Twenty
OREN
My father’s post finally came down. I’m not sure if he was forced to take it down by Adak’s lawyer or if Spectrum pulled it for going against their community standards or some shit. But the posts and videos defending Adak remain strong.
Right before Adak left for the game, his player Colby showed up with pizza and a bag filled with food and drinks. He declared he was crashing with me for the game, since he was tired of watching them alone.
I might have accused Adak of asking him over since I didn’t invite my friends, but the look of shock on his face as Colby strolled in had me laughing. It was clear Colby hadn’t been there before since he stopped at the end of the hall after he brushed past Adak and looked around to take it all in.
We turned on the television before Adak even left and selected the station that would be live streaming Anaheim’s game tonight.
I was sitting on the floor next to Colby with a bunch of food spread out in front of us on the coffee table when the coverage started, and a sea of pride flags filled the screen.
I stopped mid-chew and watched with wide, shocked eyes as the camera panned to show the cheering audience that had begun to chant Adak’s name.
Then it switched views, and we were looking at Adak staring at the two teams showing him their pride tape—Anaheim with ace colors and Toronto with rainbow pride.
My entire body broke out in chills before I promptly burst into tears.
Since then, the footage has gone viral. The news coverage keeps repeating still images of all kinds, from Adak’s startled expression to his emotional moment when he finally processed what was happening around him.
There were pictures of the teams with their pride tape variations and so many images of the crowd that a new one was popping up every ten minutes.
What touched me most wasn’t just that this event took place in Anaheim.
There were pictures showing up of NHL teams, AHL teams, ICHL teams, college teams—the whole hockey community—surfacing for their show of pride support.
Some teams even added a patch to their uniforms. One team had ace-striped mouthguards.
It was everywhere. It still is everywhere.
Of course, the outcry of support has also bolstered the anti-LGBTQIA+ protestors to get louder too. I suppose I’m lucky that my feeds were trained to show me very little.
I’m humbled and shook at the attention because Adak’s story is tightly interwoven with mine.
Which means my name is all over the internet.
There are pictures of me from every age in my feed that I’ve never seen before.
People are coming out of the woodwork with their own show of proof that I have been abused since childhood.
Dane and Frankie’s names have also started to come up, in association with my father. They’ve been labeled co-abusers. Verbal and visual proof from people I’ve never heard of have been posted all over the place.
It’s frightening to see my face all over the internet.
Then there’s Haze. Nothing has come out regarding him. He’s been referred to as the absent youngest brother who has kept his head down since childhood. There’s very loud concern for his welfare and safety.
I don’t respond to any of it. As always, my account is for observation purposes only. I don’t want to engage. The entire thing is overwhelming, and I can’t get away from it. Not online and not on television.
So I do what I would do most days. I sit at my computer and log in to work. Albie’s logged in but doesn’t answer when I message him. He’s probably walked away from his computer or something. I spend my time actually working. Sweeping through the code to investigate various claims and reports.
It’s mindless. Routine. There’s something cathartic about it that allows me to shut out the world and lose myself in the monotony. It feels like I’m helping people. I’m making sure this little corner of the world is safe. I like how I feel when I work in Second World.
The doorbell startles me. I’m thankful that I heard it the other night or it would have given me a heart attack and I might have freaked out that I didn’t know what the sound went to. Judge me if you want to, universe. I’ve never heard a doorbell like this one.
I take the headphones off and push the chair back before pausing. Do I really want to answer the door? Is that safe?
Chewing my lip, I make my way downstairs and stand in front of the door, staring at it as if it might reveal who’s there. The doorbell chimes again and it’s super loud, so I jump again and cringe at the ringing in my ears.
Stepping closer, I peer outside through one of the curtained side windows that flank the door.
There’s a man out there. He’s wearing leggings that bubble his ass and what looks like a very expensive sweater.
All fuzzy and beige. There’s a gauzy scarf around his neck and an oversized baby pink handbag in the crook of his elbow.
His hair is long, blond, the top held back with a delicate bow.
I can’t see his eyes behind his big, designer sunglasses, but his skin looks so flawless, I might think he’s a model.
He rings the doorbell again but this time since I’m watching him reach for the buzzer, I slap my hands over my ears before it echoes through the house.
“Adak!” he calls. “Darling. Let me in, love.”
