Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

CAULDER

Leg day. Never miss a leg day. My muscles already burn, and I've only done a few reps. My body acts like it's been months since I've hit the gym, though it's only been a few days. Besides, it's not like I was leisurely laying around. I don't care what anyone says—a constant state of arousal leaves your muscles exhausted.

The memory makes me smile. My phone notifications are silenced; not because I don't want to talk to Lo but because he's a fucking distraction. I can't get shit done when we're texting.

I love how freaking flirty he is. Everything that comes out of his mouth, uh… via text, is a fucking innuendo. But he's also just naturally sweet. I'm not sure he even realizes how sweet he is. There's never a break between when my texts are read and his responses, so I know he's not contemplating what the sweetest answer is before typing it out.

It's been forty-eight hours and I'm confident we've been chatting for at least forty of them. I fell asleep texting him last night! That's how long and often we chat.

He's just… perfect. The perfect fucking man. I'm both relieved and annoyed that he lives so far away. If he were close, the temptation to see him would be immense, and I know would put both of our secrets in jeopardy.

There's no denying the attraction between us. I can feel it burning under my skin. It makes me ache in a way I'm not used to at all.

But at night, when I'm alone in my bed, I don't just miss the orgasms. They're almost an afterthought. Almost. But I really miss his arms around me. I miss sleeping against his body, tangled in his arms and legs. I miss his body heat and the way his hot breath feathers against my skin. And the way he always pressed soft kisses to me, on every bit of skin that he could reach.

I miss him.

It's unreal, perplexing, and a little alarming how much I miss him. I barely know this guy. I shouldn't be missing him. It's ridiculous.

I can't help but feel maybe my connection with Lo is so strong because he truly gets me. He understands exactly why I don't volunteer my sexuality in a way that even Creed wouldn't. Creed made the choice to be out. I've heard him say many times how important it is to him to be an out athlete because it was important for him as a kid to see out athletes.

It's not that I disagree. I know it is incredibly important. As a child, it was important to me, too. It was an assurance that if I were to come out, or be outed, my career wouldn't be over. I'd have support.

But it also screamed loudly about the different treatment and attention I'd get too. I don't want to be part of the Gays Can Play agenda. Again, yes it's important, but I don't want that kind of attention on me. I don't want to be a gay athlete. I don't want to be a straight athlete or a bi athlete or an asexual athlete. I want to be an athlete. Just an athlete. Without sexuality attached to it.

I don't want to see a headline that reads BUFFALO SKIDMOSS DEFENSEMAN CAULDER HAINES ANNOUNCED ON MONDAY HE'S GAY.

Or CAULDER HAINES MADE HISTORY WHEN HE BECAME THE TWENTY-FIFTH NHL PLAYER—RETIRED OR ACTIVE—TO PUBLICLY COME OUT.

I don't know about the number I'd be, I made that up. I don't actually keep a tally on how many out hockey players there are. The point is, I don't want to be a headline for my sexuality. Ever.

After an hour, I decide that my legs are like noodles enough, so I quit the exercises and stand. Looking around the gym, I watch my teammates do their thing while I swallow large mouthfuls of water. There aren't many here. The trio, Brighten Shepey AKA Three, and Lucien Medcalf, affectionately known as Meddy. Meddy's also brought his six-year-old, who's sitting on the machine next to Meddy and doing reps with a five-pound weight.

I grin and head for the showers. Meddy has nine kids. We're well acquainted with all of them since we're a rather close team and hang out with Meddy often. His wife is our Mama Bear, often rescuing us from drunk puck bunnies who don't respect personal space and aren't good about taking no as an answer.

As I strip off my sweaty clothes and toss them into my bag, a vision of doing leg presses with my partner standing over me holding our boy as we talk flashes before my eyes. No, I don't imagine his face as Lo's. That's just ridiculous. But the vision is real enough, there's a strong longing in my chest for this imagining, that I pause to catch my breath.

Having a family has never been super important to me. A partner, yes. But kids? I don't know. I've thought about it a lot over the years because Meddy is determined to create a hockey team from his offspring alone, so every time he announces a pregnancy, I think about it.

I watch how happy he is. I observe the kind of attentive parent he is. How happy his kids are. How good his life looks. I don't believe that it's just for show. Meddy isn't like that. He's authentic and what you see is what you get.

I've often asked myself whether I want a kid. Two? A dog? What kind of far-off future do I want?

