Home and Away (23 page)

She was wearing heels, based on the way Callum could see her above the heads of the swarming crowd. She had her public smile on, polite, gracious, and nothing at all like the toothy grin Callum loved to coax from her when it was just the two of them. She spoke with someone to her left, the crowd growing steadily, including several members of the Bellagio security staff. Callum felt better when their dark, broad-shouldered blazers took up position on either side of her.

It never ceased to amaze him how many people wanted a piece of Michaela. A word, a smile, a signature, and far too often, a touch. They’d reach out to brush their hand over some part of her, as if it were their right. Normal, good people would lose their minds, forget that she was a person whose rights and space should be respected like any other’s. As if, by being a public figure, she were theirs to have.

Callum waited by the elevators until Michaela looked up and saw him. For a moment, the grin was there, then she was wading through the crowd, which parted for her until she could pick up speed and launch herself into Callum’s arms. He laughed, happy to have her there again. She was the only part of his life in Denver he’d genuinely missed.

He’d learned to keep his eyes open in spite of the firestorm of flashes going off around them, tired of turning up in magazines looking like he was asleep, bored, or had suffered brain trauma. It was mostly phones pointed toward them today, but there were a few more professional-looking devices trying to get lost in the crowd.

“I’ve missed you,” Michaela said, leaning back to plant a smacking kiss on his lips.

“Ditto.”

He dropped her back onto her feet, glad he hadn’t told her not to come, but eager to end the show for the people and press around them.

“Shall we get lunch?” he asked.

Michaela agreed, her look understanding, her hand in his as she led them through the lobby and out to the waiting car.

The moment the doors were closed, the tinted windows sealing them off from prying eyes, they both slumped back against the seat.

“We should have just met up in our room,” Callum muttered.

Michaela chuckled. “I figured you’d want to put on at least one or two performances in addition to the show tomorrow night.”

Performances. Shows. He sank deeper into the upholstery and stared out the window. This was his life. The one he’d chosen.

“Callum?”

He sighed and turned his head to face her. She was beautiful, and his best friend, and he would rather stick a hot poker in his eye than have sex with her, let alone marry her. Fortunately, she knew all that.

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “I’m sorry if I’m grumpy. I’ve just been thinking a lot this summer, I guess.”

“You’re always grumpy. What have you been thinking about?”

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Life.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up,” she said. “I want to hear more about this existential crisis.”

“Ugh. It’s not…I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired. And old.”

“You are not old,” Michaela said firmly, always a staunch friend, even if it required lying.

“I am for hockey.”

“Not really.” Because Michaela also wouldn’t let him get away with feeling sorry for himself. “What’s really the problem?”

Callum thought of Rupert. “It’s not a problem,” he began, wincing when Michaela’s eyebrows lifted. “There is no problem, I swear. I just—”

Callum was saved from answering by his phone buzzing. He scrambled to pull it out of his pocket, reminding himself that he hadn’t outright lied, it was just that for the last five years, she’d been the only one who’d known the truth. The whole truth. Omitting what was going on with Rupert just
felt
like lying.

He was both relieved and alarmed to see Jack’s Facetime request. “I have to take this,” he said to Michaela, who waved off the implied apology. He accepted the call. “Hey, Jack. Everything okay?”

“Ummm…”

The long note of hesitation drew Michaela’s attention. She leaned closer and got a good look at Jack’s face. “Oh my.”

Callum studied Jack and his surroundings, confused. He appeared to be in a locker room. When the camera tilted, Callum recognized the crest painted on the wall.

“Are you at the Université rink?” Callum checked his watch and did the time-zone math. Rupert was supposed to be coaching Christian right now.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said. “About that…”

“Jack, what the fuck is—” The screen blurred and now, instead of Jack’s handsome visage, Callum was faced with one he barely recognized. “
Rupert?
”

Rupert frowned furiously, which looked like it hurt. A lot. His nose was several shades of red and purple, and it was obvious he was working his way toward two really impressive black eyes.

Rupert glared just above the phone. “Really, Jack? Tattling on me now, are you?”

