Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grayson
Developing feelings for Remy after two hookups is probably setting some kind of world record for idiocy. Although, if I were being one hundred percent truthful with myself, I’d probably have to admit that the feelings were always there, but they’re stronger now. Unfortunately, so are all the reasons why we should keep things casual.
I’d been so disappointed when Remy had left so quickly the other night, and it had been right on the tip of my tongue to ask him to stay the night. If he hadn’t hopped out of bed like the damn thing was on fire, I would have. Disappointing, but also probably for the best. I don’t want to pressure him into anything too soon after his divorce. Not to mention we’re still teammates at the end of everything.
I check the timer on the oven and note that the chicken breasts are almost finished. Pulling the salad ingredients out of the refrigerator, I dump everything into the bowl, grateful that I had the mental fortitude to chop everything up in advance. Leaving the dressing off for now so it doesn’t get soggy, I cover up the salad bowl and put it back in the refrigerator. The timer on the oven goes off and a knock comes at my front door.
“Come in, Remy,” I call, not wanting to burn anything and knowing that I’ll probably get distracted kissing him if I don’t pull the food out before letting him in.
Laying the pan on the stove, I toss the oven mitt onto the counter and turn around to meet him. Remy walks into the kitchen right as I’m about to walk out, catching my hips between his hands as though trying to prevent us from crashing into one another. He smiles up at me—as crooked and tempting as usual. His fingers sneak below the hem of my shirt, searching for skin.
“Hello,” he says, giving my hips a little shake and tilting his chin up suggestively.
His proximity has my skin tingling with pleasure, nerves waking up and taking notice of who just walked in the door. Resigned to the fact that feelings for Remy were probably inevitable and it’s pointless to fight it, I lean down and kiss him.
He’s wearing a faded California Hockey tee, soft beneath my palms when I brush a hand down his side. I raise an eyebrow at the logo and he shrugs cheekily.
“What can I say, I’m attached to my roots. You can take the boy out of California, but you can’t take the California out of the boy.”
He slings an arm around my waist when I would have stepped back to lead him into the kitchen.
“Food is almost done. Five more minutes.”
He sits at the counter watching as I put the finishing touches on dinner. Every time I look over, he’s staring at me and smiling softly, chin propped on a hand and cellphone lying discarded facedown on the counter. The unwavering attention makes me feel a little off-kilter, particularly since he’s not trying to fill the silence with inane small talk, but is content to sit and watch me work. I’m oddly embarrassed about my choice of meal. I probably should have gone for something a little more impressive than salad, pasta, and chicken.
“Do you want to eat in here or…” I clear my throat, trying to dispel some of these nerves. He’s still watching me and still smiling. Maybe I should just kiss him again.
“Let’s eat at the table,” he says, back-nodding toward the dining room table. “That way it’ll feel like a proper date.”
He’s grabbing the salad bowl and turning around before I can reply. “Proper dates” don’t seem like something that fuck buddies do, but I’m sure as hell not going to say anything. I gather as much as I can carry and follow him. Keeping with the date theme, I serve Remy his food before taking a seat. He looks delighted, smile wide as he watches me, face tipped upward toward mine and a heat in his eyes that probably has nothing to do with the meal.
“Thank you,” he says with so much feeling in his voice, I blush a little bit.
“It’s nothing special.”
“It is to me,” he replies firmly, scooting his chair closer to me and pressing his foot to mine underneath the table.
“Well, you’re welcome. I like having someone to cook for.”
“Did your mom teach you? Or, do you have a mom? Sorry, I have no idea what your family situation is.” He laughs shakily, concerned that he’s offended me.
“Yeah, it was my mom who taught me. My dad is a pretty fair cook as well, actually. My parents were big on shared household duties when I was growing up—as soon as I was big enough to do them, I was given weekly chores.” Remy relaxes a bit as I talk, eyes intent on mine. He barely seems to be paying attention to dinner, only looking at his plate to scoop up another mouthful before lifting his eyes back to me. “I’m an only child, so they were concerned about me being well-adjusted.”
He laughs. “Me too! I’m actually adopted. My mom is such a badass. Decided she wanted a kid without having a husband and adopted me when I was a baby.”
“Wow. She raised you as a single mom?” I’m impressed. I can imagine a little Remy—barefoot, shirtless, and tan—terrorizing the neighborhood. The thought makes me smile and brings with it a sudden desire to see where he grew up.
“Yeah, she’s awesome. She’s one of those barefoot, hippie types; always mailing me crystals and essential oils. She was also big on open communication, so I’m one of those rare adult men who can actually talk about emotions without going into cardiac arrest.”
“I might have noticed that about you,” I joke. “It’s nice, though. My family isn’t big on emotions—we’re more of the stiff-upper-lip variety.”
“Did you ever wish you had siblings or were you happy as the one-and-only kid?”
