Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

LO

Four months later

"Just so you know, Ethan is now demanding we attend one of their Gay Gatherings," I say.

Lo looks up, eyebrow raised. "Why?"

"Because we're hanging with your new team today."

He gives me a confused look. "I'm failing to see the connection."

"Because there isn't one."

Shortly after we arrived in Greenland in May, PR douche Robert called and tried to tell me he signed me up for a Gays Can Play event for August. I told him he could cancel it because I won't be paraded around as proof of professional sports' inclusivity. I won't be attending any of their events unless I volunteer for them.

The way he sputtered and tried to demand that I be a part of the Gays Can Play group was comical. Robert was psyched that nearly a fifth of our team is gay. It's a big deal and all that. He ended the call shortly after I told him I didn't give a fuck about what he considered a big deal. I'm a big deal because I'm good at my job. That's it.

Then I had a conversation with Coach Melvin and reiterated where I stood. That's not who I am, and I won't be one of their showpieces. Coach laughed when I said I wasn't going to be a showpiece. He agreed with me, though, so I think we're all on the same page, even if Robert doesn't like it.

Of course, the best moment I've seen yet is when I accompanied Lo to one of his summer charity events and we stopped to talk to the press. They threw a bunch of questions at him about the trade, his new team, and whether he was looking forward to the new season.

Then this little gremlin asked him, "How does it feel to be the only gay player on the team?"

Without pause, Lo shot back, "How does it feel to be the shortest man in this room?"

My eyes went wide. Everyone shifted, quieted, and glanced at the reporter who looked fucking shocked. Like Lo had just slapped him.

"Kind of rude to be asked a question that's irrelevant in front of an audience, isn't it?" Lo asks.

The way the media shrunk on themselves.

"Any more questions?" Lo asked. Crickets. "Good. See you at our first game."

He took my hand and walked away. I was probably just as stunned as everyone else in that room. But man do I love to repeat the question. I hope I'm quick enough on my feet to think of something like that when I face the press. Unlikely, since my best comebacks don't come to me until hours later. It's a special kind of personality that can come up with a response on the spot like that.

Shortly after that, Lo had a video conference with his new coach and, like me, he made it clear that he's not going to be their token gay guy. He's not their new showpiece to advertise their inclusivity, either. The fact that he used my words had me grinning on the other side of the room.

Honestly, I think both teams will respect our position. I'm not sure if they understand why we feel this way, but I'm hoping in time more people will.

Lo pulls me against him, pressing his lips to my jaw. His teeth run along my skin before he gently sucks on me, sending chills through my body.

"You ready?"

I look down at my Speedo and snort. I'm always chubbed around this man so a Speedo feels like a really bad decision. But I love this one because of the way it fits around me. It does a remarkable job at containing my cock in a very flattering way.

It's also got a lot of sentimental value, being the only article of clothing I wore when we got married on the beach last month. Yes, we did that. We have the tattooed rings on our fingers as a permanent announcement to the world that we're married.

"We're going to need to wear shorts too," I point out. "Not sure this is the first impression I want to give your new team."

Lo shrugs. "We can wear them, but I'm not swimming in shorts. I'm not sure who the self-conscious schmo was that decided men need to wear loose-fitting clothing in the water, but they're not comfortable."

I laugh. "Fine." It's not like I don't disagree. Definitely do. I always feel tangled and like they're hindering my swimming. Like something is wrapped around me, pulling me under the water.

"Have you talked to anyone from Toronto?" I ask while we're slipping into shorts and shirts.

"Just Casey," Lo says. "When he invited me over."

"It's cool that they included you, right?" I ask.

Lo nods. "I'm going to choose to believe that it is." He turns to face me and holds up a key. "And when we leave there, we're going to our new house."

I grin. It feels too big and giddy.

The house Lo bought in Toronto is an hour and forty minutes from mine, door to door. But it's still a commute we'll have to work around, which makes it inconvenient at times.

So while we were driving from his new house to mine after he got the keys, we had the brilliant idea to buy a house halfway between the two. We closed on a house in Niagara Falls. Just a small place—single bedroom, only 900 square feet. It's a stopping point where we can commute every day—fifty minutes. People do that all the time. Some people travel longer than that to work.

It's a trial house. I feel kind of foolish calling it that—a trial living with my husband. But that's not the part on trial. It's the commute that we're trying out. Neither of us has ever traveled more than twenty minutes from our homes to our respective arenas. Almost an hour could be really rough. Especially on late nights.

But we made a schedule with a spreadsheet and shit, noting which days we'll meet in the middle. On the late game nights, we'll likely stay at our own places. But for practices and shit? We'll commute. It worked out that something like 60% of the time, we'll be sleeping under the same roof. In the same bed.

I'll be able to wake up to my husband most days during the regular season. There's nothing better than that. Nothing.

We load the bags and bedding and shit we'll need for our new house into Lo's car and climb in. His new house in Toronto is pretty sweet. Very modern with sharp, clean lines and a spectacular view. He lives on a hill that affords him a beautiful panorama of the city.

The drive to Casey's house is short. It's massive.

"Do you think he has a big family like Meddy?" I ask.

"No idea. I know just as much about these men as you do, babe." He puts the car into park and leans forward to look out his windshield at the big house. "But my frugal heart hopes he isn't living in this big thing all alone. That's ridiculously inefficient."

I nod. We open our doors and step out. There are already more than a dozen vehicles there, parked in neat rows, evenly spaced. I wonder if they did that on purpose. Glancing at Lo's car, I'm glad to see that he parked within the grid too.