“Sorry,” said Jack with zero sincerity.

“Rupert!” Callum snapped, wincing when Rupert winced, then winced again when that obviously hurt. It was a regular wince-a-thon until Rupert forced his poor face to settle into a neutral expression. Callum’s heart hammered against his ribs. More than ever, he felt an overwhelming need to
not be in fucking Las Vegas.
“What happened?”

Rupert sighed. “John Shaw happened, I’m sorry to report.”

Callum growled, long and low and deep in his throat. He was going to fucking kill that man.

Michaela stared at him, her mouth fallen open. He may have said that last part aloud.

“Honestly, Callum, you should be doing whatever it is you’re meant to be doing,” Rupert said primly, his eyes cutting left, where he was no doubt noticing Michaela hovering over his shoulder. “Everything is fine here. Oliver is over the initial shock of seeing me like this, and Christian is on his way home with Mike and Alexei.”

“You let him go home to that asshole?”

Rupert frowned. “And what would you have me do? Kidnap him?”

It wasn’t such a bad idea, when compared to whatever Christian faced at home.

“Callum,” Rupert said gently, his eyes pleading for him to understand. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but I didn’t have a choice. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Callum said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Rupert smiled as much as his face allowed. They just looked at each other for a moment, until Callum realized Michaela was staring at him again, once more agape.

“So, what’d you do to piss him off this time?” Callum asked.

Rupert grimaced. “More yelling, I’m afraid. He was trying to drag Christian out of the locker room, declaring that it was for Christian’s own good, since as a
fag
I was obviously only interested in molesting the boy.”

Callum went cold inside.

Michaela sank her claws into Callum’s arm. “That fucking prick!”

Rupert blinked, then smiled shyly at Michaela. “Hello. It doesn’t seem Callum is inclined to introduce us. I’m Rupert Smythe. It’s a pleasure, and not just because you’ve defended me, a complete stranger.”

Michaela’s laugh was warm, her smile genuine. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smythe. I’m Michaela Price.”

“Please call me Rupert.”

“Michaela.”

Callum rolled his eyes. “Are you two done? Because I’d still like to know what the fuck happened!”

“What happened,” Rupert said patiently, “is that I defended myself, loudly, and when I informed him that he was a monster, he took exception and popped me right in the nose.”

“Did Alexei kill him? Tell me where he hid the body. I swear I’ll never tell.”

Rupert tried to grin. “Alexei wasn’t here, sadly. I doubt John would have done it had he been. But Jack did come to my rescue,” he said with a look above the phone.

“I got here five minutes too late!”

“He did miss the best parts,” Rupert conceded.

“I got to hear about them, though.” Jack’s face appeared over Rupert’s shoulder. “Apparently Rupert here has quite a pair of lungs on him. The whole rink heard him.”

“Yes, well, it seems I can’t help but be rather foolish around that man.”

“Rather brave, you mean,” Callum said.

Rupert dismissed that with one eloquent shrug. “And look where that got me.”

Punched in the face while Callum was a couple thousand miles too far away to do anything about it.

“Do you need me to come home?”

Michaela’s grip tightened around his arm, but Callum only had eyes for Rupert. He knew what Rupert was going to say, but he would decide for himself whether he would listen.

“No, no. We’re fine.
I’m
fine, Callum, I promise.”

Jack grinned at the camera and Michaela made a humming sound. “I’ll take good care of him until you get back, Cal. Don’t worry.”

Rupert rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Then stop getting punched in the face,” Callum suggested.

“I promise to work on that,” Rupert replied dryly. He looked at Jack. “Now that you’ve discharged your duties as keeper and tattle-tale, can we hang up?”

“I had no idea you could be so bitchy. Now I know what Callum was talking about.” Jack replied before the call went dead.

It was silent in the back of the car, but the look Michaela leveled on him spoke volumes. It didn’t waver as she reached out and pressed the button to ensure the privacy panel was fully in place.

