“Sorry.”
“What you said is part of what makes it uncomfortable, Grady. Because if you care about him the way I think you do, who the fuck cares who hears you say it?” he asks, and I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand to silence me. “Then you guys find out the paternity, and you go to our little PR dynamo Kendra and you tell her which one of you is becoming a father. You get in front of this before the media does. She doesn’t have to do an announcement, but she can at least prepare if the media finds out. But honestly, I would let her announce it because no kids should come into the world a dirty little secret.”
“It’s Landon’s kid. I know it.”
“Okay. Whatever. Tell him this part then.”
I stop pacing. My skin feels cold. “What if he’s sick again? What if it’s worse than leukemia?”
Abbott’s expression softens. “What if it is? Would you want to spend what time you get with him hiding from everyone?”
Whoa. My perspective shifts so suddenly and entirely that I lose my breath. My hand moves to my chest, and I feel my heart slamming viciously against my rib cage. “My family…”
“Your family will love you anyway.”
“Not my mom’s parents.”
“Then fuck them,” Abbott stands. “I wish I’d only lost grandparents when I came out. I’ve been no contact with every member of my family except my sister since I was a teenager, Grady. I’m still standing. I’m still thriving. And I get to love Declan for the rest of my life. No regrets.”
“I saw the way the media still, to this day, tries to make your sexuality your entire personality,” I argue. “Like when you’re a gay athlete, nothing else matters. Not how you play, not what charities you support, not your accomplishments. Just last week, one of the top sports podcasts said ‘Abbott Barlowe, the first openly gay player in the league, scored the winning goal in overtime.”
He shrugs. His expression is light, unbothered. “And I heard the same podcast say ‘Grady Garrison gave us a perfect example of why we call the Garrisons Hockey Royalty when he stopped sixteen shots in the final period, securing the W for the Riptide.’”
I heard that too. He smiles when I don’t say anything and drives home his point. “You’ve spent your life having an asterisk next to your career—Grady Garrison, another crown prince of hockey—who gives a shit if they add another one?”
Fuck, I wish it were as easy as he makes it sound. But my heart is twisted into a ball so tight my whole chest aches. And I can’t decide if it’s because I’m terrified of coming out or losing Landon.
Abbott sighs. “Just give what I said some thought. Real, honest reflection.”
“I will,” I promise myself and him.
After Abbott leaves, I call Angie, a rarity since I’m the king of texting, but this is bigger than a text.
“He’s okay,” Angie says without even a hello. “They’re running a bunch of tests to make sure it’s nothing serious, but he’s fine right now.”
“Are you with him? Can I talk to him?”
“Hold on.” My heart untwists itself enough to begin fluttering in my chest until Angie’s voice comes back on the line. “Sorry. He’s being a little bitch and says he doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”
“Ever,” I hear Landon say in the background.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“It’ll work out, Grady. He just needs a minute,” Angie assures me. Her confidence does nothing to lift the despair cloaking me.
“Keep me posted?”
“Sure thing.”
I end the call and stare out the window for a heartbeat, and then I dial the coach’s number.
“Garrison?” he says.
“I know about Landon.”
“I was just getting ready to send a team email. Kendra is putting out a press release,” Coach Larue explains. “We’re downplaying it. Saying he’s under the weather. No need to freak anyone out. Yet.”
“I can’t play tonight,” I say. “I need to be with him.”
