14. Hank

14

HANK

D enny came by for lessons every day. Each time was the same. I'd open the door and we'd come together, sparking into an inferno strong enough to burn a house down. We'd shed clothing as we stumbled into the living room, collapsing on the sofa or the rug in front of the fireplace.

We couldn't get close enough, fast enough. There was a manic edge to us, a craving that consumed us. We couldn't form coherent sentences until we were sated, panting in a mess of cum and sweat.

I was pretty sure I'd licked every square inch of his gorgeous body. He'd finger-fucked me, rimmed my ass, and sucked my cock till I'd seen stars. And I'd paid him back in kind. It was…glorious. I'd had plenty of sex, but this felt different and I couldn't figure it out.

I also didn't try too hard. Denny was the perfect distraction from difficult days at the mill, where every other suggestion or new procedure I implemented was questioned. It was exhausting. I craved the company of someone who just seemed to like me.

And my horse.

Denny loved Bess.

He saw Bess and Fred each time he came by. If it was later in the evening, he'd bring them apples or carrots and help Bella, my stable hand from Fallbrook, and me brush them and feed them. If he arrived earlier, he'd ride Bess, and I was happy to report that he'd improved. He was confident in the saddle, rolling his hips with the horse's cadence. As we moved, he talked.

Denny was naturally reserved, but he was never quiet with me.

There were things he didn't discuss that were obvious signposts leading to dark places. I knew his father died when he was thirteen, and that it was definitely a profoundly life-changing event. But he'd persevered and conquered some frightening demons to become an elite professional hockey player.

Denny had real friends and a community that loved him. He was young and talented, with the world at his feet, but something was unsettled inside him. Something muted him, haunted him.

But I wasn't his therapist; I was his lover and I respected his boundaries. We had an arrangement based on sex and a perceived friendship I hoped would boost profit margins at the mill.

Sometimes I wished I had the right to ask for more.

Let's be real—I had the easier part of this arrangement. A young, hot jock wanted my bod. Amen . Sign me up all day long. Denny, on the other hand, was the one who had to advocate for the outsider running the mill. That had to suck.

But he did it.

Denny suggested meeting for coffee one morning on my way to the mill. He didn't introduce me to anyone, but he didn't need to. Being seen together was enough. We were buddies and pals, and if Denny Mellon didn't hate the idea of spending thirty minutes in my company, maybe I wasn't so bad.

He was a mini celebrity up and down Main Street. Just walking through the doors at Rise and Grind stopped the presses. Everyone greeted him warmly, shook his hand, clapped him on the shoulder, or kissed his cheek. He turned five shades of pink, but he took the attention in stride as I chatted amicably with Ivan, the dark-haired, rainbow-pin-wearing owner.

"It can't be helped." Ivan snickered in amusement. "We love our hockey boys!"

Ivan didn't think twice about Denny's monosyllabic grunted agreement. Neither did anyone at the bakery, where he was treated to a similar enthusiastic greeting. I was given a few cursory curious glances, but as I'd hoped, being with Denny offered an automatic hall pass amongst most of Elmwood.

A cute little old lady named Mrs. O'Neill, who Denny later told me was his grandmother's nemesis, was a bit suspicious, though.

"Mr. Cunningham, we're worried about you," she'd said in a warbly voice. "I heard you're putting in a Starbucks in Wood Hollow."

I'd shaken my head. "No, that's incorrect. I don't have anything to do with Starbucks. We're a family-owned business and?—"

"Maybe it was a McDonald's," Mrs. O'Neill had insisted. "They have nice french fries, but nothing like the ones we have at the diner. Now, in my day, we?—"

"For cryin' out loud, Kath, don't get your panties in a twist, we're not getting a damn fast-food joint." Annie had rounded the bakery counter. "Leave him alone, and no cutting in line."

I was pretty sure I'd heard an indignant, "Well, I never!"

