Chapter 18 Tian
EIGHTEEN
Tian
Jack was sprawled across the bed, hair damp from the shower, still faintly flushed from too much kissing. He looked at me as I’d hung the moon, which was ridiculous because I was just a guy who threw himself off ramps with a board strapped to his feet.
“You ever think about what comes next?” he asked me, out of nowhere.
I froze halfway through pulling a T-shirt over my head. “Next?”
“Yeah. After this. After the Olympics, after the season. You and me.” His voice cracked a little, as if the question weighed more than the medals on the dresser.
I sat down beside him, brushing my fingers over the Railers hoodie he’d tossed onto a chair earlier, the one I’d stolen more than once. “I try not to. If I think too hard, it feels impossible. You’re tied to Harrisburg. I’m always moving. We’re…” I trailed off.
Jack’s hand slid over mine, squeezing. “We’re stubborn enough to make it work.”
I stared at him, at the scar along his jaw, at the way his eyes didn’t move away.
And I thought about that night at the rink when he pressed his hand to the glass and grinned at me as if the world couldn’t touch us.
I thought about pizza in Milan, grease dripping onto napkins while he teased me about how much I could eat.
And suddenly it didn’t feel impossible anymore. It felt inevitable.
The day we left Italy—Jack to Pennsylvania and me to Colorado—was the worst. We’d both been flying high off our medals, and the beautiful time we’d had just the two of us, and splitting apart ripped a hole right through me.
Since then, I’d done nothing but miss him, and spent a lot of time at my parents’ place, trying to ground myself.
I was here again tonight, ready to sit down and watch the Railers game with Dad, who was as big a Railers supporter now as he was NY, something about supporting the man in my life—I loved him for it.
I’d spent the last thirty minutes slumped on the sofa, the scent of food wafting my way, staring at my phone.
He’d be getting ready now, only an hour out from the puck dropping, so I decided I wouldn’t message him other than the good luck I’d sent him when I’d woken up this morning in my decidedly lonely bed.
I must have gone into a deep, dark daze when my cell vibrated because it shocked me so much, I ended up nearly throwing it off my lap.
Jack: Hey you
Tian: Hey you!
Jack: Sitting in my cubby, thinking of you
Tian: Sitting on Mom and Dad’s sofa, thinking of you. Getting dinner, then watching the Railers game.
Jack: I’ll make it a good one for you.
Tian: Big crowd?
Jack: Sold out. They’re doing a presentation before puck drop, all about the gold medal. I’ll be out there feeling stupid but grinning like an idiot.
God, I wish I could have been there, but I’d had two sponsor meetings today, and two more tomorrow—it seemed everyone wanted a piece of my silver medal-winning ways.
Tian: I wish I could be there.
Jack: I wish you were here. I miss you.
Tian: I miss you more. Break a stick for me.
Jack: Not happening. But I’ll score a goal for you instead.
I laughed at the screen, cheeks aching from how hard I smiled.
Tian: I love you, my Jack <3
Jack: I love you too, Tian xxx
I missed him so much it hurt, and sitting at the table with Mom and Dad, the familiar creak of chairs, the smell of roast chicken—it should have been comfort, but my mind spun circles.
I had four more years of chasing medals and points, and with hard work and a lot of luck, going all the way to the 2030 Olympics.
But Jack only had a short time on his contract.
What then? Would he move to Colorado? Could I ask him to do that?
What about Fiona? What about his friends?
Was I thinking about long-distance for the next four years?
Was that even possible? Should I stop now while I was ahead?
My head hurt.
“I was reading the local paper this morning,” Mom said with a little smile. “They called you the pride of the town.”
“I saw,” Dad said. “And Mrs. Childers at the grocery store taped the clipping right to the counter with a little ‘Go Tian!’ note underneath.”
This should have made me smile, but my thoughts drifted back to Jack, back to what we’d shared and what we hadn’t figured out yet. “… and then the elephant walked straight through the produce aisle,” Mom finished. “What do you think of that?”
“Hmmm?” I said, not really listening.
“The elephant in the produce aisle,” she said.
I blinked, frowning. “Wait, what?”
