Chapter 12
Lars
T he dishes clink in the crowded restaurant, and the team’s quiet. Ace had the foresight to reserve a private room so we can avoid taunts from Detroit’s hockey fans. Although I’m not sure the rowdy fans go for fine dining after a game. I’m not a talkative guy, and I miss Dylon’s constant stream of thought. Even Caleb, who can’t keep his mouth shut, has his eyes on his plate as he shovels his dinner in his face.
It was our worst performance as a team since we lost both Dylon and Liska last season. Everyone had an off game, and Detroit took advantage. It adds to my fear that a personal relationship between Dylon and me will affect the team. But we played on the same level as the rest of the team—sloppy and careless with the puck. Liska had a few incredible saves but also let in more goals than his average.
“We need to do better,” Ace says conversationally. The men around him grunt in response.
“We all have off nights, and tonight wasn’t our night.” Caleb scans the table, hoping to ease the tension, then ducks his head.
“It is true,” Liska says. “Ve vill shake this off and get back to vork tomorrow.”
I nod in agreement, but my mind is on Dylon, not hockey. His confession shocked me into silence, and he has avoided me since. Since we do everything together, the guys noticed when Dylon boarded the bus and didn’t sit with me. He asked Gray about his ankle and ended up sitting with him. The seats between us formed an emotional wall and put me in a bad mindset .
Ace and Gray always sit together, and that’s part of Ace’s pregame routine, so our line was off from the start. Rituals are key to winning. In warm-ups, Dylon kept Ace between us, and we missed our pregame stick bump.
There were so many ways to respond to him coming out, and I failed him. All I could think about was how he’s attracted to men but not me. The hope I had for us falls into a deep well of despair. Cruelly, my silence made him uncomfortable. No matter what happens, he’s my friend first, and I can’t lose that.
There’s an empty ache where he should be that has nothing to do with the physical distance between us.
After the meal, we throw all our credit cards on the table and ask the server to pick one to pay. She chooses mine, and there’s no one here to jab me and tease me about if he’d known I was buying, he’d have ordered the most expensive dinner on the menu.
Dylon and the guys who stayed for the WCHL aren’t at the hotel when we get back.
“Come play cards,” Caleb begs as if he doesn’t have Mason and two D-lines to play with.
“Not tonight,” I say, and his face falls. “Another night and I will win all your money.”
Caleb’s answering grin shows his excitement. “You can try.”
Back in my room, I order dessert and contemplate what I’ll say to Dylon.
Me: Come to my room when you are done?
Dylon: What’s in it for me
Me: Red velvet cake
Dylon: Done
An hour later, I hear the guys return, yelling and joking in the hall, and I wait. And I wait. We don’t do this. I do not need to be polite so I walk down the hall and bang on his door. Dylon takes a minute to answer, and when the door swings open, his matted hair frames his droopy eyes.
“Sorry. I laid down for a minute to decompress after talking to my family, and I must’ve fallen asleep.” He stands aside so I can enter.
“How was it?” Seeing him releases enough tension in my chest to take a deep breath. I forgot the cake, but I doubt he cares.
“Same old shit.” He flops down on one of the queen beds and motions to the other. I nod but refrain from offering my opinion. “I know. I know.” He sighs. “They don’t get it, or they don’t care. It’s hard to say which one is worse.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I fold my hands in my lap. Everything I intended to say does not matter when he’s hurting because of his parents.
“Did they come to the game?” He sends them tickets for every game in Detroit, but oftentimes, they watch the game from his uncle’s bar.
“My dad came with a buddy, and then my mom came to yell at me when I said I wasn’t going to the bar after the event. Which, by the way, was a huge success. Detroit had five Midwest players there as well, and they had a lot of people sign up who’ve never played hockey. But as only my mom can do, she made a scene and talked to a local reporter about her ungrateful son. That’s going to be fun. Finn stepped in after my mom left and told the reporter that the Enforcers ask players participating in charity events to skip the bar scene so that any extracurricular activities don’t accidentally overshadow the cause we’re trying to bring attention to.” His arm shields his eyes, and he delivers the information with detachment as if he cannot bring himself too close to it.
“Finn’s great at his job.” I shift my feet and stretch my legs between the beds. “I’m sure he told the other players to stay in tonight.”
He nods, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“I wish…” All the things I should say filter through my mind, but they all sound inadequate and surface level.
“Thanks for checking on me.”
“I’m sorry I woke you up. Get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” I stand and he flings out an arm.
“Can you stay? I’m not much fun, but being alone sucks. ”
My heart cracks, and once again, I will not leave him in despair. I take off my shoes and prop myself up against the headboard. “Caleb thinks he’s going to win my money in a poker game.”
Dylon barks out a laugh. “The guy who can’t hide a single emotion is going to best Stone Face Dragon Drake? I don’t think so.”
We ramble on about nothing, and when I think he’s finally fallen asleep, Dylon says, “I hope I didn’t ruin our friendship.”
The crack in my heart bursts wide open. “I’m an arsle . You took me by surprise, and I wasn’t a good friend. If it helps, I am bi, and I’m here if you have any questions.” The last thing on my mind is giving him advice about his attraction to other people, but I have to stop hoping for more.
Dylon turns his entire body to face me, clears his throat, and speaks at a volume as if I’m in the next room. “Did you know a statistically significant population of male rams only mate with other males, and all bighorn rams, even if they mate with ewes, engage in anal sex with other rams?”
