18. No Words
18
NO WORDS
Gabriel
As I make my way through the hustle and bustle at Los Angeles International Airport, I feel anger and frustration bubble inside me. It's loud, stuffy, and I feel awful.
There was no direct flight from the third largest Brazilian city to L.A. — of course there wasn’t! — I had to change planes! Twice!
My vacation? Canceled.
All because of a few stupid pictures.
If the person who shot those damned photos was here, I’d strangle them. I was sure no one recognized me. Why else would we have gone with a Spanish tour operator?
Fortunately, the press seems to be keeping their distance. Maybe because no one expected me to get straight off the ship in Salvador de Bahia and fly to L.A.. Of course, in this celebrity-dense city there are always some journalists hanging out at the airport, but luckily, I'm not famous enough to be on their radar.
The last twenty-four hours have been an absolute horror show. Elisabeth's call changed everything. From the moment I told him I was leaving, Magnus kept his distance. It was as if he only then understood what it would be like to share the spotlight. I can understand why he wouldn’t want the press robbing him of his privacy, but it still hurt when he acted like I had a contagious disease.
I wanted to throw myself into his arms, wanted to ask his opinion, but as soon as he stepped onto the balcony — keeping acres of space between us — it was abundantly clear what he wanted. Or rather, what he didn’t want.
On our tiny balcony, he stopped a good few feet away from me, but it may as well have been the Grand Canyon. It was a clear sign.
I get that I totally freaked out when I saw those photos. But when I calmed down a bit after my conversation with Elisabeth, I wanted to check in with Magnus and get his opinion. More importantly, I wanted to ask the biggest question of all: What are we?
Over the past week, it has become increasingly clear that Hovenberg was right. Magnus has gotten under my skin. And not just because of the sex — that’s just a bonus.
I have no idea what that makes me. Bi, probably. Even though it sounds strange to think of myself with that label, I assume I'd get used to it over time. Now …
When Magnus came to our cabin, everything instantly felt off between us. It was as if the previous week had been erased. We were strangers again, just like we were at the beginning of the trip, only now it was weird, awkward. There was too much left unsaid. It broke my fucking heart.
For the first time since our very first night onboard this ship, we didn't share a bed. He crawled into his, and I got into mine without a single word.
Magnus
The colorful facades of the house in the upper town of Salvator de Bahia manage, for some reason, to look depressing and lifeless. This mood is reinforced by Susan, who reads relentlessly from her guidebook as we walk around.
Apparently, we need to know that this area of the city, called Pelourinho, means pillory. There was a pillory here where slaves were whipped and some townspeople were also tied up here for homosexual offenses , among other things. My whole body stiffens uncomfortably when I hear this, and despite the heat, I get goose bumps. I shouldn’t have come ashore today.
Who wants to visit a place like this? But maybe it's just me because Susan and Klaus take loads of photos, posing enthusiastically in front of the rebuilt pavilion of the Medical Faculty of Bahia and seem to be having a great time.
However, they do keep sending worried looks my way. Last night, they left Gabriel and me alone after the dreaded phone call from Elisabeth. He messaged Susan to explain that he was flying to L.A. the next day. So, they probably assumed we’d wanted some time to ourselves. They meant well, but it was really the last thing we needed.
We stood awkwardly side by side on our balcony for a while — the place where so much happened between us and where there had once been so much closeness, so much trust. Only, that evening, it was as if the air had been sucked out of the place leaving nothing but emptiness behind. It was as if there had never been anything between us at all.
When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I said I was going to bed. I think those were the only words we said to each other that night. As soon as I was in bed, Gabriel got into his. Until then I’d still desperately hoped that he might crawl into bed with me, but no. Gabriel walked straight over to his bed and dropped onto it. I suppose it’s good to know where we stand!
I turned my back on him to hide the tears that had started to fall. Everything felt like an ending. How could I ever have believed that such a famous athlete would want to be with me? After all, it’s because of me he’s being forced to come out! Why would he want to be with me after that? That would be ridiculous!
I lay there for hours, beating myself up while listening to Gabriel's breathing, which didn’t seem to slow. He probably couldn’t sleep either, but neither of us said a word.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, and when I did, I slept deeply and dreamlessly. When I woke up, it was late and Gabriel was gone. The cabin held no reminder of him. It was as if he’d never been there — a half-remembered daydream.
"Is everything okay?" Susan's hand on my forearm tears me out of my memories.
Now I get why Gabriel hated that question. I just want to be left alone! Still, I nod dutifully and make sure to feign interest as Susan's tour continues.
Gabriel
It takes me two damn hours to get from LAX to Miller's house. This city is a downright disgrace! Who lives here voluntarily? I could scream. I’m sweaty, smell like an airplane, and am emotionally drained.
When my cab eventually turns into Daniel's driveway, I can see his front door open and four people step out. I’ve barely gotten out when Daniel, unusually tactile, pulls me into a tight embrace. Daniel’s normally a pat-on-the-back sort of guy so I feel privileged.
The hug is firm, and he keeps hold of me way longer than necessary. It wouldn’t be polite to pull away first, and anyway I can't bring myself to. It feels too good. Hugging Daniel feels like hugging Magnus, and yet it’s completely different. He's too tall, too bulky, and he smells wrong.
When he does eventually let go, Elisabeth grabs me. She’s soft and tender in my arms. Her familiar smell makes my eyes brim, and I have to clench my teeth to stop the tears from falling.
Elisabeth's husband, Benjamin, and Hovenberg then shake my hand. Hovenberg's handshake is surprisingly friendly — as strange as that may sound — and there’s so much understanding in his eyes that I can barely maintain eye contact.
