Chapter 35 Tate
THIRTY-FIVE
tate
The hospital chapel is empty except for me and whatever God might be listening.
It’s been eighteen hours since I got the call about Zane and rushed to his side. I’ve sat by his bed and held his hand while machines keep him alive, listening to doctors talk about things I don’t want to hear.
The chapel is small but comforting. There are wooden pews, stained glass, and a cross on the wall. It’s quiet and peaceful and I hope being here might do some good for Zane.
I didn’t come right away. I mean, I haven’t been to church since I was a kid. But sitting in that ICU room, watching Zane fight to breathe, I felt like I needed to be here.
“Look,” I say out loud to the empty room, “I don’t know if you’re real or if this is just me talking to myself. But if you are real, if you’re listening, I need you to know something about Zane Christensen.”
I clear my throat and keep talking. “He’s a good man. He made some bad choices, but he made them for the right reasons. He was trying to protect his father and me.”
My voice echoes in the still space.
“And I was a complete jerk to him. I told him we were done, told him I never wanted to see him again. And he still nearly died trying to save me.” I lean forward with my head in my hands. “So if you’re keeping score up there, he deserves to live.” I take a shuddering breath. “Please.”
“Tate?”
I whip my head around to see my family standing in the chapel doorway.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.
“Cam called,” Mark says, walking down the aisle toward me. “Said your goalie coach got shot, that it was all over the news. We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
I pull out my phone to find twelve missed calls and about twenty text messages. I put it on silent last night and forgot to check it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were calling. I’ve, ah, been preoccupied.”
“We were worried,” Mom says, sinking down next to me. “When we couldn’t reach you, we figured you must be here at the hospital.”
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“The nurse at the ICU desk said you’d gone to the chapel,” Dad says. “She figured you might need some family support.”
Family support. The family that still thinks I’m straight, still asks about when I’m going to settle down with some nice girl, still has no idea that the man fighting for his life upstairs is the person I’m in love with.
“He’s going to be okay,” Mom says, patting my arm. “The news said he was stable.”
“The news doesn’t know anything. He’s on a ventilator, hooked up to machines, and the doctors keep using words that sound like they’re preparing me for bad news.”
“Tate,” Mark says, and I hear the question in his voice. “I get that you’re upset but…” He pauses and I brace myself for what I’m afraid is coming next. “Is there something else going on here?”
“What do you mean?” Feigning ignorance has never been my strong suit.
“I mean you haven’t slept, you’re sitting in a hospital chapel, and you’re falling apart over a coworker getting hurt.” He sits down on the other side of me. “That’s a little odd, don’t you think?”
“He’s not just a coworker.” I scrub a hand down the front of my face.
“What is he then?”
This is the moment I’ve been avoiding for years, the conversation I never thought I’d have, the truth I never thought I’d be brave enough to tell. Now, of all times.
But sitting here with my family while Zane is upstairs fighting for his life makes me realize that pretending anymore is impossible.
“He’s the person I’m in love with.”
Mom’s hand finds mine, and she squeezes gently. “Okay.”
“Okay?” My head jerks in her direction.
She smiles. “You’re in love with him. That explains why you’re so scared.”
I look at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the questions about how this happened, when I figured out I was gay, why I felt the need to lie to them for years. For the disappointment or confusion or whatever else parents might feel when their kid turns out differently than they expected.
Instead, she just holds my hand tight and waits for me to keep talking. Just like Mark and Dad.
“I’ve never been in love with a woman,” I say finally, my shoulders slumping forward. “All those girlfriends, all the times you asked when I was going to settle down…I lied about everything. To you, to them, to myself.”
“How long have you known?” Dad asks, and his voice is softer than I expected, no hint of disappointment in his tone.
“Known for sure? About two years. But I suspected it for a lot longer than that.” I look at him. “Are you upset?”
“That you’ve been lying to us? A little. But am I upset that you’re gay? Not in the slightest.”
“Dad... ”
“Tate, we just want you to be happy.” He kneels down next to the pew I’m in. “We want you to find someone who loves you and treats you well and makes you laugh. Sounds like maybe you found that.”
