22. Brandon
TWENTY-TWO
brANDON
Brandon called Gabe the second he got in his car.
He had his gear in the back of his Forester and enough clothes for nearly three months.
The guy he was replacing, Ian Stil, had a season-ending hip injury, and Brandon was the best option to replace him.
They had tried to keep him under twenty-five games so the following year could be his rookie year technically, but Brandon didn’t care.
He was getting NHL hockey, and he was getting Gabe, and it didn’t matter what year he was a rookie in.
“Hi,” Gabe answered, his voice sleepy enough that Brandon knew he woke him.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, you’re sleeping.”
“Just resting my eyes.”
“Guess where I am,” Brandon said.
“Uh, Iowa? You’ve got a home stand.” Gabe knew his schedule. Gabe knew his schedule off the top of his head.
“Technically, yes.”
“I’m starting to get my hopes up here.”
“Get ’em up, babe. I’m driving north.” The babe came out by accident after months of wanting to call Gabe that. Months of forcing himself to use Gabe’s name every time they talked. It felt good. Easy.
“No shit?”
“No shit. I have to report to practice as soon as I make it up, but I’m free tonight if you want to hang out. Maybe come over? I’m staying with Jack and Ryan again, and they’ve already asked about you.”
“Yeah, please, I’d love that. I don’t have a grocery shift tonight.”
“Awesome,” Brandon said, the anticipation of seeing Gabe so staggering he could collapse under the weight of it.
There was still over three hours of a mind-numbing drive through cornfields to get through, and then all of practice, and it felt like an impossible amount of time.
He had never missed someone the way he missed Gabe. He felt it in every crevice.
“Can you hear Otis purring? He’s sleeping on my chest.”
Gabe must have held his phone up to his cat because Brandon could hear his purring now. He could picture Gabe in his bed, the chaos of his tiny bedroom all around him, cat square on top of him. That sounded extremely cozy.
“He’s got a great purr.”
“He’s going to put me back to sleep.”
“Can you keep napping?”
“Nah, I have to get up and go to class. I have back-to-back art history and the history of jazz. Both are interesting classes. Both are quite difficult when I’m tired. And I’m sure that will only get worse as the semester goes on.”
“I’ll make sure you can buy as much Red Bull as you need. ”
“Thank you, Brandon. I should get ready for class. I’m excited to see you.”
Practice was incredible. The Northern Lights weren’t having a banner year, but they’d won enough games in the past couple weeks to put the guys in good spirits.
Brandon made a video for Skylar of the guys wishing him well and letting him know they were excited for the next time he came up to Minnesota.
Then they ran through drills and plays that he thought he did a good job on.
An NHL locker room was a different vibe from an AHL locker room.
An AHL locker room felt like a bus station.
People were coming and going. It was the final destination for few players.
An NHL locker room was the destination. And he made it up.
His name was on a plaque above his stall, and while the current plan was for him to stay with Jackson and Ryan for the rest of the season, he had approval to get his own place if he wanted it.
When they got back to the house, he got the same guest room he’d been in when he’d been up before, and now he had Walker across the hall. Jackson volunteered Ryan to make dinner that night and gently threatened Brandon with losing the roof over his head if he didn’t invite Gabe over.
Like that would be an issue.
He offered to come pick Gabe up, but Parker didn’t need the Prius that evening, and Gabe wouldn’t be able to stay over due to an early shoveling shift, anyway.
Gabe sent him his ETA in his maps app, so Brandon watched his little dot on the map get closer and closer, until Brandon couldn’t wait any longer and headed outside to wait in his boots but no coat, shivering in the cold as Gabe pulled up to the house and parked on the street in front of it, the driveway already full of hockey players’ cars.
Brandon hurried down the driveway, trying to be cool, until Gabe finally got out of the car and barreled into him, letting Brandon wrap him up in a tight hug.
Brandon never understood the movies and TV shows where someone picked up their partner and spun them around, but he realized mid-spin that it was instinctual.
So instinctual that this was the second time he’d done it without thinking.
He was holding so much emotion in his body, and the only way to get it out now that Gabe was in his arms was this dumb little spin.
Gabe held on tight, and Brandon never wanted to put him down.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Gabe said when Brandon finally relinquished him, letting him stand on his own two feet before pulling him back into another hug.
