Chapter 16
chapter sixteen
When Bellamy returned from the Trailblazers’ road trip the following day, he brought half the team along with him.
They filed into their apartment one after another like a conga line that had lost its way.
They greeted Dabbs with various exclamations of “Dude! Good to see you on your feet,” and “I’ve been dying to talk to you about this woman I’m seeing.
I seriously need your advice,” and “You’re looking good, bro,” and “You and Ryland Zervudachi, huh? Good for you, man,” and “Dabbs, did you see that sick game against Minnesota?”
The dogs were thrilled to have company again. Bellamy’s kitten, on the other hand, took one look at the crowd and fled upstairs.
“I’ll go check on her,” Gaff said, taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time.
“Sorry,” Bellamy said, after Dabbs had gotten a detailed summary of the team’s entire week away, including a minute-by-minute breakdown of the winning goal against Minnesota, the argument everyone overheard Prinnie having with his wife over the phone, and the kick-ass tapas restaurant some of the guys had found in New Jersey.
“I tried to convince them all to go home.” Bellamy watched their teammates settle on the couch, armchair, and floor of the living room now that they’d given Dabbs a play-by-play of the previous week.
“And when that didn’t work, I told them you were still recuperating, but everyone saw the post of you kissing Ryland at the airport.
They weren’t buying what I was selling.”
“That’s okay. It’s nice to see everyone.”
The separate statements he and Ryland had released hadn’t been statements in the technical sense of the word.
They’d agreed that a statement was too formal for something that shouldn’t have been news in the first place—they weren’t the first queer couple in the NHL.
They were the first queer couple who played for different teams, but that wasn’t anywhere near as scandalous as when the news had broken that the Vancouver Orcas’ head coach was dating the father of one of his players.
Still, Dabbs and Ryland had published separate social media posts acknowledging their relationship in a way that reflected their individual personalities but wasn’t too overt.
Dabbs’ post was a photo of the pumpkin they’d named Bellamy even though it looked nothing like Bellamy.
@RylandZervudachi spent a few days with me while I was recuperating from an appendectomy, and he carved this pumpkin for my front porch. It’s supposed to look like Bellamy Jordan, but let’s just say Ryland’s talent lies more in stick handling than in pumpkin carving.
The double entendre had made them both giggle like schoolchildren.
Dabbs had had his commenting turned off for years, so he didn’t have that to worry about, at least.
And Ryland’s post had featured a selfie he’d taken of himself with Castle and Cosmo on one of their trips to the dog park.
Ryland wore his pink-and-turquoise sunglasses and his Columbus Pilots hat, and he was crouched in the grass, Castle licking his cheek and Cosmo nosing at his leg for attention.
Ryland looked like he couldn’t think of anything better than having the attention of a couple of Pomeranians, and the dogs looked equally as enamored with him.
My boyfriend’s dogs like me as much as he does. In fact, @KyleDabbs, I think they might like me more than they like you. Not that it’s a competition. (It’s definitely a competition [winky face emoji.])
Even though Dabbs hated that he’d had to make a pseudo statement in the first place, that Goddamn, we look good together feeling had remained.
Publicly claiming Ryland as his? Not as daunting as he’d expected.
Hell, not daunting at all. Because Ryland was awesome, and why wouldn’t Dabbs want to shout their relationship status to the world?
What annoyed him wasn’t that people knew—it was that Dabbs and Ryland hadn’t been given the right to come out on their own terms, and that others felt it was their right to discuss their relationship as if they knew anything about it.
“I gave them an hour,” Bellamy continued, breaking into Dabbs’ thoughts. “And these guys” —He jerked his head at CC, Hughes, and Zanetti as they walked in toting a dozen pizza boxes between them—“have agreed to help me enforce that rule.”
Zanetti shot him a thumbs-up. “We’ve got your back. Cool pumpkin out front, by the way.”
“It’s supposed to be Bellamy’s face,” Dabbs told him.
Zanetti cackled.
“Wait, what?” Bellamy blinked in surprise. “I saw that on your Instagram, but I thought you were joking. Why would you— Hey! Sandbaker! I swear to god, if you get pizza sauce on the couch, I will end you.” He marched off, clearly on a mission, pumpkin forgotten about.
Michael Hughes handed Dabbs a plate with three slices of pizza, all with different toppings, and they sat on the barstools in the kitchen where it was relatively quiet. “How was your week off?”
“Asshole,” Dabbs said without heat. “As if recuperating from appendicitis can be labeled as a week off.”
“Deeley’s right. You do look good. I guess Ryland Zervudachi treated you well.”
Dabbs side-eyed him. “Why don’t you say what you really want to say? Is it that you don’t approve?”
Hughes scoffed. “Fuck you,” he said mildly. “I don’t care that you’re dating him. I just thought you hated the guy.”
Dabbs almost choked on his bite. “Ryland? I never hated him.”
“When he asked you out in the spring, I overheard you tell him that you don’t date people who are mean to your teammates.”
“Well, yeah, but . . . ”
Hughes ate half a slice of pizza before prompting, “But?”
It hadn’t been an excuse—not exactly. Dabbs hadn’t wanted to date someone who was mean to his teammates, and at the time, Ryland and Bellamy’s rivalry hadn’t yet met its much-needed end. After growing up with a bully, Dabbs hadn’t wanted another one in his life.
But Dabbs knew, without Ryland telling him, that he felt terrible about how he’d treated Bellamy. It had been written all over Ryland’s face when he’d talked about the origins of the rivalry at the pumpkin patch.
Dabbs thought of the way Ryland had left his own life behind to come care for him despite his own injury.
Thought, too, of the hockey games they’d watched, the frank conversations, the way Ryland had purchased every Jell-O flavor under the sun so Dabbs would have options, even though he’d only eaten two or three.
The laughter, the shared smiles, the longing glances.
The Scrabble game that Dabbs had reluctantly packed up.
The way Ryland craved attention, not necessarily to have his ego stroked by strangers, but as a way to compensate for feeling lost and alone after his parents divorced.
Because being the best meant people paid attention to him—even if it wasn’t the right people—and that desperate desire to be seen had followed him into adulthood.
Thought, too, of that goodbye kiss at the airport.
He didn’t regret it. Couldn’t.
“But he’s not who I thought he was,” he finally told Hughes.
Bellamy joined them, standing on the opposite side of the counter as he ate his pizza. He was clearly trying not to smile when he said, “Have a good week?”
“You know what?” Dabbs leaned back in his chair and owned it. “I did.”
“And you tried to argue with me about having Ryland come stay with you. Oh shit.” Horror widened Bellamy’s eyes. “Tell me you didn’t screw around in my bed.”
“Just mine.”
“Oh, thank god. Wait. What about . . . ” Trailing off, he looked around the kitchen, no doubt cataloguing every flat surface, then over at the living room couch.
“Don’t ask,” Dabbs suggested.
Bellamy grimaced.
But he didn’t ask.