“Callum,” she said. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

And god, she sounded
just
like his mom. And just as if he were sitting at his mother’s table, safe in childhood home instead of the back of a livery service car, he folded like a house of cards in a wind storm.

Rupert watched the award show partly out of solidarity, but also out of morbid fascination to see Callum and Michaela take the red carpet by storm.

Callum was invited to the awards this year ostensibly because he’d won last year. In reality, Rupert suspected the league would be happy to have him come every year, provided he brought his “ever beautiful and devoted girlfriend.”

She positively lit up the entire party. Hell, she lit up the back of a car over Facetime—how could she not glow in the face of all those lights and cameras and fans? She was willow slim, tall—taller than Callum in those heels—and poised. Her gown, the diamond earrings she told the press Callum had bought for her, hell, even her smile,
glittered
.

And she’d leapt to Rupert’s defense without knowing a thing about him. Indeed, if he had any read at all of her expressions, Callum had kept Michaela in the dark about Rupert until that moment. Rupert tried not to be stung by that. If nothing else, he knew now that she wasn’t jealous. Indeed, she’d looked delighted.

Rupert watched enough to see them woo the crowd, and for the press to do a bit about their joyful reunion the day before in the hotel lobby. They showed a clip of Michaela throwing herself into Callum’s arms and his bright smile in response. Rupert recalled how he’d done the same not long ago, and it hadn’t gone nearly so well.

He sighed. He was being foolish. Micheala was Callum’s fake girlfriend and real best friend. Rupert was Callum’s…

What?

Summer fling, he supposed.

On that note, Rupert switched off the TV and turned his undivided attention to his work.

Michaela was driving Callum
nuts
. Everything they saw or did, there was a comment. Would Rupert like that? Maybe you should buy that for him? Or for Oliver? Do you think Rupert likes Las Vegas? What about Denver?

That was when Callum drew the line.

“He’s not going to be in Denver,” he said flatly.

Michaela looked at Callum, somehow managing to make it appear romantic and coy and not, as anyone who knew and loved her would know, like she wanted to kick him in the shins. They were at an after-party for the awards, surrounded by colleagues and teammates, the people who should have been Callum’s closest friends.

Michaela was careful to restrict her comments to when she would not be overheard, which was relatively easy, given the distance Callum liked to keep from everyone. That being said, there was no way she could launch into the lecture, or campaign, or
whatever
Callum could see brewing in her eyes.

“It’s just sex,” Callum said quietly before throwing back the rest of his scotch in one go. He’d just had it refilled, but searched for a waiter to order another.

“Bullshit,” Michaela muttered while looking down at her gown under the guise of rearranging the drape of her already perfectly draped drapey-ness.

Thank god for tuxedos, was all he was saying.

“Callum!”

Callum turned with a bright smile, probably shocking his teammate, Mitch, and Mitch’s wife, Abby, by encouraging them to join them. Her back to the room, Michaela sent him a sour look.

He wasn’t a fool. He’d bought himself a respite, at best. And another lecture, at worst.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but if he flaked out occasionally, he knew it would be excused simply because he was a goalie. Goalies were universally viewed and accepted as odd. Callum didn’t really get that. So he volunteered to have hard rubber projectiles shot at his head at over a hundred miles per hour. So what?

Seriously, it was
fun
.

By the time the night was over, it was almost morning and even Michaela was dead on her feet. He walked her to her bedroom in the suite and pecked an affectionate kiss on the cheek before nudging her through the door.

He’d almost gotten away when her hand shot out and stopped him.

“We’re going to talk about it. Tomorrow.”

He sighed. “We have lunch with Anna at noon. We can talk on the way, okay?”

“Fine,” she said through a huge yawn, then let the door swing closed in his face.

Callum chuckled, went to his own bedroom, and passed out two seconds after he’d stripped off most of his tux.

He wasn’t surprised in the slightest the next morning when Michaela started in the moment the car pulled away from the hotel to take them to lunch.

“It’s not just sex.”

“Oh, really? How would you know? You haven’t even met Rupert, let alone seen us together.”

“Neither of those things are true either.”

“It was one phone call! For, like, five minutes!”

