“Fuck off.” I flip him the finger with my hand that’s resting on Connor’s shoulder. He laughs back at me.
“It’s true,” Nichols says and clinks my root beer bottle with his beer.
“And none of us give a shit,” Calhoun shouts from across the room where he’s watching the game through the box’s windows.
“Thank Christ,” I say, and give Connor a squeeze. I wish he’d say something, but I understand if he wants me to continue doing the talking. As long as he knows I have his back, that’s really all that’s important. “Because I really wasn’t looking forward to beating the shit out of all of you if you had something to say about us.”
“Yeah,” Bradley says. “None of us are that stupid.”
Connor
Well, I guess the cat’s officially out of the bag, but no one seems to care. Or, like Bradley said, none of them are stupid enough to voice a negative opinion about us out loud.
It’s strange, knowing that everyone here knows, and they’re choosing to not care or say a word. I’m a bit shell-shocked, if I’m being honest. It’s so foreign to me, after years of my father treating my being gay like it was a blemish on him. But seeing our teammates like this, it gives me hope that Gavin and I can find a way to be together in the long term and have it not be a big deal.
Granted, this is just the team’s reaction. The greater sports world, as I’ve seen from what’s happened to Gavin, won’t be anywhere near as nonchalant.If my father has it his way, he’ll use this to chase Gavin out of the league, then do everything else in his power to force me back into the closet. I’m only barely out of it. No one outside of this room knows, but my father will make sure this side of me never sees the light of day as long as I’m still playing hockey.
Knowing our relationship, he’ll likely make it impossible for me to be out after retirement, too. He can’t have his gay son tarnish his reputation merely by existing.
But I can’t think about that right now. Instead, with the air cleared around the team, it’s nice to finally be able to stand inside Gavin’s hold. He squeezes my shoulder again and I finally feel like I can breathe.
“I should have known it was him,” Gavin’s dad says, grinning.
“Why?” I ask, curious. What is it about me that makes him say that?
Garrett leans in, conspiratorially. “Gavin has a type.”
“I do not,” Gavin says, giving his dad a playful push to the shoulder.
This is news to me. But I guess we’ve never discussed our exes. Not that I really have one other than the guy who blackmailed me to discuss.
“You do, too,” Garrett says.
“Dad, I’ve never even dated anyone, much less introduced you to someone I kicked it with for a night,” Gavin says.
“Don’t need to,” Garrett says. “You’re my son. I know you.”
“That still doesn’t explain how he’s my type.”
Intrigued, I look back and forth between them like I’m watching a shootout and I’m the puck going from one end of the ice to the other.
“You’re an enforcer,” Garrett says. “You like to protect people. It was only a matter of time before some teammate of yours was going to awaken this side of you to the point you can’t ignore it.” He stares at Gavin and sips his root beer.
I blush as a result of his appraisal. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be insulted or not,” I say.
“Definitely not,” Garrett says. “You’re what I’ve always hoped for for my son. Someone who appreciates how big his hidden heart is.”
“Dad, what the fuck?” Gavin says, looking touched. It’s a face I’ve never seen on of him. He pulls me closer and places a kiss in my hair. I could melt right here on the spot.
“I’m just saying I’m rooting for you two. You seem like a good fit.” He turns his attention to me. “However, I have to warn you, Connor. Gavin isn’t the only Marshal with a protective streak. If I see your father, I might punch him.”
“Noted,” I say. And then, of course, because we’re cursed, my dad picks this moment to walk through the door with my mother hanging off his arm.
Gavin
For fuck’s sake. Why is he here? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The man walks around like he thinks he owns the place. Of course that includes private skyboxes at the Olympics reserved for teams who want to join in on the festivities. Doesn’t he have his own box to hang out in full of other entitled rich assholes?
My father’s lips curl up at the corners and his eyes narrow. “Speak of the devil. There’s that miserable prick right now.”
