Breakaway (28 page)

It took Jared a minute before he handed over the plastic bag. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Lane opened the bag. Inside was a DVD of
The NeverEnding Story
. He looked up at Jared—or in Jared’s general direction anyway. “You’re kidding me.”

Jared shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Lane either. “Nope.”

They were both quiet. Lane couldn’t even be awkward. It was so… well. The moments ticked by. Of all the amazing things that had happened to him in the last year, it might be the best one of all.

And the most excruciatingly embarrassing. Lane pulled the plastic off the movie case and managed to find Jared’s hand to press it in, still without either of them meeting the other’s gaze. “We’re never watching this.”

“Nope.”

“Unless it’s on television or something.”

“Maybe then,” Jared agreed. “But we better be drunk.”

They were quiet again. “I’m gonna just… put this. Somewhere.” Lane got up and opened his sock drawer. Inside was the piece of paper Jared left him after their first night together.
thanks that was fun—Jared.
Lane opened the case and put the paper inside, then closed it quickly and shoved it under a mound of mismatched socks.

He turned to look at Jared, who was regarding him solemnly. And blushing. Lane was sure he was too.

“We’re never telling anyone about this, ever. Right?” Jared tried to smile at him.

“We are never telling anyone about this, ever,” Lane agreed, trying to smile back. He hurriedly turned the light off and climbed into bed.

Jared pressed up against him, one arm slung over Lane’s chest. Lane could feel him breathing against the back of his neck.

Lane lifted his head. “Would it count, though, if we watched the end just to see what that name was—the one the kid shouts out the window? Maybe we can figure it out, since there’s two of us.”

Jared shoved Lane’s head back down. “Google it. Go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Lane closed his eyes, then lifted his head again. “Should I Google it right now? Is that what you meant?”

“I still have the receipt,” Jared threatened, biting at the back of Lane’s neck.

BEFORE HE
left Savannah, Jared’s team took him out for one last hurrah. Which involved drinking, Chinese food—an exotic alternative to pizza—and everyone teasing him about being a hockey wife.

“Hockey husband. You can get married in Canada. Also, you better get me Leafs tickets.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t think the Leafs pay their top-line guys enough to afford those,” Jared joked. Well, half joked. Leafs games cost approximately the same as exotic beach vacations, if exotic beach vacations ended in disappointment and tears.

Jared wasn’t a Leafs fan, but he knew a lot of people who were. And he supposed he was
going
to be. He was drawing a line at buying a Courtnall jersey. He’d leave that up to Zoe.

Lane said that Zoe burst into tears when Lane told her he was moving to Toronto. She was proud of him, but then mad—because it was cheaper to fly to Syracuse than Toronto.

Jared’s stuff was packed and ready to go. Lane was driving up the next day in his new car. It was a sleek, black Mazda RX-8 that Lane had bought from Riley, after Lane sold his Corolla to Younger. The RX-8 was a sports car with all-leather interior and a kickass sound system. Lane’s Corolla was painted two different colors and made a loud shrieking noise when the engine turned on, but Younger was just happy it had a radio. Jared decided Riley Hunter was maybe his new favorite person, and if Lane still wanted that threesome, he was all for it.

“You should give him a hand job to thank him, and see if he likes it,” Jared told Lane.

Lane’s response was “Why wouldn’t he like it? Even straight guys like hand jobs.”

And you’re moving with him to a foreign country. Good choice, Shore.
Maybe having so many fights on the ice made it easier for Jared to let things go off the ice. Or maybe he was just crazy. Or in love. Same thing.

His going-away gift from the team was the photo of his save—blown up and framed.

“Put that over the mantle in your apartment,” Leblanc told him. “And send us a picture of Courtnall’s face when he sees it. Oui?”

Jared promised he would. He was sad to leave, even though he was looking forward to whatever came next. He had recommendations from the entire coaching staff, and from almost all of the other coaches he’d played for too, in the course of his career. A lot of them had contacted him to tell him how happy they’d been to see him have such a great final season.

It had been nice to hear from them. Jared really had enjoyed his professional career, and he knew he’d been lucky to have had one for as long as he did. But he wouldn’t miss hauling around that gear. That was for sure.