“Actually, I sort of did have siblings, eventually. We billeted hockey players once I started playing, so there were quite a few years that felt like I was part of a bigger family. Troy was one of those, actually.”
“Troy Nichols?”
“Yeah, that’s how we met.” I fidget with my fork, turning it over in my fingers. I haven’t talked about Troy’s time with my family before—not to someone I was on a date with, anyway. But Remy will understand, and more than that, I want him to know. “I asked my parents to adopt him, actually.”
Remy’s eyes soften and he places his hand on my forearm. I grin, trying to downplay just how much I wanted it and how disappointed I was when Troy was sent back to America.
“We hit it off right from the get-go. He was also the only gay kid I’d ever met, and boy was that eye-opening.” I blow out a hard breath, remembering how shocked I’d been when he told me. I hadn’t realized you could be gay and play hockey. “I wasn’t the kid who knew exactly who they were when they were young. As far as I knew, I was into girls and that was the only way to be. It wasn’t like my parents were homophobic at home or anything, but straight was definitely the default, you know?”
Remy nods, but doesn’t interrupt. His hand is still on my arm, fingers brushing gently.
“I was the quintessential confused kid until Troy came along. And don’t get me wrong, he never shouted about who he was, but if you asked him directly, he would tell you. I will never forget the night my dad made some comment about the girls liking Troy, and him telling my family he preferred boys as nonchalant as though he was commenting on his diet preferences. I swear to god, Remy, my first thought was I didn’t even realize that was an option .”
“What did your parents do?”
I smile. “They didn’t do anything. We just kept eating dinner and chatting. Troy didn’t act like it was a big deal, and they didn’t either. They were never anything but kind to him, and when I eventually came out, they treated me the same as they always have. Still haven’t forgiven them for not adopting Troy, though.”
He smiles at that, the serious expression giving way. “I suppose it might be hard for a Canadian family to adopt an American kid? I have no idea how all of that works. Surprising, I know, given I’m adopted.”
“I’m not sure what the reasoning was. All I know is I was crushed when they said no. I wanted Troy to be my brother.”
“I’m sorry that you thought liking girls was the way you had to be,” he says softly. I look at him, surprised, realizing that I’ve put a bit of a damper on our evening without meaning to.
“It’s okay. That’s just the way the world is. Queer kids have to come out and straight kids just get to be who they are.”
Remy bites his cheek, looking away from me in favor of staring across the room.
“Yeah. Sad, though.” Clearing his throat, his hazel eyes meet mine again. “You know how I said my mom is a hippie? She’s also very sex-positive and forward-thinking. She never assigned genders when she talked to me about having a crush—not until I told her it was a girl. And she always said I should love whomever I wanted, and it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.”
“Your mom is a fucking badass.”
“Maybe sometime you can come?—”
My phone rings, the sound echoing from where I left it in the kitchen. As I get up to check it, I curse the damn thing. I’m pretty certain Remy was just about to invite me back home. I’m also pretty certain I would have said yes. Fuck this stupid thing , I think as I pick up my phone and check the alerts. There is a missed call from my agent, which can probably be returned tomorrow. I put it down and turn to rejoin Remy when it rings again. Annoyed at my agent now, even though she has no way of knowing she was interrupting anything, I answer.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself, kiddo.”
I smile at the nickname. Lisa is twenty-three years older than me and over a foot shorter. She loves to grumble that she’s old enough to be my mom and somehow manages to push me around even though she’s miniature.
“Lisa, I’m on a date right now—could we touch base tomorrow, instead?”
“Is he a hockey fan?”
“Uhm…yeah. Definitely a hockey fan,” I admit, glancing over at the doorway that leads to the dining room.
“Fantastic. Tell him your agent needs to speak with you urgently and step outside.”
Her tone sends fear spiking through my gut. In all the years we’ve been working together, I’ve never heard her so serious or had her override my request to speak at another time. I mute her, walking back to where Remy is still seated at the table. He’s moved my plate closer to himself and is helping himself to my chicken. When he catches sight of me, he shrugs, grinning crookedly.
“Busted,” he jokes.
“Help yourself. Hey, I’ve got to take this call, is it okay if I?—”
He waves a hand. “Of course. I’ll be here.”
Nodding my thanks, I backtrack to the kitchen and take Lisa off mute. She hears me come back on and doesn’t wait for me to speak before moving forward.
“All right. I’ve got some big news for you, so we’re going to start at the beginning. First of all, I don’t think I have to remind you that you’ve got two years left on your current contract. Also, per your request over the summer, I made it known to the club that you wanted out and were open to trades. Following me?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. She inhales, the noise barely audible over the shuffle of papers.
“Colorado called up your boss to talk about a possible trade agreement.”
She drops the bomb and pauses politely, giving me time to work through each word of that sentence and figure out what the hell she’s talking about.
“What?”
“Keep up, kiddo,” she advises. “Colorado just lost another top player—they are currently sitting at seven on long-term IR, with only one that has any hope of coming back this season. Calgary already agreed to play ball—apparently, you’re worth the buyout plus a second-round draft pick as well as Colorado’s Vladakov.”
