A few days ago, I would have said they should have done that. I probably would have written an article about it.
“So, you come from a family of jocks.”
“These muscles had genetic help,” Jason says. “Look. Obviously, they gave me warnings about being anything else than one hundred percent acceptable. I’m pretty sure Dad knows. But I didn’t have to listen. Plenty of people don’t listen.”
“It must be hard to be bisexual.”
“I’m a multi-millionaire,” Jason says. “I take hits all the time for work. It shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“It was a big deal for Vinnie Di Costa,” I remind him.
“I guess.”
“And there are probably other gay and bisexual men on other teams in pro sports who are still closeted. It’s a big deal to them.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s okay for things to be a big deal. Especially this. I’m sorry I followed you here. I’m sorry I chased you from Boston.”
“Unfortunately, Dmitri is now deported because of me,” Jason says miserably.
I take Jason’s hand.
“Oskar and Dmitri moved to Sweden. They wouldn’t have done that if they hadn’t been married for real.”
“Sweden’s not a horrible country.”
“Dmitri should be in Boston. On his team. With his friends and new family.”
I stroke his hand. I want to ease his pain. I don’t have the words that will make it better, because he’s right, Dmitri is gone.
Jason untangles our fingers. “I’ll go check on the fire.”
JASON
I hurry away from Cal. This is why I don’t like talking. I just reveal all the parts of myself that make people hate me. Men aren’t supposed to whine.
But the next time I’m near him, he pulls me against him, like he doesn’t care at all.
Cal knows all the bad things about me. All the things that make everyone else in my life recoil, but he didn’t. The fire’s flames cast flickers across Cal’s face, and my fingers itch to chase each shard of gold across his planes.
“You didn’t mean for Dmitri to get deported,” Cal says.
“I didn’t.”
“You’re a good person.”
“I don’t think anyone has called me that before.” I force myself to chuckle, but the sound comes out disjointed and harsh.
Cal wraps his arms around me more tightly. “Maybe people weren’t paying attention.”
We don’t make love. It doesn’t feel right after the heavy conversation.
But as we drift toward sleep, it hits me I’ve never had this either. I’ve never had someone hold me in bed. I’ve never been with anyone where that was okay.
I don’t need to perform.
I don’t need to be Jason Larvik, NHL player.
