Chapter 11
eleven
[…] Over in the NHL, it’s not much better.
While hockey has been known to have theme nights, including Pride Night, in a show of cowardice the world hasn’t seen since the last time France capitulated to an invading army, the NHL forbade its players using Pride tape.
(For those playing the home game, as it were, hockey players tape their sticks, usually in plain black or white).
The league gave a spurious reason for doing so, allegedly trying to keep the game apolitical by banning themed practice jerseys and gear.
With players all but lining up to declare their disinterest in supporting LGBTQIA+ causes (follow the links to statements by the Hodgson brothers in Tampa Bay and New York Pioneers Captain Jack C?té at your own risk), it’s clear hockey is anything but apolitical.
The ban might have been reversed, but it being instated in the first place speaks volumes.
Say it louder for the people in the back: Not caring about human rights is a political stance!
Jax remained quiet on the way to Tom’s apartment. Tom tried not to worry about it too much. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jax’s idea; it just seemed so risky.
When he said as much, standing at the kitchen counter and offering Jax a glass of water, Jax’s expression darkened.
“Risky,” he repeated.
“Well, yeah. I mean, we’ve never done anything of this scope before, and now all of a sudden, it’s important for us to engage in the local community? Won’t people suspect…”
“What? That someone on the team must be queer? Newsflash, two of us are.”
“Exactly!”
Jax rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be involved, okay? Breezy got the ball rolling; it should be him and me.”
Tom blinked. Had he heard correctly? “Breezy?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
With a loud sigh, Jax plopped onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “Because he’s a decent human being?”
“Oh.” Guilt swamped Tom. He wasn’t a decent human being.
Nothing new there; he would add it to his list of personal and professional failures.
His efforts to be a better captain maxed out what little emotional energy he had.
He wasn’t ready for this. “I guess that works. No one will think Breezy’s gay. ”
“No,” Jax said, shaking his head emphatically. “Let me try to get something sorted with PR and one of these charities, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to be involved. But I think it would be good for Howie and Luca and stuff. And for the kids.”
“The kids?”
“Yeah, the kids. Weren’t you listening? We want to work with a shelter for kids who got kicked out for being queer. Donate some stuff. Play hockey with them.”
“Would they want that?” Tom had no idea how it felt to be homeless as a teenager, but he didn’t think playing hockey would be high on their list of priorities.
Jax shrugged. “If my parents had kicked me out when I told them, I’d have needed help.”
“You told your parents?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Of course. Tom’s head hurt thinking about it.
Or maybe the headache was a byproduct of too little sleep after a long dinner in which his mom had gone over every minute of the disaster of a game against Toronto, picking out his mistakes.
And then…well, what had happened in Jax’s hotel room last night.
“And you think this would be good for the team?”
“Not everything is about hockey.”
“No, I know, but I thought you were doing this for the team.”
“I am, but it’s also really important to me.”
Tom swallowed heavily. “Okay. It’s a good idea. It is, Jax. I’m only…” He turned and opened the fridge to avoid saying “scared” out loud. He should probably offer Jax something for dinner. All he had were precooked meal plan deliveries.
“I know. I’ll keep your name out of it.”
“No, it’s a team thing. If it’s all of us, I have to support it.”
“Tom.”
“What?”
The stool creaked, and Jax’s footsteps came nearer, but it didn’t prepare Tom for having Jax’s arms suddenly wrapped around his middle and his chin hooked over Tom’s shoulder.
“This isn’t something you have to sacrifice yourself for,” Jax said. “If you don’t want to be involved, we’ll do it as a volunteer thing. You don’t owe anyone the truth about yourself, and if you don’t feel safe doing this, I won’t ask it of you.”
Tom let himself lean back into Jax’s embrace. “If it’s a team thing, it’ll be fine.” Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it. “But I can’t take the lead.”
“It’ll be me and Breezy all the way.”
“And if people think…”
Jax pressed a kiss to Tom’s shoulder. “Fine by me. I hate living this way. You know I do.”
Tom did know, but selfishly, he wanted Jax to keep on hiding.
If Jax came out, there would be no more shoulder kisses or hugs in Tom’s kitchen.
They’d only kissed twice—or, well, had two discrete incidents of kissing—but Tom already needed more.
