Chapter 37
Jacks
“Okay, but what if they hate me?” I asked for the fourth time in ten minutes as we pulled out of Skyler’s apartment complex parking lot.
“They’re not going to hate you,” Skyler said from the driver’s seat.
“But what if they do? What if they take one look at me and think, This guy corrupted our innocent son? What if they blame me for turning their straight hockey player gay? What if—”
“Jacks,” Skyler interrupted, glancing over at me. “You do realize my brother is gay, right? And my uncle? They’re not going to be shocked by the concept of men dating men.”
“That’s different. That’s family. I’m the stranger who—”
“Who what? Seduced me with your devastating good looks and superior bartending skills?” Skyler’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Because if that’s your evil master plan, it’s working.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“You’re right. Funny doesn’t cover it. This is hilarious.
You’re freaking out about meeting two people who are already planning to adopt you.
Honestly, you should be more afraid of their acceptance than their rejection.
” Skyler made a sharp turn, probably to emphasize his point.
“My mom has already started following you on Instagram, by the way.”
“What?” My voice shot up an octave. “Since when do I have Instagram? I’ve never created a personal account.”
“Since Benji made you that account three weeks ago and tagged you in fourteen pictures from game night.” Skyler was grinning now. “She’s liked every single one, including the one where you’re making that face like Tyler told you something deeply disturbing.”
“He told me about Erik’s supposed falcon breeding program!”
“Which is completely fictional, but that’s not the point. The point is my mom thinks you’re adorable and she hasn’t even met you yet.”
I slumped back and let my head fall against the window. “This is like a nightmare.”
“This is like a dream come true,” Skyler corrected. “I’m taking the person I’m crazy about to meet my parents, and they’re already half in love with you based on a few photos and my biased descriptions of how amazing you are.”
“You’re driving fifteen miles over the speed limit. You’re a law-breaker,” I pointed out.
“I’m eager to get there. There’s a difference.”
“There’s really not.”
It had been a month since that game, since I’d worn Skyler’s jersey and watched him play and ended up in that ridiculous post-game meeting about Erik’s Viking falcon mythology.
It had also been a month of practically living at each other’s places whenever he was in town, of toothbrushes migrating between bathrooms and clothes ending up in each other’s dressers, of talking about “our” plans like we’d been together for years instead of barely a few months.
We’d gone from awkward near-kisses and sloppy tacos to discussing a future together almost overnight; and while it thrilled me, the pace was also head-spinning.
Some rational part of my brain kept wondering if we were building something real or just getting caught up in the rush of very aggressive puppy love.
“Okay, new topic,” Skyler announced. “What’s your favorite embarrassing childhood story? Because Dean’s going to ask, and you need to be prepared with something good.”
“Why would your brother ask about my embarrassing childhood stories?”
“Because that’s what Dean does. He’s like a heat-seeking missile for embarrassing information about people I care about.
” Skyler’s voice was getting more animated, the way it always did when he talked about hockey or his teammates .
. . or his family. “He’ll charm it out of you before you even realize what’s happening, then use it against you when you’re most vulnerable.
The guy could get state secrets out of a CIA agent by being friendly and asking the right questions. ”
“What kind of embarrassing stories?”
“Oh, you know, like the time I got so nervous before prom that I threw up on my date’s shoes, or the phase where I thought I could become a professional wrestler and practiced moves on our couch until I broke it. Then there’s the fact that I used to practice kissing on the back of my hand.”
I snorted. “You practiced kissing on your hand?”
“I was twelve, and it was research! My mom told me that’s how everyone got better at it,” Skyler protested. “Of course, Dean caught me doing it. To this day, he’s never let me forget it because he has the memory of a sadistic, vindictive elephant and the social skills of a daytime talk show host.”
“I still can’t believe you practiced kissing. That’s so you.” Despite my anxiety, I found myself laughing. “What other ammunition does he have?”
“Oh, God, everything. He knows I cried during The Notebook. He knows I used to sing Justin Timberlake songs in the shower—and yes, I was good, no matter what he says.” Skyler’s voice was fond despite his complaints.