Occasionally, he blurts out random animal facts when he nervously tries to get a point across but doesn’t have the right words. His hazel eyes dully reflect his anxiety.
“I did not know that. Are you comparing yourself to a bighorn ram?” He closes his eyes in response to my ridiculous question. I’m failing him, again. My head’s fuzzy, and I cannot focus on what’s important—supporting him and whoever makes him happy. Even if it’s not me.
“No. That was stupid. Maybe.” He sighs. “I’m very attracted to a guy, and I’m not afraid of it. I guess I’m surprised how long it took for me to understand my interest.”
My head bobbles, but words aren’t forthcoming to ease the tension in either of us.
He bites his lips. “But seriously, thank you. I assume you’re not out.”
I shrug in agreement. “It is hard being in the public eye, but I can help you decide what is best for you.” I remind myself that I am his friend, and it is not the time to throw myself at him and confess my unrequited devotion. He has to be comfortable with himself before beginning a relationship. Which we will not have because he views me as his friend.
“You wanna help me deal with my hard problem.” He emphasizes the word hard, and my eyes dart to his dick.
My face must be bright red with the heat flaming up. Licking my lips, I internally scold myself. This is the least helpful way to reassure a friend. I’m a creepy skit . Rigidly, I stay in place, not averting my gaze, and push down my embarrassment so I can be what he needs me to be.
“I’m just kidding.” He flops back and stares at the ceiling.
“It took me a while to admit to myself I’m bi. Being a professional athlete, it isn’t like we can go out anonymously and explore our options.” I wipe my sweaty hands on my team joggers.
“What did you do? Did you ever have a boyfriend?”
Thoughts of Boe are no longer a stab to the heart but an uncomfortable roil in my gut. Dylon doesn’t need all the twisted details. “I watched gay porn and decided I definitely wanted to try those things. But I couldn’t act on them with someone I couldn’t trust. My first experience with a man was in the Red Light District in Amsterdam.” My admission springs from my mouth. I haven’t told anyone this.
Dylon whistles. “I did not see that coming. If this were a Jeopardy game and the category was which teammate hired a prostitute in Amsterdam, I’d bet all my money and lose.”
“Does that bother you?” The band around my chest tightens again, cutting off my supply of oxygen.
“Nah. It’s surprising. Probably the way you felt when I announced I’m not straight.” He waves jazz hands at me as his dimple appears. “I think I’m bi, but I haven’t done research on other labels.”
“Labels are only important if you are trying to place one on yourself, otherwise do not stress about it. And to be clear, they’re sex workers, not prostitutes. Get with the times.” I toss a pillow at him, and he bats it down in the space between the beds. Feigning nonchalance turns my stomach in knots. I’m happy I didn’t eat the cake .
We lie on separate beds in silence for an eternity. There are so many things I want to know, but this is not about me, and I refuse to act insensitively. I am desperate to know who he’s interested in and what prompted his realization. Dylon shares so much of himself that he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
Our eyes lock, and his magnetic force tugs at me, body and soul. The air charges and becomes a living, breathing entity surrounding us. There’s no one else but him. My world has funneled down to the sparkle in his eyes and his tongue running across his bottom lip.
The strong pull could levitate me off the bed and into his. My cock thickens, and there’s nowhere to hide it. He glances down and licks his lips again. The man who does not get embarrassed has pink ears.
“I will let you get back to sleep.” I roll off the bed on the opposite side, which, thank the hockey gods, is closest to the door.
He moves behind me, but my feet propel me forward. When I reach for the handle, his palm lands on the door by my waist.
“Wait,” he says. My feet stay planted, hiding my erection. “Lars,” he whispers, his breath washing over my neck. “Look at me.”
I glance over my shoulder at his pleading expression and face him eye to eye.
“Tell me if I’m out of line.” His chest heaves and brushes against mine. We’re so close he can hear my intake of breath. The arm next to me shifts so he’s touching me. “The thing is…the guy I’m attracted to is… you,” he murmurs as he closes the distance between us and presses his lips to mine. “Am I out of line?” he asks, his mouth moving against mine.
All the control I’ve meticulously practiced snaps. One hand holds the back of his head, and I spin us so his back hits the door with a thud. And we’re kissing. He opens, inviting my tongue in, and he tastes like home. If a kiss could encompass the crisp air of Sweden, watching the northern lights, coming back to the apartment to see all the evidence of Dylon living with me, the way my heart picks up when I smell his musky scent under his coconut-lime body wash, and the way his dimple appears for me, that is this kiss and more. His curls are baby soft as my fingers knot through them. His hard chest throbs with his heartbeat as fast as mine .
His palms cup my face, and he angles my head to deepen the kiss. All my dreams fade to black and white because reality becomes a vivid kaleidoscope of exploding colors. We explore each other’s mouths, and I suck on his tongue, dragging a whimper from him.
My thigh bullies its way between his legs, and he grinds against me. The hand on the small of his back closes the distance between our bodies as I roll my hips so our cocks slide together.
“I was afraid you didn’t want me.” There’s relief in Dylon’s voice, which should not thrill me but does. It is astonishing he doubts my desire for him.
“I have never wanted anyone more than you.” I lay my truth bare for him to accept or reject me.
He yanks my head sideways and kisses my throat.
“Good. I want you all to myself.” He steps forward, pushing me back, then leads me to his bed.