The only answer I ever seem to have is a partner. I want a partner. Someone sweet and kind. Thoughtful. Someone I have chemistry with in every part of my life. A man to share passions with and have adventures with. I want an epic love story. Not a story that the world needs to hear, but a love story that consumes me as I live it.

Lo flashes before my eyes again and I shake it off.

By the time I'm clean and back in the locker room, Creed and Ethan are there stripping. A question our team had been asked a lot when their relationship first came out was how it felt to have a married throuple in our locker room, and whether there are ever any uncomfortable moments.

My favorite response was from Sacha Ivanov, one of our wingmen. "I shall ask about your love life if you want to know about my teammates'. Quid pro quo—which is illegal, by the way."

He didn't have all his facts right but, technically speaking, doing press is part of our work. Therefore, any questions of a sexual context within the workplace that makes one or more persons uncomfortable, is illegal in New York State. That's considered harassment.

Over the next several months, PR modified Sacha's response to be accurate and kept the same message. We've since been remarkably irrelevant questions-free from the press.

But what those questions always made me think about is how much I love the backdrop of their love on our team. We all feel it. It's not like they're not aggressive with it; there are very rarely any signs of affection between them and never any intimacy—including a kiss or even hand holding. Not at the arena.

That doesn't mean we don't feel their love. There's a strong but quiet presence to it. It's there. We feel it. We can see it when they look at each other. But we all feel it too in the way their support is extended to us. How their concern is inclusive of us. Their praise and their joy and their sorrow are always shared with us and for us.

It's made this team stronger and closer in a way that I can't really imagine living without. I love it. I don't want to trade it for anything.

The one thing it always makes me feel is longing to have that kind of relationship one day.

"You coming over?" Creed asks as he walks by. "We're cooking a shit ton of meat for some reason."

"I ordered too much for the freezer," Ethan admits. "So we're cooking it all and pigging out on protein."

"What you're saying is you don't get enough meat in your mouth," Asael comments as he steps into the locker room. "That's it, isn't it?"

Ethan grins. "I'm going to let you keep guessing about the meat that goes into my mouth and still invite you over for meat."

Creed rolls his eyes. "Stop. Get in the shower." He shoves Ethan out of the locker room before giving Asael a glare.

Asael laughs, dropping his bag. His eyes meet mine.

"There are other ways to try meat," I say.

He laughs loudly. "See? You get it!"

I shake my head. "I wasn't talking about tacos. I feel like meat is a common ground. I love my meat."

"Okay, okay. We're done with this conversation," I say, laughing. I really don't want to talk about tacos—food or otherwise.

Asael grins. "What time is meat consumption?" he asks while I'm tying my shoes.

"Didn't say. My guess is when you're done you can go over."

"Meat does take various times to cook depending on how juicy you like it," he comments, nodding "Personally, I like when it leaks a little."

"Ohmigod," I mutter, shaking my head.

"Really?" Three comments as he steps into the locker room. "Must you come on to everyone?"

"Don't be jealous, sweetheart. Your meat is still my favorite to make leak."

I look up in time to see Asael wink at Three. Three just sighs heavily. We watch Asael head for the gym and then Three meets my eyes. "I swear, this is his way of warming up to come out," Three says. "Like he's feeling us out or something."

"Stupid. Obviously, no one here is going to care. We have three openly gay men on the team, already. What does he think we're going to say?" I get to my feet and pocket my phone. It gives a little buzzing vibration when I pick it up, telling me I have a notification. It can wait. I don't want to be smiling like a loon at my phone right now.

Three shrugs. "Dunno. Gay innuendos have been his favorite topic lately. I can't help but think there's a reason behind it. Something driving him."

"Obviously we all like meat to a certain extent," I say, grinning. "Can't tell me everyone in here isn't fascinated with their own. But there's a line that he's just…"

"Jumping over."

"I was going to say humping over. You know, keep it on theme."

Three laughs. "I'll catch you later, man."

I wave him off as I head for the hall.

In my car, I plug in my phone. The notification that I have messages in the app has my fingers itching to look at it. Instead, I put my car in drive and head home.

Since leaving Florida, I've tried to convince myself I need to put some boundaries in place concerning Lo. I can't fall for this man. It's too dangerous to everything about my life right now and how I want to live it.

I'm not going to lie and say I've done well abiding by those boundaries. If I had, I wouldn't be spending so long on the phone with him every night. Or thinking about him at least once every three minutes.

