Chapter 29: Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 29

MY HEAD FEELS like it has its very own drumbeat going on inside. It goes hand in hand with the ache in my back and neck from passing out on my couch last night. The last thing I remember was taking Ayri Quinn back to my apartment to drown our sorrows but for very different reasons. Or maybe they were the same.

Me, over the loss of the game, my phone call with Dad, and Anton not picking up that I wanted him to fight for us, to give me a hint of something real. Him, because the poor kid is experiencing his first setback as an NHL player. The twenty-two-year-old’s boyfriend broke up with him because a couple of months of long-distance was too tough to handle.

Ayri being gay was news to me, and I don’t think he would have turned to me for advice if he had the choice, but I was the only out player there last night. I bet he wishes he’d been playing New York or Vegas instead. I kind of do too. I was far from being in a comforting mood.

But then Ayri Quinn cornered me on my way out of the arena and very awkwardly asked if he could pick my brain about something. I could tell by his demeanor I couldn’t say no. Just like those kids who have come out to me, I got a sense of what he wanted to say before he said it.

Once he told me his story, I brought him here to drink away his problems because … healthy.

Probably not the best example I should be setting.

Especially because now, as we’re waking up, me on one couch, him on the other, both hungover as fuck, it’s clear that maybe I should have lent a comforting ear instead of telling him, “Relationships suck. Here, drink up.”

“What’s that banging?” he complains.

“You can hear the drum kit that’s in my head?”

“Ezra!”

“Is that in my head too?” I ask Ayri.

“No, I think it’s coming from your front door.”

“If you and Ayri Quinn are naked, you better get some fucking clothes on before I break down this door. Getting an ass kicking while naked is too gay, even for me.”

I try to get off my couch but kind of roll off it instead and hit the ground with a thump. “Ow.”

“Fuck, who is that?” Ayri asks. He sits up, looking as disheveled as I am, his eyes squinty and skin ashen.

“My stupid boyfriend. Who’s stupid. The one I was telling you about in my drunken ramble.” Okay, Anton isn’t stupid. Last night was stupid.

Lashing out was stupid.

Challenging him to see what he would do was stupid.

Most of all, hanging our whole relationship on the outcome of one game is stupid.

And yeah, maybe we haven’t had that conversation yet—that we’re actually together—and yes, we need to have it. But last night, I needed to lick my wounds and sulk.

Now, apparently, I have to explain myself. How did he even know Ayri was here?

I open the door, my vision blurry through still-squinted eyes to find Anton standing there looking murderous. The bags under his eyes probably rival my own. “What time is it?” I rumble.

“Six.”

I groan. “I’ve only had like three hours’ sleep. Can you yell at me after I’ve had coffee?”

I turn and let him in and head for my kitchen, but as we round the corner, Anton’s eyes land on Ayri.

Ayri frowns. “Anton Hayes?”

“Fuck this,” Anton says. “I just needed to make sure I was right, and I am. So fuck you”—he points at me—“and fuck you.” He points at Ayri. Then he turns to leave, but I catch his wrist and pull him against me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you. You’re still free to hook up with whoever you want, Ez, but I thought you’d at least have the decency to tell me before you did it. The worst part is I actually you. I never, would have thought—”

I chuckle and wrap my arms around him.

“You think this is funny?”

“A bit.”

“Why?”

“Does it really look like either of us spent half the night having sex?” I gesture to where Ayri still sits in his rumpled suit. Hell, he hasn’t even taken his tie off.

Anton glances around at all the empty beer bottles scattered around the place, the almost empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table, and he lets out a little “Oh.”

“If I let you go, can I explain without you running off?”

He looks around again. “Okay.”

I release him and click on my coffee maker. “Now.” I spin and lean against the counter. “All we did was talk. And mostly, I talked about . I left your name out of it, of course, because I’m not going to out you to anyone, but—”

“It’s true.” Ayri stands from my dark leather couch. “It got pretty ugly in here both with alcohol and emotional shit. You really didn’t want to see it.”

Anton glances between the two of us. “I’m confused.”

“I …” Ayri starts.

I nod in encouragement. Last night, it was like pulling teeth trying to get it out of him because he’s not used to coming out yet.

“My boyfriend broke up with me, and I knew Ezra was out. I … I wanted advice.”

Anton cocks his head. “And you thought Ezra would be the best choice? For relationship advice.”

“I would have come to you, but I didn’t even know you were … with Ezra.”

“Oh dear God, he didn’t encourage you to drunk dial your ex, did he?”

I laugh. “I think I did at one point.”

“I was drunk, but not that drunk,” Ayri says. “I should get back to the hotel before the team leaves without me.” He steps up to Anton. “Nothing happened—”

“I know. I trust Ez.”

“Yes, because I totally got that impression when you were banging down my door,” I say.

“Urg, I was scared I’d lost you, you idiot, but if you tell me nothing happened, I trust your word. You’ve never lied to me even when you hated me.” He turns to Ayri. “I’m sorry for threatening to kick your ass.”

Ayri tsks. “Tripping me and threatening to kick my ass in a twelve-hour span? You guys don’t take it easy on us rookies, do you?”

Anton snorts. “Nope.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it.”

As he heads for the door, I say, “Think about my offer from last night too—about the queer collective. We’re trying to get the bingo of guys in the league. One on every team.”

Ayri smiles. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

“No pressure.” I point my thumb in Anton’s direction. “This guy makes being closeted work. Even if you need someone to talk to like you did last night, you don’t have to be out to approach any of us.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as he’s gone, Anton opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand.