Was this what addiction felt like? He’d been clean and sober of this thing he wanted more than breathing for half his life, but now he’d had it, he was jonesing for his next fix.
“I understand,” he said.
“And I get that you don’t want people to know. It’s fine. If anything gets out, we’ll just…stop meeting up, the two of us. No one will have any reason to think anything of you.”
We’ll just stop.
Tom closed the fridge and twisted around, capturing Jax’s mouth with his.
If they had to stop at some point, he would get everything he could from this beforehand.
They kissed right there in the kitchen until Tom’s hip complained about standing still for so long, and then they moved to the gray sectional in Tom’s living room.
Jax separated their lips for long enough to critique Tom’s sparsely furnished apartment, the main room devoid of anything besides the couch and a TV.
When Tom pushed him into the cushions, he shut up about it.
They only stopped after Tom’s stomach growled so loudly Jax could hear it.
After dinner, which Jax also complained about because it was bland and reheated, Tom took Jax to the bedroom to test out the memory foam pillow.
Since Tom cared about only two things in this apartment, the bed and the couch, it pleased him when Jax groaned in pleasure as he lay down.
He was even more pleased when Jax refused to get up.
They didn’t kiss again—Jax had emails to answer about the project Tom didn’t want to think about, and Tom wanted to watch the East Coast games.
They’d be playing New York and New Jersey soon, and it paid to know your enemy.
But when Tom cautiously curled closer during the intermission between the first and second periods, Jax made space for him to rest his head on Jax’s chest. He fell asleep before the third period started.
The next day, they woke late, so he offered Jax access to his home gym and spare clothes to do a light workout routine. He staunchly ignored the hum of pleasure at Jax’s continued presence in his home and in his clothes.
“Oh, thank God,” Jax said when he saw the spinning bike. “I’d have to go to the practice rink or for a run otherwise.”
“Rookie mistake. Literally. I went running twice my first year, and it messed me up for the next game both times.” The Bay Area hills weren’t easy on the joints, even for fit hockey players.
“I can imagine. Whoever thought building a city here was a good idea?”
Tom, who at this point had a dedicated drawer for masks for when the air quality got too terrible during fire season and paid an extra insurance premium for earthquakes on his apartment, said, “Christian missionaries, I think.”
Jax shook his head in consternation. “Man, why did people keep listening to those guys? They never got anything right.”
After their workout, they had a light breakfast (also from Tom’s meal service, also something Jax complained about), and because they weren’t expected at Phil’s until noon, they spent another two hours making out on Tom’s couch.
By the end, Tom’s skin buzzed with arousal.
They lay on their sides, Tom caged between the cushions and Jax’s body.
Jax had been toying with the hem of Tom’s shirt for a while, running his hands underneath and skimming across the skin in a very distracting way.
Tom wanted him to repeat what he’d done the other night in Toronto, when he’d touched Tom more firmly, when he’d used his teeth, when he thought he’d felt Jax, just as affected as him, through the layers of their pants.
Jax seemed determined not to go there again, though, as he kept backing off, leaving his touch light and his kisses sweet.
Maybe if he did to Jax what Jax had done to him? Tom set his mouth against Jax’s throat and sucked at the column of it, light at first and then harder when Jax made a low, pleased sound.
“Oh, fuck, Tom,” Jax said, breathless and deep. His hands slid down, suddenly cupping Tom’s ass and hauling him closer, and Tom wanted—wanted—
Taking a great, heaving breath, Jax wrenched away. “We should probably go. Phil’s…thing. Thanksgiving.”
Still breathing unsteadily and with an erection throbbing in his pants, Tom said, “Thanksgiving was last month.”
“I’m not having this debate with a Canadian.” Jax slid to his feet.
Tom could see the outline of his dick, straining against the zipper of his pants. He licked his lips.
“Shit,” Jax said. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to… Never mind.”
“Like I want you to what?” Tom hadn’t really thought any further than kissing.
He’d been turned on every time they’d done it, sure, but he’d enjoyed the arousal in an idle, passive sort of way.
Usually, being turned on was a nuisance, an urge he couldn’t fulfill the way he most wanted: with another person.
He’d take care of it quickly, treating it as yet another bodily maintenance function.
Even when he ventured into trying out the toys he’d dared order to a PO box, the experience had left him largely unsatisfied.