Chapter 2
CONNER
We made it through almost the entire seven-hour drive without anyone asking about hockey. Nolan already knew, and I’m guessing Coach Tavis did too. He’s the coach, after all.
Orion twists in his seat to look at me. “Did you get drafted? Where are you headed?”
My stomach drops. “I wasn’t,” I answer and do my best to hold his stare.
His smile falls. “What? Why?”
Coach nods. “If I were still coaching, I’d have picked you up. You’re one of the best on my team.”
“But is he the best of all the thousands of hockey players available for the pros?” Skye asks. He leans forward to look at me around Nolan. “No offense.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. In any sport, the odds of making it pro are small. I know that. I guess… maybe I fooled myself into thinking I had what it takes.”
“You do,” Coach insists. “But as my son graciously pointed out, even though you’d likely do great things, maybe there were others just a hair better.”
“Yep,” I agree. “Not a huge deal. I put all my eggs in a single basket, and now I need to figure out what I’m going to do. Arrogantly, I didn’t plan for a future where I wasn’t playing hockey.”
“That’s not arrogant. It’s hopeful,” Skye says. “You are amazing.”
“My boys have been watching hockey since they were born,” Coach says. “Maybe grudgingly, but they can identify a good player and a wannabe from a dozen yards away.”
“Thanks.”
I’m grateful when we pull into Nolan’s neighborhood. It’s a cul-de-sac filled with houses and offshoot roads. One house is a damn mansion, and that’s the one we pull up in front of. “Damn,” I mutter.
Nolan snorts. “Papa Orson is a trust fund baby and refused to live in anything less than six-thousand square feet.”
I look at him in shock. He laughs.
“Also, my dads have maintained that the key to a happy household is every person having their own private spot to escape to when they need. Five dads and six kids meant we needed eleven rooms. The house needed to be big.”
“You all had your own rooms?” I ask.
“Yep. I’m the youngest, so now there are a lot of empty rooms. That’s why we’re staying there.”
I stare up at the house. It’s obviously new, but it has the kind of architecture that makes it appear vintage. Is it Victorian style with the squared off roofs at a slight angle but essentially flat on top? Lots of hand carved details all over. The front door is spectacular and enormous.
Heading toward the house, the unmistakable sounds of voices and laughter and children screeching as they run around get louder. Nolan links his arm with mine. “So, we have one rule, and it’s pretty easy to remember.”
“Okay.”
“Love is love. No matter what form it comes in. No matter what it looks like. First and foremost, make sure you remember this when you’re meeting people and learning about them. Okay?”
I stare at Nolan for a minute before nodding.
I’m not at all sure what that means or why I need to be reminded of that.
I mean, part of the reason I’m not going home is that I like fucking dudes.
One of my earliest memories of realizing what a shit community I grew up in was when the congregation was persecuting a lesbian couple who had recently moved in down the road.
“Yeah. Got it.”
“I mean it. No matter who it’s between, Lang.”
“Okay, yeah.”
He nods. I have a feeling I’m missing something big, but unless he’s going to come out and tell me, I’m just going to need to agree.
Behind the massive house is an equally massive yard that seems to span several adjacent backyards. In the distance are a tall privacy fence and what is unmistakably a very large house on the other side.
“Rich people live in that neighborhood,” Nolan says, pointing to where I’m looking. “That particular house is where Xavi grew up. He’s Sparrow’s best friend.”
“Sparrow. Xavi,” I note. “I think I’ve heard the name Sparrow before, but I don’t know why or where.”
“River,” Nolan says, smirking at me.
“River?” I repeat. “As in the unbeatable gay chicken master at Rumor? That River?”
He laughs. “Yep. He’s named after one of his parents, and thus we actually call him Sparrow.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah.”
I shift to look around, wondering if I can spot him. Is he even here? Almost right away, my eyes catch on someone else, and the air in my lungs turns to ice, so I can’t exhale.
“Uh… is that Owen Vincent?” I ask, nodding in the direction of where Coach Tavis is talking to a man who looks just like Owen Vincent.
“Yep. That’s Uncle Owen.”
I look at Nolan as if I’m just seeing him. “You’ve got to be shitting me. You didn’t tell me you were related to a legendary hockey player!”
“Three, actually,” Nolan says. He nods in Owen’s direction.
“Uncle Owen is my Papa Orson’s stepbrother.
Actually, four if you count Owen’s son, Jude, the current hockey player taking the league by storm.
If you turn your drooling in this direction—” He takes my arm and rotates me.
My eyes bug out when I see them. “Daddy Luca’s brother is Uncle Caulder.
And he’s married to Uncle Lo. So four hockey players! ”
“You—I… holy fuck.”
Nolan laughs.
“Wait. Weren’t you sleeping with Eli for a while a few years ago?”
“Yep,” he says, smirking. “I remind you of our one rule.”
“Love is love,” I repeat. I suppose they’re not actually related, right?
“No matter who it’s between or what it looks like,” he emphasizes. “Now, which hockey player do you want to drool over first? I’ll introduce you.”
I shake my head. Honestly, I can’t choose.
He laughs again and pulls me along toward Owen.
We’re stopped no less than half a dozen times by siblings, a niece, and some other distantly removed relative, all of whom greet me just the way his fathers did.
