Chapter 43 Cory
Six months later.
Connor Hoffman. Connor fucking Hoffman is the first face I see when I’m lead into the Mountie’s change rooms. With everything that’s happened over the last few months, I’d forgotten about him, his admittedly hot cousin, and his asshole brother.
Thankfully, I’m certain it would go both ways.
He’s a big deal in the NHL. I am not. There’s every chance he won’t remember who I am.
Or that I hooked up with his cousin in a cupboard the second last time I was here.
Bent over tying his laces as we enter, he looks up when he hears Gary, the equipment manager’s heavy Québécois accent.
“Cory Malkovich,” Connor says, adding a double finger gun.
“They call you Cubby, right? Great to see you again, man.” Ahh fuck it.
“You’re here early? Nate’s not coming ‘til next month.”
“Yeah, I know. He messaged me this week.” Which is true. After running into each other during the finals, I’ve struck up a friendship with him and his boyfriend, Tom. Going as far to have an apartment in the same building as them.
Accepting Connor’s outstretched hand, I shake it and try really hard not to wince.
The dude’s a beast. “I had nothing keeping me in Boston, so I thought I’d come up early and get a jump start.
Congrats on a great start to the playoffs.
” In truth, the second I was off the NCAA ice, Coach Parker called me up.
Obviously I’ve not played, but I have with the Missiles, The Mountie’s AHL team.
“Thanks, dude. Going well so far. Looking forward to having you with us next time.” With an up-nod, he sits again and goes back to his laces.
I really want to ask him about Trent. With what I remember from last year’s development camp, and this re-introduction, Connor is nothing like his brother.
He knows his cousin is queer, and hasn’t made a fuss. Maybe I’ll have nothing to worry about.
Following Gary, who politely waited as I spoke to his team’s star winger, I slide my phone from my pocket just enough for a discreet check. Brady, Sam, and Lucas are flying in this afternoon to help me move into my apartment.
I’ve been in Montreal since the Bears second consecutive Frozen Four win in April.
Like I said to Connor, I had nothing to keep me there and everything to escape.
James and I have only spoken twice since our split.
Once when he returned some of the things I’d left at his place.
And again when he sold his apartment—thankfully to a private investor who was happy to keep us as tenants, even with an increased rent.
Both times felt like a dagger being reinserted into my heart, that was then twisted then left to rust.
Time has helped me see maybe it was the right thing to do, but nothing can takeaway the pain. James helped form who I am, and that’s the kind of love you just never get over.
Pretty sure that’s why the boys are coming to help me settle in.
As witnesses to the mess I became, and the arbitrators of my somewhat resurrection, they deserve to enjoy a taste of my success.
I’ve got the whole weekend planned. Limo transfers too and from the airport.
A fancy dinner tonight at one of Montreal’s best restaurants.
A private, guided tour tomorrow, Cirque du Soleil tickets, and whatever cheap crap I can think of in between ‘cause I am broke.
“Coach tells me you’ve got some pretty fancy accommodation over in The Village?
” I can’t help but note Gary’s raised eyebrows as he points me towards a long hallway I think leads to the administrative area.
After Nate made me aware of it, renting in The Village, a suburb also referred to as, “The Gay Village,” was as deliberate a move as chasing Jamie was, and one I hope to also come to love.
Since I’m not quite sure of the reception I’ll receive as one of a few openly gay players in the league, I thought I would at least pick a neighborhood where I knew I’d be accepted.
“You rooming with any of the other rookies, or … a friend?” Nate, I know he’s thinking.
“Nope. Just me. Back home in Boston I was living with my mom, my sister and a toddler.”
“Oui, je comprends.”
“That’s … you understand, right?”
“Yes, oui. Well done, Cory. You’re learning to speak French?”
“Trying. It’s a lot more difficult than I imagined it would be. Probably should have started the second I got drafted, but with school and practice, I never seemed to have time.”
“Never mind. You seem like a smart boy. You’ll pick it up. Now, would you like to see the most important part of the complex?”
“The rink?”
“Non, la cantine.”
Back in my apartment, I sit on my balcony, in my egg chair with an iced coffee, a copy of a smutty MM romance Cherry insisted I read.
Instead of taking in the view of downtown Montreal, reading, I’m scrolling through the photo gallery on my phone.
Something I’ve found myself doing a lot over the last few months.
With every snap I see of that last weekend Jamie and I spent together, my heart breaks a little more.
I need to get over him. I know I do. But right now, I want nothing more than to somehow melt into the screen of my phone and go back in time. To that version of me. To sweet kisses, lazy breakfasts, Jamie lying beside me with his face buried into his pillow, to me buried inside him.
Had I known we were dancing on the edge, that the very next day we would tumble off and never recover, I would have taken more photos.
But for now I have four, like my old number at the Bears.
I stare at them so often, I could draw them from memory at will.
They are tattooed in my brain, like Jamie is on my heart, and I will treasure them, as I do our time together, ‘til the very day that I die.
After way too long, and way too much moodiness, I book a ride, slide my phone back into my pocket and leave my unread book on the seat, and head inside. The boys’ flight will land in two hours. I was planning on meeting them here, but as nice as it is, I need to get out of this box of an apartment.
