Page 88 of On Thin Ice

I was far from an expert on LGBTQIA+ issues, so the concept of bi-erasure wasn’t something I’d ever even considered until Bell had opened up to me about it one night. Over the years, a number of folks had told him that his bisexuality was just a phase, and that he’d pick a lane at some point and stick to it.

I’d been shocked to learn that more than one gay man—like this one here—had even suggested the reason he still enjoyed women was only because he hadn’t been properly fucked by a man yet. That once he was, he’d never touch one again.

There’d even been a guy on his college team who suggested Bell was only pretending to like women so that he’d be more palatable to hockey fans and coaches as the draft approached.

As if every day he didn’t risk his literal fucking life by owning his truth while some of these knuckle-dragging open mouth breathers wanted him dead.

And this guy?

This guy thought he was funny.

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“You think that’s a compliment? Telling someone they’d stop being bisexual if they just fucked you? That’s not charming, it’s ignorant as hell.” My voice came out steadier than I expected considering the adrenaline surging through my veins, making my fingertips tingle.

The guy’s smile faltered, his eyes widening. “I didn’t mean?—”

“No, you didn’tthink,” I cut in, keeping my tone firm. My hands had balled into fists in my pockets, and I forced myself to relax them, one finger at a time. “And if you think I’m gonna stand here and let you talk about him like he’s some confused kid waiting to be fixed by your dick, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

A few people nearby turned to stare, sensing the tension in the air. A woman loaded down with shopping bags took a wide route around us, her eyes averted.

The man held his hands up, backing off with a muttered, “Chill. It was just a joke.”

“Yeah,” I snorted, nostrils flaring. “Except it wasn’t funny.”

He moved off with a muttered, “fuck you, asshole,” before disappearing into the flow of holiday shoppers.

I stood there a moment longer, trying to settle the adrenaline burning beneath my skin.

I hadn’t planned to say any of that. It had just erupted out of me. A protective reflex. One I’d never felt before.

My pulse was still ticking fast as I turned away from the crowd, heading for the garage. I’d had enough. Of shopping, of strangers, even of the Christmas carols I secretly loved.

Bell would understand if I didn’t get him anything, right? Hell, he’d probably laugh and tell me I was being dramatic. He didn’t need a present. He knew how I felt about him.

Does he, though?came a voice from the back of my mind.Have you told him?

I shook my head to clear the intrusive thoughts. Ihadn’ttold Bell that I was in love with him. Didn’t think it was fair to say the words when I couldn’t be with him openly.

I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t cruel.

As I neared the corner to turn toward the garage, something caught my eye—a burnt-orange jersey mounted in a custom frame taking up a large section of a store window. University of Texas colors. A little gold placard beneath it read “First Game.”

I stopped walking, my reflection superimposed over the display like a ghost.

For a moment, I just stood there, caught in the hush that seemed to fall around me despite the bustle of the street. My breath created small clouds that fogged the window as lifted a hand to the glass to peer inside.

The shop was small and inviting, the kind of place you might miss if you weren’t paying attention. The kind of place Ihadmissed. Soft wood paneling. Warm lighting. Shadowboxes with military medals and old ticket stubs. A couple of display cases showcasing gleaming gold coins. Framed sports memorabilia and faded concert posters lined the walls. A rainbow flag was affixed to the mirror behind the register beside a hand-painted sign that read “Support Local Artists.”

Something about it made my chest tighten, an almost painful squeeze around my heart. I should probably talk to the team doctor about that because it was happening more and more lately.

These werememories. Moments that meant something special enough for people to want to hold onto them. Preserve them forever.

I hadn’t intended to go in, but my feet were already moving.

A brass bell over the door jingled as I stepped inside, the scent of lemon polish hanging in the air. The warmth was immediate, a quiet contrast to the street outside. Peaceful. My shoulders dropped an inch, the tension I’d carried all afternoon slowly unspooling.

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