By June, I didn't feel like a pariah in Elmwood anymore. People said hello, asked about the horses, and talked about hockey…nonstop.

"Prepare to be amazed," Nolan had warned me. "The coaches and kids will start trickling in next week for hockey camp. The week after that is the beginning of summertime madness."

"It's true," JC had chimed in. "Hockey players everywhere. They eat a lot…good for business, oui ?"

Denny had simply nodded while I'd asked a dozen questions, genuinely interested in the town's hockey fever. It was another world to me, and it felt kind of special to be on the inside…like I belonged here.

With him.

No, no. That was crazy talk. Elmwood might like me all right, but they wouldn't understand Denny and me. And any attempt to explain would only make me look bad. As in…terrible human being status.

Denny was a young, hot star exploring his sexuality, but I was an opportunist using him to make our brand palatable to locals. I mean…hey, they say the truth will set you free. But in this case, it would only fuck things up for me.

If Denny told me tomorrow that this was over, and he didn't want to be my friend and that he'd do his bi exploration on his own, it wouldn't be a matter of simply moving on to Plan B for me. I was hooked on him. For myself…not the mill. In fact, I barely thought about the mill when I was with him and honestly, that would probably bite me in the ass at some point.

But that was a worry for another night. Tonight, he was quiet. Like the other night when he'd come over, agitated and wild-eyed. I'd made him something to eat and talked about fuck knew what till he seemed calm again. I hadn't asked what was on his mind, but I had a feeling it was still eating away at him.

I figured I'd let Bess work her magic tonight.

We took the horses on the trail leading to the water's edge. I guided us to a clearing and dismounted, loosely tying the reins to a low-hanging branch before sitting on a huge tree stump overlooking the creek. Water babbled gently over the rocks. Farther along, the current picked up where the creek widened, and on some days, it was downright noisy. But here…it was a pleasant, melodic sound in an idyllic forest setting.

Denny stretched his arms as he breathed in the fresh evening air.

"It's beautiful here," I said.

" Hmm . A good thinking spot." He sat next to me on the stump, shoulders pressed against mine.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure 'cause?—"

"My agent says New York wants me," he blurted.

"Whoa! Really?"

"Yeah."

"And you'd be willing to leave Denver?"

"According to my agent, it's more money than a sane person would turn down. Besides, Denver isn't home anymore. My parents are gone and…I guess I'm thinking about them too. I had a panic attack the other day." Denny gnawed his bottom lip. "I haven't had one of those in a while. My head is just…too full. It always goes dark when I get overwhelmed and—sorry. First-world problems."

"Talk to me, Den," I cajoled. "I'm a good listener."

"You are." He smiled wanly. "I've been thinking about my dad a lot. I wonder what he'd think of all this."

"He'd be proud, I bet," I replied carefully.

"Maybe, but he didn't know me as a hockey player. My life would be foreign to him."

This was new ground…and a gift of sorts. This was Denny opening the vault.

I didn't want to disturb the fragile thread, but when the silence stretched, I prodded gently. "How so?"

"My dad was a skier."

"Yeah?"

"I was too. And I was pretty good." Denny cast a cocky half smile my way. "It was our family sport and obviously, the mountains were in our backyard in Denver. I grew up in ski clubs, went to meets every weekend. I won awards and…it was cool 'cause it was something we had in common. Did Grams tell you her son was in the Olympics?"

"Your dad was an Olympic skier?"

He nodded proudly. "Yep. He didn't win any medals, but he was in Calgary in 1988. He moved to Whistler for a while and worked as a ski instructor. That's where he met my mom. She was from Montreal."

"You mentioned that."

"I did?" Denny furrowed his brow, his eyes focused on the creek. "Yeah, they were ski rats. They followed the snow for years. In the summer, they'd go to New Zealand, teach there till winter hit the north. They didn't get married till Mom was expecting my brother, Kai. He's five years older than me. I think they still traveled more when he was little, but they morphed into a typical suburban family after I was born and founded a ski clinic in Denver with another partner. Dad was an instructor while Mom handled the books and became one of those uber-involved PTA types, always volunteering to head a committee. They were pretty…incredible."