The drive home isn't far. Eighteen minutes on a good day. It's midday on a Tuesday with clear roads so getting home is relatively quick. However, once I pull in, I'm greeted by a massive… tree?... in front of my door. No, not a tree. I can see a huge vase at the base holding many stems, but the top is wrapped so it just looks like a tree. It's a bouquet of flowers, I guess.

For a second, I sit in my car and stare. It's not my birthday. I haven't won anything. There are literally zero reasons for there to be flowers here.

Grabbing my bag of sweaty laundry, I make my way to the door. This bouquet is at my hip. I'm not even sure how I'm going to get it inside.

In fact, I can't even get around it to open the door. I'm stuck trudging through the snow to the side door and letting myself in that way. I track snow through my house until I get to the front, then attempt to gently wrestle the flowers inside without destroying them. Thankfully, there isn't water in the vase, so it's not frozen.

I set it on my dining room table and carefully unwrap it, a task that takes me ages. Then I stand back and look. It's… beautiful. Gorgeous. There's something masculine about it with curly twigs and floofy dark fronds. The colors are dark, like winter, splashed with icy whites and blues.

I've never seen something so stunning.

It takes me through my damn birthday to find the card hiding inside the stems, but I manage to get my hands on the little business card. On the back is a typed message that reads:

I haven't stopped thinking about you and wanted you to have a visual to depict how much room you take up in my mind. I miss you. -LD

My breath catches. I read the card over and over again. Fuck my life.

Without thinking, I pull my phone out and open the app to his name. My eyes are a little watery—must be from the pollen—so I don't try to read the message there. I just hit the little phone button. A glance at the clock says it's noon. He's in Vancouver right now for a game tonight, but it's three hours earlier. I'm not even sure if he's off the plane.

"Hi," Lo answers. "Just pulling into the hotel."

"Hurry up and call me when you're in your room," I say and end the call. To keep myself from having a sappy meltdown, I shut all my doors, strip from my outdoor clothing, and busy myself by cleaning up the mess I made of snow through my first floor. I'm just throwing my sweaty laundry into the washing machine when my phone rings.

"You didn't just send me a field of flowers!" I demand.

Lo laughs. "Is it that big?"

"Yes. I had to fight with it to get them through the door without ruining it. I thought there was a tree on my front porch, Lo."

He chuckles. "The picture was beautiful. I didn't look to see how big it was."

I lean on the wall and rest my head there. "I miss you too," I say.

Lo sighs. "It's bad, isn't it?" he asks. "I can't stop thinking about you. I'm driving myself crazy."

My eyes sting and I squeeze them shut. "It was one weekend," I reason, hearing the slight depreciation in my voice.

A quiet huff of laughter meets my ears. "I know. I think we've probably shared the same internal arguments."

"So… what?" I ask.

"I don't think we need to answer that. This is our secret. No matter where we go from here, it's still ours to keep. I think we can just see what happens."

"Everything is against us, you know," I argue. "I feel like we're setting ourselves up for heartache."

"I might have agreed with you a week ago. But you have a family very close to you that would disagree. Distance is temporary."

I'm not sure what he's talking about. "Okay…"

Lo laughs. "Ethan and Jakub were married for seven years, never played on the same team, and are still very happily married, Caulder. If for nothing else, they're a testament to what beautiful things can come of something that's meant to be. When you meet the right person."

My heart stops. I'm pretty sure. "You think?—"

"I don't want to jump the gun, but I haven't stopped thinking about you. Did you miss that? Maybe you are and maybe you're not, but two days away from you has me contemplating my life choices and planning some ridiculous shit just to see you again. I don't need an answer to a question I'm not really asking. Just think about it."

I shake my head. "I don't need to. Yes. Me too. All of that. But we need?—"

"Secrecy. I know. Fortunately for both of us, we're in exactly the same boat."

My weight sags against the wall, a smile curling on my face.

"Now, tell me about your day," Lo says. "I need to hear your voice."

I don't make it to Creed's because I talk to Lo until he has to leave for his game, which is nine o'clock my time. Too late. I texted him with a white lie, but promise myself that I won't make a habit of that.

The best way to attract questions is to act weird. I don't want questions. I want Lo, and for right now, I have him in some capacity. Even if it's temporary and we'll never see each other, for this moment in time, he's mine.