“But here’s the thing about Dean—he’ll roast me mercilessly, but the second anyone else tries it, he’ll turn into this fierce, protective little brother who will talk them into questioning their own life choices before threatening said life with bodily harm. ”
“He sounds intimidating.”
“He’s not intimidating, he’s . . . Dean. Imagine me but shorter, funnier, with better hair, and zero filter.” Skyler paused. “Actually, that’s not fair. He has a filter. He chooses not to use it most of the time because he thinks life’s more entertaining that way.”
“Better hair?” I asked, because Skyler’s hair was perfect.
“I know, right? It’s deeply unfair. We have the same hair, same stupid dimples, same smile that makes people want to trust us with their deepest secrets. The key here is that he uses those powers for good instead of charming people into doing things for him.”
“You don’t charm people?”
“I absolutely, accidentally charm people, and most of the time, it’s for evil purposes.” His grin turned devious before smoothing. “Dean does it on purpose, and for the good of everyone involved. There’s a difference.”
“He sounds like a good guy.”
Skyler let out a chuckle that somehow sounded distant even though we sat only inches apart. “He’s the best. You’re gonna love him.”
We passed a sprawling field with cows of various sizes and colors. One had a mottled black-and-white pattern that reminded me of a domino.
“So I was thinking,” Skyler continued, seamlessly changing topics the way he did when he was nervous. “I think we should all hang out more with the guys. You and me and Tyler and Erik. Maybe we could grab dinner or something when they’re not being assholes.”
Something warm bloomed in my chest. The casual way he said it—like including me in his friend group was a given, as though I belonged in his world in ways that extended beyond the two of us.
“Yeah?” I said, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Yeah. I think you’ll like them when they’re not performing elaborate Viking rituals or planning sneak attacks. Erik’s pretty funny when he’s not being all Mr. Mysterious, and Tyler’s, well, Tyler’s always ridiculous, but in an entertaining way, and he’s the best man I’ve ever known.”
Wow. The best man he’s ever known. That was a bold statement, even for Skyler, especially after he gushed about his brother being a living saint, if a mischievous one.
“That sounds good,” I said, and meant it.
“Plus, they keep asking when they’re going to see you again. Apparently you made quite an impression with your tolerance for Erik’s completely fabricated cultural traditions.”
“I should order a stuffed falcon from and bring it as an offering.”
Skyler laughed so suddenly the car swerved. “Oh, shit. Ty would die right there. I’m not sure what Erik would do, but I definitely want to record it.”
We settled into an easier conversation about hockey and his teammates and the upcoming road trip, the kind of domestic planning that felt both natural and surreal.
Then the conversation took a more serious turn when I found myself asking a question that had been tickling the back of my mind for some time.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Jacks, you don’t need a preamble. You can ask me anything.”
I bit the bottom of my lip, hoping he maintained that policy after hearing what I was about to ask. “How are you so okay with . . . all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . it’s like you flipped a switch. One day you were straight; the next day you’re dating a guy, and you’re fine with it all. That’s not . . . that’s not how it usually works.”
“How does it usually work?”
I was quiet for a moment, memories of my own coming out flooding back, of the months of confusion, the late-night googling, the desperate hope that what I was feeling was a phase.
“It involves a lot of soul-searching,” I said.
“Plus a healthy dose of self-doubt, a bit of loathing for betraying everything you grew up believing, and some wondering if you’re broken or different or if this is who you really are.
I fought it all, accepted it, then fought it over again.
” I looked over at him. “It took me two years to even say the words out loud to myself, much less to anyone else. And you didn’t have any of that? ”
Skyler was quiet for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. The only sounds were the car’s motor and the occasional whoosh of us passing another vehicle.
“No,” he said. “I guess I skipped that part.”
“But how? How is that possible?” I didn’t mean to sound disbelieving, but shit, how was I supposed to believe he’d gone from straight stud of the hockey world to merrily gay and deeply committed?