His voice broke, but he didn't seem upset—he seemed determined to share a piece of his history.

I set my hand over his on the tree stump and kissed his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Denny squinted at the creek, unseeing.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"My dad died in a freak accident," he replied matter-of-factly. "It was a normal day, nothing different, nothing special. Dad finished his last lesson of the day and he was tired, but I wanted to practice on a black diamond run we'd done a million times. Challenging but nothing for him. He didn't want me to do it alone yet, so he was skiing behind me, to check my technique or whatever. Halfway down the slope, I…stopped. I just sensed he wasn't there. They said an animal had most likely darted onto the trail and that Dad was going too fast to avoid a collision. He fell hard enough to dislodge his helmet and hit a rock and…he was gone."

"Fuck."

"Yeah." Denny exhaled and closed his eyes. "Everything died on the mountain that day. Everything. My dad was gone, my brother was in college and never came home, and my mom lost her fucking mind."

"What do you mean?"

"She drank and drank and did whatever she could to make the pain go away."

"That's sad," I said softly.

"Everything they say about life changing in a flash is true. I was thirteen. I lost my whole family and— poof . I wasn't me anymore. I had no identity. No purpose. No one knew what to say or how to act around Mom and me. We'd been part of a strong unit, valued members of a ski community, and then…we were sad victims of a terrible tragedy. You can only bring over so many casseroles before you give up. My pre-Elmwood days after the accident were a blur. A slow slide into silence. I didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to ski…I just wanted to be left alone."

"What made you try hockey?"

"My mom said she thought it was dangerous. And I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to scare her into paying attention to me." Denny slid a glance my way. "Family dysfunction at its finest. Two years after the accident, we were unrecognizable. My mom was a junkie and an alcoholic, and I was a weird kid who'd alienated my old friends and played hockey like it was my job."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. When I was on the ice, I couldn't hear myself think. I was too busy learning, keeping time, doing math in my head. I ignored my mom, and she ignored me. It probably would have gone on like that till I graduated, but she started a fire in the kitchen in a drunken haze. Family services swooped in to rescue me. I suppose they could have called my dad's sister, but she lives in Canada. They called my grandmother instead, and…that's how I landed in Elmwood."

"Jesus, Den. And your mom?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "She never got better. She died three years ago from an overdose."

"Fuck, that's so…sad."

"Yeah. But the truth is that my mom died of a broken heart. She couldn't cope without him. Sometimes it pisses me off that she didn't choose me and Kai. I think it made us bitter. That's how I feel, anyway. I don't know about Kai. We rarely talk anymore. Thing is…I can't judge her. She loved him so much, you know? I've never loved anyone like that. I never will."

"You don't know that."

"That shit's not for me. Honestly, it's one of the reasons I broke up with Mary-Kate. I love my friend, but I can't do the big romance. I don't feel it for her, and she asked me why the other day and…I didn't know what to say."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Denny sighed heavily. "She's an amazing, cool person. She looks out for people. Fuck, she barely knows you, and she told me to bring you to Coach's barbecue 'cause you're my friend and she wants to help."

"I'm not following…" I hedged.

He grunted. "Doesn't matter. Geez, you didn't sign up for all this. Sorry."

"Don't be an idiot," I chided without heat. After a minute or so, I spoke again. "You know, my parents had the big love story too. My mom died when I was five, and my dad has mourned her for twenty-four years straight. His addiction is work. He worked too much before she was gone, but it got worse after. Late nights, always traveling. He wasn't a bad father, though. He tried."

"And that's why you're here."

"He offered me a hefty sum, Hotshot. Not NH-fucking-L money, but not too shabby."

Denny scoffed. "It's not about the money for you."

