Meanwhile, I’m 700 kilometers away, casually brushing off the guy I love whenever he reaches out.
Wait, what ?
Oh, shit.
Holy. Shit.
I love him.
If I’m being honest with myself, I knew this already. There’s no other word to describe what I feel for him, but still. I fucking love Ethan and I made him think I wanted to break up earlier today?
“I’m such an asshole,” I mutter.
Dad sighs before fixing me with a stern expression. “Language, James.”
“You aren’t an asshole.” Mom’s firm statement prompts a weary, questioning look from Dad. “You were sad, and you weren’t yourself.”
I make a noise of agreement and the conversation trails off. There’s no more for me to say, so I take my dishes into the kitchen to clean up.
And I’m greeted by a fly buzzing around the counter. Jesus Christ, it’s October. All of those should be dead by now.
Pushing past it, I thrust my dishes into the sink and start rinsing them, but that damn fly follows me and buzzes in my ear. I try to swat it away, but it’s no use.
Okay, I’m thoroughly annoyed now. I grab the bottle of dish soap, aim, and hurl it at the buzzing pest that’s landed on the fridge.
The hit lands, and the bottle clatters to the floor to reveal a dead, squashed mess.
“Good aim.” I swivel my head toward the door and see Mom standing there, her arms crossed.
“Seems like you’re back up and running,” she says.
Huh. I guess I am.
“James. You should go back to Ethan,” suggests Dad, carrying an armful of plates to the kitchen. “We love having you here, but it sounds like you’re better, and you should be with him.”
“He’s coming to Toronto if they win against LA tonight.”
Mom stares straight at me. “Then meet him here if that happens. Go to the hotel your team always uses and throw rocks at his window if you have to.”
I blush, heat creeping up my neck and into my ears. Is this what being Ethan is like? I have no idea how he deals with it.
“I will, and I want to make things better with him.”
Immediately, I pull my phone out and check the score of our game. Boston won, and Ethan is coming to Toronto tomorrow. There’s so much I need to say, and I know exactly what I need to do. Since the game just ended, he’ll be giving an interview or something on the field, but I can’t wait to get this out. I open our text thread and pour my heart out for him to read when he goes to shower and change.
Congrats on the win! I’d normally call but I need to get my thoughts out. Don’t worry, there’s nothing bad. Had a talk with my parents and they know about us, and they also gave me some much-needed advice. I’m feeling a lot better
I know I’ve been hot and cold with you for the past two months and I want to make it up to you. You’re coming to Toronto for the next few games and I need to see you while you’re here. I really care about you and I want to make this work
Holding my breath, I wait for him to reply. Three dots pop up on my screen, showing that he’s typing, and the wait for his text to come through is agonizing.
After what feels like hours but is actually just a minute, his response pops up.
Ethan
I really care about you, too. Don’t beat yourself up over this. You’re injured and obviously have other things on your mind. I’m coming to Toronto tomorrow, and we should meet up to walk and talk it out.
The next day, I’m a bundle of nerves as I sit on a bench facing the Harbourfront Park Hotel, waiting for Ethan to come outside. The team landed a while back and got stuck in traffic again, so Ethan only finished checking in ten minutes ago. Sure, there’s still warmth in the few texts he’s sent me, and I’m so relieved that he isn’t pissed or icing me out. Not that I don’t deserve that.
Something breaks inside me when I spot Ethan striding out of the building. I almost let myself give up on him because I was bitter about being injured, and seeing him again in the flesh makes me wonder how that was even a consideration. It’s hard to hold myself back from breaking into a sprint as I walk toward him, but I manage. Barely. Almost-recovered-but-still-injured shoulder be damned, I jump forward and wrap him in the tightest hug I can manage.
“I missed you so much,” I say, burying my face into Ethan’s hoodie.
Ethan returns the embrace, rubbing my back and ruffling my hair. “I missed you too, James. Let’s go on that walk.”
The sunset hits Ethan just right, throwing streaks of amber across his face and making his skin glow with golden-hour light. I’m reminded of how he always looks so effortlessly good.
I find an empty bench facing Lake Ontario and sit, inviting Ethan to settle next to me. As I turn to face him, a tiny, tentative smile crosses his lips. Words are failing me, but I rack my brain to find the right ones, determined to explain myself.
“I wanted to start by saying—” I pause, taking a quick breath. “—that I’m sorry.”
Ethan seems surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that at all.
“I’ve been a dick to you, Ethan, ignoring you and brushing you off, and I should’ve realized that earlier.”
He looks lost for a moment, his bright eyes gazing at the lake. Turning his focus back to me, he bites his lip and weighs what to say next.
“James. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
“What?” I kick myself because that wasn’t the right way to react.
“You were feeling down from your injury and being benched. Stuff like that is hard on anyone. I understand why you might not have been super responsive or attentive.”
“I made you think I wanted to break up with you.” My voice is firm, but cracks weakly as I trail off.
“Sure, that got me scared, but you never said that outright, and you reassured me when it mattered.”
