Chapter 29 Stefan
Stefan
Outside Oakland, CA
“Anything?” Dad’s voice is clipped. As it has been every time we’ve talked in the last couple of days.
At least he’s talking to me. I wasn’t sure he ever would again.
Apparently, nonstraight sons are different from gay students.
He can handle the latter, treat them the same.
Not so much the former. He hasn’t actually lectured me about it.
No ridiculous appeal to a religion that he only nominally follows.
No pleas for me to think about what it means for my career.
He knows I didn’t come out of my own volition, and he’s at least somewhat sensitive to that.
But he’s made it very, very clear that he’s not happy with me.
Or Evan, of course.
But at least he’s not the evil boy that seduced me anymore. He’s the skater who’s gone through the worst possible nightmare. Which is enough to grant him a reprieve.
Or would be, if we had any idea where he is or how he is.
I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. Dad’s still in New York, still fighting to end my suspension. Trying to get information about Evan while he’s at it. Neither of us is having much luck. “His phone is off and he hasn’t answered any texts.”
I’d hated going back to that text thread, the one I’ve so carefully avoided before. All the things he was feeling right before he went on the ice. And the last one, just my name, the plea so clear it breaks my heart.
Why did I think I needed to freeze him out that way? Why didn’t I at least talk to him about it? Why was I so sure I knew what was best for him?
“Have you heard anything?” The hope in my voice is so painfully obvious.
“I spoke with Gabriela Ramirez few minutes ago. She left him at hospital when his parents arrived last night and has not heard from them since.”
That’s far more than I’ve gotten. “So he’s alive? He’s ok?” My heart is thudding, relief swamping over me.
“Alive, yes. Ok, perhaps. She would not give me details, but did say he was stable when she left. They will release announcement shortly.”
Did that mean he hadn’t been before she left?
“I should be there.” I’m picking up my wallet as I say it, about to rush out of my door. “I’m coming back.”
“No, you are not.” Dad’s voice brooks no argument, back to the snap I’m getting used to. “You will remain at home, far away from competition. Far away from other skaters.”
“But, Dad, it’s Evan.” He’s seen the pictures. He knows what Evan means to me. “He needs me there.”
“You will not be allowed to see him, son. You are not family.”
“But Gabby—”
“Gabriela is his coach. She has in absentia guardianship.” I'm pretty sure he made up the term on the fly, but I know what he means. Most coaches have the paperwork required to be there when needed.
“How do you know he can’t have visitors that aren’t family?” Hospitals allow visitors. It’s a thing.
He sighs. “Because he is in ICU, syn." For this brief moment, his voice softens. Goes sympathetic, even. "Nobody has seen him except for Gabriela and his parents.” He kept that one under his chest as long as he could, didn’t he?
“The ICU?” My eyes are full of tears, and I blink them away, angry at myself. What right do I have to cry? He’s the one who’s only maybe stable. The one I made that way. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Again, I do not have details.” He’s firmed up his voice again, any empathy coated over with ice. “You will remain at home until I tell you otherwise.”
I drop my keys, my wallet. Sink down onto a chair at my kitchen table and bury my head in my arms. “Dad. I’m so worried about him.”
“He will be fine. And you will stay out of trouble. I need you to stay out of trouble, Stefan. Anything improper now could end your career completely,” he says. He’s thinking through his words, getting the English right. He means it.
I don’t want him to be right.
He’s probably right.
The ICS says they welcome all forms of diversity, but official statements and reality aren't always the same thing. Men are supposed to be masculine. Women are supposed to be feminine.
It’s why so few of us are openly queer. We don’t want to think it affects our scores, but…
Would they look for an excuse to push me out? Maybe. I’m not sure enough they wouldn’t. I don't want to chance it.
Especially if I wouldn’t be allowed to see Evan. I'm not even sure whether he’d want to see me. I’m the one who upset him so much he destroyed himself, after all. Why would he?
“Fine,” I answer. “But you’ll keep me updated if you hear anything. And I mean anything, Dad. If I think you’re holding out on me at all, I’m on the first plane to New York to see for myself.”
