Frozen Hearts (2 page)

"Whatever," Arielle said. "Wherever you were, he was—and vice versa. Once I saw you drag a finger up his arm as you walked by him. It was such a simple gesture but it made me feel like I was spying on something totally intimate."

"Who else knew?" I shot back.

"Don't get all bent out of shape. I didn't say anything and as far as I know, no one else noticed. Big, strong hockey players are not gay."

"Yeah, so I've been told," I growled. "But someone did know, Arielle. Do you think it was my idea to get sent away to some fucking hockey high school? Dad pulled me out of class one afternoon and threw it in my face. He had a picture of Tyce and me kissing. He called me a faggot then threatened to take everything away. I fucking panicked. I wasn't ready to come out. Dad said we could salvage the situation by shipping me off to this school. He had the entire thing scripted. He talked about my image, how I needed to date lots of girls and make the affairs as public as possible. And when I got to this school, there were girls everywhere. It was like he was whoring me out. I wasn't his son; I was a fucking product, being wrapped in a pretty package and sold to the highest bidder."

"But why didn't you call Tyce or email him or fuck, Erik, anything?"

"I was scared. It felt like all the coaches and teachers were watching me. Sometimes I thought they were reporting back to Dad. And he made sure to remind me that I was nothing without hockey. I believed him, so I caved and gave in to his demands."

I dropped my head to the table.

"That's really fucked up, Erik. The flings I understand, but how did you end up with Rochelle?"

"When I came here to go to school, Dad was a wreck. I think he thought I would go find Tyce. He was always lurking around. Then Mom introduced me to Rochelle. Suddenly, she seemed to be everywhere I was. It was fucking convenient to be with her and it made my life easier. Dad left me alone." I grimaced. "Fuck, I sound like a prick."

Arielle snorted. "Don't get mad, but were you just experimenting with Tyce?"

It would have been so easy to lie to her, to not admit that he had been my entire world and that leaving him had almost destroyed me. She didn't need to know how I would sit in the bathroom with the shower and fan on, so I could cry, away from prying eyes. She didn't need to hear how I snuck out of the dorms to work out until I puked just so I could sleep at night. I closed my eyes and shook my head. He had never been an experiment.

"What are you going to do?"

"Tell everyone that I'm not playing hockey anymore. I can't live their lies. I'm going to tell Rochelle it's over then I'm telling Dad."

"You're quitting hockey?"

"Yes, I can't do it anymore. I don't fit into that world."

"Is there someone special?"

"No," I said, shaking my head.

She frowned and touched my hand again. "Do you want support when you tell Dad?"

"No, you don't need to hear what he's going to say to me."

The bartender set a couple more drinks in front of us. Arielle grabbed hers and took a healthy swig.

"You don't deserve it either, Erik."

"Maybe I do." My voice wavered and I took a drink to steady my nerves. This was harder than I thought. Telling Arielle I was gay would have been much easier if Tyce hadn't been brought into the conversation. After five years, the pain should have dulled, but it was as sharp as ever.

"Erik," Arielle said softly. I shook my head and studied my hands. If I tried to talk, I would start crying and fucking hockey players did not cry over old lovers.

"Did you love him?"

The words squeezed my heart and broke my will. "Oh, God," I groaned and covered my face with my hands. "He was my fucking world and I gave him away to play a stupid game to maintain an image someone else created. He must hate me."

Arielle bit her lip and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "He doesn't hate you."

I moved my hands away from my eyes and glared at her. "How would you know?" I snapped.

"He's my friend," she shouted then covered her mouth with her hand.

I had no idea how to respond to her statement. I had given up all rights to know what was going on in Tyce's life when I deserted him. I was about to say something stupid but my phone buzzed and saved me from embarrassing myself.

"I have to go," I said as I glanced at the message. "Rochelle is waiting for me to break her heart."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Arielle asked.

"No, I've been lying for most of my life and I'm sick of it. I need this all to be over."

I slid out of the booth and paid the bartender. Arielle trailed after me, begging me to hold off, but I was not going to be deterred tonight. It ended now. She finally gave up and drove me to Rochelle's apartment.

