“Is it a problem if we are?” I shoot back.
“Not for me.” He leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs. “I just don’t want to see you hurt again, like last time. And you can’t afford another scandal if you want to keep your spot on the Barons.”
“Is it my NHL career you’re worried about?” I grip the stem of my wine glass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. “Or your judgeship?”
“Screw the judgeship,” he says vehemently. “It’s you I’m concerned about, not me. If small-minded people have an issue with who my son loves, that’s their problem.”
My fingers loosen around my glass and my heart rate slows to something approaching normal. It’s possible I got a little too defensive a little too quickly. “I appreciate that, Dad. Really, I do. But I learned my lesson. Kolby’s not Chase. He’s not hiding. And he’s not going to hurt me.”
I hope.
18
Kolby
“You’re awfully quiet,” Adam says, not taking his eyes off the road as he merges onto the highway that will take us back to Moo U. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired. Someone”—I give him a pointed look he doesn’t see because he’s concentrating on driving—“didn’t let me get much sleep last night.”
It’s not a lie. He snuck into my room and kept me up for hours with his wicked mouth and wandering hands and magic pecker. A change from the previous two nights, when we had fun defiling his childhood bedroom.
But my lack of sleep isn’t the reason I’m not my usual chatty self today. That honor goes to spending the weekend with the Brady Bunch.
Don’t get me wrong. The Serranos are great. And Thanksgiving with them was—well, it was everything a holiday with family is supposed to be. Too much food. Football on television. Board games. I even helped decorate the Christmas tree.
And therein lies the problem. I wasn’t lying when I told Adam I wanted to meet his family. Spend time with them. But I hadn’t expected it to be so nice and normal and yet so hard at the same time. Everything we did together—every meal, every board game, every ornament hung on the tree—was another punch in the gut, a reminder of the things I’d never do with my own family again.
It’s not like this was the first holiday I’ve spent without them. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.
But usually, I get to talk to Hannah. She finds an excuse to go out so she can meet her friend and use her phone to call and wish me a happy Thanksgiving or merry Christmas or blessed Easter or whatever.
This time—no call. At first, I figured she was busy. Or couldn’t come up with a decent reason to sneak off. But as the hours ticked into days, I got more and more worried. And more and more desperate.
Finally, I broke down and called Hannah’s friend. But she said she hadn’t seen Hannah since the last time my sister and I talked, a few weeks ago. Which only made me more worried. And more desperate.
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Adam’s eyes flick to me, then back to the road. “My dad didn’t say anything to upset you, did he? He tries, but he’s a work in progress. Sometimes he puts his foot in it.”
“No way. Your parents are great. They made me feel totally welcome. Every LGBTQ kid should have that kind of family support.”
“What about your family? Did you talk to them this weekend?”
I didn’t, and now I have to come up with a reason why. Or tell him I haven’t talked to my parents in over three years.
My head is screaming that this is the perfect opportunity to have that discussion. But my heart isn’t ready yet. It’s not easy to admit that your own flesh and blood, the people who were supposed to love and nurture and protect you, tossed you out like day-old donuts just because you like guys. I know that’s on them, not me. But it doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking. Or any less humiliating.
“They’re at my uncle’s cabin in Elk Ridge for the holiday,” I say, mentally crossing my fingers at the half-truth. “Cell service there sucks. I talked to them before I left, and I’ll call when we get back to campus.”
It’s not a complete lie. My family goes to my uncle’s cabin every fall. But not at Thanksgiving, and cell service there is perfectly fine. But I have absolutely no intention of calling my parents anytime this century. They made their position on me and my “choices”—as if being gay was a choice—loud and clear when they changed the locks and told my siblings not to mention my name ever again.
“Maybe next year we can spend Thanksgiving with your family. Or Christmas, since our break is longer.” Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Adam’s face flushes bright red and he starts to stammer. “I—I’m not inviting myself. I mean, I guess I am, sort of. I just thought it would be nice if we split the holidays as evenly as possible. You know, like married couples do. Not that we’re going to get married or anything—”
He breaks off abruptly and groans, shaking his head. “I’m an idiot. I’ll shut up now.”
I put my hand his knee and squeeze. “You’re not an idiot, and I like it when you babble. It’s adorable.”
He grimaces. “Great. Just what every badass hockey player wants to be. Adorable.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your deep, dark secret. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you’re a big, strong manly man.”