She patted his hand consolingly. “I know it’s hard to understand with your limited social skills.”

Callum rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you. But that doesn’t change the fact that I live in Denver, he lives in Moncton, and even if we were to reside less than two thousand miles apart, I’m a professional hockey player.”

“So?”

Callum never lost his temper with Michaela, but he was getting damn close now. “
So
, I can’t have a boyfriend, or whatever the hell you’re suggesting,”

Michaela planted a finger against his chest. “That’s the worst bullshit you’ve spouted out yet.”

“No, it’s not!” Callum barked, feeling more and more off-balance. Michaela was the one who knew. Who
got
it.
She
was the one who suggested she could be his fake girlfriend.

She dropped her hand to grab hold of one of his. “Callum, you’re allowed to have a boyfriend. You’re allowed to have a
life
.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” she gritted out.

“What am I going to do? Force some poor bastard to live in the closet with me? Pretend he’s my buddy? And what if we get caught? What if someone figures it out? You’re my girlfriend, at least as far as anyone out there is concerned,” he said, gesturing to the strangers lining the Strip as they flew past. “If they thought I was cheating on you, you’d be humiliated, and I’d be eaten alive. I’d deserve no less. That was never how this was going to work. I thought you understood.”

Maybe that last part came out more desperate, more broken, than he’d intended. Michaela looked devastated.

“I do understand, Callum. Of course I get how hard it is to live under the microscope. But I never meant for you to think this was it. That our fake relationship was the only relationship you could have. I only meant to take the pressure off both of us. So that you could take a deep breath before you snapped. And maybe as cover, so you could have a real relationship without worrying everyone was watching and wondering.”

“They’ll never stop watching. Not as long as I’m playing.”

“No,” she agreed sadly. “To some extent, that’s true, but—”

“And I can’t do it. Not another lie. Not another dozen lies. Hundreds of
lies
. I’m just…I’m too tired, Mic. I can’t do it.” He slumped back against the seat, utterly defeated.

Michaela tucked herself close to his side, her head on his chest. His arms went around her automatically. Maybe even clinging a little.

“You don’t have to lie. Not to everyone,” Michaela said softly.

“I know. I have you. And my family. And now Rupert.” Just saying his name made Callum’s chest ache. He missed Rupert. He wished he was here.

“No,” Michaela said, “I mean, you could tell people.”

Callum’s body went rigid. “What?”

“Easy there.” She patted his chest, soothing him. “I don’t mean the public. I just mean—I don’t know. Some friends.”

His kneejerk reaction was to tell her he didn’t have any. But…that wasn’t really true. Jack was his friend. And so were Mike and Alexei. Reese, even. But telling them would also mean them knowing about him and Rupert. Because even he could see they weren’t doing a very good job hiding it, relying on Callum’s aggressively heterosexual image to let people assume what they would.

“What about Mitch?” Michaela asked, drawing Callum back to Las Vegas from his longing for Moncton.

“What about him?”

“You could tell him. And Abby?”

The tension that had been steadily ebbing came roaring back. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Why not?
The list, actually, was horrifyingly long. “Because I’ve been on the same team with him for
seven years
. Because he and Abby know and adore you and think we’re perfect together. And because we’ve both let them believe that. What if he wasn’t comfortable with me in the locker room anymore? Or he told someone? What if he told management?”

Callum was working up to a really spectacular hypertensive event, maybe even a stroke, when Michaela’s voice cut through his panicked ramblings.

“His brother is gay, Callum. And his brother’s husband is one of his best friends.”

“Oh.” Because that was…well, interesting. Callum deflated a little.

They rode in silence for a while, Michaela against his chest while he stared out the window.

“I didn’t know that,” he admitted, trying to wrap his head around what it would be like to tell Mitch. And to be
accepted
. He honestly couldn’t imagine it. “I don’t know that he should forgive me, though.”

“I think if you apologize, if you try to explain, he might understand. Abby, too. She volunteers with kids in crisis. She sees a lot of the shit all kinds of kids go through, including LGBT kids. Maybe you can explain it to her.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, but it all seemed so
unlikely
. Not unlikely that they’d understand, but that he’d ever actually do it.