"This won't take long," I said. "If you wouldn't mind waiting."

The moment I walked through Rochelle's front door, I knew I was in trouble. We had a fucking audience. Three of her roommates were perched on the couch, smirking at me.

"Rochelle," I said. She squealed and grabbed my arm. Her bright eyes sparkled as a wide smile split her face.

"Shit," I muttered.

"Erik," she said, suddenly unsure. When I looked at her, the smile slowly slid off her pale face and she glanced back at her roommates. She dropped my arm and stumbled backwards, banging into a chair.

After that things went downhill pretty fast. I babbled some nonsense about not being ready for any of this. She started to cry, which made me feel like a total dickhead. Her roommates shouted at me and called me some very clever names.

"Maybe the rumors were true," someone yelled. My heart thudded to a stop and I quit breathing. I wanted to race across the room and ask the girl for specifics, but Rochelle had other ideas.

"Fuck you, Erik," Rochelle shrieked as she slapped me across the face. She screamed at me to get the fuck out of her house and to stay the hell away from her. I tried to offer a lame apology but one of her roommates shoved me outside and slammed the door in my face. I figured I was lucky to get out of there with my dick still attached to my body.

Arielle didn't say a word when I climbed back in the car. She stared at me then ran her finger across the handprint on my cheek, making me flinch.

"Shit," I said and covered my face with my hands. "That was brutal."

She remained quiet. I resisted the urge to ask her if she had heard any specific rumors about me going around campus. The thought chilled my blood and I wasn't sure why. I didn't want to live in the closet anymore. I guess part of me still didn't understand why I had to confirm or deny anything. I wanted to tell everyone it was none of their fucking business who I chose to spend my days and nights with.

"Dad's next," I mumbled.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"I want it over. Waiting another day isn't going to make it easier, plus I'm still sporting a little buzz."

Arielle grumbled about a death wish, but turned the car toward our parents' house. When the headlights hit the garage door, I could still see the black marks from slapping millions of pucks against that door. The sight still shocked me every time I came near this place. I was surprised Dad hadn't painted over them because Tyce had made a lot of those marks. My stomach took a dive into my knees. My dad was going to go ballistic. It was probably a good thing that Arielle was here. She could dial 911 after my father killed me.

"You don't have to come inside," I said.

"I want to. They need to know that I'm with you on this," she said.

"It's your funeral."

She shrugged. "Maybe they can get a discount on matching caskets if they kill both of us."

"You're morbid," I said.

I slid the key into the lock and was genuinely surprised that it unlocked the door. My shoes squeaked on the tile floor, alerting my mother that someone had entered her home.

"Arielle, is that you?" She called from the living room.

I gritted my teeth and walked into the room where she sat perfectly posed reading a book. The formality of the room made her look like an added prop for a magazine shoot. It was stifling.

"Mother," I said. "Where's Dad?"

"Hello, Erik," my mother said, eyeing me suspiciously. "He's in his office."

Arielle peeked around the corner and squeezed my shoulder. My mother gave us an odd look and started to stand. Arielle shook her head and my mother gracefully resumed her rigid pose. She set her book on the table and folded her hands in her lap. I left Arielle and our mother in a weird unspoken war of nods and evil glares.

My breathing echoed loudly in the empty hall as I stood like an idiot in front of the closed office door, staring at the wood grain. Five years ago, I'd walked in this room and let my father destroy my life and now I was going to destroy his. Paybacks are a bitch. Finally, I knocked and opened the door, not waiting for an invitation to enter. My dad was sitting at his computer, probably studying my stats to see where my game needed improvement. When he looked up at me, his glasses were sitting on the end of his nose, making him look like an old man.

"Erik," he said.

"Dad," I answered and folded my arms across my chest. "I need to talk to you."

"Yes, I've been talking with Boston."

"You're not my agent," I snapped.

"You seem to have fired your agent," my dad huffed.

"Yeah, I'm going in a different direction."

"Boston wants you for the playoffs."

"Dad," I said, adding some volume to my voice.