She arched an eyebrow knowingly. “Exactly. You’re not listening.”
Heat rushed to my face. “Sorry, Mom.”
Dad made a face at me, then picked up the dirty crockery and wandered off to wash up, rattling dishes in the sink. I pushed my chair back to help, but Mom touched my wrist. “Let your father fuss. Sit and talk to me, sweetheart.”
I slumped, staring at the table, and for a moment, it felt like being back in school, when Mom was the one who always cut through my tangled thoughts.
“What’s wrong, Tian-Lei?”
“Nothing.” I scrubbed my eyes. “Everything.”
“Is this about Jack?” she asked with her clever-mom perception.
“Yeah,” I admitted, my throat tight. “I love him, Mom.”
She reached over and grasped my hand. “Of course you do. And he loves you back. It’s what we’ve always wanted for you.” Her eyes grew bright with emotion. “It’s everything for a parent to see their child happy.”
My throat tightened. “I miss him so much. We’d only just gotten together and now we’re a million miles apart, and I hate it.”
Mom squeezed my hand, then tugged me forward into her arms. I let myself sink into the hug, breathing in the familiar scent of home, wrapped in safety.
Mom’s hugs were the kind of hugs that made the world stop spinning, that made everything feel solid again, as if nothing bad could reach me while she held me.
They were there when I was small, when I’d had problems at school, when I’d realized I was gay, when I’d come out to her and received nothing but unconditional love from her and Dad in return.
“Missing someone means they matter, Tian.”
“We’re so far apart now.”
“That doesn’t mean the distance has to win.”
I shook my head. “It feels like it is. Some days I don’t even know how I’m going to balance it all—training, travel, and him.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight,” she reminded me, her voice steady. “But don’t confuse missing him with losing him. Those are two very different things.”
Her words sank deep, the kind of wisdom she’d always had when I was a kid and thought the world was too heavy for me to carry.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted. “Snowboarding’s everything, but I think Jack is more than that. Should I feel that way?”
“Love is love, Tian.”
I groaned. “Love doesn’t fix everything, though, Mom. If I keep going, that means years of distance. What if he gives up on me and wants me to quit? And if I walked away…”
Her eyes softened, that quiet strength in them that had steadied me a hundred times before. “Has Jack asked you to stop snowboarding?”
“No.” I was horrified. “He wouldn’t.”
“Is he the kind of man who would ever want you to give up on your dreams?”
“Of course not,” I said. The truth of it landed heavy in my chest.
“Then why are you even asking the question?” she asked in her gentle, patient way. “You can love him and still have your career. He’ll understand that because the right person always does.”
“Ready?” Dad asked from the door, tray laden with popcorn and drinks.
Mom caught my gaze. “Love isn’t always easy, and long-distance might suck, but it will all work out in the end.”
“She’s right,” Dad added, and made his way to his chair, the same old La-Z-Boy he’d owned forever.
Mom always moaned about it sitting there in her otherwise pristine front room, but she never once made him move it.
It was like their marriage—full of give and take, of accepting each other, and loving what the other wanted.
Watching them, I realized I wanted that kind of love for myself.
I would work for it.
The coverage of the game against Philly started, and I stared at Jack the entire time during warmups.
Watching him stretch, bend, fuck, he was pretty—his sandy-ginger hair all tousled, his smile wide and unguarded.
When they rolled the Olympic highlights across the Jumbotron, I got so emotional I had to wipe away tears. That was my man.
And then they handed him the microphone.
Jack cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one skate to the other, but his voice carried steady across the arena.
“Hockey has been my life since I was a kid skating on frozen ponds in Pennsylvania. This medal… it isn’t just mine.
It belongs to my teammates, to the coaches who believed in me, to the fans who filled every rink with noise and heart, to my family who sacrificed so much.
I’m just a piece of something bigger, and I’m humbled to stand here with it. ”
He paused, scanning the crowd, and I swore for a second his gaze found mine even through the camera.
His voice softened. “And there’s someone out there who knows exactly how much this means to me.
Tian-Lei, you’ve given me something I didn’t even know I needed, and I carried you with me every second on the ice in Italy.
