Chapter 29
I woke up on Derek's couch with a crick in my neck and Joel's head on my shoulder.
We'd never pulled out the bed. At some point in the night we'd just stopped talking and let our eyes close, and now here we were, tangled together on cushions that weren't meant for two grown men. My back was going to hate me for this. My hand was throbbing under the fresh bandage.
I didn't move.
Joel's breath was slow against my collarbone. His hair was flattened on one side, his mouth slightly open. One of his hands rested on my chest, fingers curled loosely into my shirt. Gray morning light came through the curtains, and the house was quiet in a way that meant the kids were already gone.
I turned my head just enough to press my lips to his hair. He stirred, made a small sound, and then his hand tightened in my shirt.
"Hey," I said against his temple.
"Mm." He shifted, wincing. "My neck."
"Yeah. Mine too."
He lifted his head slowly, blinking. His eyes found mine, and he smiled anyway. Then he leaned up and kissed me, unhurried, his hand sliding up to cup the side of my face. He tasted like sleep and the stale coffee we'd drunk too late last night.
The kitchen light clicked on. Derek's footsteps moved across the tile, and the coffeemaker started its familiar gurgle. Joel glanced toward the sound, then back at me.
"I'm going to tell him this morning."
Joel's hand was still curled in my shirt. His thumb moved once, a small stroke. Then he nodded.
"Give me a few minutes to start it," I said. "Then come in."
He kissed me once more and sat up. "I'll be here."
I found Derek at the kitchen table with his coffee and his phone, scrolling through something with the blank expression of a man who wasn't really reading. He looked up when I came in.
"Coffee's fresh," he said. "Cups are where they always are."
I poured myself a cup and sat down across from him. The kitchen was cluttered with evidence of family life: Owen's drawings on the fridge, Lily's soccer schedule pinned to a corkboard, a calendar with Sarah's handwriting marking dentist appointments and school events.
"How'd you sleep?" Derek asked.
"Okay." I wrapped my good hand around the mug. "Derek, I need to tell you something."
Derek set his phone down. His jaw tightened, his shoulders squared, the same posture he'd had at every one of Dad's doctor's appointments.
"Okay," he said. "What's going on?"
I'd rehearsed this in the car on the drive down, in my head a thousand times. I had the words ready. But sitting here in my brother's kitchen, with the morning light harsh through the window, they stuck in my throat.
"The guy in the living room," I said. "Joel."
"The skater. Yeah." Derek's voice was careful. "What about him?"
"He's not just a friend." The words came out wrong, too vague, and I tried again. "I'm gay, Derek. And Joel and I are together."
Derek was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, slow.
"Okay," he said.
"You already knew."
"I had a feeling." He picked up his coffee. "The hospital. The way he looked at you. And before that, honestly. Little things over the years."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Wasn't my place." Derek shrugged. "Figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
I stared at him.
"I should have told you a long time ago," I said.
"Yeah. You should have." There was no accusation in it. "But I get why you didn't."
"Does anyone else know?" he asked.
"Ro. A few people." I wrapped both hands around my mug, ignoring the throb in my bad one. "Not the team. Not the league."
"Not Dad."
"No. Not Dad."
Derek's jaw tightened.
"He would have been okay with it," Derek said. "You know that, right? Dad wouldn't have cared."
"That's not why I didn't tell him."
"Then why?"
Because I was a coward. Because every year I waited made it harder. Because by the time I was ready, he wasn't the same man anymore, and telling him would have been like asking him to hold something he no longer had the hands for.
"I ran out of time," I said.
Derek nodded slowly. "I'm glad you told me. Even if I already knew. It matters that you said it."
My throat went tight, and I had to look down at the table.
"Derek—"
"Is he good to you?" Derek asked. "Joel. Is he good to you?"
"Yeah." My voice came out rough. "He is."
"Good." Derek drank his coffee. "Then I want to meet him properly. Not just as your friend who happened to show up."
Footsteps sounded behind me. Joel appeared in the kitchen doorway, hesitant in a way I'd never seen him. His eyes found me first, checking, and I nodded.
"Derek, this is Joel," I said. "My—" I stopped. Boyfriend was too small. Partner was too formal. I didn't have a word for what he was. "Joel."
Derek stood up and extended his hand. "Good to meet you. For real this time."
Joel shook it. "You too."
"There's coffee," Derek said. "If you want some."
"Thanks." Joel moved to the counter.
