Chapter 39 Derek
I thought I knew fear. I thought I knew loss. I thought I knew depression. The period after I lost Mackenzie and Cooper and hockey was the darkest of my life.
This was different.
Théo was in Toronto with Nico. His ex-boyfriend of three years. The one who’d just tried to kill himself. And I was here, in Chicago, pacing my apartment like a caged animal while Aspen watched me with worried eyes.
I wanted to call him. I’d picked up my phone at least a dozen times, typed out messages I never sent.
Are you okay?
I’m here if you need me.
I love you.
That last one I deleted immediately. Too much. Too soon. Not the right time.
I didn’t feel like I had the right to intrude on whatever was happening between them. This was Théo’s past, Théo’s pain, Théo’s person. I was just the new guy. The one who’d only been in his life for a few months. What could I possibly offer that would help?
So instead of calling, I did something stupid.
I pulled up Reddit.
A terrible place to go when drama was unfolding. The figure skating forums were already ablaze with speculation, dissecting every scrap of information like vultures picking at a carcass. It brought out the worst in people. Ugly. Nasty. Judgmental.
NICOLAS FONTAINE HOSPITALIZED - MEGATHREAD
Sources confirm Canadian figure skater Nicolas Fontaine was admitted to hospital in Toronto late Tuesday night.
The two time World silver medallist and reigning Canadian national champion has been one of the sport’s brightest stars since his senior debut at 18.
Details are scarce, but rumours suggest an overdose.
I scrolled through the comments, hating myself for it.
This is so sad. He was such a talent. Junior Worlds 2022 was incredible.
Does anyone know if this is related to the breakup with Julien? They were so cute together.
Okay but can we talk about how his decline started right after Beaubien left Toronto?
There it was. I kept scrolling.
THE THéO BEAUBIEN CONNECTION - A TIMELINE
Someone had compiled an entire post. Photos. Screenshots. Speculation dressed up as analysis.
Théo Beaubien and Nicolas Fontaine trained together under Coach Renaud for nine years. They were VERY close. Some of us suspected they were more than friends but nothing was ever confirmed.
Below it, a grainy photo taken at what looked like a competition afterparty. Théo and Nico standing close together, Nico’s hand on Théo’s lower back. The way they were looking at each other—it was obvious, at least to me. You didn’t look at a friend like that.
Here they are at 2024 Nationals. Notice the body language.
Another photo. Théo mid-laugh, Nico watching him with naked adoration.
And here’s Théo leaving Nico’s hotel room at 6am after the 2023 Grand Prix. Make of that what you will.
The comments underneath were a cesspool.
I always knew there was something going on between them. The chemistry was off the charts.
Théo left Toronto and then Nico overdoses a few months later. Coincidence? I think not.
Honestly if Théo broke his heart and that’s why he did this, I will never forgive him.
Théo always gave me bad vibes. Too cold. Too calculating. Pretty face but dead eyes.
I tossed the iPad aside.
My chest was tight. My hands were shaking.
I wanted to reach through the screen and defend him—to tell these strangers who thought they knew him that they didn’t know anything.
That Théo wasn’t cold, he was guarded. That he wasn’t calculating, he was surviving.
That those “dead eyes” came alive when he laughed, when he skated, when he looked at me like I was something worth looking at.
But I couldn’t say any of that. Because officially, I was just his brother’s teammate. Just a friend. Just nobody.
I switched off my bedside lamp and pulled the covers up, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned, a low thrum of anxiety and anger buzzing under my skin.
I kept picking up on my phone from its charging station, looking for a text that never came.
Around 3 a.m., I gave up and went back to Reddit.
Read more threads. Tortured myself with more photos of Théo and Nico—at competitions, at galas, at what looked like a private dinner where someone had snapped a picture through a restaurant window.
They looked good together. Young and beautiful and perfectly matched in a way that made something twist painfully in my gut.
He’s there for Nico right now, I reminded myself. That’s where he should be. This isn’t about you.
But the selfish part of me—the part I wasn’t proud of—couldn’t stop wondering if he’d remember he had someone waiting for him in Chicago.
◆◆◆
The next morning, I showed up to weight training on four hours of broken sleep and a dangerous amount of caffeine.
Petrov took one look at me and frowned.
“You look like shit, Sully.”
“Thanks. Very helpful.”
“I’m serious.” He racked his weights and turned to face me fully. “What is going on with you?”
“Nothing. Just didn’t sleep well.”
He studied me with those sharp, assessing eyes. Petrov wasn’t the type to pry—he usually let things go if you didn’t want to talk about them. But something in my face must have given me away.
“This have something to do with… Théo?” he asked, lowering his voice.
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not blind, Sully.” He shrugged. “I see how you look at him. How you been… different lately. Happier.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “And now you look like someone kick your dog. So is he okay?”
I should have denied it. Should have kept up the pretense that Théo was just a friend, just Avery’s brother.
Instead, I exhaled and rubbed a hand over my face.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He had to leave the city. There’s some… personal stuff happening. And I can’t be there for him and I don’t know what’s going on and—” I stopped, aware I was saying too much.
Petrov was quiet for a moment.
“You called him?” he asked.
“No. I don’t want to intrude.”
“That is stupid,” he said, flat and matter-of-fact. “If he matter to you, you call. He can decide to pick up or not.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Always complicated.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “But you are not useful to anyone—him or the team—if you walk around like zombie. Talk to him. Or at least sleep.”
He walked away to grab more weights, leaving me standing there with my phone burning a hole in my pocket.