Does he have a brother? A sister? Is this another… no. There’s something about him that tells me he’s closer to Adak’s age than Rakesh’s. He can’t be a niece or nephew. Well, I suppose he could be. I don’t know how many siblings he has or how old they are.
I determine that his man is not in any way associated with my father so I disarm the security system and slowly unlock the door.
Taking a deep breath to brace myself—I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it—I pull open the door and come face to face with this…
person. Now that I’m looking at them, I’m not entirely sure they identify as a man so it was presumptuous of me to assume so through the window.
They stare at me through their sunglasses. Because the front porch is shaded, I can’t see through the dark lenses at all. But I don’t need to see their eyes to know that they’re pointedly taking all of me in. They’re not impressed with what they see.
“Who are you?” they ask.
“Who are you?” I counter.
They lift their glasses onto the top of their head and look at me again. This time, they obviously look me over and I’m extremely self-conscious about the clothes I’m wearing. Clothes from my closet. Clothes that my father picked out and approved.
Fuck, I need to shop for things that I actually like!
“It’s about time Adak hires a maid,” they say and this person pushes their way inside.
Honestly, I’m a little startled at their audacity, so I don’t react in time to block their way. They shove me with a hand on my chest and then wipe that hand on their leggings as they make their way inside. Without taking their shoes off. Everyone takes their shoes off, but not this person.
Not knowing what to do, I close the door and follow them down the hall. They look around and do so in such a way that I can tell they haven’t been inside before. They sigh.
“Adak really ought to vet his help better. You could use some lessons in what ‘clean’ means,” they say, dropping their bag on the chair and the sunglasses inside.
“Who are you?” I insist.
They turn around and give me an annoyed look. “Randall, serf. My name is Randall. Pronouns he/them.”
I nod. Because I spent so much time shutting out my gayness, I admit I’m definitely uneducated in how I should use given pronouns when they’re a combination of what Randall just provided me.
Not that it matters right now. His name and pronouns do nothing to tell me who he actually is.
“Okay, Randall. Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I do not have to answer to the help. You shouldn’t be seen or heard, serf,” they say with obvious arrogant disgust. “When Adak gets home, I’m sure it’ll be clear. Go make me some lunch.” Then he gives me that shooing motion.
“Who the fuck are you?!” I insist, done playing these games. “I will call the cops. I didn’t invite you inside.”
The scathing look I get has me crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’m Adak’s boyfriend. He’s not going to be thrilled with the way you’ve treated me. Now go make me some lunch.”
There’s only about a dozen things I’ve learned just in his last three sentences.
He’s delusional. Rude. Has told himself a lie for so long that I’m not convinced he realizes it’s a lie anymore.
And I’m positive that this isn’t someone Adak would like.
I’ve never seen Adak treat someone the way this man or them or something has treated me.
Instead of engaging further, I turn away—in the opposite direction from the kitchen—and walk out the front door. He can’t actually lock me out since I know all the codes. Even if I forget them, they’re in my phone.
I’m not sure if Adak will answer right now since I know he’s in the middle of practice, but I sit on the steps and dial. Thankfully, he answers.
“Hey, sweetheart. Everything alright?”
I smile, but it fades quickly. “This… uh, guy, I guess, showed up and pushed his way in, calling me a serf and saying he’s your boyfriend.”
“What?” Adak says. His voice is practically hissing.
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to let him in. He kept ringing the doorbell, and I was so startled by the way he was speaking to me that the next thing I know, he’s shoved me out of the way and is going to demand you fire me.”
It isn’t until this moment that I realize I haven’t heard Adak swear much. The string of profanity that leaves his mouth makes me blush and grin at the same time.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Outside on the porch.”
“Honey, I don’t want you outside. Go back in. I’m on my way. Chances are, he won’t acknowledge you again. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“It’s fine. When you get home, you’ll have to tell me who he is. I’m sure there’s a story here.”
He snorts. “Go back in. I’ll be home as soon as I can get through traffic.”
When I have secured my phone in my pocket again, I open the door as quietly as I can and pause to listen.
I don’t hear him. Keeping quiet, I shut the door so it barely makes a sound when it latches and then lock it.
My father is still out there somewhere, and I don’t want to give him free access inside.
I creep into the house and hear a clatter in the kitchen. His voice cursing me (the serf) floats through the house. I roll my eyes and climb the stairs where I sit at the top around the corner from the landing. There, I wait for my boyfriend to get home.