“I always loved big family gatherings,” Michelle said, quiet enough not to be overheard by her mother, who was at the other end of the table discussing the differences betweenfanalandfarolitoswith Dante’s father. “When I was a kid, it was like all those holiday movies, with the aunts and uncles and cousinsand grandparents and the weird neighbor, where it’s just chaos. I mean, technically they were ‘aunties’ and not blood relatives, but it didn’t matter—it was fun.” She shook her head. “Then I got older and, I don’t know. Maybe I thought I was too mature for all that.”
“I get it. We’re kind of lucky because hockey keeps you from being too mature.”
Gabe backhanded him gently in the bicep, proving his point.
“And we’re really good at the weird neighbor part,” Gabe deadpanned.
Dante pinched his thigh. “Last year we had a rookie from Norway who couldn’t make it home for a three-day break, plus Olie’s family.” He liked those gatherings, which got less homogenous as the years passed. It was hard to be self-conscious about not being related by blood when nobody else was either.
Thank God Chris cooked, though.
Fuck, if Dante became a dad for real, he’d have to learn to roast a turkey.
Michelle raised her eyebrows. “And this year?”
“Well, my pseudo-adopted stepsiblings and their kid can’t make it.” Huge bummer; Dante had been looking forward to helping Bryan put together that LEGO Death Star. “So it’s the seven of us for dinner, but we’re meeting Flash—a former teammate—and his family for pond hockey on Christmas morning.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It’s bloodthirsty.” Gabe winced, and Dante knew they were both thinking about the last time they’d played a pickup game with the Fillions. “Bazzer slashes.”
“It’s awesome,” Dante said. “You’ll see.”
Michelle shoveled in another bite of pizza. “Can’t wait.”
10. Christmas Eve
NORMALLY ONa day off, Dante would take his sweet time getting out of bed. He and Gabe didn’t get a lot of chances to laze around in the mornings. There was always practice, or pregame skate, or a workout. True days off meant cuddling and sexy times.
But not when they had a houseful of guests to feed.
Dante left Gabe to his physio exercises and puttered into the kitchen, where he started the coffee and dumped a box of pancake batter into a mixing bowl.
“You’re up early.” His dad sat down at the breakfast bar as Dante helped himself to a second cup of coffee.
Truthfully, Dante would’ve had to get up anyway. His mind was buzzing. Had it only been yesterday he and Gabe had that conversation? It felt like weeks, but paradoxically, it felt brand-new. He hadn’t had time to process.
“Just being a good host,” he deflected. “Bacon or sausage? First one up gets to pick.”
“Bacon. Clearly.”
One horrible hangover had taught Dante the best way to cook an entire pound of bacon was to put it all in a pan, heedless of any overlap, and let it deep-fry itself. “Coming up.”
It was a strange reversal of a lot of Dante’s childhood Saturdays, at least before hockey started forcing them out of the house too early for a hot breakfast. He liked it, having these quiet moments just for the two of them.
He wanted moments like that with his own kids. He hoped for them. But he knew he could be waiting a long time.
“What’s on your mind?”
This was why Dante didn’t play poker. God, he wanted to talk about it… but he and Gabe hadn’t talked about telling their parents. “It’s complicated.”
His dad paused with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. He put it back on the breakfast bar. “Is everything okay with you and Gabriel?”
Fuck, why did he jump to the worst possible conclusion? Was that a dad thing? Dante hoped it wasn’t a dad thing. He wasn’t built for that kind of stress. “We’re fine! No one is dying or getting divorced!”
“Okay. I’m glad to hear that.” He picked up the mug again, in both hands this time, and sipped it. “But something is going on. I just want you to know you can talk to me.”
Dante exhaled and tried to expel the tension with it. “I do know that.” He poked at the bacon, then glanced at his pancake batter. The bubbles were popping. Time to flip them or the pancakes would be flat. “Thanks.”