“I found it and messed it up.”
“How?”
I tell them exactly how. The whole freaking story. About Vegas, about how the relationship developed, about the FBI and the syndicate and the lies and the betrayal. About how I walked away from him in that parking garage, told him we were done, accused him of not really loving me.
And about how he nearly died trying to protect me.
“Zane…he sacrificed everything for me. His safety, his life, his career. And I told him I never wanted to see him again.”
“But you’re here now,” Mom says.
“I’m here now because I realized too late that I was wrong. I love him. And now I might lose him because I was too stupid and scared to trust him.”
“You’re not going to lose him,” Mom says, her voice firm. “Don’t even think that.”
“You don’t know—”
“I know that men like Zane, men who put their lives on the line for people they love, don’t give up easily,” Mom says. “He fought his way through that shooting, he’ll fight his way through this, too.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll deal with it. We’ll all deal with it together.” She squeezes my hand. “But you can’t live in the what-if, sweetheart. You have to believe he’s going to be okay.”
“I’m trying.”
“Good. Because he’s going to need you when he wakes up.”
“Even after everything I said to him?”
“From what you’ve told us, the man nearly died for you. I think he’ll forgive you for being scared and confused,” Dad says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
Mark leans forward, looks at me seriously. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you happy? With him, I mean. When you’re together, when all the other drama isn’t happening, are you truly happy?”
I nod, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
“Even though he’s a man?”
“Even though he’s a man. Even though this whole situation is complicated as hell.
Even though you’re probably going to have to deal with media attention and league policies and all kinds of other shit because of your professional relationship.
” Mark grins. “Love’s messy, little brother. Always has been.”
“The team’s going to find out eventually,” Mom says. “Are you ready for that?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Well, when you do have to deal with it, you won’t be doing it alone,” Dad says. “We’ll support you however we can.”
“What about the media? The questions? People are going to want to know about your gay son and his relationship with his coach.”
“Then we’ll tell them it’s none of their business,” Mom says with a shrug. “We’ll tell them we’re proud of our son and the man he loves. We’ll tell them that anyone who has a problem with it can go to hell.”
“Mom.”
“What? It’s true.”
And for the first time in eighteen hours, I almost smile. Almost.
“Thank you,” I say. “For not making this harder than it already is.”
“Tate,” Dad says, “you’re our son. We love you no matter what. That includes loving whoever makes you happy.”
“Even if he’s a former criminal who got shot by the Russian mafia?”
“Especially if he’s a former criminal who got shot by the Russian mafia,” Mark says, winking at me. “That’s pretty badass.”
“He’s not really a criminal. He was forced into it, and he’s been trying to make up for it ever since.”
“I know. I was kidding.” Mark smiles. “But the important thing is that he makes you happy. Everything else is just details.”
A doctor appears in the chapel doorway. It’s Dr. Gandolfo, the surgeon who’s been updating me on Zane’s condition. Her eyes are tired, and my heart drops at the grim expression on her face.
“Mr. Barnes? I need to speak with you.”
I stand up too fast, a wave of dizziness crashing over me. I grip the top of the pew. “What’s wrong?”
“As his emergency contact, I have an update for you. Mr. Christensen is experiencing some complications. Internal bleeding that we didn’t catch during the initial surgery. We need to take him back to the OR immediately.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“I won’t lie, this is serious. The next few hours are going to be critical.” She glances at my family, then back at me. “You might want to see him before we take him up.”
My legs feel weak. Mark catches my arm, steadying me.
“Go,” he says. “We’ll be right here.”
I follow the doctor out of the chapel, down the hallway, and up the elevator toward the ICU. Knowing my family is here gives me strength.
But as we get to Zane’s room, where nurses are prepping him for emergency surgery, I know that all the family support in the world won’t matter if I lose him.
“Zane,” I whisper as they wheel him on a gurney past me toward the elevator. “Don’t you dare leave me now. Not when I finally told them about us. Not when I finally have people who want to meet you.”
The orderlies push him into the elevator and the doors close, taking him away from me again.
And I’m left standing in the hallway, praying that they bring him back so I can tell him how I really feel about him.