Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Gavin
My teammates, my father, and I are in my living room, picking at the long-gone-cold remnants of the pizzas we ordered hours ago, when there’s another knock on my door.
It’s almost four in the morning. I eye Bouchard, who’s still on my couch, but no longer crammed as Tavish moved to the floor in an attempt to spread out and stretch his legs. “Who else did you invite?”
“No one,” Bouchard says with cheeks full of pizza. He finishes chewing, then swallows. “I swear.”
I rise and walk to the door, expecting to find another teammate, or maybe my coach. That would be nice, actually. I could use a sit down with him to make sure I still have a job. Instead, when I open the door, I get something so much better.
Connor.
I pull him into my apartment, wrap him in my arms, and breathe him in.
“Hi,” he whispers into my ear and drops the duffle bag he’s holding onto the floor.
“How?” I ask him, squeezing him closer.
He laughs. “Coach Chris got your address for me from the players’ registry. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’m furious I didn’t think to do that.”
“It’s best that you didn’t,” he says.
“I tried to call you.”
“I know.” He pauses. “Well, I don’t know because I don’t have my phone. My father still has it. But I assumed. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but I couldn’t.”
I loosen my hold on him so I can look him in the eyes. “This is better.”
He smiles and places a soft kiss on my lips. His eyes are open and he’s looking over my shoulder. “I’d do more but I see you already have company.”
I let go of Connor but keep one hand firmly planted on his lower back as I look at my teammates. “Get out!”
Bouchard and Tavish begin to stand.
“I’m kidding,” I tell them, then grin at Connor. “Mostly.”
Bouchard doesn’t sit back down as he says, “We should get going, though.” He looks at my dad. “You want to come with me? I have a spare bedroom, and it has an actual bed in it, with sheets and everything.”
“I don’t need a bed,” my dad says. “But I don’t want to be on this couch when these two go to bed.”
“Smart,” Bouchard says. “I shared a wall with them. They’re not quiet.”
“Fuck off.” I flip him my middle finger.
“Actually,” Connor says. “You should all stay. At least while I get Gavin up to speed on what’s going on. We’ll need all the help we can get.” He points at Bouchard. “Especially from you. I’m assuming you’re in touch with the rest of the Olympic team.”
“Of course.” Bouchard beams and sits back down as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll get a group chat going.”
Connor steps away from me and takes a seat on the floor. He grabs a piece of pizza and takes a huge bite. “Sorry,” he says, looking up at me. “I’m starving.”
“Eat,” I say and walk to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a drink.” At the fridge, I hold up a beer and a root beer.
“Can I get a water?” he says, checking his watch. “It’s either too late or too early for me to start drinking.”
“Oh. Right,” I say. “We’ve lost track of time around here.”
“Yeah,” Bouchard says. “A wall clock would have cluttered the décor around here.”
I flip him off, then grab a glass out of my cabinet, making sure it isn’t one of the ones with a chip in it.
After filling it, I walk to the living room and hand it to Connor.
After he grabs it, I sit behind him on the floor with my bent legs bracketing him, and my back against the wall for support.
He leans back into me, and I curl an arm around his waist. I still can’t believe he’s here.
I’m overwhelmed with relief now that I have his body resting against mine, anchoring my nerves, and calming me down.
Tavish nods his chin at us, but his eyes are on Bouchard. “Have they been like this the entire time?”
Bouchard grabs another piece of pizza and shrugs. “No, but they weren’t as slick as they thought, either.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” my dad says.
“I get it,” I say. “You all figured it out.”
Connor turns in my hold to look at me. “Don’t get too mad at them,” he says. “What they’re saying should be able to help us.”
“How so?”
“Well, since my father’s trying to convince everyone we were never together, having a team full of people coming to our defense, saying that’s not the case at all, should help strengthen our side.”
“But still,” I say. “Us coming forward about our relationship is basically going to give your father all the ammo he needs to get his so-called ‘Marshal Rule’ installed.”
The grin on Connor’s face is wicked. “You haven’t heard everything I’ve come to tell you yet.”
Connor
I knew Gavin was going to be tense. How could he not be with the way we were separated after the game at the Olympics?
The complete account from his end I still don’t know all of.
But with each new detail of today’s events I give him, I can feel Gavin relax a little more.
And by the time I’m done filling him in on everything Coach Chris’s wife, Michelle, is putting into motion, a sense of calm washes over him.
Especially as he realizes that all he needs to do from here on out is support me. Be by my side. Protect what’s his.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
His chin is hooked over my shoulder, and now both of his arms are around my torso.
Bouchard and Tavish are on the living room floor with us as well, while Gavin’s dad is lying on his back with his arms resting on his chest on that poor couch that looks like it’s begging to be put out of its misery.
Gavin wasn’t kidding when he told me bringing home our Olympic dorm bed would be an upgrade to his place.