"I've booked us on a flight tomorrow. Also, I think we need to see if your stick needs adjusting. Your wrist shot doesn't seem as strong."

"Dad, for fuck's sake," I shouted. "Shut up for a minute. I've got something to say."

The old cliché 'if looks could kill' rang true as my dad stared me down. I could feel him shoveling the last bit of dirt over my cold body. I took a deep breath. "I'm not going to Boston."

It took a few minutes for the words to sink in. "Boston owns your rights. There is no other team," my dad said.

"You're pretty sharp, Dad," I said.

"But this is what we've been working toward your entire life. What the hell is wrong with you?"

My eye twitched. I knew it was going to come down to this argument. My father may have funded my early career, but without my hard work and skill, there would be nothing.

"We," I shouted. "You cannot take credit for my accomplishments. It was me at the rink at five in the morning, skating until I puked. It was me, lifting weights and running until midnight when I had a fucking test the next day. It was me, shooting pucks until my hands bled. It was all me."

"I know that," he snapped. "But you've always wanted to play pro hockey."

"Fuck, Dad, do I have to spell it out? I'm done."

"Done?" My father spit the word out like it was poison.

"Yeah, I'm done. It's over. I know I'm good, but I'm tired of all the shit and I don't want to do it anymore. It's not fun."

"Fun? What does fun have to do with hockey? Hockey is your life."

"No, it's not. You made it my life. I followed along. I want something different now. If you paid attention to more than my plus minus rating you'd know that I have excellent grades. I was all academic every semester, so I do know more than hockey."

He snapped the laptop shut and stood up, rising to his full height. His hands clenched into fists and I knew this was going to turn ugly. I straightened my back and held my ground. The frightened seventeen-year-old boy who begged his father to let him stay home instead of going away to play hockey had been replaced by a man who had a couple inches and a lot more muscle than the old guy standing in front of me.

The pure hate in my father's eyes almost made me falter, but I knew what was coming. He could have his moment. I was able to step back and not take the punch full force, but it still fucking hurt when his knuckles connected with my cheek.

"Not bad for old man," I said as I rotated my jaw. "I think I'll be going now. Oh, and I'm not marrying Rochelle."

"You're nothing but a bitter disappointment," he snarled.

"Guess that makes us even," I growled and pulled out the diamond ring, tossing it at my father's feet. He paid for the fucking thing; he might as well get his money back.

"Is there another one or is it him?" He spat.

"It's none of your business, but that has nothing to do with my decision."

"Yeah, I bet," my dad said.

I knew I should just leave, but I couldn't resist throwing out one more dig. "You know, Dad, if he wanted me back, I would crawl naked across shattered glass to get to him. And his name is Tyce, in case you've forgotten."

I whipped the door open and bumped into my mother.

"What did you do?" she asked, frantically peering over my shoulder.

"Nice, Mom, I'm the one sporting a bruised eye. Ask Paul what he did," I said as I brushed past her. She tried to grab my arm, but I wasn't going to stick around and listen to another person tell me I was an ungrateful, worthless bastard. Twice in one night was enough.

"Hey, Emily," I said. I dug my key ring out of my pocket and unhooked their house key, tossing it at her feet. "Thanks for all your support. You've been a wonderful, loving mother."

For one tiny second I thought I saw remorse in her eyes, but she quickly turned away from me and rushed to my father's side. I needed to get the hell away from all this shit. It had been a long fucking day and tomorrow wasn't shaping up to be any better.

Arielle was waiting in the entryway.

"Nice face," she said.

"It's nothing." I said. "Thanks for hanging around but I'm going to walk home."

"Erik, it's a long walk and it's freezing out there."

"I appreciate everything you've done tonight, but the cold will help clear my mind and numb my face. I promise I'll call you tomorrow."

"Text me when you get home," she said. "Or if you need anything."

"You know what? You can do something for me," I said.

"What do you need?"

"First, bring my equipment to my apartment and second, I'm making you my new agent. Congratulations. Can you call Boston tomorrow and explain why I will not be coming to play for them? You're so much better at this diplomacy shit than me."