“What,me?” Ryan truly couldn’t fathom being a coach at the same camp where kids would be learning from stars like Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.
“I don’t want to teach kids how to fight,” Ryan said, just to make it clear.
Rozanov looked at him like he was stupid. “No. You are a defenseman. You will teach them how to stand still and not score goals. Defenseman things.”
Ryan laughed. “Asshole.”
“Also, it is going to be for everyone, you know? Like...” Ilya seemed to wrestle with how to say the next part, but then just bluntly asked, “You are gay, yes?”
Ryan snorted, surprised by another subject change. “Yes.”
“Good. That’s what I mean. The camps will be for that too. I mean we will teach, um...”
“Tolerance?”
Ilya smiled. “Yes. Try to change things, right?”
“You should ask Scott Hunter then.”
He made a face. “Maybe.”
They walked back to their vehicles in silence. As Ilya was unlocking his Mercedes SUV, he said, “Find something that makes you happy, Price. Hold on to it.”
Ryan nodded, and his throat suddenly felt tight. He’d had someone who’d made him happy, and he’d let him go. And for what? A life of nothing but pain and misery that he felt obligated to endure. There was money, sure, but Ryan didn’t even enjoy spending it. He could live without an NHL salary. He just needed to find something he truly enjoyed doing.
During his drive back to Toronto, he considered the fact that he had quite a bit of money saved. He could sell his ridiculously expensive apartment and live quite comfortably for a long time while he figured out the rest of his life. He was only thirty-one. Outside of the hockey world, he was still a relatively young man.
He could quit. He couldjust quit. His heart started racing at the realization of how possible this was. There was literally nothing stopping him. Sure, he would piss some people off, and probably get yelled at, but would anyone really care? His coach had been threatening to replace him for two months now.
Let him do it. Let someone else live the NHL dream. Ryan was done.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Can you believe how many people are out there?” Vanessa said as she bounced into the green room. Fabian had not, in fact, looked to see how many people were in the club. It was one of the largest venues he had ever played; he was impressed that his label had booked it for his album release.
In truth, there was only one person he wanted to see in the crowd. And there was no chance of that.
“You look incredible,” Vanessa said. “I love that jumpsuit.”
Fabian had worn the black jumpsuit that he now thought of as Ryan’s. He had paired it with the exquisite necklace that was indisputably Ryan’s. He’d stopped short of wearing the lace underwear.
His stomach churned. He’d never had stage fright once in his entire life, but he was a ball of nerves tonight. He’d been horribly fragile since he’d walked out on Ryan.
God, he hoped Ryan was all right. Fabian should have been more patient with him. Leaving him the way he had couldn’t have been helpful, and he had been worried for weeks that Ryan may have spiraled as a result. Fabian had considered reaching out to him before this show, but he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. Some part of him still thought their relationship was impossible, no matter how he felt about Ryan. So now Fabian had no choice but to haul his broken heart onto the stage.
The manager of the club entered the room. “You ready?” she asked.
Fabian nodded and stood. He took some deep breaths to try to calm his stomach, then turned and hugged Vanessa. “Thank you,” he said. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Knock ’em dead, all right?”
He straightened, and attempted a smile. “Of course.”
He walked onstage to a wall of enthusiastic applause and whistles. He smiled at his audience—as enormous as Vanessa had described—and waved as he walked to the middle of the stage. When he reached the center, he lifted his violin and bow from its case, stood in front of the mic, and closed his eyes. He took two more slow breaths, centering himself. This was where he came alive. Helovedthis.
He opened his eyes and brought his violin to his chin. He took one more long breath, and started to play. He let the music wrap around him, reverberating off the walls of the club and returning to him. He let it feed him, filling all the places inside him that had been empty for weeks. He needed this energy so he could give it right back to his audience. Later, when there was nothing left of him, Fabian could drag his husk of a body back home and fall apart, but right now his audience deserved him at his best.
He put on the show of his life. He played his heart out, and he knew his own anguish was very present in every melancholy note he sang.