With hugs. Once Nolan announces that he’s adopted me as his new brother, that’s it. That’s all it takes, and I’m family.
I’m breathless by the time we get to Owen. My family would never accept someone just like that. I swear to god, there’s some lengthy background check that needs to be cleared before they accept a new person into their life. They need to determine how black their soul is.
I suppose they’re experts in judging. It takes a black soul to recognize another.
Nolan releases me once we reach his uncles. Both Owen and his fashion-designer husband Zak envelop Nolan in a hug. As he’s done with everyone else, Nolan introduces me as his adopted brother. Owen hugs me, and I stare with wide eyes, speechless.
“He’s a hockey fan,” Nolan says. “Actually, he’s an amazing hockey player.”
“Oh?” Owen asks.
I think my voice squeaks when I answer, “I wasn’t drafted, so not that great,” as I shake my head.
“That doesn’t define greatness,” Owen says. “You know hockey is a competitive sport.”
I nod.
“Did we see you play?” Owen asks, looking at Coach Tavis.
“You did. He was on the ice with Edin for a couple years.”
“Ah, I’ll need to review that game. I was focused on Edin.”
I’m about to ask why when Edin, Eli, and Edin’s daughter, Morgan, join us. Right. Edin’s with Elijah Vincent, one of Owen’s oldest twin boys.
“Hi, Lang,” Mo greets. She’s also a mini coach that we fucking missed like hell this year. “How’s your stick handling? I hope you’ve worked on it.”
I grin. “Missed you this year, Mo.” I tug gently on her hair. “No one gets Roderick hustling like you. I think Coach has yelled more this year than ever before.”
Mo frowns and turns her attention to Coach. Hand on her hip, she looks like she’s about to scold Coach. “Really, Coach? You’re letting him get sloppy?”
Coach raises his hands. “Letting isn’t the word I’d choose. He’s seen a lot more bench time this year, though.”
She sighs and turns to look at Eli’s parents, giving them wide smiles. “Hi, Owen. Hi, Zak.”
Owen grins. “Hey, sweetheart. How’s cheer?”
“Eli is showing me all the secrets. I’m the best on the team.”
“Humble, too,” Edin says.
Mo is unapologetic. “Did you watch Daddy this year? He made the eighth most goals on the Razors, and it’s just his first year!”
“Five professional hockey players,” Nolan corrects, nodding in Edin’s direction. “I didn’t mention Edin earlier.”
Edin looks at Nolan and then at me, his smile widening. “Hey.”
Then Jude is there, too, and I stare like an idiot. I can’t help myself. He’s epically just… epic. He’s a pretty combination of his fathers, and he has that swagger that hockey players do once they’ve been playing for a while.
His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. My stomach jumps into my throat, and I choke on my tongue. I’m meeting a hockey player whom I’ve followed for ages. I’ve followed his career since he was drafted right out of high school.
Chills cover my body. He’s looking at me and smiling. Holy fuck, I’m going to have to have a coherent conversation with this man.
Sure enough, the group somehow shifts so the Jude Vincent is standing beside me. “Jude,” he says, offering his hand.
Fuck, I get to touch him. I grab his hand, trying not to be too aggressive or too meek. “Conner,” I return. “Hi.”
He grins. “You’re a Bulldogs fan, are you?”
“I’m a Jude fan,” I correct and then flinch. “Sorry. I just heard how that came out of my mouth.”
Jude laughs. “That’s cool. It’s humbling when I meet people who follow my career. A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming, five years later.”
“I think it’s equally humbling to meet people you’ve followed your entire life.” I glance at his fathers then at Coach. “Not going to lie, I chose Longwood U because they have Coach Tavis. More than anything, I wanted to play under him.”
Jude glances at Coach. “I was bummed when he retired. All my favorite coaches retired before I was old enough to go pro. There are some good ones now, but I swear, the legends were all within a decade of each other, and they’ve all retired.”
“I love to see when fans recognize him,” I say, grinning. “He’s so… kind. I bet you’re used to that, though. Your dad was probably recognized a lot.”
“Mm,” he hums. “Believe it or not, the rabid fans are those of Dad Zak. The fashion-obsessed are absolutely unhinged. Dad had to get a security detail at a few of his events because one girl kept trying to lick him.”
“Oh my god. That’s disgusting.”
He laughs. “Tell me about it. To my eleven-year-old brain, I was absolutely mortified as well as fascinated. I couldn’t fathom being so obsessed with someone I don’t know to want to lick a stranger!”
“That must have made for an interesting childhood.”
“You have no idea. Between both dads being famous in different careers and then my twin brothers competing in some hardcore circuits where people were literally praying to cheer sticks…” He shakes his head. “Dude, the stories I could tell you.”
I laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“Oh no. They’re called… cheer sticks? Right?
” He glances at his brother. “No, spirit sticks. Yeah. That’s it.
They’re just these short batons that are all decorated.
I think Eli and Zeke have a dozen or so.
It’s got some juju to it—like you can’t drop it.
Much like the flag, right? It’s not allowed to touch the ground. ”
I’m not sure if I’m more mesmerized by the fact that Jude Vincent is talking to me or the stories he tells. But I stare, spellbound, at this god in the making.