“I shouldn’t have scared you in the first place,” I mutter. “You mean so much to me.”
Ethan smiles and places a hand on my thigh. Immediately, I move my hand and put it over his, holding firmly. I don’t care who can see. Toronto’s trashy sports magazines couldn’t care less about baseball, let alone a team that isn’t from here.
“Really. I should have treated you better. And I want to be better for you.”
“James.” Ethan sounds concerned. I know I shouldn’t cut him off, but I need to tell him. The words on the tip of my tongue are practically burning a hole through my mouth.
“I love you, Ethan.”
Ethan’s eyes widen. My heart pounds, waiting for his reaction. The seconds stretch out.
And then, he flips his hand up to wrap his fingers through mine. His voice comes out soft and steady, and I swear it’s the most amazing sound in the world. “I love you too, James.”
Relief spills over me and I pull him into another hug. His cheek presses against mine, warm and damp. I blink, realizing that it’s not just him, my eyes are watering too. It doesn’t matter. The tension between us dissolves, leaving behind that familiar connection we’ve always shared.
We sit there locked together for who knows how long, accompanied by the background buzz of the city and waves lapping against the shore. For the first time in ages, everything makes sense.
A random seagull starts squawking, and we pull back, our eyes still misty.
“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Ethan asks.
“Did they replace me with another roommate?”
Ethan laughs. “Nope, I have my own room on road trips now. They didn’t have anyone else to put me with.”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, that’s convenient. Do you think you can give me a tour of your room?”
He glances back at me, humor glinting in his eyes. “You want to make use of my single room, don’t you?”
Grinning, I stand up and offer him my hand. “It would be a real shame to have it go to waste.”
After we reach the hotel, we book it to the elevators as fast as we can without attracting any questioning stares, and Ethan leads me to his city-view room that’s way fancier than the one we shared here a few months ago. The door quietly clicks shut behind us and I don’t spare a single second. I walk up to Ethan and crash my mouth onto his, finally getting what I’ve been unnecessarily keeping myself away from for way too long. Ethan tastes like Ethan. Familiar and warm, slightly minty but completely right.
Our kiss starts off gentle and almost apprehensive, like it’s something we’re rusty at. I never, ever want to fall out of practice when it comes to kissing Ethan, but I get a feel for him again almost instantly. The next thing I know, I’m backing Ethan onto the enormous bed. Darting my tongue between his lips, I deepen the kiss, ramping up the pressure and the heat.
“My god, I’ve missed this,” Ethan murmurs, his face flushed.
“That makes two of us.”
The past month without Ethan catches up to me all at once. My dick swells, constrained by my jeans and pressing tightly against my thigh. I brush my hands against his thick shaft, making him grunt, and I slide my fingers under his shirt to explore the deep ridges of his abs.
Moving swiftly, I unbuckle Ethan’s belt to take off his jeans and underwear as he removes his shirt. I’m faced with the tantalizing view of his cock, and an invisible force compels me to move closer.
I wrap my lips around the tip and Ethan throws his head back, letting out a moan. Taking him deeper, I suck and stroke him just the way he likes, making up for lost time. There are a million ways for me to tell Ethan that I love him, and this is the only one that makes sense right now. Before I know it, Ethan is spilling into me while grabbing the sheets and crying out. His heavy, muscular body goes limp and presses into the soft hotel mattress.
Ethan moves toward me, crawling across the mattress. He’s spent, and his eyes aren’t even open. “Let me get you now,” he mumbles.
I place my hands on his shoulders to push him backward onto the bed. “Later,” I reply, lying down next to him. “You look way too tired.”
With a quiet, unintelligible noise, Ethan seems to agree. He’s completely still on his back for a minute, falling back to earth, and then he wraps me in a warm cuddle. His musky, addictive scent surrounds me, mixing with the faint smells of laundry detergent and airplane. We lie like that for ages, the blue twilight outside giving way to a dim yellow glow from the streetlights far below. There’s probably an optional team dinner at some point, but if Ethan misses it, I’ll take him out somewhere. He deserves that.
The next morning, Ethan leaves early to warm up at the Northlink Centre, but not before bringing a whole spread back up for me from the team breakfast. I never thought that seeing a blueberry muffin would make my insides all warm and mushy, but I guess this year is full of self-discovery.
The coaches allow me to sit in the visitors’ dugout for our games against Toronto, and I make sure to be there for both. It’s weird being there with the rest of the team when I’m still benched, but it’s worth it for the chance to see Ethan killing it on the field.
And because I didn’t bring my uniform, I wear Ethan’s Falcons hoodie. It’s a size too large and it has Ethan’s number on the back, but I’m beyond caring. Anyone who notices can think whatever they want because there’s only one thing that matters.
Ethan and I love each other.
Boston wins the two games against Toronto, and I fly back with the team on the jet. Hearing the excitement around me, soaking it all in, and brushing hands with Ethan during the flight reignites something in me. There’s still some kind of fuzz in the back of my mind, but for the first time in months, I feel a bit more like myself.