4. Oliver #2
My mouth was too dry to speak, my tongue stuck to the roof, and I looked up, tracing the curve of his lower back and following his spine to his pronounced shoulder blades. Could he feel the heat and weight of my intense gaze? If he could, he would have been nailed against the wall by now.
As if I had said those words, Lennox looked at me over his fine, curved shoulder. “There’s a restaurant if you’re hungry.”
“I’m not.”
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer, and then he shrugged, teasing with those shoulders as he flexed them.
My discomfort simmered deep within me, and I shot to my feet before Lennox could ask another question or look at me again. I didn’t think I could keep my cool if he looked at me now. His pouncing around in briefs had left me well and truly flushed.
I found my duffel and pulled out clean clothes, then went into the bathroom.
The shower didn’t feel as good as it should have, but at least I was alone.
I took my time standing there, letting the hot water slide down my body, and stepped out only when it made no sense to stay inside.
If I hesitated, Lennox was likely to break the door and try chatting.
He’d go mad in the silence of the cottage.
I stepped out of the bathroom, freshly dressed and still a little damp. The air in the cabin felt warmer now, thick with the scent of the fire and faint traces of Lennox’s cologne, something woody and light that clung to the room even more than it did to him.
He had put his clothes on.
That was probably a good thing.
I told myself it was good. Both safer and saner. My heart could stop trying to claw its way out of my ribs.
Still, some traitorous part of me felt disappointed.
He sat on the couch now, one leg curled under him, wearing sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt that did nothing to hide the way he was built. He looked comfortable, at ease, like he had already settled into the idea of being snowed in for the night.
I tried to match that energy. I dropped into the armchair across from him, leaving space between us like a line I didn’t dare cross. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the wind picked up again. I watched the windows fog at the corners and kept my hands pressed flat on my thighs, grounding myself.
We sat in silence.
Not the kind I liked. Not the calm, measured quiet of a pool before a race. This was the kind that filled every gap with tension.
Lennox shifted a little. His gaze flicked to me, then away.
“You alright?” he asked finally.
I nodded, but it was probably too quick.
He didn’t push right away. He just watched the fire for a moment, mouth twitching like he was considering what to say. He wasn’t bothered by this. If anything, he looked like he was having fun. Then he tilted his head slightly and gave me a look that was too careful to be casual.
“So,” he said, “are the rumors true?”
My eyes locked onto his. I didn’t flinch, but something in my chest drew tight.
I leaned back a little, letting the heat of the fire touch my legs. “Which rumors?”
“You know,” he said and then added quickly, “I’m not judging or anything. I just…I’ve heard things. About you.”
“People hear all sorts of things,” I said. “Doesn’t mean they matter.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“I know what you meant.”
Another pause.
I could feel him waiting for something more, something real. I stared at the fire instead.
I wasn’t angry. Just tired. Tired of people turning my life into questions for their curiosity. Into headlines. Into whispers.
“It’s not relevant,” I said finally.
Lennox frowned. “How is it not relevant?”
I looked over at him. Not sharply, but steadily.
“Because none of it has anything to do with what I’m trying to do. The tabloids only care about a story. About headlines that make people click and argue in comment sections. They don’t care if it’s true. They don’t care if it costs you your focus or your career.”
He looked at me, eyebrows drawn.
I kept my voice even.
“I’m not here to satisfy anyone’s curiosity. And I’m not here to be a headline.”
We sat with that for a minute. The fire cracked louder for a second before settling again.
Outside, snow slid off the roof in a soft rush.
Lennox looked at his hands, folded in his lap, probably regretting asking me anything at all.
I had that effect on people. They always ended up sorry for trying.
Then I added, quieter, “But yeah. It’s true.”
Lennox didn’t say anything right away.
I didn’t look at him.
It didn’t matter what he thought. Not really. I wasn’t here to be accepted or approved. I wasn’t here for whatever reaction he was trying not to have.
I had already gone through the christening by fire with my parents. I’d seen what cold disdain and tightened jaws looked like. I knew what it was like to be looked at and ignored at the very same moment.
“If you’re worried about sleeping in the same bed…” I started, agitation itching my just a little too uncomfortably.
Lennox threw his head back and laughed so loudly the walls rang. “Christ, no,” he said. “I’m not worried about sharing the bed with someone.”
I nodded, but even I could tell it looked stiff.
“Don’t you want to know about me?” Lennox asked, the same old cheerful guy that he had been a few minutes ago.
“I don’t think…it matters,” I said.
“Sure it does,” Lennox said. “It always matters if someone can understand what you’re going through.”
Lennox played on a team of dedicated guys.
Three of those guys were dating other guys.
Besides, however good he was at his brutish sport, I didn’t imagine it was so tough to go through.
The kind of fiery, testosterone-driven, and nearly violent action they performed on ice required only half as much struggle as achieving perfection in grace.
Then again, the only gay guys I knew were passing hookups, and I barely recalled their names, just like they barely remembered me.
“So, you are?” I asked, hating myself for letting a note of excitement touch my voice.
Lennox lifted his eyebrows as he nodded. “Not that tabloids write about it.”
My muscles tightened. “They will. Get big enough and they absolutely will.”
“Must have sucked,” Lennox said. It was a simplistic statement, not worth being called an assumption when it clearly stated the obvious, yet I felt the tug of warmth drag me closer to Lennox.
Not literally. I didn’t lean forward. I only felt like my heartbeat was a little louder, and my soul thrust an inch closer to his.
I nodded. “I knew it was happening. The fucker who wrote it had the nerve to email me questions. ‘Oliver Hayworth declined to immediately comment on this story.’” I barked a bitter laugh.
“I got a day’s head start, just enough to simmer and think if I should beat the headlines or not.
In the end, I called my family and told them.
Didn’t want them finding out like that.”
Lennox leaned in, eyes widening. “And?”
“And what?”
“How did that go?” Lennox asked, clearly resisting the urge to add a “Duh” at the end.
I shrugged with one shoulder. It wasn’t worth the effort of lifting both.
“You’re visiting them now,” Lennox said.
I was visiting Lena. Mom and Dad? I wasn’t sure so much. But I didn’t tell Lennox anything else about it. I just nodded and threaded my fingers together on my stomach. “You’re not out.”
Lennox cast his gaze to the window. It was getting dark outside.
We should have gotten to our homes by now had the storm not caught us on the road.
The snowflakes came in heaps, melting on the windows with the radiating heat of the cabin.
Streetlamps glowed warmly, brightening the snowflakes.
“No. Not really,” Lennox said. “I’m not sure yet. ”
“You’re not sure you’re gay?” I asked, failing to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
Lennox shot me a confused, distracted look. “What? No. I’m as gay as they come. Never questioned it. I just don’t know how that fits in with my life.”