The Stars arein the middle of a rough second round playoff series. They started down 0-2, but they’ve managed to claw their way back to tie the series at 2-2 with three days off before game five. I’ve watched from my apartment, not wanting to be near the locker room if it means I have to see my brother.
Petty?
Maybe.
But at twenty-six-years old, he needs to do some maturing before we talk again.
“Coming,” I yell to the person knocking on my door, fixing my earring as I run down the hall. “Just a second!” I turn the knob and grin at Brody standing on the other side with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Hi.” He bends to kiss me, putting a hand on my hip. “These are my apology flowers.”
“Apology flowers?” I wrinkle my nose and take the roses from him. “What did you do?”
Brody clears his throat and looks to his right, waving his hand. Footsteps grow closer, and Grant appears at the threshold. Sunken cheeks, scruff on his jaw. His skin is pale and dry, and when he looks me, I find his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.
“I found someone who said he wanted to talk to us,” Brody explains. “But I’m going to defer this conversation to you.”
“Is hedrunk?” I lean forward to sniff Grant’s shirt. “You look like shit.”
“Feel like shit too.” He glances at Brody, then at me. “Can I come in?”
It would be easy to say no. To slam the door in his face and leave him out there with his thoughts, but my chest pinches tight at the sight of his hair looking longer than usual. At the way his shoulders curl in, and I sigh, stepping back.
“Yeah,” I say. “You can come in.”
“I’m sorry for springing this on you,” Brody says as Grant drifts past me. “He’s looked lifeless at practice and in our games, and when he came to me and asked if the three of us could have a conversation, I wasn’t able to say no.”
“It’s time we got this over with. I’m not mad at you,” I say.
“If he raises his voice, he’s out,” Brody warns. “I’ll do it myself.”
“And this is why I love you.” I kiss his cheek and close the door, making a detour to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. I grab a glass of water and bring it to the living room where Grant is sitting in a leather, staring out the window. “In case you’re thirsty,” I say, setting the glass in front of him.
“Thank you,” he says.
I take a seat on the couch, watching Brody hang out in the hallway. “I’m going to let you two talk first,” he says when he catches my eye. “I’ll check back in with you soon.”
When we’re alone, Grant takes a sip of the water then sets the glass back down. His exhale is long, stilted, and he finally acknowledges me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I snort.
“Sorry for what, Grant? Embarrassing me? Saying hurtful, callous things to me and the man I love? Asking if I’m being blackmailed.”
“All of it. I was caught up in the moment and said things I regretted, because you’re right, Hannah. You’re an adult. You’re the only one who can make decisions about her life, and myopinion shouldn’t have any say in what you do or don’t do.” Grant sighs and rubs his forehead. “I wish you would’ve told me about what was going on before I saw you two. Kissing like that? Interacting like that? I didn’t know what the hell was going on.”
“I’ve been very intentional about what I share with you, Grant. You’re a professional athlete who is constantly having microphones shoved in his face. Why should you have to answer questions about my personal relationships when they don’t have anything to do with the sport you’re playing?”
“Because I want to know these things. Because I want know you’re okay and taken care of and fuckinghappy, Hannah. Because I love you, and hearing about it from you is less of a blow than stumbling into it after a game. I thought we told each other everything.”
“Do you want me to be honest with you?”
“Yes,” he pleads, and I roll my lips together.
“Brody and I have been seeing each other since the night of the gala. We also slept together the night Riley got hurt, but we didn’t talk until he reached out about coaching his daughter.” The words are tumbling out of me now, things I’ve kept inside for weeks, months,years, finally rising to the surface. “It started out as a one-night stand, but then I went and fell in love with him because he’s great and wonderful and sonotthe man you all think he is. I’m going to therapy twice a week to talk about my burnout and setting new goals for myself, and I think I’m going to announce my official retirement from skating soon because my heart still isn’t in it anymore, and I know that’s okay. And I’m bisexual,” I add, and he falters. “I had a girlfriend when I was nineteen, but I also like men. There. That’s me being honest.”
“Y-you’re bisexual?” Grant’s shoulders fall away from his ears. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did you think I wouldjudgeyou?” He stares at me, aghast. “I would never?—”
“I know you wouldn’t, but, again, my personal life doesn’t need to occupy a space in your professional life. I’m not embarrassed of who I am, but I’mprotectiveover it. Over who gets to see these sides of me, and the only reason I didn’t tell you is because your heart is so damn big, Grant. You’d donate to the LGBTQIA+ centers in the city. You’d make the Stars’ Pride Night a big deal, but you’re a hockey player.Thatis your priority, and I’m okay with my relationships being left out of the limelight.”