Have I ever been so firm with him? Not often, if so. Surprise, and a hint of something else, laces his voice when he answers a little too late. “Yes, syn. I will keep you updated.”
It’s the best I can hope for.
Three days after the fall
Me
I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. Just let me know you’re ok, please?
At least let someone do another press release? Everyone is very worried
I’m so sorry. I should have said that earlier. I’m so, so sorry
I fucked up big time. I miss you. Please, just let me know you’re ok?
Luc texted, and he’s worried too. I love you. Be ok, please
Three days, and nothing. My text thread to Evan hasn’t updated on his end. Every single message since his fall is still on delivered.
I don’t even care that I just said I love you for the first time via text. I didn’t realize it until I typed it, and then it was so obvious it hurt. But am I too late? Is he ignoring me, or is he physically incapable of responding?
My brain has been conjuring images of Evan with head trauma so bad that he’ll never wake up. Without the ability to move his body. With amnesia. Broken beyond repair. Every worst case scenario it can come up with.
Because the Evan I know, the Evan I love, wouldn’t just ignore me.
Even if he blames me for everything, he wouldn’t.
He’s too kind, too generous. He might tell me to fuck the hell off, but he wouldn’t leave me wondering if he’ll ever walk again.
Ever speak again. Ever be able to operate his phone again.
Whatever is wrong with him must be awful.
I switch threads, go back to the brand new one between Luc and me.
Me
Anything?
Luc
You know I’ll tell you the moment I get an update.
Me
Have you checked the arena? His room? Maybe he left his phone somewhere and he doesn’t even have it
Luc
I think his coach went through everything, but I’ll double check. He switched rooms the night before the short, so I’ll have her check both.
The night before the short. The night I was flying home with my tail between my legs. Of course he did. No way he would have roomed with Alexandre that night.
Me
He had it that morning, because he texted me
And I didn’t answer. I ghosted him. Like the absolute fucking piece of trash I am.
Luc
Ok.
Six days after the fall
Me
Ok, love. You have to have your phone, because it isn’t anywhere else. Please answer me, if you can
At least tell me where you are? Are you still at the hospital? Have you gone home?
If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I’m flying to New York
Fuck, I wish I’d gotten your parents’ numbers. Why didn’t we ever exchange emergency contacts? I’m such a fuck-up
Gabby says when she left you, you could talk and move. Did things get worse after she left?
She also doesn’t know where you are. Isn’t she supposed to be updated with these things?
I’m sorry. Again. Always
Six days. Six days of frantic worry over the man I love.
The media firestorm about my being ‘gay’ is starting to quiet down, and I don't regret having missed that, at least. I haven’t left my house.
Partially because I’m on a media lockdown and partially because I’m too worried to go anywhere I might not hear my phone.
If there's news about my spot on Team America, I haven’t gotten it. Is that a good sign or a bad sign? No idea, but even that isn’t enough to hold my focus.
All I can think about is Evan.
Every member of Team Canada I’ve talked to has, at some point or other in the week, visited the hospital he was at the first night.
None of them have gotten any new information.
I’d be impressed with the hospital’s dedication to not leaking news if I weren’t so fucking destroyed by not knowing how Evan is doing.
Why hasn’t anyone provided an updated press release?
A statement? Something. Gabby would have done one, Skate Canada would have done one, if any of them had any new information.
Dad’s talked to some of the Skate Canada officials—thank fuck he’s on my side, however reluctantly, here—and they have nothing.
And now everyone has left New York. The competition is over, medals have been awarded, and I have no local news source.
I pick up my phone. Again. For the millionth time. Stare at it. Who haven’t I contacted? Who else could be in the loop?
Yet another notification from Insta, some girl heartbroken that I’m never going to fall for her. I’ve gotten too many of those to count. I haven’t corrected anyone, because why bother?
It’s not like I was going to hook up with some random fan even before Evan.
And I’m a one-man kind of guy now.