This”—he tapped the medal draped around his neck—“is as much yours as it is mine.”
The arena roared, but my world narrowed down to him, his words. My chest ached with pride and love so fierce it stole my breath. That was Jack, my Jack, baring his soul to the world and somehow making it feel like it was just the two of us.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said and tugged me close. “It will all work out.”
As we watched the game, I ran a hundred scenarios through my head in every break and timeout.
Philly and the Railers were evenly matched, every shift a grind, and Jack didn’t log as much ice time as usual—probably aching and exhausted from Italy—but even from the bench he never stopped being captain, never stopped barking encouragement and steadying his team.
He was beautiful, and he was mine, and I had to figure out a way to make this work.
Could I move closer to him for a year? Harrisburg wasn’t the backend of the world.
I could rent a place near the rink, train out of a local facility, maybe split my mountain time between Colorado and Vermont.
Abel could travel in, or we could do virtual check-ins for conditioning.
I could chase the circuit from the East Coast, flying out for comps, still rack up points while being near Jack.
The fear came when I thought about what happened after—after his contract ended.
Where would we be then? But every time the Railers cleared the puck or Jack leaned into a hit, I told myself I’d deal with later…
later. Right now, it was about closing the miles between us.
In the second break, with the Railers and Philly tied at one goal each, I slipped upstairs to my old room.
Mom and Dad had kept it pretty much the same—posters still on the wall, the old quilt on the bed—but there was a desk in the corner now where Mom did her crafting, tidy stacks of fabric and half-finished cards spread out.
I sat on the edge of the bed and called Abel.
“How would it work if I wanted to move away from Colorado?” I asked.
“What?”
“How would—”
“I heard you,” Abel said. “Hang on, I’ll take this into the other room.” I heard movement, the swish of air, and then a door shutting. “If you’re talking Europe, Stubai has one of the biggest training centers—”
“No,” I cut him off, heart pounding. “Pennsylvania.”
“The what now?”
“Harrisburg to be exact.”
There was silence on the other end. “You had all those sponsor meetings, T, shit… Is this you retiring?”
“No. Fuck… no. I don’t think so.” I rubbed at my face. “Tell me how I can make this work.”
“Harrisburg,” he pondered. “Home to the Railers and Jack O’Leary?”
“He’s my partner,” I said, a little defiant in case that was an issue, because it wasn’t a fucking issue, and if Abel had a problem with—
“I know that,” he said. “I deep-dived when I saw you all moon-eyed over him in Italy, and he has a short time left in his contract—like a year. Do you think he’ll stay? Or decide to leave early and move to Colorado.”
“He’ll stay; I know Jack.”
“Agreed, he’s one tough son of a bitch.” He paused for a moment, and I didn’t rush him.
“Okay. You could use the facilities at Blue Mountain. It’s not Mammoth, but it’s workable.
You’d need to split your travel time and maintain your conditioning with me virtually.
Fly out for major comps, come back to Harrisburg to train in between. It’s possible if you stay disciplined.”
Possible. The word felt like oxygen. For the first time since leaving Italy, I let myself believe it might work.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
I snapped back to what he said, my head still racing ahead with the image of Jack waiting at the end of every training day.
“Stay disciplined? You know I can.” Hell, it was the only thing that had gotten me this far. And if it meant falling into Jack’s arms at night, then I’d work twice as hard.
“Some of the sponsors might balk at this.”
My stomach tightened, but I forced the words out, sharp with conviction. “Then we’ll get my agent to find sponsors who won’t get pissy at me moving to be closer to the man I love. Simple. I’d rather lose a logo on my board than lose him.”
He laughed then, low and knowing, and I felt the first flicker of hope settle deep in my chest.
“You want to do this?” he asked.
“Hell yes.”
And as if Jack already knew my plans, he pulled off an ugly-beautiful, standing-on-his-head pass out of the corner, twisting under pressure from two Philly forwards and somehow threading the puck across the slot to Noah Gunnarsson.
Gunnarsson snapped it home top-shelf, the crowd exploding, Jack pumping a fist as if the play had been nothing at all.
That was my Jack.