Chapter Nine #2
Studying the menu, Rip shook his head. “Nah. It’s part of the deal. Sort of what you sign up for when you choose to become a sports figure. But fans are cool here. They mostly give us our space.”
This would be the perfect time to ask him about Dahlia Dumont, but I had to choose my words wisely. “You come from Beverly Hills, so you must’ve seen movie stars all the time?” I asked him.
“Yes, of course. But like here, we don’t interfere with them.”
“What was it like? Being surrounded by them?” I took a roll and buttered it.
“I couldn’t imagine sitting next to someone like, say…
Dahlia Dumont. She’s one of the greats. I must’ve seen that movie she won an Oscar for—The Long Road—at least five times.
” I watched Sterling carefully for his response.
Aside from a subtle tightening of his jaw and his eyes widening a bit, he remained calm. “I guess you get used to it, so it doesn’t seem like they’re any different than anyone else.”
“Mmm.” I chewed and swallowed.
Our server came and took our orders. Sterling had a salad with grilled chicken and no dressing, and I made a face.
“With all the delicious food on the menu, that’s what you get?”
“I like it.” He glared at me. “Why is it your business what I eat?”
“It’s not.” I popped the rest of the roll into my mouth. “Just, every once in a while, you should let go. Live a little.”
“I live plenty,” he muttered.
“Who was the most famous person you’ve ever met?” I continued to question Sterling. “Did you interview lots of movie stars when you worked in Los Angeles?”
“I don’t remember you being such a groupie, Denis.” Rip chuckled, and I laughed along with him, but the truth was, we hadn’t learned a lot about each other when we’d been together.
“Just making conversation. Lately I’ve been watching old movies. I like them better than the computerized, rehashed junk I see now.”
“Don’t hold back,” Rip joked.
“And here I thought you were such a playboy, always at the clubs,” Sterling commented, and it sounded like a condemnation.
“I’ve done my share when I was younger, and I make no apologies. But not lately. It’s all boring now.”
“What changed?” Adrian’s question might be innocent but it forced me to delve deeper than I’d wanted.
I lifted a shoulder and drank some water to quench my suddenly dry mouth.
“I guess me? I wasn’t ready when I was younger.
Even five years ago. Plus, I wanted to live a little—you know, single gay man in the big city.
I didn’t have that growing up.” Staring out into space, I thought about my teenage years, when all I’d wanted was to play hockey and win.
Now I’d achieved my dream. What was left for me?
“Where was that? Your hometown?” Sterling’s question brought an almost wistful smile to my lips.
“A small town, midway between Montreal and Quebec City. Pretty rural, very charming for tourists who are into architecture and the like, but not so much for teenaged boys. For us, it was and always will be hockey.”
“Was it hard being gay in such a small town?” Sterling’s question hit like an arrow to my heart.
“Denis? You don’t have to talk about it if it upsets you.” Rip met my eyes, and the sympathy in their depths soured my stomach like curdled milk. Of course he’d remember our conversation at his wedding. I refused to give in and have them ruin my night, as I was sure they never thought of me at all.
Still, I trembled, and hoped no one would see my fingers shake as I gripped the water glass. “To answer you, no. It was not a problem since I told no one.”
“I imagine that must’ve been harder than coming out. Keeping a secret like that.”
A compassionate Sterling wasn’t something I’d anticipated, but I was determined to drive the conversation away from me and my ugly past.
“Well, everyone lives with secrets, n’est-ce pas?”
Our food came, but I didn’t touch my brisket. I wanted to see how Sterling would react, and at his pale face, I knew something more was going on there than an investigative report on Dahlia Dumont. I didn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he dug into his bowl of lettuce.
“I agree,” Adrian chimed in. “Everyone has things in their past they want to forget or avoid. God knows I do.”
Oblivious to the tension between Sterling and myself, Adrian chattered on, and we all began to eat.
He recounted some mishaps from his first few jobs, and soon we were all laughing and telling war stories.
Adrian and Rip shared a piece of the famous cheesecake, but I passed, and—unsurprisingly—Sterling did too.
Over my coffee cup, I turned to Sterling, who was sipping his tea.
“So Adrian and Rip have told us about their most embarrassing professional moments. Mine was walking naked into a locker-room conference on a live feed. What was yours?”
His cheeks flamed, and he spoke directly to me. “I think you know.”
Clueless, I searched my memory. “Obviously not, as I’m asking. What could I possibly know about your past? Plus, as far as I have seen or heard from Adrian, who sings your praises, you’re perfect.”
He ducked his head, then met my gaze. “Being caught on a hot mic, talking down about hockey players. It was wrong, and I know I apologized on air, but I need to tell you and Rip again, face-to-face, how sorry I am for what I said.”
Rip gave a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. Anyone can make a mistake.”
I, of course, not being as nice as Rip nor so willing to let Sterling off so easily, decided to see how far I could push him.
“Are you sorry you said it or sorry it got picked up and reported?” I smirked. “There’s a difference.”
“Denis,” Rip’s warning came with a sigh attached, but Sterling put up a hand.
“It’s a fair question. And at first, yes. I was simply sorry it got picked up.”
The server came with the check, and I grabbed it before anyone else could. “So? What changed?”
“I’m not sure how much it has. I’m still not a sports nut, and I dislike the violence. I don’t see why chasing a puck around the ice turns grown men into wild animals attacking each other.”
“Is that your only takeaway? You don’t see the skill and practice it takes? The strength?”
“Not when I’m looking at Rip, who’s got scars all over his face from getting hurt.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “You know, Sterling—”
“Denis—” Rip tried to cut me off.
“No. Don’t shush me. I want to hear what Sterling has to say.”
“I don’t see that there’s anything left for me to say. I’m sorry your feelings were hurt.”
God, that calm, measured voice of his drove me crazy. I wanted to see Sterling Forest lose his temper and get mad. Raise his voice. Anything other than indifference. Like what I said didn’t matter.
“My feelings?” I laughed. “That’s what you think? You insulted every hockey player in the league, and all you care about is what you see on the surface. A few cuts and bruises. Because that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”
“That’s not true.”
“Come on, guys,” Adrian pleaded. “Let’s not ruin the evening. Why don’t we go out for a drink?”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Rip looked to Sterling and me. “Let’s go have a drink.”
“Thanks, but no.” Sterling rose from the table, and I noticed he’d left most of his food—the diva probably thought he was too good for it. “I must get home. Thank you for inviting me. I had fun.” Head up and shoulders straight, he walked away.
“How about the three of us?” Adrian suggested. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I finished my coffee and stood to go. I noticed he’d left behind the jersey I’d given him.
Pompous dick.
I grabbed the jersey and gave them each a swift kiss on the cheek. “No thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rip. I’ve got something to take care of. Night, guys.”
More like someone. I wasn’t finished with Sterling Forest tonight.