Chapter 7
Lars
“ T here’s my favorite first liney duo,” Trevor says, looking to Patrik for confirmation he got the hockey lingo right. Liska shrugs and motions us in. “So happy you could come.” Trevor takes the gift bag from me and leads us past the chef’s grade kitchen and into the living room with a panoramic view of the city. Delicious smells of a home-cooked meal fill the space, and my stomach rumbles.
“Can’t you find any single gay friends?” Finn complains as we walk into the room. “It’s a feast of man candy, and I can’t gorge.” He fans himself dramatically. Finn missed his calling as an actor; he’s wasting his talents in PR.
“You knew who would be here.” Trevor scowls at his best friend. “When did you ever set me up?” His hands go to his hips, and I smirk at Dylon, knowing if someone doesn’t cut him off, he’s going to go on a tirade.
“Lars brought you guys Swedish chocolate.” Dylon motions to the bag Trevor’s holding.
“Oh, you gorgeous man. You know how to win a man’s heart.” Trevor opens the bag and clutches the chocolate to his chest.
“Hey,” Liska yells from the kitchen.
“Not to worry, Snug, I’m all yours.” Trevor flings a hand toward a couple sitting on the couch. “Do you remember my cousin Shane and his husband, Cole? ”
“Hey, good to see you again.” Dylon steps forward to shake their hands. “This time, there’s no makeup artist trying to ‘fix our shine,’ “ he jokes with air quotes. Shane was also in Trevor’s fashion show over the summer.
Dylon can find something to talk about with anyone. He has a great memory for faces and listens, recalling what they talked about before and asking questions. It’s a skill I’ll never have. Tonight’s a celebration of the success of Trevor’s pop-up shop. He worked for the Enforcers as a product manager but is now focusing on launching his design career. Though he still consults with the Enforcers since his position hasn’t been filled yet.
I listen to their small talk without engaging in the conversation until Dylon asks, “Is your friend, Alec, coming? He did my tattoo a couple of years ago.” Dylon tugs the collar of his T-shirt to show off my favorite tattoo of all time. I didn’t realize Alec had done it, and my irrational dislike of the man increases knowing he touched Dylon’s skin in a way I have not.
Shane’s eyes dart to his cousin, who’s in the kitchen, and even though he can’t hear us, Shane whispers, “No. He’s been a beast since Von’s been gone.” Shane turns to me. “I hear you saw Von recently. Is he doing okay?”
“He is anxious to come back but doing much better since Alec’s visit,” I answer, withholding judgment from my voice. Von forgave Alec, but I am hesitant. Two very separate parts of my life came together when Trevor and Shane reconnected. As Patrik’s partner, Trevor is part of my hockey family, and Von and I have been friends since childhood. And now that Von and Alec are together, I see Shane and Cole as part of their inner circle.
Shane and Cole have my attention for another reason. Shane is sitting on Cole’s lap even though they are the only ones on an L-shaped couch that seats ten people. They’re so relaxed with each other, as if it’s their default way of sitting. I’m so focused on them I’m surprised when Caleb slaps my back in a greeting.
“The view here is sick.” He passes me to admire the view of both the East River and the Chrysler Building from the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s spectacular .
“It never gets old.” Trevor sighs happily. “Thanks for coming. You could’ve brought Mason.”
“His dad actually came to visit, but thanks.” Caleb’s cheeks turn an uncharacteristic bright red.
“Dinner’s ready,” Patrik calls.
Trevor ushers us into the dining room, and I’ve never been in here. It’s off the kitchen with a table big enough for twelve.
“Damn, Liska, who are you entertaining, and why aren’t we invited?” Dylon slides into the chair to my right, and I relish the warmth of his body heat.
“Right?” Trevor exclaims. “This place is built for parties, but this one,” he jerks a finger at Patrik, “isn’t social. I’m trying to train him better.”
“Good luck.” Patrik kisses the top of his head. “It vill be lots of vork.” They share a look so intimate, I tear my eyes away.
My parents never showed physical affection to each other or me. I have become more accustomed to it in the United States, but it strikes me as forbidden. I soak in Dylon’s physical touches because they’re natural to him, but it would never occur to me to touch someone. In my house, I understood my parents loved me, but they did not say the words or embrace me. I cannot imagine the freedom to touch a lover in public. It seems to lack discretion.
