I’ve been with guys before, had quick boyfriends, but never someone to go public with. It was mostly high school flings that meant nothing.
Could Roman and I go public with this? My league is more open with things like that. But hockey players? Is Roman willing to deal with the backlash?
What would it feel like to hold his hand in public and walk by tons of people? I’d love it. Absolutely eat up the attention, I know that. But him? Roman is more private than me. Would it bother him? Is he even out?
We walk in silence to his building, and when we’re in the elevator, just the two of us, I slip my hand into his, linking our fingers. He looks down at me.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
He squeezes my hand, a small but sweet smile crossing his face.
“Yes.”
We walk hand-in-hand to his room. He lets us in, never dropping my hand, and then we get inside, locking the door behind us.
It feels emptier than usual. I can’t stay the night, though I’d love to. I have to pack all my things and prepare for my early flight.
Because it is early. Too early. I should have stayed another day. But I hadn’t intended on meeting someone who would make me want to stay. Coming here, I thought I’d win the gold then want to go home. And part of me does—I miss my parents and my grandparents, but a bigger part of me hates the idea of leaving Roman.
We may never see each other again.
Is that what he wants?
I can’t bring myself to ask or bring up the topic. I realize, right this very second, that I’ve been avoiding it. Because I’m afraid of the answer. If we part ways without saying a word maybe that means it won’t end. Maybe it means, that somehow, we could find each other again without ending it. If we say goodbye, that means we’re done, and I’m not ready for that.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roman
The air in the room is tense, and I hate it, but I don’t know how to fix it. I’m trying to be positive, to enjoy the last night I have with Nico, but all the good thoughts are getting pushed out by the fact I’ll never see him again. At least no more than photos online or performances on TV.
It’s possible I could see him when I travel to Canada for games, but we’d have to plan. I don’t play in Montreal, but I get close. I don’t know if he travels to the US for anything. All the figure skating stuff he does is based in Canada. This isn’t a simple across-state-lines situation. This isn’tI’ll fly to see you a few weekends a month. This is across borders. Another country. This is passports and in-depth planning. It’s not so simple.
He turns to face me, a sad smile on his face. “I hate this.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief at finally knowing it isn’t only me.
“Me too.”
Nico steps closer, taking my hand again and bringing it to his lips. He presses a soft, warm kiss to my palm, then looks up at me but says nothing. I can’t speak past the lump in my throat, so I stay quiet too. When he steps toward me, his body warms mine, and I lean down to kiss him. It’s soft but urgent. We both know what tonight is, and neither of us wants to speak on it. Maybe it’s better that way. To let this fade out, rather than extinguish it like the flame.
We make our way to my bedroom, the door closing behind us and our clothes coming off in a mess. I don’t know how long we have, but I can’t imagine it’s all night, as much as I wish it was. We both have flights in the morning. We both have to pack and prepare for our trips.
At least I have his phone number.
Nico and I spend the next hour making love to each other, in a way I didn’t think was possible. It’s slow and sweet and something I will never, not even if I tried, forget.
I kiss every inch of him, and he returns the gesture, for once, going slow and savoring our time together, rather than the frenzied situation it usually is.
We lie together in my bed, him crushed to my side with his head resting on my shoulder, and his hand flat on my chest, right over my heart.
Emotion clogs my throat, but if I don’t speak now, I won’t be able to later.
Not when it’s time for him to leave and I have to actually say goodbye.What I want to get off my chest needs to happen right this minute, because the closer it gets to us having to part ways, the harder it will be.
“When I came here,” I begin. “I never thought I’d be so close to winning the gold. I’m grateful I had this opportunity, but I’m even more grateful I got to meet you.”
He squeezes me a little tighter, and I continue, needing to say the hardest part. The part that will let him know that this means something to me, more than just an Olympic fling.