“Wait, stop.” I hold up a hand she can’t see and close my eyes. “How can they cover my contract? I thought Color?—"
“Seven on long injured reserve means they were just approved for cap relief. They started the season below, too; don’t bother asking me how they managed that because I have no clue. It doesn’t matter. What matters is half of their defensive lines are out, and there is only so much they can work with from the farm team. They’re going to pull up a couple from the minors, pay them pennies, and then go fishing for a shark.” She pauses. “You’re the shark.”
“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. How could something I want so badly, sound so fucking awful? “Are you sure about this? ”
Hearing the panic in my voice, Lisa softens hers. “Yeah, kiddo, I’m sure. Calgary is on board, Colorado is on board—all they’re waiting on is you.”
“Fuck,” I say, louder this time.
“Did you hear anything I said or have you suffered some sort of head injury I don’t know about?”
“I heard.” I’m still trying to process it, but yeah, I heard.
“And is there a reason you’re not screaming with joy? Not only can you leave Calgary, but you’ll be going to Colorado. Need I remind you, they are one of the few teams in the NHL who have supported queer players?”
“No, I know. This feels a little too good to be true.” Not to mention, a little too late. Do I want to be traded? Yes. Do I want to leave Remy behind? No. Unfortunately, not something I can explain to my agent when the person I’m in a quasi-relationship with is on the team.
“Well, buy a lottery ticket, because apparently your number is up. Listen… I know you’ve had a rough go of it over there, but I also know that’s your home. It’s a hard decision, but it’s still your decision.”
“How long do I have?”
“Less than twenty-four hours. The two from the AHL are on a plane as we speak and the league wants an answer, stat. They aren’t saying they’re desperate, but I’m telling you they’re desperate.”
“The answer is yes,” I say, voice so low I wonder if she can even hear it.
“Yet, you don’t sound happy. Is there a Canadian boy you don’t want to leave behind?”
“Sort of.”
She sighs. “And here I thought I was in for a raise after bringing this to you. Take the night, call me tomorrow. ”
“No, I don’t need the night. I know it’s a yes.”
Minutes after we hang up, I’m still in the kitchen. I feel a little ill—elated that I’ll be starting fresh with a new team, but disappointed that this thing between Remy and me will come to an end. Friends with benefits isn’t built to survive the distance between Canada and Colorado, and I shouldn’t even be considering it as an option. Remy just got out of a long-term relationship and I can hardly ask him to commit to this. There isn’t even a “this.”
This is casual and I need to remember that, no matter how much I wish it was otherwise.
Dropping my phone onto the counter, I walk slowly back to the dining room. Pausing in the doorway, I watch Remy unseen for a few seconds. He’s leaned back in the chair, balanced on the rear legs, as he scrolls through his phone. He left some of my food behind, but there’s no way I’ll be able to eat now.
“Hey, sorry about that.” He looks up at the sound of my voice, immediately tossing his phone down and smiling at me. The smile falters a bit as I retake my seat. He lowers his chair all the way to the floor, leaning forward and peering at me.
“Gray?”
“I got a trade offer from Colorado. They want to buy out my contract.”
“Holy shit ,” Remy breathes. “Holy fucking shit, are you serious? That’s incredible! You said yes, right? Why do you look like someone punched you in the face?”
“It’s a long way away and…I’d probably be leaving tomorrow or the day after.”
The smile slides off of his face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. ”
“But…please tell me you said yes. This is what you want—to play for a team who you already know aren’t assholes. It’s perfect.”
“I said yes.” Remy continues to stare at me, face so close to mine I can pick out each individual fleck of green in the brown of his eyes. “Pretty bummed about having to leave my fuck buddy behind, though.”
I make a valiant effort at nonchalance when I crack the joke, doing my best to make our arrangement less serious than I’d like it to be. I apparently succeed, because Remy’s smile quirks up and he leans forward to give me a quick kiss.
“The fuck buddy is bummed, too. But mostly happy for you.” Remy stands, grabbing both of our plates and walking toward the kitchen. He calls back over his shoulder, “They didn’t say when they want you?”
“I had a day to decide. Not sure what the timeframe will be now, since I didn’t need to think about it. Lisa is going to follow up with me tomorrow. For tonight, I was instructed to enjoy myself.”
“Enjoy yourself? Has she met you?” he jokes, tossing me a grin over his shoulder as he loads the dishwasher.
I lean a shoulder against the wall and watch him, trying to ignore the disappointment gnawing at my stomach. I shouldn’t feel let down by his support. I should be grateful that I didn’t have to explain the situation to him. He understood, right from the get-go, that I’ve been given the golden ticket out of here and that I need to take it.
I’m not grateful, though. I’m wishing he had acted even a little bit sad that I’m leaving. I’m wishing he’d asked me to stay.