Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
tate
Parker has completely avoided me since that night in the bathroom. He doesn’t speak to me during practice. Hell, he doesn’t even look in my direction. And I’m starting to wonder if he’s going to crack and out me and Zane.
I should be focused on hockey, on proving I deserve my spot back. Instead, I’m in my car outside my parents’ house in Pleasanton, trying to figure out how to get through a family barbecue without unraveling.
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat with a text from Zane.
Can’t make it tonight.
I stare at the message, waiting for more but there are no gray dots flashing on the screen. No explanation, no apology, no new time for our secret tryst. Just a flat out rejection.
I’m at my family’s house for a BBQ. Everything okay?
Twenty minutes pass before he responds.
Fine.
Fine. The kind of fine that means everything’s definitely not fine, but he’s not going to tell me about it.
I shove the phone in my pocket and head up the walkway. Before I can knock, the front door swings open.
“There he is,” Mark says, pulling me in for a hug. “Thought you were gonna bail on us again.”
I force a smile. “I’m here.”
“You’re late. Traffic rough coming over the bridge?”
“Something like that.”
“Mom’s been cooking since six this morning,” he says, walking with me toward the backyard. “She made that pasta salad you like.”
“The one with the—”
“Olives and sun-dried tomatoes, yeah. She’s been talking about it all week.” He stops at the sliding door and gives me that older brother look that says he knows there’s more behind my short answers. “Is everything good with you? You seemed tense on the phone yesterday.”
Tense. If only he knew how tense.
“Just work stuff,” I shrug. “You know how it is.”
“Actually, I don’t. Most people’s work stuff doesn’t get analyzed on SportsCenter.” He grins and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Tessa’s been asking about you. Logan and Cam are here, too.”
I swallow a groan. Cam and Logan are great but the last thing I need are other teammates around today. I don’t want to talk about hockey or the team or our playoff chances. Logan may be retired, but he’s still heavily involved because of Cam’s soaring career.
The sun burns bright in the sky and I squint. Dad turns away from the grill and waves.
“I’ve got some nice steaks for today, bud,” he says. “And sausage, veggies, burgers…I hope you’re hungry.”
“Sounds great, Dad,” I say, walking over to give him a quick hug. I wave at some family friends and relatives on the lawn. And then in a cloud of vanilla sugar, my mom throws her arms around me.
“Sweetie,” she exclaims. “I’m so happy you’re here. I baked all of your favorites.”
My stomach rumbles and I hug her tight, burying my face in her hair. She’d always bake my favorites whenever I was going through a rough time as a kid. As if sugar can cure all ills. I mean, most of the time it did. But the ills I’m suffering now are gonna take way more than calories to cure.
“I can’t wait to sample them all,” I smile at her flushed face and sparking green eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”
She plants a kiss on my cheek. “Anything for my baby boy.”
I spot Tessa sitting at a picnic table with her son Ethan, who’s intently coloring something. She looks up at me, her face lighting up.
“Tate!” She jumps up to hug me. “I’m so glad you made it. How are you? We’ve been watching your games.”
“Thanks. Not that there have been many to watch lately.”
Tessa rubs my arm. “Logan says that’s normal. Sometimes players need time to find their rhythm again.” She glances toward where Logan and Cam are talking with Dad near the grill. “He went through something similar during his last season.”
“Something like that.”
Ethan looks up from his coloring book and holds up the page he was working on. “Hey, Tate! Look what I’m drawing.”
The picture is supposed to be a hockey player, based on the stick and what might be considered skates. It looks more like an alien with a tree branch, but Ethan grins like he just created the Mona Lisa.
“That’s amazing, buddy. Who is it? Your uncle Logan?”
“No, it’s Cam. I’ll draw you and Uncle Logan next.”
“That would be awesome. And make sure you sign it so I can say I got your autograph way back when, okay?”
His face lights up. “Yeah!”
“Tate’s always been good with kids,” Mom says to Tessa, walking over with a plate of appetizers. She turns to me. “Remember when Mark and his friends used to babysit for the Hendersons? You were barely twelve, but you’d tag along and entertain little Katie while the older boys played video games.”
“Mom,” I warn, but she’s already in full embarrassing-story mode and Tessa is eating it up.
“He’d read to her, play dolls with her, whatever she wanted.” She pauses. “Speaking of which, is there a plan for you to have your own kids one day?”
And there it is. The question I’ve been dreading since I walked through the door. I’m actually shocked it took her this long to ask it.
“Mom... ” I sigh and take a swig of the beer Mark just handed me.
“I’m just saying, it’s important to have a work-life balance.” She smiles pointedly at Tessa and Ethan. “Don’t you want that?”
“Of course he does,” Mark says. “He’s just... picky.”
“I’m not picky,” I say, my voice laced with annoyance. And I suddenly remember why I have stayed away from these family events.
