“Start anywhere.”
“He’s twenty-one.” Evan’s voice came out scraped. “He’s a player. On Dad’s team. He’s the captain and he’s twenty-one and he came out to the whole program and nobody blinked, Claire, nobody even blinked, and I’ve been—” He stopped. Pressed his thumb into the cushion. “I’ve been seeing him. Since the fall.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not okay. He’s a player. He’s Dad’s player. I’m the Director of Hockey Operations and he’s twenty-one years old and I—”
“Evan. I said okay. Keep going.”
“The first time was in a film room. He made a move and I let him. I let him, Claire.” Evan’s fist closed around the cushion seam. “We were in the middle of it when Dad walked in.”
Silence on the line.
“He didn’t see anything. But I just. I got up and walked out with him like nothing happened.”
“Evan.”
“Like it was nothing. And then it kept happening. His apartment. The parking lot. A strip club in Ferndale where I kissed him in front of strangers and didn’t even hesitate. I kissed him like it was the easiest thing I’d ever done.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
Claire was silent for long enough that Evan checked the screen to make sure the call was connected.
“Do you love him?”
Evan’s breath caught. The question sat in the room like a physical object, occupying space, and the house he’d built around himself for fifteen years had no shelf for it.
“I—” He stopped. “It’s not—”
“That’s a yes.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Evan.” The register she used when she was done letting him maneuver. “Of course it matters.”
“I made him invisible. In a hallway, with Dad right there, I said his name in the same voice I use for equipment orders. He gave me every chance and I—” Evan’s fingers pressed into the cushion. “It was reflex. I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”
“I know.”
“How does that get fixed.”
“You’ve been hiding your whole life,” Claire said.
“Yes.”
“Has it made you happy?”
The couch. The coffee. The flat light. The dripping tap. The house Evan had built to look like control, the house that smelled like nothing except the detergent on the new linens because he’d washed away the last trace of the one person who’d made it smell like anything else.
“No. Not really.”
“Then try something else.”
Evan breathed out. Claire waited.
“There’s a pre-draft visit,” Evan said. “With the Fury. In Chicago. This weekend.”