"No, it's not," I admitted, resting my elbow on my bent knee. "I love the guy. He stood by me when I came out, accepted me no questions asked. That's a bigger deal than it sounds like 'cause it involved a small personality transplant and a willingness to change his thinking. And he did. For me. Dad used to be flippant with stereotypical insults—this is gay, that's gay. I was scared shitless to come out, but I didn't want to live in the closet, so I gathered every ounce of courage I had, packed a bag in case I needed to make a quick exit, and told him my truth."

"How old were you?"

"Eighteen. You know what he did? He gave me a hug. I wasn't sure if that meant we were cool, so I asked. Dad smacked me upside the head and told me not to be an idiot. Of course we were cool. To which I said, ‘Then quit being a prick.' We were good until that stupid billboard episode, but I didn't hesitate when he called me. I'm not suggesting that I was excited about a brief sojourn in Vermont. I wasn't. But there's this side story: my dad brought my mom here years ago and she loved it. Supposedly, she joked that he should sell everything and buy a small house here. He could work at the mill and she could tend horses and raise us kids."

Denny narrowed his gaze. "He bought the mill in Wood Hollow for your mom?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not quite. That's the story he tells and it's a nice one, but I know my dad pretty well and if the mill wasn't a good investment, he wouldn't have bothered. He pulls the sentimental strings to sway me to do his bidding. It's a dance we do…the Cunningham waltz. We make deals and we talk around pesky things like feelings through contracts."

"And propositions." He smirked.

I bumped his shoulder and laughed. "It sounds cold and calculated. Trust me, I know it does. It's just how my father communicates. Most of us don't get that sitcom-perfect upbringing with no scars and no heartache. We get a potpourri of good intentions and bad follow-through. We get fucked over when our heroes die too soon, and we're left with a parent who can't cope or have unconventional coping mechanisms. And where does that leave us?"

"Fucked?"

"Maybe, but there's no point in being bitter or lamenting what could have been. This is where you're supposed to be now. This version of you—the sought-after, superstar hockey player. Maybe everything was always leading you here. You aren't the same scared kid who moved to this town, Denny."

"No, I'm not. I've turned into Hockey Man. It's what I do. It's my superpower. On one hand, it's an honor. I fucking love the game. But it's become my new identity, the thing I hide behind. I know that about myself. I'm all for one thing at a time. I'm not the guy who can be a bunch of things at once. I can't be an out and proud hockey player and someone's significant other, so I have to choose."

"And you choose hockey."

"Yeah. Doesn't that suck of me? Some of the best people I know are out and proud. My coaches, my mentors. I feel like I owe them, but I can't do it. The scrutiny is already so intense."

"Hey, stop beating yourself up." I splayed my palm on his knee and squeezed it. "Good thing you're with me. See, the cool thing about our deal is that I don't expect you to come out for me, and I never will. You gotta follow your gut. You've worked your ass off to get where you are, Den. Enjoy the ride as best you can. And quit being so fucking hard on yourself, sweetheart."

Denny covered my hand with his and tilted his head skyward. "Thank you. And fuck you. I'm not a sweetheart."

I chuckled softly, holding his chin as I brushed my mouth over his. "Not so sweet at all. C'mon. Let's go before the mosquitoes eat us alive."

Denny nodded, but instead of getting up, he grabbed my shirt, slipped his hand around my neck, and fused his lips to mine.

We stayed like that for a long while, connected in a light and breezy kiss that felt startlingly poignant.

Until he bit my lip and pulled away.

"You're coming to that barbecue."

"Huh?"

"Coach Smitty and his husband, Bryson, do a yearly pre-camp barbecue. It's fun and…it'll give you a chance to meet everyone. That's what you wanted, right?"

Yes, that was why I was here. To ingratiate my family to the community. To grow a business and finish what my dad had begun. This was a job. Nothing personal.

But it was beginning to feel very fucking personal.