Chapter 23 First Circle #2
He laughed, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright. I'm done.” He wasn't done. “But seriously, a week alone in the woods? You two must've been going at it like—”
“Rook.”
“I'm just saying, that's a lot of quality time.” His grin was absolutely wicked now. “Did you even leave the cabin? Or were you too busy—”
“We went hiking. We talked. We—” I stopped, realizing I was defending myself to his bullshit. “You're an asshole.”
“Yeah, but I'm an asshole who's got your back.” He took a drink of water. “Also, props for bagging the coach. That's some serious power move energy.”
“I didn't 'bag' anyone.”
“Sure you didn't.” He studied me for a second. “But real talk—you actually into him, or is this just a—”
“I'm into him.” The words came out before I could stop them. “Like, really into him.”
Rook's expression softened slightly. “Good. Because if you're going to risk your career for someone, it better be for someone who matters.”
“He matters.”
“I can tell.” He headed toward the showers, then stopped. “Hey, Hart?”
“Yeah?”
“If you and Coach are actually together, just... be careful, yeah? Paul's an asshole, but he's not stupid. And if he finds out before you're ready to deal with it, it's going to be a shitshow.”
“I know.”
“Good.” He grinned again. “Also, does this mean I can stop pretending to care when the guys try to set you up? Because that shit is exhausting.”
“Please stop.”
“Thank god.” He turned to leave, then looked back. “One more thing—does Coach know you call him Grant when you're—”
“Get the fuck out, Rook.”
“I'm going, I'm going!” He was laughing now. “But seriously, Hart? I'm glad you told me. Even if you did take five years to do it. And the mental image of you and Coach bumping uglies in the woods is going to haunt me forever.”
“Fuck off, Rook.”
“Love you too, buddy.” He paused at the doorway. “And hey—if he breaks your heart, I'll break his kneecaps. Captain's honor.”
“He's our coach.”
“Don't care. Nobody fucks with my winger.” He pointed at me. “That goes both ways, by the way. You hurt him, and I'm benching you myself.”
“You can't bench me.”
“Watch me.” But he was grinning. “Now go shower. You smell like desperation and poor life choices.”
He left, and I sat there trying not to smile and failing completely. I'd just come out to my captain, got roasted about my sex life, and somehow felt more accepted than I had in years.
Hockey players, man.
I took a taxi to my family home instead of going back to my apartment.
Stupid decision, probably. But I'd promised Grant I'd stop running, and that meant actually dealing with my family instead of sending vague texts about being “busy with hockey stuff.”
The door opened before I could knock. My mom took one look at me—shoulder brace, limp, general disaster energy—and her expression shifted from surprise to concern.
“Jace.” She stepped back to let me pass. “Get inside. Your father's watching the game. Leah's in the kitchen raiding the snack cabinet.”
I limped into the living room. Dad glanced up from the TV, did a double-take when he saw the brace, and muted the game.
“That looks recent.”
“Boston game. Separated shoulder, torn hamstring.”
“Shit.” He gestured to the couch. “Sit down. You're making me nervous standing there like you're about to fall over.”
Leah appeared in the doorway with a bag of chips. “Oh, the prodigal son finally shows his face.” She saw the brace and her expression sobered. “Okay, that's worse than I expected from your vague-ass texts.”
“Yeah, well. It's been a rough few weeks.”
Mom was already moving toward the kitchen. “I'll get water. And ice if you need it.”
“I'm fine—”
“You're not fine. You're injured and you've been ignoring my calls.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Leah sat in the chair across from me, still holding the chips. “So you've been dodging my texts because...?”
“Because I was dealing with a lot and didn't know how to explain it.”
“Try now.”
Dad leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, waiting.
I took a breath. “I fucked up. Hid injuries from the medical staff and Coach. Played through pain until my body gave out. Got benched. Now I'm in rehab trying to get cleared for prelims.”
Leah's eyebrows shot up. “You hid a leg injury?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I was scared. The whole league was already questioning whether I was past my prime after last season. I couldn't give them more ammunition by sitting out injured.”
Dad's jaw tightened. “So instead you played through it until you couldn't anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“That's not smart, son.”
“I know that now.”
Mom returned with water and set it on the coffee table, then sat in the other chair. “This isn't the first time you've hidden something from us. You always do this when things get hard. You shut down. Stop calling. Pretend everything's fine.”
“I know. And I'm trying to do better about that. Which is why I'm here.”
The room went quiet.
“There's something else I need to tell you. Something I've been hiding for a long time.”
Dad shifted in his seat. Leah stopped eating chips.
“I'm gay,” I said.
Silence.
Dad blinked, processing. Mom's expression didn't change, but I saw her hands tighten slightly on the arms of her chair.
Leah was the first to speak. “Okay. And?”
“And... that's it. I'm gay. I have been since I was sixteen, probably earlier.”
“Right. But like... is there more to this story? Because you're acting like this is some massive revelation when honestly, Jace, we kind of already suspected.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“You've never had a girlfriend. You've never talked about dating women. You dodged every attempt I made to set you up with my friends. You own more grooming products than I do.” She shrugged. “I mean, I wasn't a hundred percent sure, but it wasn't exactly shocking news.”
Mom nodded. “I had my suspicions.”
“You did?”
“A mother knows her son. I've known something was going on for years. I just didn't want to push you before you were ready to talk about it.”
Dad was quiet, staring at his hands.
“Dad?” I said.
He looked up. “I'm... processing. This isn't what I expected when you said you had something to tell us.”
“Are you okay with it?”
“I don't fully understand it. I'm not going to pretend I do.” He met my eyes. “But you're my son. That doesn't change. So if you need to talk about it or if you need help figuring out what this means for your career, I'm here.”
It wasn't perfect, but it was honest.