17. Ryan
Ryan
Funny pet videos.
What did humanity do when they had to wait in a hospital waiting room before the invention of the cell phone and goofy animal vids? Smoke. People sat around in waiting rooms and smoked up the place, which, looking back on it now, seemed a totally stupid thing, but hey, we learn as we go, right?
I sat hunched forward, shoulders growing tight with worry, hoping for a text from Gids but knowing he was too deep in the aftermath to even think about reaching out to me.
Totally got it. Did not hold that against him.
Guess I had a small taste of how Dad felt when he’d been called by some stranger in New York City to tell him his son was in the ER, deep in withdrawal symptoms while being treated for an ass whooping.
Sitting back to ease the cramping in my neck and shoulders, I glanced around the busy waiting lounge.
Everyone here looked stressed. Obviously.
We were all waiting for news about a loved one, so sure we were all tense.
Feeling antsy, I rose, shoved my phone into my back pocket, and took a walk.
Down a hall to a tiny room with a few vending machines.
I bought a soda and a bag of ranch-flavored corn chips.
Then I added a Milky Way to the dive into junk food heaven because why the hell not?
Toting my goodies to one of two round tables, I sat, yanked my phone out, and cracked open the soda.
My brain was mush now, so no more videos. Instead, I called Dad. He answered immediately, the bold Copperheads logo painted on the video viewing room behind him.
“Hey, Buddy, how is everything?” he asked as he sat at one of about twenty-five small desks that the players used to watch videos of other teams before games. “Everyone here is worried sick about Taft.”
I’d probably broken a golden rule about anonymity by telling my father that Gids’ brother had attempted to end his life.
Gideon told the team he had a family emergency and that he would be gone for at least a week.
The Copperheads had not asked for exact details.
They wished him and his family well, and that was that.
No one was obligated to divulge anything personal, even though the coaches and staff kept personal news private.
Gids might be pissed when he found out I’d told Dad, but I needed someone to talk to, and other than my father, there was only Lyle.
This wasn't news Gideon would want my sponsor to have, so I’d take the heat if it fell on me.
My father would not say a word to anyone.
“Tell them things are… well, I don’t know much yet, to be honest. I know he’s alive, but Gideon and his dad are holed up in an ER cubicle. I’m just chilling.”
“How are you holding up?” I could hear the concern in his voice.
“Okay. I’m having something to eat. Totally not healthy at all, but I don’t know where the cafeteria is, and even if I did, I want Gids to see me when he comes out. So, yeah, Doritos, Sprite, and a Milky Way for the win!”
“You always did have a sweet spot for those three items.”
True. “So, I’m wondering what I say to Gids and his father when they emerge.”
“Well, speaking from experience, the best way to handle a crisis like this is with soft, supportive love. Hugs and assurances go a long way. Just let them lead. They may want to talk or not, so let that guide you.”
I blew out a breath that rattled the open bag of ranch corn chips on the table. Someone in squeaky shoes walked past the open door behind me.
“I’m really sorry I put you in this position that time, Dad.”
“You were hurting.”
“Still, this is so painful. I just want to be there with him, but I can’t be, and it’s…” I had to clear my throat and swallow. “It’s shit, Dad.”
He chuckled a sad chuckle. “Yes, it is, but when he steps out to see you there, the look on his face will have made the painful wait worth it.”
“You’re right, always.”
“Not always. Just mostly.”
I smiled feebly. “Mostly always. I’ll let you go. I know you have a ton of shit to do to cover for me while I’m gone.”
“Nah, it’s all good. They called in Mortie from maintenance to pick up the slack. He’s a good worker.”
“Do not let Mortie near the skates. The last time he helped me out, Arnaud called us both dumb pickles with many warts for hosing up the hollow on his skates. Nothing scares me more than an irate French goalie who knows how to waffle people with his big paddle.”
“No worries, Mortie oversees drying gloves. I’m doing the skates.”
“Cool. Okay, well, I guess I’ll let you go. Love you.”
“Love you too, Skippy. Text me the minute you hear from Gideon, okay?”
“Okay. Bye, Dad.”
Ending the call felt sad. The day felt sad.
This room, this hospital, and the whole damn world felt sad.
It was a sad time. I sipped my soda, my phone on the table in front of me, wondering what an imbecile like me could possibly say that would be helpful to someone who was suffering like Gids would be suffering.
Having the shoe on the other foot was awkward.
For years, my father played the role of comforter.
Now I was going to have to fill that position, and it scared me nearly as much as having Arnaud waving his stick around while cussing me out in broken English.
While plucking a chip from the bag, a hand fell to my shoulder. I jumped, nearly dropping my chip, as my head cranked to the right to see Gideon standing behind me. He looked utterly done in. Like so far beyond mentally and physically drained that he barely resembled the man I loved.
Not knowing what to say, I simply stood up and opened my arms. He gathered me to him with such strength that the air left my lungs.
Even so, I hugged him tighter. He buried his face in my hair, drew in a few shuddering breaths, and then slowly lifted his head to gaze at me with incredibly dull blue eyes.
“He’s okay,” Gideon said as I let him draw all the compassion he required from me. Even if breathing was a little tough. “Physically. I mean, he’ll be okay. There are stitches. He’s sleeping now after we all had a family consultation with the hospital psychologist.”
“Good, good. He needs rest. Sit. I have food.” He winged a brow at my choices.
Not exactly the kind of healthy meal a professional athlete would pick, for sure.
He held onto me for a few moments longer, then, as if it cost him everything, let go to drop into a creaky seat.
I sat beside him, glancing back to find his father, whom I had yet to meet. “Where’s your father?”