Our team made history when people found out our Director of Player Development is in a polyamorous relationship with another man and a woman, and again when Patrik came out. He didn’t make a big announcement, he simply called Trevor his boyfriend.
I could not be that brave. They’ve received the full support of our GM. Fans are supportive, but we almost won The Cup last year. Many fans turn on you as soon as you stop winning. A small number sent hate mail, and there was an online campaign to boycott our team, but it fell flat.
Boston hates our team, but during the game there, I saw nothing out of the ordinary directed at Patrik, and Canadians are too polite to spew hate.
I admire him for telling the world his truth and not waiting until after he retires. Trevor was instrumental in his recovery last season. No one thought he’d be able to follow the protocol .
“The food is delicious,” Shane says.
“Patrik cooked and I helped.” Trevor clinks his glass with Patrik.
Patrik stands and holds up his glass. “To my Trevor. His fashion show vas a huge success this summer, and the pop-up shop did so much business that customers have to vait for the clothes to be made. Thank you for supporting his show and helping to start his line.” He turns his gaze to me, Dylon, and Caleb. “Our deepest thanks for your personal support of our relationship. Na zdraví, cheers!”
We raise our glasses and repeat his cheers in Czech.
“We’ll always support you and Trevor.” Caleb holds up his glass to them, then takes a sip. The kid’s so in awe of Patrik.
The conversation turns to the clothes Trevor sold in his shop besides what was at the runway show. I should’ve made an effort to get there before I left for Sweden. Dylon bought the most comfortable sweatpants I’ve ever felt.
I offer to clear the dinner plates, but Trevor waves me off.
Finn pipes up, “He’s got this. You sit there and look pretty.”
My ears get hot and Finn cackles. He’s not flirting; he’s being Finn, but I’ve never been called pretty, and I immediately wonder if Dylon thinks I’m pretty. I must get over these feelings for my roommate. He’s been distant since we watched a movie in Toronto. It never occurred to me he’d think it was weird to watch from the same bed. We have been in more intimate positions.
Trevor carries out a platter of desserts. There’s an assortment of Czech and American pastries, perfect for sampling. I take one of everything, and Dylon knocks my knee under the table.
“Make sure that doesn’t slow you down for our game.” He takes a huge bite of a koblihy, a Czech donut.
“The game is a few days away,” I grumble as I put a few things back. He knows if I eat all of it, I will get a terrible stomachache.
Cole grabs my attention across the table when he feeds Shane a bite of chocolate from his hand. Shane’s tongue peeks out to lick the remnants from his finger, and my dick plumps up. I’m not used to watching men freely physically express their love, and inhaling Dylon’s coconut-lime scent is giving my body ideas it shouldn’t have.
“Are you okay?” Dylon leans in.
“Why?” I’m afraid to glance down and see if my hard-on is visible.
“You’re not eating. You always eat dessert as if someone’s trying to steal it from you.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Should I take you home?”
Jag j?vlade. “No, I’m fine. Letting my food settle to eat more,” I lie, and he’s skeptical, as if he could read my mind that I fucked up. I force myself to eat all the desserts on my plate. But it’s hard to enjoy when I’m desperately trying to get my hard-on to go down before we leave the table.
My lack of control concerns me.
All I have to do is bring up my worst memory, which is also the main reason I can never tell Dylon how I long for him, and my dick shrivels.
After dinner, we return to the living room for drinks, except for Dylon and me—we opt for water. Patrik sits on the floor in front of Trevor and drapes Trevor’s legs over his shoulder so he can rest his head on his thigh.
Of course, Shane sits in Cole’s lap again, and I stand by the window. There’s a physical ache when I watch them. Turning to see the night sky doesn’t help because I can see the happy couples’ reflection in the glass. It’s too much.
So I say to Dylon, “You were right. I am not feeling well. I’ll get a car home. You should stay.”
But my best friend is concerned about me and insists we leave together. Being together is what I want most and is the very thing that will ruin everything, but I fear telling him I need space will hurt him.