“You are. Remember Amanda? She was perfect for you, and you let her get away.”
Amanda. My ex-girlfriend who spent too long trying to figure out why I seemed distant, why I never wanted to talk about the future, why sex felt like I was going through the motions. Sweet, patient Amanda who deserved someone who could love her the way she deserved.
“Amanda and I weren’t right for each other.”
“She was pre-law, gorgeous, and crazy about you. What more did you want?”
What I wanted was to feel something real. What I wanted was to stop pretending that the relationships I had with women were anything more than elaborate performances designed to keep people from asking the questions I couldn’t answer because I just couldn’t accept the truth.
“We weren’t right for each other.”
“You said that about Sarah, too. And Jessica. And that girl from the coffee shop near your apartment.”
Tessa laughs and swats at Mark’s arm. “Leave him alone. He’ll find someone when he’s ready.”
“But when will he be ready?” Mom asks, like I’m not sitting right here. “He’s twenty-six. His career won’t last forever.”
Ouch. That fucking stings, mainly because it’s too damn close to the truth. My career might not last another month if I can’t get my shit together.
“I’m focused on hockey right now,” I say.
“Hockey doesn’t keep you warm at night,” Dad calls from the grill.
“Jesus, Dad.”
Mom shrugs and picks up a piece of pita bread before sweeping it through a bowl of hummus. “He’s right, though. You need someone to share your life with. Someone who understands you.”
I think about Zane, about the way he looked at me when Parker caught us. About the fear in his eyes.
“Maybe I’m just not the settling-down type,” I say.
“That’s a bunch of crap,” Mark says. “You’ve always been the relationship guy. Even in high school, you always had girlfriends instead of playing the field.”
“That was different,” I say.
“How?”
Because those relationships were safe. Because dating girls meant I didn’t have to confront the part of myself that wanted things I couldn’t name, couldn’t admit, was afraid to risk everything for.
Until Vegas. Until Zane.
“It just was.”
Mark’s giving me that look again, the one that says he knows I’m hiding something but he can’t figure out what.
It’s the same look he gave me when I was sixteen and came home with a black eye that I swore was from hockey practice but was actually from getting cornered by three guys who thought I was checking them out in the locker room.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” he says quietly while Mom and Tessa grab some more plates from the kitchen. “Whatever’s going on, I’m here.”
Mark’s always been the one person I could tell anything to. When I broke Dad’s favorite mug, Mark took the blame. When I crashed Dad’s car into a tree before getting my license, Mark said the accident was his fault.
This is different, though. And as much as I wish he could fix things like he did in the past, he can’t.
“I know,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
He eyes me for a long minute. “Just remember, whatever happens with hockey, you’ve got family. That matters more than any game.”
“I know that, too.”
“Yeah, but sometimes I think you forget. You get so wrapped up in being perfect, in meeting everyone’s expectations, that you forget we love you no matter what.”
“Hey Tate,” Logan says, approaching our table with Cam and a beer. “Good to see you again.”
“You too.” I stand up to shake his hand. “How’s retirement treating you?”
“Can’t complain. But I miss being on the ice with the team.” His expression turns serious. “Heard you’re dealing with some things this season. Don’t let it get in your head. Everyone goes through rough patches.”
“Thanks. I’m working through it.”
“Good. You’ve got too much talent to let anything get in your way.” Logan glances toward where Cam rushes over to help Mom arrange food on the buffet table. “You’ve always been one of the most dedicated guys on the team. It’s hard to rise above things holding you back but it’s not impossible.”
Jesus, is this barbecue really a fucking intervention? Because it sure as hell feels that way.
“Dinner’s ready,” Dad announces. Everyone jumps up from their spots and heads toward the food.
I hang back and let out a breath, watching my family and friends, envying how easy things are with their significant others. The casual touches, shared jokes, comfortable silences.
I want that. I want to have that special person by my side.
So, I continue to lie about who I am, dodging questions about my love life, and pretend that the most important relationship in my life doesn’t exist.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the screen. Nothing else from Zane.
How much longer before I tell him to shit or get off the pot?
“Tate?” Tessa’s voice breaks through my spiral. “You eating?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
I shove the phone back in my pocket and join my family at the table.
“So,” Mom says, picking up her fork. “Tell us about this new goalie coach everyone’s talking about. The one who’s supposed to help fix your game.”
The bite of pasta salad I just shoved into my mouth turns to ash.
“What about him?” I rasp.
“Is he good? Mark said he’s young, played professionally himself.”
“He’s... experienced.”
“That’s good. You need someone who understands what you’re going through.” She reaches over to pat my hand. “Someone who can help you get back to where you belong…in that net.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “He’s definitely helping.”
And that’s the truth. Zane is helping me figure out who I am and what I want.
The question is whether I’m brave enough to do anything about it.