Chapter 30 Todd #2
“I mean the team,” I say finally, hating how small my voice sounds. “My future. Yours. We have to think of that.”
He laughs, but it’s soft and hollow, nothing like the sound I fell for. “You think you’re protecting me?”
“I know I am,” I whisper.
“By shutting me out?” His eyes shine, just barely, and it guts me. “Todd, we’re supposed to be in this together. I don’t need protection because what the media says doesn’t define me. It doesn’t define us, what we are to each other. Only we do that.”
“I can’t—” My voice breaks, and I force the words out anyway. “I can’t talk about this right now, okay? I just need some time.”
Logan stares at me for what feels like forever. Then he nods, jaw tightening. “Time. Sure.” He steps back, and the distance feels more than physical—it feels like an ocean of emotion between us. “Take all the time you need, Shaw.”
He turns toward the stairs before I can breathe out an apology, and I watch him go—barefoot, shoulders tense, his back muscles bunching with each step.
The sound of his footsteps fades, but the ache stays, hollowing out my chest until it feels like there’s nothing left but the echo of him saying my name.
I press a hand against the doorframe to steady myself.
Because I know, deep down, this is the moment everything starts to break.
And the worst part? I’m the one doing it. I’m destroying what we are, what we have.
When I push open the front door, the smell hits first—beer, sharp and sour, cutting through the faint trace of his aftershave. He’s in the kitchen, sleeves of his flannel rolled up, an open bottle sweating on the counter. It’s not even eleven a.m.
He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t say a word.
“Dad?”
Nothing. Just the sound of the clock ticking and the overwhelming weight of silence.
I haven’t seen him drink this early since Mom left. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant—just that he stopped smiling for a while. By the time I hit junior high, he’d pieced himself back together. But now? Finding out he’s got a gay son has driven him to crack open a beer before lunch?
He finally looks up, eyes glassy—but not from tears.
“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he says.
“Why not?”
He shrugs and takes a swig from his bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You didn’t answer the phone.”
“I wasn’t sure what to say.”
He nods absently, his gaze still not meeting mine. “I was young once, you know. And this will pass. It’s not worth throwing your future away for.”
My heart lodges in my throat, cracking wide open at his words. I don’t want to hear why he thinks it’s throwing my future away—his small jokes over the years already told me how he feels about it. Still, I clear my throat and manage, “My future?”
“Hockey, obviously. The NHL. They don’t want a gay defenseman. They want a man who isn’t going to lust after the other players in the locker room.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, emotions welling up inside me—anger, heartbreak, disbelief—all mixing together until it’s hard to breathe. Hearing my dad say I’m not good enough as I am, realizing his love comes with conditions, hurts more than I thought anything could.
“I’m not attracted to every naked guy I see.”
He scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me, son. That picture sure says otherwise.”
My stomach twists, heat crawling up my neck. “You think that’s what this is about? You think I kissed him because I can’t control myself? That I’m some horny college kid?”
“I think you’ve forgotten what matters.” His tone sharpens. “You’ve worked your whole damn life for this, and now you’re letting one mistake define you.”
“It wasn’t a mistake!” The shout rips out of me before I can stop it. “It was real. I care about him. I love him.”
Dad’s eyes flash. “You’re confusing lust with something else. That boy probably saw an opening and took it.”
“An opening?” I can feel my pulse in my temples. “He didn’t take anything! You really think I’d just let someone use me like that?”
He slams his bottle down on the counter, beer spilling over his fingers. “You’re damn right I do! Because I raised you better than this. You don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for over a phase.”
“It’s not a phase,” I bite out. “It’s me. It’s who I am.”
He laughs under his breath, but it’s bitter, empty. “Christ, Todd. You sound just like your mother—always chasing something that’ll destroy you. Treating your real life like an inconvenience.”
The mention of her name feels as if he’s slapped me. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“I will if I damn well please.” He gestures toward me, his voice rising. “You think she’d want this for you? You think this—” he waves vaguely, “—is what we fought for all those years? To have people pointing and whispering about my son?”
My vision blurs with hot tears I refuse to let fall. “You care more about what people think than you do about me.”
“That’s not true. I care about you, about your future.”
“Isn’t it?” My voice cracks. “Because every time you say you love me, there’s always a ‘but’ after it. ‘I love you, but.’ ‘I love you, except.’ ‘I love you, just not like this.’”
He looks away, jaw tight. “You don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Being happy?”
“From ruining your life!” He turns on me then, voice booming off the walls. “You think this world’s gonna be kind to you? You think people are gonna forget that picture? You’ll lose everything, Todd. Everything I worked to help you build.”
I shake my head, chest heaving. “You mean everything you wanted. Not me.”
The words are a lie. I want the NHL, too. I did work hard to get here.
But his fear is that I won’t be drafted because of this—because of who I am.
And mine is that I’ll be drafted because of it and not because of my skills.
Those things are not the same.
He stares at me for a long moment—just stares—before his expression hardens into something cold. “You should go.”
The words gut me. He wants me to leave. I swallow. He really can’t accept me for who I am, everything I was afraid of is coming true.
“What?”
He grabs a paper towel, wipes his hand, avoids my eyes. “Go cool off. Take a few days. Think about what you’re doing. Maybe by Christmas you’ll be thinking clearly.”
“Dad—”
“Go,” he says again, quieter this time. “We’ll talk when you get your head on straight.”
My throat burns. I wait for him to look at me, to realize what he’s saying. But he doesn’t.
So I nod once, even though my whole body feels like it’s splintering apart. I turn toward the door on wooden legs.
The floor creaks beneath my steps. The only sound after that is the faint hiss of air when he opens another beer.
I step outside into the cold morning air. The rain has started again—thin, relentless. It soaks through my hoodie as I walk to the car. My hands are shaking as I pull my keys from my pocket to unlock it. I fumble with them, and they clatter onto the wet cement.
I finally get the door open and climb inside, chest tight, eyes burning. I don’t start the engine right away. I just sit there, staring at the house through the windshield until it blurs into nothing but shapes and water.
With one last breath, I start the car and pull out of the driveway. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t stay.
The wipers drag across the glass, smearing the world into motionless lines. My phone buzzes once in the cup holder—probably Logan—but I can’t bring myself to look. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Headlights slice through the rain as I merge onto the highway, the tires hissing over wet asphalt. Every mile puts more distance between me and the house, but it doesn’t feel like escape. It feels like free-fall.
By the time the town lights fade in my rearview mirror, my hands are still trembling on the wheel. I tell myself I’ll figure it out when I get there—wherever there ends up being.
But the truth is, I don’t know if I’m running away from him… or from myself.