Changing out of sweats and the Bears hoodie I almost live in, I slide into the latest suit I had made in preparation of the season to come.
It’s dark navy with a lighter blue-check, the tailor who dresses several of my future teammates, claims they favor.
It’s fancy as shit, but to make it me I pair it with runners and a cropped tee.
With a buzz I’m alerted to Uber’s arrival and the sadness that’s weighing me down lifts, just a smidge.
Grabbing the handmade sign I’d planned to hang in the kitchen, I head down stairs, messaging our group chat as I go.
Can’t wait to see you boys.
Sam must have been staring at his phone as he replies straight away.
Sam
You too, Cubby. I’ve been feeling short of late. Being around you again will give me a much needed ego boost.
“Fucking asshole.” I scoff, much to the ire of the driver who eyes me in the rear view mirror. “Oh, not you. My friend,” I say, holding my phone aloft. He mutters something incomprehensible and I think French then returns his focus back to the road.
Hate to tell you Sammy, but they have magic water up here and I’m now seven foot.
Sam
Cory Malkovich, Montreal’s blond Hulk. I can see the headlines now.
Hulk.
The word alone is enough to end my short-lived happiness.
Comics, fanfics, anything superhero related have been erased from my life.
I can’t think of them without thinking of James, and to my already obsessively thinking of him isn’t healthy.
Adding in a sex scene he’s written, that we acted out, would not help.
It’s there though, now. That thought, that compulsion, burrowing deeper into my mind as the traffic all but grinds to a halt.
One look couldn’t hurt. Right?
Wattpad is opened for the first time in months and my favorite fic, Love Comes in Green is accidentally the first I check for updates.
There’s been six chapters added since my last reading.
Six. That’s one for each month we’ve been apart. Surely it’s a coincidence but hey, a guy can dream.
The first chapter was posted three days after I moved in to what was then James’ apartment. The most recent chapter just three days ago. Unable to help myself I click on and open the last.
At first all seems normal, villains reeking havoc, cities being destroyed. It’s as great an escape from reality as it always was, witty, sexy and warm just like its creator. But then…
No matter the victories. No matter the vindication. Regret is the poison surging through my veins, pushing me to become more isolated. More bitter.
For a time I believed his fate had been altered. That perhaps I was not destined to walk this world alone.
But alas, I was mistaken.
My hero. My savior. My love. My heart. All forfeited to a future I will have no part in.
Peace comes in waves of clarity.
I was right. I was noble.
But still, I am forever trapped in once upon a time.
In the past.
So no. Love does not come in green. It dies in flames of maroon and gold, and drowns in frozen ponds of ice.
Holy shit.
I can feel his pain through the screen. In my heart. In truth it’s been there all along, but this has rolled the stone from the tomb, and ripped the fatal wound right back open.
Closing Wattpad, I do what I told myself I never would.
Jamie, I miss you.
Not five minutes later, my phone buzzes.
Jamie
Miss you too, kid.
Grateful to be an athlete, I make it to the airport with only five minutes before the boys’ flight lands. It was not part of the plan. Nor was almost decapitating several hapless passersby with my sign as I race toward the gate.
I’m here as they make their way through the crowd though, sign held high above my head, a semi-forced smile on my lips.
Having heard from Jamie for the first time in months is bittersweet but, my friends have watched me wallow in self-pity for just as long.
They’ve come all this way to see me. I can pretend to be living the dream for a few days.
Suddenly, it’s not so hard to fake it ‘til I make it. As you would expect with someone so tall, it’s Brady I see first, looking every bit the Aussie surfer with his blonde locks reaching chin length.
Lucas is next, standing on his tip toes to see over the crowd and guide Sam, who’s not looking where he’s going but at his phone with a suspiciously pleased smirk on his face, by the sleeve of his tee.
I know for sure that Brady’s seen me, when his cheeks turn the color of my old jersey, my welcome sign hitting the mark.
Flounder, Bailey and Basse.
Welcome to Montreal Morality Rehabilitation Center
Lucas and Sam seem to find it hilarious. Brades not so much.
“What the hell, Cubby. This is another country, you know. They might think we’re deviants and deport us.” This is said as he hugs me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“We’re already through customs, bro,” Sam adds, who picks me up and whirls me around as though I’m his long lost love and he’s just returned from war, the second Brady releases me. Lucas is quiet as usual, smiling while his head pivots back and forth between me and the terminal behind us.
“You okay, Lucas?” I ask as I get his version of a hug, a one armed bro-slap.
“Yeah, of course. Just have that feeling like I left something behind.” He starts patting himself down, running through his mental checklist in whispers. “Phone, wallet. Passport. Yeah. Definitely missing something.” Sam grabs him by the shoulders and spins him around.
“Hey you’re right. It’s your carry-on. You must have left in the plane, you dick.”
“Shit, Lucas.” Bending, I rifle through the small collection of bags the boys dropped at my feet.
Two smaller ones have Brady’s name tag, and the larger Sam’s.
“Is it all you brought with you? Quick, run back and see if the flight crew have it.” I’m just about to push him back into the throng when a shadow looms overhead.
“Don’t panic, Kid. I’ve got it.”