He stuck his nose in Gabe’s neck and breathed in the smell of him, layers of normal boy smell under the waxy, acrylic scent of art supplies and printer ink.
Brandon shivered, and Gabe gave him the indulgent, soft smile Brandon was quite fond of. “Let’s get inside.”
“Gabe!” Jackson shouted from the kitchen when they made it through the front door. Gabe was dealing with a wiggly golden retriever and getting shouted at by the captain of Brandon’s hockey team, and things just felt…right.
“Ryan is making pasta,” Brandon explained when they finally made it out of the foyer and back to the kitchen. “And he’ll put some steaks on the grill.”
“Are we celebrating something?” Gabe asked, leaning into Brandon, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“Who eats steak just because it’s something for dinner?
” Brandon had his fake boyfriend here with him as two people who believed they were together witnessed it.
The nature of the relationship he had with Gabe was different than the one he’d disclosed to Jackson and Ryan, but it felt so real.
Like all of his senses sharpened when they were together.
“It’s called feeding hockey players,” Ryan explained. “Protein, carbs. Hitting those macros.”
“I don’t think I know a single person—other than you three—who actually monitors macros,” Gabe said, taking a piece of cheese from the cutting board Ryan had set out to snack off.
“Ryan’s good about it, so he keeps all my numbers in his brain for me,” Jackson explained.
“It’s easier to stay in shape than to get back in shape, and I’m not the one out on the ice ten times a week.”
“Brandon got me a meal service subscription, so I’m finally eating vegetables,” Gabe said, smiling up at him.
“It’s important to show your love with food,” Ryan agreed. “A meal service when you can’t be there to actually cook for your partner is a great idea.”
“I’m sure they taste better than my cooking,” Brandon said. He was willing to cook, but as he watched Ryan glide around the kitchen, effortlessly monitoring the different parts of the meal, he realized how much of a rookie he was.
Still better than Skylar.
Ryan put his jacket and boots on, grabbed a tray of steaks, and dropped a kiss to Jackson’s waiting lips before he slid the back door open and headed out to the grill.
Jackson asked Gabe about school, and Brandon impressed himself when it came to how much he knew about Gabe. Sometimes he fixated too much on the fake boyfriend thing and forgot about how, even if they had some strange parameters to their relationship, they were actually friends. Real friends.
Gabe might be the best friend Brandon had ever had outside of his sister. He’d told Gabe a lot of things he’d never told anyone else, even if you excluded all of the queer topics of conversation.
Walker came downstairs for dinner, looking just as anxious as he always did to Brandon, and inhaled his food. When he finished, he asked if he could borrow Lola, and the two of them headed back upstairs to hide in his guest room.
“Dog therapy,” Ryan explained after he left.
“He’s stressed out up here. It’s a big change to get used to. Seems like Lola has been helping,” Jackson added.
“She must, if Ryan’s willing to let her out of his sight,” Gabe said.
“She’s allowed to have friends who aren’t me,” Ryan said, not sounding fully convinced.
The NHL was a big change. From the outside, it looked incredible. From the inside, it could be challenging. Brandon had never felt more pressure in his life. He understood the solace Walker likely felt from having a dog to cuddle.
Gabe insisted the two of them do the dishes after dinner, and Brandon only let him dry, directing him to where each item belonged in the kitchen.
He was trying to write this moment, the two of them in the kitchen together, tag-teaming dishes, into his heart forever.
It made him understand why people kept lockets.
They found Jackson and Ryan in the den when they were done, flipping channels and arguing good-naturedly about nothing.
“We’re just about to start Survivor . Want in?” Jackson asked, nodding his head to the love seat.
“I haven’t watched in about ten years,” Gabe said, sitting down. When Brandon sat next to him, Gabe pulled his arm around his shoulders. Jackson tossed them a blanket and got them caught up on what the vibe of the season was and who Jackson and Ryan were rooting for.
Gabe found Brandon’s free hand under the blanket and tangled their fingers together.
Brandon had never cuddled on the couch with someone like this, but clearly, Gabe had.
His heart was warring between trying to focus on Gabe and appreciate their time together and feeling like there was no way he could ever be what Gabe needed. He’d still never even kissed anyone.