Lane showed up at Wynn’s place before the party was over. It was supposed to be a surprise. He would have gotten there earlier, he told Jared, but he had a milkshake with Zoe, and she cried a lot. Then he got lost, because he was messing with the car stereo and missed the exit. But the stereo was a lot better than the one in Jared’s truck, and speaking of, did Jared remember to get those CDs out before he sold it, because Lane liked that one with all the classic rock on it.

“Really?” Wynn asked, after Lane finished this recitation in his very Lane way, meaning all at once and without blinking or looking anywhere else. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yup,” Jared answered. “Love, man.”

“Yeah. I don’t get it.” Wynn watched Lane search through the beer and liquor bottles in the kitchen for a Dr Pepper. “Would I get it if I liked dudes? Or is it something else? Yeah? What?”

Jared wasn’t sure he knew how to answer that. But Lane, who might have hypersensitive hearing, looked up and said, deadpan, “I give magic presents.”

Jared choked on his beer and shrugged. “He does,” he agreed, and grinned at Lane.

Lane grinned back.

“Love is stupid,” Wynn announced, shaking his head.

Jared had too much to drink, and Lane drove them back to Jared’s in the fancy Mazda—which
was
pretty awesome—while Jared tried to give him a hand job. Which he did. But the apartment wasn’t that far from Wynn’s. They had to finish it in the car so Lane didn’t end up with a misdemeanor for indecent exposure.

“But I could be an international criminal,” Lane said, looking briefly interested. Jared leaned down and took Lane’s cock in his mouth, and that ended Lane’s criminal aspirations.

Jared was way too drunk for any reciprocal action, so he came up with an even better idea. Lane tried to talk him out of it, reminding Jared of their solemn vow, but Jared was happy, drunk, moving to Canada, and a little sad about the team he was leaving behind. So he insisted.

“Okay. But remember, you asked for it,” Lane told him, and pressed
Play
.

The next morning Jared thought about asking if the story was still never-ending if you fell asleep halfway through it. But he was pretty sure he knew the answer. He was doomed.

Also, he was hung over, so he sat in the car with his sunglasses on and made incoherent, miserable noises. Lane was a dick, and kept saying things like “This is why I don’t drink. See, now you’re sick and you’re also acting like that. Was it worth it?”

“I love you, Lane,” Jared said, reclining the seat back as far as it would go. The seat went back pretty far, considering all their combined stuff was in the back.

“I love you too. What’s that got to do with your poor decisions about alcohol?”

“I just want you to remember that for later.”

“What’s later? Are you going to do it again?” Lane shifted lanes like he was piloting a Russian MIG. His driving was making Jared queasy.

“Living with you for the rest of my life? Yeah. I can guarantee you that I will. But I meant later as in twenty minutes from now.”

“What happens then?” Lane looked at him disapprovingly. “Don’t throw up in here. Okay? We just got this car. I still can’t believe it was the same price as my Corolla.”

“That’s when I’m going to feel better, so I can hit you. Except you just said that, and I thought it was cute.” Jared groaned. “Wynn was right. Love is stupid, and I hate how you drive.”

At the stoplight, Lane took Jared’s hand in his and stared him right in the eyes. “I’m so glad I get to drive all the way to Canada with you, J.”

“Make that ten minutes,” Jared groused at him, sliding lower in the seat. But he squeezed Lane’s hand, because that was kind of funny.

That night at the hotel, Jared decided he should probably call his parents.

They were surprised to hear from him, but not as surprised as Jared when his father said, “We received the DVD in the mail from your friend.”

“Uh, what DVD?” Jared asked, confused, and he saw Lane’s head snap up from where he was sprawled on the bed. Jared looked at him, eyebrows raised. Lane grabbed the
The Roanoker
magazine off the bedside table and pretended to be very interested in the local nightlife.

“It seems as if congratulations are in order. You won some sort of competition?”

“Yeah. The Kelly Cup. The league I’m in… it was the championship. And I won the Most Valuable Player award.”

Lane was peeking over the top at him. Jared’s glare made him slowly raise the magazine again. Fucking boyfriends.

“And does that come with a raise or some benefits?”

