38. CONNOR
THIRTY-EIGHT
CONNOR
Parker holds my hand all the way up to his suite, and I’m so busy thinking about going in there and talking to my parents, telling them about everything, that I realize something.
I stop walking right before Parker can open the door. “My parents are in your suite.”
Parker’s lips turn up in the corners. “They are. So was Knox. I figured I have all of that space and no one to share it with. It should be put to good use.”
I put my hand on my heart. “Little Parky Parks is making fwiends.”
My man laughs and playfully shoves me. “Stop stalling by making this about me.”
I take his hand. “I know I asked you to stay out here until I was done, but … could you, I mean, uh?—”
“You want me to leave?”
I grip his hand tighter. “No. I … I want you to come in with me. I want to tell them about you. We may not be able to tell everyone, but you welcomed them into your space, and I don’t want to keep you from them.”
“I’m here for whatever you need. If you’re ready, I’m ready. ”
I step closer, closing the gap between us, and I kiss his lips softly.
We’re broken apart by Dad’s deep voice. “Did we walk into some kind of alternate universe or what? Connor’s getting into fights, ejected from games, and kissing boys, and Easton is the one with his head down, kicking ass on the ice.”
Parker and I break apart, but I don’t let him get far. And by the look on Mom’s and Dad’s faces, they’re not really mad. Dad’s just fucking with us. Still, I have some things I need to get out in the open.
“Mom, Dad. We, uh, we probably need to talk about a few things.”
Dad snorts. “No shit.”
Mom backhands him in the chest, and even though it’s not hard, Dad makes an exaggerated “Oof” noise.
This conversation is going to be fun. For him.
We head into the box, and even though there are only a couple of minutes left of the game, I can’t help noticing the score. We were up to eight nothing before I got ejected from the game, yet somehow, LA has managed to come back to only a four-point deficit in the sixteen minutes I’ve been gone.
Jesus H. Christ.
I turn to Parker. “You were saying something about the team not being about one person? I’m out for one period, and we choke.”
“Always with the ego,” Knox comments from where he’s sitting in the front row out on the balcony part.
“Oh, hon,” Mom says. “The team isn’t falling apart because you aren’t playing. They’re falling apart because their most levelheaded defenseman lost his temper and got thrown out of the game. They’re frazzled and wondering what’s going on with you, and so are we.”
“Would we call Connor levelheaded?” Knox asks, still not taking his eyes off the game. The traitor.
Mom turns, and her tone is exactly like it would be if she was talking to Lachie or Easton. “I said the most levelheaded. Not that he was levelheaded. Though he usually is when it comes to business decisions.”
“I think that’s my problem,” I cut in.
“What is?” Mom asks.
“I’ve always seen hockey as a job. As something I had to do. I saw keeping Easton and Lachie in line as my job. My responsibility.”
“We’ve been over that.” Mom’s hand lands gently on my upper arm. “We’re sorry we made you feel that way. It wasn’t our intention.”
“I know, but … it’s only been since Parker walked into my life that I’ve realized everything I’ve done, I’ve done for everyone else, and …” This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. “It’s time I choose myself.”
“W-what are you saying?” Mom asks.
Dad’s gaze ping-pongs between us. “I have a feeling this conversation is going to need drinks.”
“Yes, please!” Knox calls out.
“Get your own,” Dad snipes back.
Ah, families.
“Come sit with me.” Mom drags me to the back row of seats, but Parker hangs back near the bar with Dad. “Talk to me like I’m your agent, not your mother.”
“That’s just it. For this … I need you to be in mom mode.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
My words come out rushed, hurried, and not so much intelligible. “I don’t want to play hockey anymore.”
“Tonight?”
“ Ever .”
Mom pulls back. It’s as if the world stands still for a brief second, but then the final buzzer of the game sounds, the crowd roars and cheers, and suddenly, the world around me is deafening.
After goalie hugs, the team heads down the chute to the locker room, and I should be down there with them. Reporters will fill the locker room, there’ll be a press conference, and there’s no way my scuffle with Novi won’t be brought up. But I can’t bring myself to go back down there and face everyone.
Dad hands Mom a glass of wine, and she throws it back like it’s a shot.
“I know I’m disappointing you,” I say.
“No.” Mom is confident as she throws the word at me. “You’re not disappointing me. You’re surprising me, and it will take a bit to swallow that, but you’re not a disappointment. If anything, I wish you’d figured this out sooner, or … you could’ve told me sooner how unhappy you were all these years.”