Derek watched him for a moment, then shook his head. "Gotta say though, I don't know how you pulled this off. He's like an LA nine and you're... you."
"Wow. Thanks." Joel sat down at the table with his coffee. "A nine?"
"An LA nine," Derek said. "That's like a ten everywhere else."
"Do you even know who I am?"
"A figure skater?"
"I'm a three-time world champion. I've been on the cover of—" Joel stopped, catching my grin. "You're winding me up."
"Little bit." Derek was smiling now. "But seriously. Red's punching way above his weight class here."
"Oh, he's not much of a puncher," Joel said. "More of a catcher."
It took Derek a second. Then his eyebrows shot up.
"Joel." Heat crawled up the back of my neck. "What the fuck."
Derek laughed, the real kind, startled out of him. "He got you there."
"I hate both of you," I said.
Joel's hand found mine under the table. Derek caught the gesture but didn't comment on it.
We spent the morning pretending things were normal.
Derek came back from the hospice around eleven, quieter than before. Dad was having a bad day, he said. Didn't recognize him. I nodded and didn't ask for details because I already knew what that looked like.
Joel made coffee and burned it, like he always did. I drank it anyway.
Around noon, my phone buzzed with Ro's name.
"Hey," I said. "What's—"
"Photos." His voice was flat. "Someone took photos of me and Chase. On balcony."
I sat down on the edge of the couch because my legs had stopped cooperating.
"When?"
"Last week. We were outside. Did not think anyone could see." He went quiet, and I could hear Ukko whining in the background. "Tabloid runs them tonight. Agent called twenty minutes ago."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get ahead of it. Press conference this afternoon, before photos drop." He laughed, but there was nothing in it. "Chase is talking to team about resigning. Conflict of interest, they call it. As if anyone cared before."
"That's bullshit." My voice came out too loud, too thin.
"Ja, is bullshit." His voice cracked, just for a second. "Wanted you to hear from me. Before it is everywhere."
"Yeah. Okay." I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"And Red." His voice dropped. "Be careful. Vultures will look for stories like this. Anyone connected to me, anyone who might be—"
He didn't finish, but he didn't have to.
"I'll be careful."
"Good. Press conference is at two. I send you link."
Ro hung up. Joel was standing in the doorway. He'd heard enough.
"Ro got photographed," I said. The words sounded distant, like someone else was saying them. "With Chase. Someone's running the photos tonight."
He crossed the room and sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
"Chase is resigning. From the team."
"Because he's dating a player."
"Because someone decided it was worth money." My hands were shaking. I couldn't make them stop. "He didn't get to choose, Joel. He didn't get to decide when, or how, or who he told. Someone just took it from him."
Joel didn't say anything. He just pulled me against him, his hand on the back of my neck, holding me there until my breathing slowed.
"The press conference is at two," I said finally. "I want to watch it."
"Okay." His thumb traced a line along my spine. "Then we watch it."
Ro sat behind a table with the Aces logo on the backdrop, wearing a suit that didn't quite fit right across his shoulders. He looked smaller than I'd ever seen him, which was absurd. Ro was six foot seven. But sitting there alone under those lights, he looked like he was trying to disappear.
Chase wasn't there. Of course he wasn't.
Joel's hand found mine. I let him hold it.
Ro read from a piece of paper, his accent thicker than usual. He talked about privacy. About the photos being taken without his knowledge or consent. About how he had hoped to share this part of his life on his own terms, but that choice had been taken from him.
"I am gay," he said, and the room full of reporters stayed silent. "I am in relationship with someone I care about very much. I hope this does not change how people see me as player, as teammate. But if it does, that is something I cannot control."
When someone asked if hockey was ready for an openly gay player, Ro was quiet for a moment.
"I do not know," he said finally. "Guess we find out."
The press conference ended. I turned off the TV.
"He did good," Joel said quietly.
"Yeah."
"This is what happens." I couldn't keep my voice steady. "This is what happens when people find out. Chase loses his job. Ro loses his sponsors. And everyone acts like it's just business, like it's not—"
Joel pulled me against him again, his arms tight around me, his chin on top of my head.
The knock came around five.
Derek was making dinner, something with ground beef and too much garlic. Joel had drifted into the kitchen to help. Sarah was in the living room helping Owen with homework while Lily colored at the coffee table. I'd stayed on the couch, my mind still stuck on Ro's face under those lights.
The knock was sharp, three quick raps that expected an answer.