“He’s talking with one of the mental health advocates. They’re going to send Noah to a private facility after he’s discharged from here.” He looked gutted.
I touched his arm. Bared. The sleeves had been hastily shoved up his arm since I’d last seen him. That rarely happened. He always wore long sleeves when out in public. The scars were soft as I rubbed a finger over a short, ragged one.
“Speaking from experience, being in a safe, stable environment while you’re working through major shit is probably the best thing for him.
I know it was for me. They treated me well in rehab and gave me help to work through the worst of the intense cravings.
They called it tapering off. I called it torture, but we got through it.
We, meaning me, Dad, and the counselors.
It took me sixty days, but when I left, I was pretty solid.
Your brother will be too if he works with the program.
Maybe it’ll only be a shorter stay for him, or maybe it will be longer.
But I know he’ll come out of this dark place.
It will take help. No one walks a recovery path alone.
I mean… that sounded like he was an addict or an alcoholic. I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”
He put a clammy hand atop mine, resting on his forearm.
“It sounded like life advice from a person who’s walked a rough road.
There’s so much to tell you. Shit that… he said that…
” He stopped, blinked back tears, then took a cleansing breath.
A woman talking on the phone to someone about Grandpa came in, bought a coffee while still chatting, and then left. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”
“No, sure, that makes sense.” I offered him another chip. He shook his head. So I nibbled the corners off as he sat, quietly, churning through whatever was on his mind. Probably too many things to settle at the moment, so I changed the subject. “Did your father mention anything about me?”
Gids blinked back to the here and now. “Sorry. I was in the past. What did you ask?”
“Did your father… well, I asked if he said anything about me, but then I realized how egocentric that was. Like he’d be chirping about me when his son…” I bit down on my cheek. “Sorry, when life was so sad.”
“He knows about you. Us. It was online, so he knows. I’m sure he does. We didn’t touch on it, but don’t worry. If he even glances at you with any kind of attitude, I’ll be in his face.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was just wondering.”
Sure, yeah, he knew about me. The gender-fluid guy who wore dresses and makeup to hockey events.
The oddball whose son he was dating. I dressed as masc as I could for the frenzied trip out here.
I didn’t want to rock the boat or anything.
It felt wrong, but sometimes it was just easier to conform.
Especially in a situation like this, with Gideon’s family involved, and his old friends and neighbors.
I assumed we’d stay with his father until his brother was settled.
I was willing to be uncomfortable to make this easier for Gids.
Not like I hadn’t been bundled up under the heaviness of suppressing femme Ryan before.
And this time it was for Gids, for whom I was willing to do anything.
“He’s not going to be too bad,” Gideon said as he poked at the corn chip that had escaped the bag. “Me dating a guy is the last thing he should be worried about right now. Maybe he should be focused on his remaining sons.”
“Maybe he’s doing his damned best,” a deep voice erupted behind us.
I nearly leaped out of my skin. There stood a man who could be Gideon in thirty years.
Tall, with silver threads in his dark hair, eyes as blue as new jeans.
Lean for the most part. A tiny belly pushed against a light blue polo with dark brown dots of what I had to guess were dried blood on the front.
Overall, a handsome man carrying a yoke of despair that bowed his shoulders.
“Maybe we could all just give ourselves some damned grace.”
Mr. Taftwell stalked to a coffee machine. With shaking hands, he fed it a five then stood with his back to us as the cup hit the tray, followed by the steady tinkle of dark roast. The air in the little room was as thick as that coffee piddling into the blue thermal cup.
I shot Gideon a look, but he was lost in some other world, his brow resting on the arm that carried marks of his own agony. Squaring my shoulders, I walked around the table and up to Gids’ father. He glanced my way, sighed, reached for his coffee, then turned to face me.
“I’m Ryan Vale, your son Gideon’s boyfriend. I’m so very sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.” I shoved my hand—fingernails sporting chipped green polish—out at him.
I caught Gideon lifting his head in my periphery. My gaze stayed on Mr. Taftwell as Dad had taught me all those years ago. Always look a man in the eye when you’re shaking his hand. It shows him you’re a man of integrity.
“Joe Taftwell. I know who you are. Several of my friends made sure I saw the online posts from the casino night,” he said as he clasped my hand tightly.
“We raised a lot of money for a worthy charity that night,” I rushed to say to hopefully take the spotlight of that evening off the fact that I looked like Cinderella with a rather prominent Adam’s apple.
“So I read.” He held my hand firmly as his gaze dropped to his son. “I was more than surprised to discover my son liked men.”
“Can we not get into that here?” Gideon growled, his voice ominous. The warning was as loud as a tornado siren.
Joe dropped my hand. “Good idea. They’ll be moving your brother to a private care facility in Lansing in a couple of days. Staff here says it’s a nice place. Comprehensive. In network with his insurance.”
“Okay.” Gideon rose, took my hand, and led me to the door. “We’re staying at the Woodland Hills Hotel. I already booked us a room.”
“A hotel? I assumed—”
“I need air and time to work things out.” Gideon’s grip was like a bear trap.
“You can’t get air at home?”
“No, Dad, I can’t. Home is nothing but a shrine to life the way it used to be. It will never be that again, and the longer we all keep lying to ourselves about that day, the longer we’re all going to keep harming ourselves. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Joe stared blankly at us as I was pulled along like a kite, the pace steadily increasing until we were jogging through the doors to burst out an exit, cold air like a slap in the face.
The siren of an incoming ambulance could be heard on the icy winds as Gideon sucked in one lungful after another.
I stood by his side—where I would always be found—fingers cold from his grip as he worked to find stability in a world that had twisted upside down on him.