“I know you have a thing about rejection, but you don’t take it well, do you?”

“Well—”

“Coffee first. Then you can yell at me.”

“I don’t want to yell,” he says.

I make us two cups and slide his over. “Last night—”

“We were both crushed by the loss of what should have been an easy win,” Anton says.

“Well, that, and …” I stare down at my cup. “I thought you could’ve used it as an excuse. To stop”—I wave my finger between us—“this. I think I was looking for you to take the out, and I didn’t want to deal with that, so I … didn’t. I was going to come back here and sleep it off, but then Ayri caught up to me, and he looked like a sad little puppy dog.”

Anton rounds the kitchen counter and presses himself against me. “Just so you know, I was never going to take the out, and deep down, I know you were trying to push me away last night, and maybe I should’ve stood my ground and fought for you, but I was terrified it was more than that—that you were actually done with me. I wasn’t ready to hear that, so I left. Then I changed my mind and drove to your apartment, only to see you on the street with Ayri.”

“Is that why you’re over here so early? To make sure we weren’t fucking?”

“No. I came over this early because I haven’t slept.” Anton runs his hand over his hair. “But when I saw him here …”

“He slept on the couch. I slept on the other. And by slept, I mean we passed out. It was literally hours of talking about our boyfriends, saying how relationships are hard, and basically bitching you and Chandler’s name out all night.”

“Oh, well, that makes me feel so much better—wait, boyfriend?”

I take a deep breath. “Well, yeah. That’s what I kind of realized. If you take the superstition out of our relationship, supposedly we don’t have one. But last night while Ayri was crying over his ex, I realized I didn’t want that to be us. We may not have said we’re together officially, but … we’re together, aren’t we? At least, I want to be. And that’s scary in its own right because I’ve never done the relationship thing before. But I’ve also never tried. I’d never done the monogamous thing before you, and it’s surprisingly easy because … you’re the only one I want to be with.”

“Really?” Anton’s voice is a rasp.

“Then we won’t have to keep up this ruse that it’s good for team—”

“Something I have never believed, by the way.”

“I know, but maybe … maybe this means we can start being real with each other?”

“Real how?”

I swallow hard because I don’t want to say this next part. “I’m falling for you.”

Anton sucks in a short gasp. I can’t tell if it’s genuine or sarcastic.

“I broke you,” he says.

Sarcastic it is.

I throw my hands up. “This is why I’ve never told someone that before. Because it encourages mockery.”

“Aww, baby.” Anton pulls me closer, wrapping me in his arms. “I think I’m falling for you too.”

“You think? You …

? I’m gonna have to work on that.”

“No, I know it. I just can’t trust this is actually happening yet.”

“It’s happening. We’re being real with each other, remember?”

“Okay, so we’re together. What does that mean? Do you expect me to come out or—”

I shake my head. “Never if you don’t want to. Do I think it would be easier than sneaking around? Sure, but you’re worth pretending I’m a secret spy doing secret spy stuff.”

He pats my shoulder. “You’re a real James Bond.”

“James isn’t even a real name. It should be Jame. Because they’re only Jame.”

Anton sighs. “It’s scary how your brain works sometimes.”

“I didn’t make it up. I saw it on a meme, but thank you.”

“Wasn’t paying you a compliment.”

“Yes you were because we’re together now. You have to love everything I do from this moment on.”

“Never going to happen.”

Mm, we’ll see. “Stay for coffee and hungover sex?”

“I don’t really want to be puked all over during sex, so I’m going to pass on that. But I’ll stay for coffee.”

“In an official relationship for thirty seconds and the sex stops. I knew it would happen, but I don’t think it’s supposed to happen this fast.”

“I’ll fuck you tomorrow. After you get unstanky and gross. You smell like you bathed in tequila and beer.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to remember. “I think … I think at one point I might have spilled my drink on me.”

“Probably more than once,” Anton points out. “And, hey, what happened with your dad? It sounded like an intense conversation.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I’m your boyfriend now, and apparently that means I can force you to talk to me. Cool perks, huh?”

I grumble. “He didn’t like that I stood up to him, obviously. Talking back to a parent in Polish culture is a big no-no.”

“Holy shit. How did you survive teenhood?”

“Easy. I lived with Mom. Dad only ever saw me if he’d come to hockey practice to yell at me. His version of parenting and doing what’s right by his kid was throwing money at the problem and then complaining what a waste it was. Nothing’s really changed, but back then I was a good little boy, and I stood there and took it because he’d threatened to take hockey away from me.” My eyes begin to water, but I push it down. “I don’t need to take it anymore. I made my career. I did. Not him.”

“Is that why you said ‘Fuck You’ to him when you hung up on him?”

“Yep. Wait, you speak Polish?”

“I googled.”

“Wow. We really are together, huh? You googled because you were concerned about me.”

“I was.” Anton cups my cheek. “I am. I could see you were hurting, and I wanted to tell you everything was going to be okay, but you were lashing out at me, and I didn’t know where I stood, and—”

“It was misplaced anger from the game and my dad and the fear that I was going to lose you. I didn’t have the courage last night to put my feelings on the line, but I’d rather tell you a thousand times and have you reject me than lose you because I didn’t have the guts to say six simple words: I want to be with you.” I lower my forehead to his. “I’m sorry.”

Anton breathes in and closes his eyes. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

My cock twitches. “Hot enough to change your mind on the hungover sex?”

“Nope. But maybe some shower handjobs aren’t out of the question.”

I race my boyfriend to the bathroom.

Wow. My boyfriend.