“Nope.” Jared wondered why he’d bothered, because he really just intended to tell them, “I’m moving to Canada with a guy” and, hilariously enough, gain parental approval for the first time in his entire life.

He could be gay, but not a hockey player. Lane could be a hockey player, but not gay. Where was the unconditional-love bullshit? Someone had lied to him. Probably Hallmark.

“Do you need any money?”

Wow. It was amazing how, even though he was in his thirties, his father could still make him feel like a defensive fourteen year old. “Have I ever called you for money. Ever?”

“There’s no need to get angry, Jared. I’m just asking.”

“I don’t need any money, Dad.” Jared rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired and he wanted to climb on the bed, pull Lane on top of him, and have him grind against him until they both got off. Not have a passive-aggressive, Midwestern dialog with his father. “And actually, I retired.
That’s
what I’m calling about.”

“Would you like a recommendation for a retirement plan to invest in?”

Maybe he would. That definitely meant he was getting old. “Actually yeah. That’d be great. But the reason I’m calling is to tell you that I retired and also that I’m moving to Canada.” The defensive fourteen-year-old reared its pimply, ugly head. “I didn’t call to go over my poor career choices.”

“Jared, why are you always so defensive about this?”

“They were good choices. Really good ones. You’re an MVP!” Lane shouted, having no concept of an
inside voice
. He stopped talking when Jared gave him a hand signal that either meant “quit it” or “it’s Hammer time.”

“Your mother and I watched the video. It was very confusing—and loud—but it was exciting. Your mother gasped a time or two.”

Jesus fucking Christ. What? “You watched the video?” He ignored Lane’s very smug, pleased smile. He was going to strangle him. He really was. “Huh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“You’ve never been to any of my games,” he pointed out, slowly, like he was talking to a four-year-old.

“You never asked us to go to one, son,” his father said, in the same voice.

Jared sat on the chair next to the window, shocked to the depths of his soul. “What?”

“We’ve never made a secret that we’re not sports people, Jared. And your mother and I thought it wouldn’t be good for your concentration if you thought too much about us being there and worrying if we were unhappy.”

There was something in that explanation that eased whatever old ache was left from his parents’ disinterest in his career. But it really didn’t matter anymore. It’s not like they went and hung out at his sister’s trials, or when his brother was operating. Even though hockey would be a thousand times more interesting than either of those things… and there were hot dogs.

“Dad, can we not have this conversation right now? Believe it or not, there’s actually something important I’ve got to tell you.”

“That you’re moving to Canada, I believe you mentioned.”

Jared wondered if he was hearing a hint of dry humor in his dad’s voice, or if that was his imagination. “Yup. I’ve been seeing someone this last year, and I retired so I could move there with him.”

“Him? It’s a man?”

It occurred to him that maybe he was wrong about his parents’ so-called liberalism, and his voice had a bit of an edge when he said, “Yeah. It’s a he. Is that a problem?”

“Of course it isn’t,” his father answered. “Though I’m certainly glad to hear you’re no longer playing sports professionally when you’re in a relationship with a man. I can’t imagine what might happen if they found out.”

Jared’s head fell back against the seat. Repeatedly. “Well, don’t be too happy. My boyfriend—his name’s Lane, by the way—is a hockey player.” And an amateur videographer, apparently. “And he’s going to be playing for the Maple Leafs. That’s Toronto’s NHL team, Dad. And the NHL is the big league. The majors.”

“The Marlies,” Lane interrupted, firmly. “I’m playing with the Marlies, J.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic, son. I know what the NHL is.”

Jared would bet a million dollars that his father didn’t, but he kept that to himself. “Anyway. So, yeah. And Lane was captain of his team last year,
and
he did that after telling his team that he was gay. So don’t give us too bad of a rap. Okay? Sometimes people surprise you.”

“That’s true,” his father agreed. “Was he on your team?”

This was the first time in Jared’s life his father had asked anything about a team Jared played for. “No. The rival one actually.”

His father
chuckled
. “Love and hate are often quite similar.”

This was getting too weird. “Right. He’s on the video, unless he edited out the part where I stopped him from winning the game with a practically empty net.”