It didn’t make sense, not given the world of shit I suffered through before surrendering to who I was always meant to be.
“I guess . . . because I grew up differently than you did, maybe?” His voice was gentle, like he understood why this was hard for me to hear.
“My uncle Brad is gay. He’s been with his husband for fifteen years.
Dean is gay, too. He came out when he was sixteen, and my parents actually threw him a party. ”
“Your brother is gay? I mean, I know you said that before, but still . . .”
“Yeah. He’s three years younger than me, played baseball at Florida State, and works for the Rays now in their front office.
He’s been with his partner for about three years, I think.
Feels like forever. You’ll get that when you see them together.
” Skyler’s voice got warmer talking about his brother.
“My parents never made being gay seem like it was something to struggle with or be ashamed of. They talked about relationships—men with women, women with women, and men with men—like it was all part of life, like they were interchangeable and each deserved respect based on how the couple treated each other, not what sex they were made up of.”
“But still,” I said. “You’re a pro athlete. You’re a celebrity. Societal pressure and media representation, all that stuff—”
“Oh, sure, I know that exists, and I know I’m going to face some of it when we go public.
The negative fan reaction, the hateful comments on social media, probably some ugly stuff from people who think hockey players are supposed to be a certain way.
I’ll face it all.” He paused. “That part terrifies me, but accepting myself? That was never even a question.”
I swallowed hard. This was all so . . . unbelievable . . . and utterly incomprehensible.
“If this is who I am, then this is who I am,” Skyler continued. “If you’re who I love, then it all makes sense. The rest is just logistics.”
I wanted to believe it was that simple. God, I wanted to believe him, but my own experience had been so different that trusting in Skyler’s certainty felt almost impossible.
“You’re allowed to be scared, Jacks,” Skyler said quietly. “I’m scared, too, just about different things.”
“What are you scared of?”
“Losing you,” he said without hesitation. “Everything else I can handle, but losing you . . . that’s the thing that keeps me up at night.”
I felt my shoulders relax a bit.
“You’re not going to lose me.”
“Then please trust me when I say I’m not going anywhere either. I love you, Jacks. Period. Full stop.”
“I love you, too,” I mumbled, feeling a little better but still battling doubts born a lifetime ago.
We drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, but I could feel Skyler watching me, reading the lingering worry in my expression.
“Okay, you need to stop looking like you’re going to a funeral,” he said, his voice lighter. “Dean’s going to take one look at your face and assume I’ve been emotionally devastating you for months.”
“Haven’t you?”
“Only in the best ways possible.” He wriggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Besides, you should be worried about more important things, like the fact that Dean’s going to challenge you to something ridiculous within five minutes of meeting you.”
“Challenge me? To what?”
“Oh, it could be anything: pool, darts, a debate about whether hot dogs are sandwiches, arm wrestling, seeing who can make my mom laugh harder with embarrassing stories about me.” Skyler chuckled.
“He’s pathologically competitive, and challenging the new guy is his version of a rite of passage into our family. ”
Through the windshield, I could see the Gainesville exit approaching.
“So,” I said as we took the off-ramp, “on a scale of one to ten, how nervous should I be?”
“Three,” Skyler said.
“Three? That’s it?”
“Yep. They’re going to love you. They’ll ask you a million questions and feed you until you can’t move, and then Dean’s going to show you embarrassing baby pictures while my parents nod along and add commentary that wouldn’t pass the sensors at any major network.”
“That actually sounds worse than a ten, not three.”
“Trust me,” Skyler said as we pulled into the driveway. “This is the easy part.”
“What’s the hard part?”
“Everything that comes after this.”
As we got out of the car, a voice called from the porch, “Skyler Bernard Shaw, get your ass up here and introduce us to your boyfriend before Mom has a heart attack!”
“That would be Dean,” Skyler said.
“I gathered.”
“Still ready?”
I looked at the house full of warmth and acceptance and took a deep breath.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think. Sure. Let’s do this.”