But they didn’t.
It’s proof that there are good people in the world.
As I look at Ren, I wonder how the hell I managed to find one of the best people. Moreover, how did he somehow see through all the peeling paint and crumbling interior and decide that he wants me?
Me!
What the hell have I to offer him? I’m a fucking mess on a good day and those good days have been few and far between lately. Yet Ren wants to be with me. He said so. I heard him say so. And when he looks at me, smiling, I’m convinced I didn’t even make it up.
Was it just yesterday when Ren told me he wanted to be with me? Has it only been twenty-four hours? It feels so long ago and yet brand new.
The game ends with our win, 4-2. We spend extra time on the ice, thanking our fans. Throwing pucks over the boards and the occasional stick too. On the way out, we sign jerseys and hats and whatever else that’s pushed our way.
It’s the holiday season, after all. And honestly, we almost always have a near-capacity crowd. We have some really amazing fans, so spending a bit of time with them is the least we can do.
There’s a lot of excitement in the locker room. Both in anticipation of the break, since it’s rare that we ever get one this long, and coming off the high of our recent win.
I strip out of my gear, not nearly as sweaty as most of the others on my team. It’s a lot of pads that I wear and even stationery, I can get hot in them. But not like Marion. He was kickass tonight. There were something like seventy-three shots against him and he only let in two. That’s over 97% that he kept out. I don’t care what anyone says, those are fucking good stats!
It doesn’t take me long to strip out, shower, and change. Mostly because I don’t have to wash the stench of hockey sweat off me. I don’t linger, though. It’s weird when gay guys linger in a locker room. I’ve overheard that a lot, even from teams I’ve never had a problem with.
Not from Winnipeg, specifically, but it’s made me conscious of the fact that some people feel that way, so I grab my bag andwander into the hall to wait for Ren. We came together and I’m going home with him tonight.
I try not to let that excitement sway me any one way or another. It’s not a promise for sex, even though my cock thinks it might be. Honestly, I’m realizing now how long it’s been since I’ve gotten off. Nearly a month!
I’m horny on a regular day, so an entire monthwithoutgetting off?!
“Not that we’re going to tonight,” I murmur to myself.
Honestly, I don’t want to rush anything with Ren. He could change his mind or maybe finally see the mess that I am. And I don’t want him to. I want him to want me.
Is it okay to want something good for myself?
Chewing the inside of my lip, I can almost hear what my father would say.Don’t be so greedy. You’re spoiled.
The one thing my father has never touched on is my sexuality. Like, ever. I came out when I was seventeen and he just kind of shrugged. It took me three years to work up to telling him because I imagined it would only give him one more thing to be disappointed with.
But it’s literally never come up. In every single way I’ve let him down, this has never been a point of contention.
Honestly, it’s baffled me for years. He’s gone so far as to subtly mention how much he dislikes that I’m so tall! As if that’s my fault. It comes from either his genetics or my mother’s. It’s not my choice!
But my sexuality? Nothing.
ForyearsI braced myself for it though. Always waiting for it to be the next thing out of his mouth. I’m still wary. Still waiting. But less so now. I feel like if it hasn’t come up nearly two decades later, it probably won’t, right?
Maybe that’s why I have this strange compulsion to be a good son for them. There are so many people in my community thatlose their parents and families by coming out. But I haven’t. No one has ever said anything negative.
It’s not like they’re ignoring it, either. There have been questions about whether I’m seeing someone. If I have a boyfriend. What about the guy that I was seen with the other day.
They don’t pretend I’m something other than I am.
So… I’m grateful. I guess maybe that’s why I try to be the good son that my father demands of me.
I’m standing in the hall heading outside when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s local. My finger hovers over the green button, but then the phone is out of my hand. I look up to find Ren with it. He shakes his head as he hits the decline button.
“No calls from numbers you don’t know,” he reminds me.
It feels both like I’m being chastised but also a relief that I don’t have to feel like Ishouldanswer the phone. I nod.