I’m not going to say anything, though, as I’m happy to just be here.
I don’t care what the furniture situation is.
That said, if this trade does go through and I’m sent to Buffalo, we’re moving.
Gavin’s living situation is in desperate need of an upgrade. Like father, like son, once again.
“I’m sure,” I say. “I’m ready. Long past ready.
” It’s not officially coming out as a couple that we’re referring to.
Although that is important, and I am ready.
This is about getting as far away from my father as possible.
I need it. Possibly more than I need Gavin.
My father has had his foot on the gas pedal of my life and his hands on the steering wheel for as long as I can remember.
It’s time for me to stomp on the brakes and take control of my own fate.
“The team’s ready,” Bouchard says, putting his phone down. “Anything your father says about your relationship, we’ll all refute. He can’t have all of us suspended.” He reaches towards Gavin, and they bump their fists.
“Don’t expect him not to want to try, though,” Garrett says with a rumbling laugh in his voice.
“Spoken like a man of experience,” Gavin says, nodding at his dad.
“I hate to say it, Connor,” Garrett says, turning his head to look at me. “I’ve always hated your father. But you’re nothing like him. Whatever happens after this, you’ve got a home with me and Gavin.”
“Thank you,” I say, and really mean it. I’m touched.
Garrett rises from the couch. “Now, we should all get going. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
Gavin shakes his head behind me. “Dad, stay. You don’t need to leave.”
“Bullshit,” Bouchard coughs, causing me to laugh.
“We’re not feral,” I say.
“Are you sure about that?” Tavish says, gesturing around. “Look at your boyfriend’s apartment.”
“It’s cozy.” I shrug. I am quite comfortable from where I’m sitting nestled in Gavin’s arms.
“I’ve been on musty old fishing boats more luxurious than this apartment for weeks-long stretches,” Garrett says, but sits back down on the couch. I get the sense he didn’t actually want to leave anyway.
Tavish stands up from the floor, then reaches a hand down for Bouchard to take. He pulls him up, saying, “We should get out of here, though. Will you be at practice on Monday?”
“I hope so,” Gavin says. I feel his reluctance to slip out from behind me and stand to let his teammates out as he lets go and rises. “Assuming I’m even allowed back into the building.”
“You will be,” I say, getting up and following him. Michelle is hard at work, and I trust her to at least pull off making the Marshal Rule dead in the water. As for my trade, well, that’s going to take more of a miracle.
Bouchard claps me on the shoulder. “And maybe by the end of the week, you’ll be wearing a Blizzards jersey.”
“I hope so.”
“Us too,” Tavish says. “I can’t wait to see what you and I can do on the ice together.”
Gavin
As soon as I close the door on my teammates, I grab Connor again. A part of me still can’t believe he’s here. And an even bigger part of me can’t believe he’s come bearing a plan on how we can solve this.
“Don’t make me regret not leaving with Bouchard,” my dad says. He’s smirking at us from where he’s sitting on the couch.
Connor wiggles out of my hold and walks to his discarded duffle bag that’s still by the door. “I’m glad you’re still here,” he says. “I have something with me I think you’ll want to see.” He points at me. “Go sit with your dad.”
Intrigued, I do as I’m told while Connor opens his bag and reaches inside.
He pulls out a polished mahogany box that has the five colorful intertwining rings of the Olympic emblem inlaid on both sides.
He hands it to me. The top is made of glass and sitting inside is my medal, gleaming gold. The same color as Connor’s hair.
I open the box and run my fingers over it, feeling the texture, and reading the words, OLYMPIC WINTER GAMES, MILAN. I look up at him. “How did you get this?”
Connor smiles at me, his eyes glistening. “Coach Chris had it. He asked me to give it to you.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. When I was escorted off the ice and out of the building I figured mine was going to be considered forfeit.
At the time I didn’t care, as all I wanted was to get back to Connor.
In truth, I haven’t had much time to think about it since.
Going to the Olympics was a dream of mine as a kid when watching the US team with Connor’s father win it years ago.
Then, when the league ruled that NHL players couldn’t go to the Olympics before my career even started, I had to forget the dream was even possible.
After the NHL let us all compete for our countries once again, I’d started dreaming again, and now, holding this medal, I realize how much this actually means.
Not only to me, but to the hockey community worldwide as well.
The past three weeks of chasing after it has been a whirlwind of knocking everyone out of our path to victory. And here it is, finally in my hands.
I look at my dad and hand it to him. “I bet you never thought we’d ever have our hands on one of these.”
“You’d be wrong,” he says as he does the exact same thing I did, running his fingers across the medal’s cool surface. He closes the lid and hands it back to me, then pats my shoulder. He lets his hand linger there. I can hear him swallow. “You did good, son.”
“Thanks,” I say, leaning against him slightly. “You did too.”