I rub my hand over my head. “The good thing about that is I didn’t realize I have been unhappy. Not until …” My gaze drifts to Parker in the background. If he can hear us from where we are, he pretends he can’t and does something on his phone.
“Parker,” Mom says.
I nod.
When Dad sits, he’s on the other side of me. “Have you always known but felt the need to hide it? I don’t really understand why you would when you know we support Easton and Lachie.”
I stare down at my hands. “The truth is, I didn’t know. I had no damn clue until Parker came waltzing into that locker room and took over the team. And I think the reason I never figured it out is because I haven’t had the chance to get to know myself. It’s why all of this is happening. I’ve tried to ignore the niggling feeling at the back of my mind, the one telling me I’m going through something and it will go away. I’ll find my love for the game again. But … it’s not happening. And if I keep pushing myself, keep fighting to stay, I’m only going to resent it more. Especially when it means I can’t be with Parker. ”
“I’ve never heard you talk about someone like this before,” Mom says. “You’ve always put hockey above anyone and anything else.”
“I know, and that’s where my problem lies.”
She pats my hand. “We support you, no matter what. You’re up for a contract extension at the end of the season. We were already in early talks with management, but you don’t have to sign anything. This can be your last season.”
I’m relieved but also frustrated because now that I’ve decided … Now that I’ve got the ball rolling … I want it now. Selfishly.
“What will you do with your mortgage?” Mom asks.
“So, funny story.” I rub the back of my neck again. “I kinda hate that house too. I bought it to fit the mold of what I thought I should want. I’ll sell it, and?—”
Knox, who’s obviously been listening in since the ice is now empty but he hasn’t moved, swivels in his seat to face us. “Wait, you’re selling it? But it’s so pretty.”
“I think I’m more of a penthouse kind of guy.”
I’m more of a Parker, ugly-ass rat Conishkin, and the cozy living room and fireplace kind of guy. That’s what I want. I’m not sure if I’d feel differently about my place if Parker was there with me, but I love his apartment. I want to move in there. If he’ll have me. And when it’s safe to be a couple in public.
“Can Easton and I buy it?” Knox asks.
“Go for it.”
Mom’s sitting next to me, her lips pursed. I can tell she wants to say something else but is holding back.
“What are you worrying about?”
“I know I’m supposed to be in mom mode, but can I please put my agent hat on for one minute?”
“That’s fair.” Even if I know I’m not going to like the next thing that comes out of her mouth.
“I’m only going to ask this once, and I realize how bad it’s going to sound, but I want to double-check. Are you sure this whole wanting to quit hockey thing isn’t a phase?”
I laugh hard because I had the exact same thought. “I think you’re parenting wrong. Aren’t you supposed to ask that of me being with men?”
Mom waves me off. “Eh, we’ve had practice with our sons coming out to us. You’re good there. I just don’t want you to regret this decision. I’m not going to stop you, and I support you, but I don’t want you to throw away your life on a whim. There. I’ve said my piece.”
“And you were allowed to say it. But I’m sure. I’m more than sure. Do I know what I want to do with my life instead? No. But I also have the funds to take my time and figure it out.”
After talking to teenager Parker yesterday, I got the faintest idea of possibly motivating kids. Those who are being bullied, those who are LGBTQ and feel like they don’t fit in. I could go around the country and talk to schools about how in high school, I hurt people because hockey was my only goal. From a sideline bully—someone who saw injustices but never did anything to stop it—to realizing what I did was wrong. It might not make a huge difference, but if I change one kid’s life, it might be worth it.
Parker has stopped fiddling with his phone, and he approaches us. “So, I’ve been chatting to our GM.”
“What? Why?”
“You said you want to quit, and I thought I could ask how to hypothetically release a player from their contract early … if that’s what you want.”
“And?” I tell myself not to get my hopes up.
“We know they wouldn’t release you because of the optics of it all, but how do you feel about injuring yourself so badly you have to be put on long-term IR so your salary frees up some cap space until your contract lapses?”
“They’d let me do that? ”
“They will if I tell them they will.”
I stand. “I love being injured!” But I don’t want backlash to hit him in the face because of this. “Are you sure you’re okay with doing that for me?”
Parker steps closer to me. “Oh, sweet, loveable Connor. I’d do anything to make you happy.”
Guilt over thinking he was pressuring me to keep playing hits like a fucking freight train, but it’s not the only thing I’m hit with. I’m also hit with the overwhelming sense of experiencing something I never have before. Sure, I love my family, my brothers, Knox, but this type of love?
It’s completely brand-new and something I never, ever want to lose.
“You make me so happy,” I say.
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Good.