A straw tapped his lips and he sucked eagerly. Cool liquid bathed his leathery tongue. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” A soft voice.
He took a second mouthful, a third. Slow breaths. He didn’t hurt as much as he expected but he had a feeling that was coming later. He was spending the night, so probably tomorrow, after they unhooked his IV. He moved his left hand and felt the tug of the line.
“You with me again?”
Cross blinked his eyelids open and squinted. Oh, that was Marie. “Again?”
“You were awake before but speaking in tongues. It was entertaining.”
“Sorry.”
She laid a cool hand on his forehead. “Just teasing.”
He shook her touch off, although the motion made his neck ache. She wasn’t his mother. Not that he wanted his mommy,just had a weak moment there. “Rusty?” Speaking of someone he did want.
“He’s at work for another hour. I’ve been texting him nonstop. You could’ve let him take the day off.”
Cross struggled with his cottony brain to remember what she was talking about… oh. “It was just a routine procedure. And Rusty’s only been on the job a week. He can’t request a personal day for someone who’s not his anything.”
“Yeah, speaking of that, little brother.” She leaned closer. “Why are you still not his anything?”
“Huh?”
“You like this guy, right? A lot?”
“I guess,” he mumbled.Likewas a flavorless word for how he felt about Rusty.
“I saw you on TV with him yesterday.”
“Huh?” That made no sense. “Like a paparazzi video?”
“No, hon.” She patted his shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t say this while you’re still out of it.”
“I want to hear, though.” His heart monitor beeps picked up speed. If there was a media problem, he’d have to warn Rusty. God, this was why he’d hesitated in coming out. The attention would suck—
Marie said, “Shh, hush. I’m sorry, it was nothing, just this little news spot about a kids’ program at the community center, with you as a bit of color.”
“Oh.” He closed his eyes and pulled in a breath. Then another. “You could’ve started with that info.”
“I said I was sorry. But anyhow, there you two were, side by side, being good buddies.”
“Wearegood buddies.” Then he grimaced. “Ew, yuck, thanks for making me say that. I sound like a hick farmer.”
“Hey, careful there, Rusty is a hick farmer, right?”
Cross was just losing all the way around today. To the dark behind his eyelids, he muttered, “Can you just say what you want to say?”
“Scott Edison is out publicly with his two men, and the world didn’t end. Is it worth being in the closet, when it means Rusty has no right to be here when you let them chop up your ankle?”
“I don’t know, all right?” His voice got louder than he meant it to. “I can’t decide anymore. But it’s a one-way street. You can’t close that door once it’s open. It’s not even about me being queer.” He’d decided he could handle that, if he had to. “Reporters will be after Rusty to ask him what it’s like to be the boy toy of an NHL player.”
“He’s a bit big to be a boy toy.”
“He’s a teenager and I’m thirty. He earns ramen-noodle money and I’m a LaCroix. He’s in the ECHL and I’m in the NHL. No matter what we say, people are going to dismiss him as arm candy, a gold-digger.” Cross coughed, his throat dry, until his sister tapped his lips with the straw for a cooling mouthful. “If—whenhe makes it to the AHL, they’ll say I helped him somehow.”
“If he plays well, they can hardly claim you’re on the ice playing for him.”