I shouldn’t even have it on me. Thomas would lose his mind if he saw it—phones weren’t allowed on the floor, no exceptions. But what if Théo needed me?
Petrov’s words rattled around in my head.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe I should just call.
◆◆◆
I didn’t call. And neither did he. I wrote and deleted numerous text messages before ending the night refreshing X and Reddit and every ugly corner of the internet. I fell asleep with the iPad on my pillow.
When I woke, I was disoriented. The room was dark, the iPad screen long since gone black. A slightly chilled body was pulling toward me, sliding under the covers.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Théo?” I blinked, still half asleep, my brain struggling to catch up. “You’re back. You’re here.”
“I just got in an hour ago. Took the Blue Line straight from O’Hare.” His voice was small in the darkness. “I couldn’t go back to Avery’s. He’d want to talk about it and I can’t—I’m not ready to—” He stopped, took a shaky breath. “Is it okay that I’m here?”
“Yes, baby, of course.” I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around him. His skin was cold from the chill settling over the city, his body trembling slightly against mine. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he admitted.
The honesty of it startled me. This was Théo—guarded, deflecting, prickly Théo who would rather make a joke than admit he was hurting. Who would rather run than let someone see him vulnerable.
But he’d come here. To me. In the middle of the night.
“I had to face Nico after everything that went down between us,” he continued, his voice muffled against my chest. “He’s in bad shape.
Really bad. And I know it’s not entirely my fault but I can’t help but feel partially responsible.
Like maybe if I’d handled things differently or stayed in touch or—”
“Hey.” I pressed my lips to his hair. “You can’t carry that.”
“I know. Logically, I know.” He pulled back just enough to look at me and even in the dim light I could see the redness around his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features.
“But seeing him in that hospital bed, looking like a ghost of the person he used to be… all I could think about was every time I wasn’t there.
Every time I chose myself over him. Every time I ran away instead of staying to fight. ”
“You had to leave Toronto,” I said gently. “You told me yourself—staying would have destroyed you.”
“It would have.” He swallowed hard. “But maybe I destroyed him instead.”
“That’s not how it works.” I cupped his face in my hands, tilting it so he had to look at me.
“You’re not responsible for someone else’s choices.
Even someone you love. You can care about someone deeply and still not be the thing that fixes them.
” I brushed my thumb across his cheek. “And choosing yourself isn’t the same as abandoning someone.
You were drowning too. You had to get out. ”
His eyes filled with tears. He blinked them back, jaw tight, fighting it.
“You don’t have to hold it together,” I said softly. “Not with me.”
Something cracked in his expression.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to let someone see me like this. My whole life, I’ve been told to push through, to keep going, to never show weakness. And now I’m—” His voice broke. “I’m so tired, Derek. I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m not.”
“Then stop pretending.” I pulled him back against my chest, holding him tight. “You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to be anything. Just let me hold you.”
He resisted for a moment—I could feel it, that instinct to pull away, to protect himself. Then the fight went out of him all at once. He sagged against me, his fingers curling into my shirt, and started to cry.
Not the controlled, silent tears he’d probably shed on the plane. These were ugly, gasping sobs that shook his whole body. The kind of crying you did when you’d been holding everything in for too long and finally, finally let it go.
I didn’t say anything. I just held him, one hand stroking his back, the other cradling the back of his head. Aspen, sensing something was wrong, jumped onto the bed and pressed himself against Théo’s legs, a warm, steady presence.
“He asked me if it gets better,” Théo choked out between sobs. “And I told him it does. But what if I was lying? What if I’m not actually better? What if I’m just… pretending well enough that people believe me?”
“You’re not pretending.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Théo, look at me. You’re not pretending.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re here.” I wiped a tear from his cheek with my thumb. “Six months ago you would’ve hidden away. Tonight you came to me. You let me see you. That’s not pretending. That’s progress.”
He stared at me, something raw and uncertain in his eyes.
“I almost didn’t come,” he admitted. “I sat on the Blue Line for half an hour telling myself I should just go to Avery’s. That I was being weak. That you didn’t sign up for this.”
“Sign up for what? Being there for you?”
“For the mess.” His voice was barely audible. “For all of this. The baggage. The breakdowns. The ex-boyfriend in the hospital. The—”
“Théo.” I cut him off. “I’m not just here for the fun, easy parts. I’m here for all of it. The good days and the bad days and the days where you cry in my bed at 3 a.m. because you’re hurting. That’s what this is. That’s what I want.”
“Why?” The question came out broken, bewildered. Like he genuinely couldn’t understand.
“Because I love you.”
The words hung in the air between us. I hadn’t planned to say them—not like this, not now—but they were true. They’d been true for a while now but I was too scared to speak them into the universe.
Théo went very still.
“You don’t have to say it back,” I added quickly. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… need you to know you’re not a burden. Not to me.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he buried his face in my chest and held on like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting under his feet.
“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled.
“That’s not true.”
“It feels true.”
“Feelings lie sometimes.” I kissed the top of his head. “I’ve got you, snowdrop. I’m not going anywhere.”
We lay there in the darkness, tangled together, Aspen a warm weight at our feet. Gradually, Théo’s breathing evened out. The trembling stopped. His grip on my shirt loosened as exhaustion finally won.
“Derek?” His voice was sleepy and soft.
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.” A pause. “I’m terrified. But I do.”
My chest expanded with something too big to name.
“Get some sleep,” I whispered. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”
He was asleep within minutes, his breath warm against my collarbone. I stayed awake a while longer, holding him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.
He’d come to me. He’d let me in. He’d said it back.
That was enough.
That was everything.