"So, tell us about your guy," Elisabeth demands cheerfully as we climb the steps to Daniel's house.
My heart is heavy as I mumble, "There's nothing to tell."
Four surprised faces turn to me, but then their surprise gives way to understanding. And then ... ugh ... pity! God, is there anything worse? I do my best to ignore this and jog past Daniel into his house.
The house is spectacular. I've never been here before, and it screams pure luxury. From the outside, the building looks relatively inconspicuous. Modern, that's about all you could say. But as soon as you're inside, the open-plan design makes the space seem endless. A huge glass rear wall leads the eye straight out to the ocean. It’s spectacular.
I wouldn’t like to guess how much it costs, but I know Daniel can afford it. He’s made millions in the NHL, but he also comes from one of the richest and most influential Terengian families there is. Some people have all the luck!
Of course, I’d never say that to his face, but I can't say nothing — this is anyone’s dream come true type of luxury.
"Cool digs, man!"
Daniel grins. But before we can engage in some friendly banter, Elisabeth gets down to business. From the looks of it, she isn’t even going to let me freshen up.
"Have you been following the coverage since yesterday?" asks Elisabeth.
I shake my head. In the last twenty-four hours, I've avoided my cell phone like the plague. I even bought a book at the airport in Salvador de Bahia, just so I wouldn't have to rely on my phone for entertainment.
The choice of non-Spanish books wasn’t huge. There were a few travel guides — ironic considering I’d just canceled my trip — a handful of children's books, two dated Agatha Christie novels, and a few business books.
So Hercule Poirot it was. He didn’t really manage to take my mind off things, but the well-known stories were at least a bit of a comfort.
"Most of the reports are positive," Elisabeth explains matter-of-factly. "Your club has already issued a press release saying they support you."
Support me? Support what?
Am I about to become the poster child for gay athletes? Oh my god!
First of all, I don't want to be, and secondly, I'm not even gay. I'm bi. Maybe … like, possibly a little bit. It still feels wrong to think about myself in those terms.
"And the other photos are … well, they tell a beautiful story."
Other photos? What other photos? Elisabeth's next sentence snaps me out of my thoughts and my heart threatens to stop beating. My face must have spoken volumes, because she reaches for her MacBook which is lying on the marble kitchen island we’re standing around.
So, it’s true. The first shots aren’t the only ones. Every moment I shared with Magnus seems to have been captured and is now being dragged into the public eye. They read like a visual diary of my vacation.
"Why now?" I ask the question that’s buzzing in my head.
Elisabeth shrugs, then says, "Roaming charges?"
I stare at her in incomprehension. What the hell does she mean?
That's when Benjamin steps in to explain. "We don't know for sure, but most of the photos seem to have been taken during your Atlantic crossing, and onboard Wi-Fi packages costs a fortune. I suspect that the person used the first free Wi-Fi available when you got close enough to shore in Recife to send the photos without paying thousands of euros for the privilege."
I look at him in disbelief. That would never have occurred to me.
I wasn’t interested in Wi-Fi charges on the Fascinata because I was too busy.
Magnus.
Just thinking his name stabs me in the heart. I rub the spot with the heel of my hand as if the pain were literal. I sense four pairs of eyes on me again and I’m pretty sure they all know exactly what's going on inside me. Why do my friends have to know me so well? It can get a bit much sometimes!
Elisabeth reaches for my hand. Her perfectly manicured fingers close around my rough ones, and as they squeeze mine firmly, she asks, "Do you want to talk about it?" The pity in her voice is unmistakable and I well up again.
Determined not to cry, I push all thoughts of Magnus aside and ask, "What do we do now?"
Apart from Elisabeth, no one else seems particularly keen on leaning into my feelings, as Daniel pipes up cheerfully, "We're having a press conference!"
My head swims.
What?
"We?"
"Yeah, I don't feel like hiding anymore." His hand reaches for Hovenberg’s automatically. "Hiding us."
The two smile at each other, so much in love that Benjamin starts gagging playfully behind me. Daniel only pulls his partner in closer and kisses him passionately. Damn, that's hot!
Why have I never noticed this before? Then it strikes me that I may not have seen two men kissing before. I don’t get a chance to think about it further, though, because a bark of laughter makes me spin around. If this goes on, I'll end up with whiplash.
"Okay, guys! You've won the pissing contest. Can we tell Gabriel about the rest of the plan now?" adds Elisabeth as she kisses her husband playfully on the nose. I feel like a fifth wheel among all these happy couples — lonely, abandoned, and useless.
"Alright," Daniel relents as he moves behind Hovenberg — whose cheeks are now pink — and wraps his arms around him.
What wouldn’t I give to hold Magnus in my arms like that right now?
"So, at eleven a.m. tomorrow, you, Daniel, and Nico are giving a press conference at the L.A. Kings arena," Elisabeth continues, as if there had been no interruption.
Surprised again, my gaze wanders to the still blushing Hovenberg, but he shrugs unapologetically. "It's a good chance to get back at my father."
Right . .. that’s not an avenue I’m prepared to navigate right now.
"Boarling, Daniel's head coach, plus a rep from his management team, as well as a few of his teammates who are in L.A. will be there to show their support. So will an official representative from the NHL, who intends to reinforce the league's support for all queer players. Oh, and Skovhus and Anderson are flying in from Sweden as we speak," she finishes facing me.
That’s my head coach and the head of the press department. I'm impressed. And scared. What Elisabeth can pull off in a few short hours is incredible. A reminder of why I should never mess with this woman.
It all sounds great. Only … it’s not. In less than twenty-four hours, I'm being expected to sit down in a room full of journalists and tell my truth .
The problem is, I don't even know what that truth is.