The town car pulled up to the Ritz Carlton, the doorman immediately present to open their door.

“Just think about it,” Michaela said, kissing his cheek before climbing from the car.

Lunch with Anna Fernandez was always a raucous affair. She had a big voice that suited her even bigger personality. She often seemed fearless to Callum. In the ten years they’d been working together, she’d built her agency into an empire, and was still one of the only women in the field. She understood adversity. Discrimination. And anyone would know, just by looking at her, that she’d just as soon punch you in the face than make nice if you crossed her lines.

Honestly, she would be terrifying if she wasn’t on his side.

Today, she sat at a quiet table in the back of the equally quiet restaurant, her back to the corner so that she could see the entire room. She caught the eye of a man on the other side of the room and nodded imperiously, but another man, just seconds later and a few tables over, got a sly smile. Her suit had probably cost about as much as a mid-size Japanese car, and it showed off her long legs, tiny waist, and curvy front-bits—if one was into those sorts of things—perfectly. She exuded power and femininity in equal measure. Callum thought if he looked up the word “coy” in any dictionary at Anna’s house, the entry would have been redacted.

She kissed their cheeks and swapped designer details with Michaela in a swirl of information that made Callum thank Christ that his toughest fashion decision was usually if the jeans on his bedroom floor could be worn again before doing the laundry.

He thought Rupert would love to be here for this. He’d know what the hell they were talking about, and could probably tell them where they could find a better tailor or whatever. And god help them all if these two ever got to take Rupert shopping. No one would be safe.

“What are you smiling at, young man?” Anna asked, as if she weren’t just a few years older than him.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to erase his grin. Anna and Michaela’s matching arch stares made it impossible.

“My,” Anna said mildly, “you’re in an awfully good mood. Anything you two want to tell me?”

And just like that, Callum couldn’t do it anymore. Not with this fierce woman who had done so much for him. It helped that she was contractually obliged to look out for his best interests, and that he’d thought he should tell her before now. But in the end, what mattered most was that the lie wouldn’t come. Not anymore.

Goddamn Michaela. He totally blamed her for this.

“I do have something I want to tell you,” he said, sounding surprised and foolish and plowing on anyway.

Michaela took his hand, squeezing tight, and Anna smiled as she took it in. He could see how well they’d played this. How years of letting people believe what they wanted had made the outright lies unnecessary.

Callum was absolutely terrified.

“I’m gay.”

Michaela’s smile was blinding, her grip on his hand downright painful. He needed both.

“Pardon?” Anna said.

“I’m gay,” Callum said again, and he could swear it was getting marginally easier each time he did this. This was the second time this summer, and it was only like ripping off a limb, not the full-scale evisceration it had been just weeks ago when he’d told Rupert.

Anna sat back in her chair and looked at Michaela, who looked steadily back, eyebrows raised, as if daring Anna to say one wrong word. Callum couldn’t breathe.

“Okay,” Anna said at last.

“Okay?” Callum asked weakly.

Anna sighed. “What did you think I was going to say, Callum? I mean, I’m surprised. But the only reason I’d be pissed was if you’d hurt Michaela, and she seems like she’s pretty okay with this development.”

“It’s not exactly a development,” he admitted.

Anna rolled her eyes. “You’re so stupid. You should have told me. I could have helped you if the shit hit the fan.”

“Umm…really?”

Anna gave him a stern glare. A lesser man would have shaken in his shoes way harder than he was. “Of course. Look, it’s not like you’re the only one, okay? I’ve had this conversation plenty of times.”

“You have?”

Anna frowned. “Callum, you do know ten percent of the population is gay, right?”

Michaela snickered. He shot her a dirty look.

“Look,” Anna continued, “you don’t have to tell me anything, but maybe if you get serious with someone or you think it might hit the press, you could give me a heads up? So I can help you any way I can. I want to help, okay?” she said, pressing her hand over his and Michaela’s.