“Oh. Good. Why are you telling me, then?”
“Because seeing Claude just made it all so much clearer. I don’t want him or anyone like him. I think I might be ruined for anyone other than the one person I really shouldn’t be with.”
“Which brings me back to my first suggestion: reach out to him.” A customer walked in the door then, and Vanessa gave Fabian an apologetic smile. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, but Vanessa had already left to help the customer. Fabian shouldn’t have been bothering his friend at work anyway. He left the shop with a wave and an abysmal attempt at a smile in Vanessa’s direction, and walked out into a light snowfall.
As soon as the hockey stuff got real, you bolted.Oh god, that was exactly what Fabian had done, wasn’t it? He could handle dating a hockey player as long as he didn’t have to see any real evidence of it.
But maybe that wasn’t unreasonable of him. His whole life, Fabian had only known hockey to be a horrible, toxic thing that celebrated homophobic bullies and trained boys to believe there was only one acceptable way to be a man. Hockey was the wall that separated Fabian from his own family, the blueprint for masculinity that prevented his parents from understanding their only son. Fabian knew himself, and he knew he would never be a fan of the game, or the culture that surrounded it. So wouldn’t it be unfair of him to pretend he could overlook all of that?
He liked Ryan a lot—he always had—and he wished he could be the strong, supportive cheerleader Ryan deserved. All he could do was worry about Ryan while refusing to even watch his games. That was a terrible foundation for a relationship.
But still, Fabianwantedto be with him. So maybe he could meet Ryan in the middle somewhere. If Ryan would just take time to let his fucking injuries heal, it would besomething. If he could tell his coaches that he didn’t want to fight anymore. If he could...
Fabian sighed. He knew enough about what hockey was like to know that Ryan couldn’t do either of those things without risking his entire career. Ryan wasn’t a superstar; he was in no position to make demands. He was replaceable.
But not to Fabian, obviously. With each passing day it was becoming clearer that Ryan had completely claimed Fabian’s heart. Fabian had no doubt he could find an attractive man to replace Ryan—tonight, probably, if he wanted—but the man wouldn’t have Ryan’s sweetness. His giant heart. His courage.
Because Ryan was the bravest person Fabian had ever met. Ryan might not believe it, but Fabian knew it was true. He faced his fears every day—flying, fighting, socializing—and how many people could say that? Fabian was the coward. Ryan’s career terrified him, so he’d run away.
Fabian wanted to fix this problem desperately. He had no answers right now, and he really needed to focus on the album release show, which was only days away. Maybe after that show he could devote some time to this. Maybe a healthy relationship with Ryan was impossible, but if there was even a chance, he had to try.
Ryan entered the small funeral parlor that sat across the street from the Tim Hortons in Duncan Harvey’s hometown. His back was a little stiff after driving for three hours, but overall wasn’t bad.
Ryan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but there were a lot of empty seats in the room where the service would be held. He didn’t see any NHL players among the crowd. He recognized some of Harvey’s coaches, but none of his teammates. Chicago’s team captain, Clarke, wasn’t even there.
But, of course, today was Friday. And Clarke would be at All-Star Weekend in St. Louis.
Ryan found a seat in the back row and tried to swallow his anger. It was like Harvey had never existed. He’d given everything he had to hockey, and when there was nothing left, hockey had abandoned him. He didn’t even seem to have many friends or family here, and maybe that was what happened when you were a miserable addict everyone feared.
Someone sat next to Ryan. Not at the end of the same row, butright nextto Ryan. He glanced over and was surprised to see who it was.
“Hey, Price.”
“Rozanov. Shouldn’t you be at the All-Star game?”
Ilya shrugged. “There will be others.”
Did Ilya even know Duncan Harvey? He’d never played with him. It seemed bizarre that he was here.
The service was short and impersonal. Harvey, it turned out, didn’t have much family. His parents had died years ago, and although a sister was listed in the obituary, she didn’t seem to be there.
Was Ryan looking at his own future? He didn’t like to think so. Despite everything, his family still loved and supported him. He was still confident he wasn’t addicted to painkillers or anything else, but he was starting to understand how easily hecouldbecome addicted. There was no question that he had preferred how he felt when he was high these past few horrible weeks.
When it was over, Ilya stood and said, “Walk with me?”
“Sure. Okay.”
When they got outside, they trudged across the snowy parking lot. Ilya stopped walking when they reached a large, leafless tree at the far end. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, tilting it first toward Ryan in offering. Ryan declined.
Ilya pulled one out for himself and lit it. He leaned back against the tree’s trunk as he took his first drag. He was a very attractive man: almost as tall as Ryan, with sparking hazel eyes and curly, golden-brown hair that fell lazily around his face in a manner that matched his unbothered personality.
“Was nice of you to come,” Ilya said after he exhaled.
“Figured it was the least I could do.”
“Yes. Well. Least you could do was too much for most players, it seems.”
