I flip him my middle finger.
“Fine. Be weirdos,” Ander says. “But you should be watching. Unless Seattle pulls off a miracle, you guys will be facing Dallas starting next week.”
“Great,” Ryan says dryly and drops his chin to his chest. I watch as he brings his hands to his head and rubs his palms harshly against his cheeks. When he pulls his hands away, he rolls his shoulders, then goes back to looking like his normal, devil-may-care self as he unpacks my bag. Something doesn’t feel right in my gut.
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Ander continues. “Sure, Dallas is the favorite to come out of the west ever since you all took out Winnipeg, but it’s not like they’re unbeatable. The Mules can handle them. And besides, your family’s there—right, Ryan? It’ll be good to have them come cheer you on.”
The silence in this room could fill the distance from St. Louis to Buffalo.
Biting my lip, I look at Ryan and watch as he drops to the floor. He leans against the closet door and stares up at the ceiling.
“Ander,” I say, keeping my eyes on Ryan. “I gotta let you go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Alright, little brother. Good luck in Dallas. Enjoy the barbecue.”
Ryan
The look of concern on Brandon’s face when he hangs up the phone crushes me. It’s not his fault. It’s mine for never telling him, or anyone, the truth of what is left for me in Dallas. Which is nothing.
I should have been better prepared for this. I’ve known for weeks now that this was a possibility. But I’ve just been so happy distracting myself with Brandon that I guess I kind of hoped that if and when the time came, it wouldn’t feel this fucking terrible.
“So…” Brandon says, looking at me through his overgrown fringe because his damn hair is way too long in the front. “We might need to finally talk about your parents.”
I huff out a laugh devoid of all humor and beckon him to me.He’s not wrong. It is long past time I spoke about this to anyone. But most importantly him now that we’re in this together.
He hesitates but eventually comes over to straddle my lap. I push his hair back and away from his eyes.
“There is so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin.”
He tips his head. “How long has it been since you’ve spoken to them?”
“Years,” I say, then roll it back. “Well, I talked to my older sister a few weeks ago, but I don’t know if I would even count that as a conversation.”
“Okay,” he says calmly. “What about your parents?”
“My dad hasn’t spoken to me since before my rookie season. And my mother hasn’t answered my calls since the last time I tried to wish her a merry Christmas.”
He bites his lip, and a look of guilt crosses his face. “And it’s because you’re gay?”
I shake my head. “No. I wish that was the explanation. It would be easier.”
He looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate. But to be honest, I’m not even really sure where to start. So I decide to start at the beginning.
“I’m not my dad’s kid.”
Brandon’s eyebrows shoot up, but he stays silent.
“My mother had an affair. She was home with my older sister and, well, I guess she got bored, or according to how she eventually confessed it to my dad… it was a postpartum depression thing. I don’t know. No one has ever laid the entire story out, but I’ve gotten the gist. She got pregnant by our next-door neighbor. She didn’t tell my dad right away, but he knew. How could he not? I look nothing like any of them. Which became more apparent when my mom had my younger sister. As we got older, it got harder and harder for my mom to maintain the lie. Eventually, the truth came out; his suspicions were confirmed. He never flat out made my mother choose, but she did. It just became easier for her to push me farther and farther away to keep him happy. They would spoil my sisters, buy them anything and everything they ever wanted while pretending as much as possible I didn’t exist. And when they would acknowledge my existence it was never in a nice way. There were a lot of cruel words and the occasional raised fist.”
Despite everything I’ve just told him, a small smile pulls at my lips. I reach for his hair and twist it around my fingertips. “Iknow the only reason why he let me play hockey was because it kept me out of the house.”
“Jesus,” Brandon says as he turns his head and takes a breath.
“So, yeah. That’s what’s waiting for me in Dallas.” I let my head fall back against the door.
He turns to look back at me. He looks furious. And I’m half afraid that if he had a car he’d drive down there and raise hell on my parents’ lawn. “I don’t know what to say.” He shakes his head and spreads his fingers out wide like he wants to claw his skin off. “I don’t know what to do with any of this.”
I grab his hands and tug them closer to me. “You don’t have to do or say anything. And honestly, there’s nothing you can do or say that you’re not already doing.”