Even if Evan decides he never wants to speak to me again, I’m not interested in anyone else. I don't think I will be for a very, very long time. Even if he’s paraplegic or something. I don’t care. As long as he’s Evan, I want him. I’ll figure out a way to make it work, if he’ll have me.
Because I can’t not have that smile, those eyes, that kindness, in my life.
Wait.
I click on the notification, the message. Some random girl, but—Evan has siblings, right? His account has been radio silent. I’ve checked it as obsessively as my text messages. But what if they have accounts? If he’s twenty-four, they must be old enough for social media.
Why the fuck didn’t I think of this sooner?
Back on his account, I start scrolling through his contacts. He’s got hundreds of followers—not nearly enough—but hasn’t followed many back, so it doesn’t take long.
The picture of a girl, mid-teens, in a hockey jersey, grinning Evan’s smile at the camera. Same dark hair, but long and curly, bouncing in a frizzy mass over her shoulders. SophMarq17. The number on her jersey.
Has Evan ever told me his sister’s name?
I’m pretty sure he mentioned she was a hockey player at some point, that they’d both grown up skating on their backyard pond, but taken it in different directions.
I click on SophMarq17’s profile. And there it is. Sister of the best figure skater in the world.
I one hundred percent agree with you, SophMarq. Sophie? Sophia? I should know the names of Evan’s siblings. I’m the worst boyfriend.
She hasn’t posted anything about Evan since his fall. She hasn’t posted much of anything at all, actually, which seems unusual for a teenage girl. Maybe she uses something other than Insta. It doesn’t matter.
Because maybe she’ll check her DMs.
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Hi. This is probably coming out of left field, but are you Evan Marquez’s sister?
She doesn’t answer right away. Of course she doesn’t. She’s at school, if her picture is recent. But a few hours later, my phone dings with the first notification I’m happy to see in a week.
SophMarq17
OMG, is this really Stefan Petryk?
Well, I guess I should have expected that one.
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Yeah. I’m friends with Evan
SophMarq17
Well, yeah. Duh. He only about you all the .
Stefan_Petryk_Official
He does?
I’m getting side-tracked. Completely off topic. But it still warms my frozen heart to read it. And, oh, thank fuck, she’s talking about him in the present tense. The worst hasn’t happened.
SophMarq17
He’s like in with you. Obvs.
Another spasm around my heart. This might be the first time it has managed a full beat in a week.
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Do you know how he’s doing? Where he is? Nobody knows anything, and I’m going crazy. I need to go to him, but I don’t know where to go
SophMarq17
Really? That’s so weird. I thought you guys had like PR teams and shit.
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Skate Canada does, but they don’t even know how he is. Nobody’s said anything
SophMarq17
OMG, so my brother is like… Schrodinger’s skater.
What teenage girl knows about Schrodinger?
Never mind.
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Basically, yeah
I hesitate for a moment, suddenly terrified, but start typing again.
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Please tell me that he’s alive
Because the Schrodinger reference doesn’t prompt a lot of confidence.
SophMarq17
OMG, yeah. Sorry! He’s totally alive. My parents are with him. He’s fine.
It’s enough to make me collapse, full-bodied, onto my couch. When did I even get up, start pacing? No idea, but every bit of the tension that’s been keeping me upright all week snaps out of me, and I’m a puddle.
Evan is fine. Evan is fine.
SophMarq17
Well, not really fine fine.
Shit. I’m sitting again, all but vibrating. Is she trying to kill me here?
Stefan_Petryk_Official
Any chance you could slow down and just tell me what you know without stopping my heart every ten seconds?
SophMarq17
LOL Yeah. He’s in New York, at the hospital. I think for like another week or so? They’re doing surgeries on his knee, or his leg. Or both? Mama keeps crying so it’s hard to get all the details. But he’s ok. Just, like, broken.
Back to collapsed position. Knee surgery, leg surgery, those are fine. Those are expected. They’re things that most of us have to go through at some point or another. Thank fuck. He’s ok.
It doesn’t explain why he’s not texting me back, though.
Is he really that angry? Did I fuck up so badly it’s unforgivable to the sweetest man in the world?