Lo takes my hand and we head for the front door. We can hear voices and water splashing from the backyard of the house. The smell of grilled foods fills the air and makes my stomach growl. Lo looks at me and I give him what I hope is an encouraging smile.

His smirk in return makes butterflies swirl in my stomach, just as they always do.

The doorbell is loud and deep. It sounds like it belongs in a castle or a haunted mansion. I can feel the sound in my bones.

There's always that awkward moment when you show up to someone's house and ring their doorbell and you wonder, what if they don't hear it? Then you're left standing there awkwardly. Do you ring again? Do you walk away? Are the neighbors watching? Will they call the cops on me?

But the door opens. and I recognize Casey Wilcox. Buffalo has played Toronto enough times that nearly all their players are familiar.

"Hi," Casey greets, smiling. "I know you," he says, nodding his head toward me. "Nice to meet you, Laurent."

Lo takes his proffered hand. "Lo," he corrects. "But I'll answer to Laurent, I suppose."

Casey grins. "Come on in. We're out back."

We follow him inside, shutting the door behind us. The entryway towers three stories over our heads with a massive chandelier that I don't want to stand under for long. That thing would kill me if it came down.

"This place is huge," Lo comments.

Casey snorts. "Much bigger than eight guys need, but here we are."

Lo and I exchange a look. Eight guys ? he mouths. My eyes widen and I shrug.

The backyard is equally massive with an enormous pool, complete with a waterfall and a grotto. A lazy river winds around the entire backyard that sprawls so far into the distance, I can't see it. There's even an island in the middle of the pool!

There's also an in-ground trampoline, a huge bounce house obstacle course that looks like it runs for miles. I hear engines coming from somewhere that sound like go-karts or something. Then there are the more adult things like an outdoor kitchen the size of our new house and a hot tub big enough for everyone here.

And there are a lot of people.

"Wow," I say.

"Overboard?" Casey asked, amused.

"Maybe a little."

He chuckles. "That's Denali with the bright pink hair. Trying to drown him is Marcus. They are the nonathletes that live here. Otherwise, it's me, Devon Hampshire, Nathan Ames, Yuri Andreev, Hudson Tremblay, and Austin Lavoie. Everyone else and their families don't live here, but they're teammates."

"I'd ask if the co-housing is to save on money, but I think this place probably costs more than eight houses," Lo comments.

Casey laughs. "Nah. Actually it started with me, Denali, and Marcus. We're childhood friends. Grew up right down the road. We always wanted big, expensive toys, but on a single income—even mine—it was unreasonable. So we decided to pool our incomes. Over the years, we've upgraded as more guys liked what we were doing and here we are—ultimate bachelor funhouse."

"And here we are, having just bought a tiny, 900 square foot house," I muse.

Casey looks at me horrified. "Why? Please tell me they pay you more than that in Buffalo. And fuck if Toronto low-balled you, man."

"No," Lo and I answer together, laughing.

"We bought a tiny house in Niagara to split the commute. It's a second house for both of us and we're hesitant to invest in something bigger when we don't know if we can handle the longer commute," Lo explains.

"Ah," Casey says. He looks between us for a minute, then his eyes drop to where we're holding hands. "I'm impressed you hid this for as long as you did. Media are vultures. You have no idea the amount of supposed ‘blackmail' we get threatening to expose our dick-lust cult if we don't pay them just because we live under the same roof."

He made air quotes for ‘blackmail,' and I have to wonder what in the world they could be trying to threaten.

"Everyone wants a piece of you," Lo says.

Casey looks at me again. "Indeed."

The girl claiming I knocked her up in a nightclub disappeared eventually. Her accounts are deleted, and I haven't created any new ones for myself. Personally, I'm enjoying the peace of not having social media to worry about. Sometimes Lo and I will lay in bed and scroll for a while together on his, but usually, it's nothing I think about at all.

Sometimes I wonder about this lookalike in Philly. This girl was convinced that he'd been me. Hell, after seeing the picture, I was partially convinced I'd sleep walked and managed to fuck a girl. He was that convincing. Even in the low-lighting and at the angle he'd been in.

Maybe it was him. Did he ever come forward to claim the child? I'm not sure if I hope he did or not. On the one hand, it's not the child's fault that they were created under these circumstances. But on the other, I can only imagine a life dealing with that woman.

Casey brings us around, introducing us to everyone, and I do mean everyone. All the wives and girlfriends and kids. The entire team.

This is the first time being in a new group has given me a different kind of trepidation than I'm used to. Usually I have to give myself a pep talk, much like right before a game, but to remind myself not to look at other guys too long. To not give anyone any kind of indication that I'm anything other than straight.

Now it's a little different. I'm out, and while that's a relief on some level, I find myself worried about whether people are going to treat me differently. Will there be some discourse or nasty remarks? Sneers? Will I be made uncomfortable?

I'd known deep down that my team would be fine. We have three gay men in a poly relationship on our team and the support they get is humbling.

But Toronto is brand new for us. They've never had a gay player on their team. This could have gone very badly. And Lo didn't know them at all either, so we really were walking in with blind faith.

Thankfully, we don't appear to be treated differently than anyone else. Just how it should be.

I decide this is a good omen for our future together. Whatever that future looks like. Wherever we go. Whoever we meet. It's going to be good. More than good. We're going to live the lives we'll want to tell our children and grandchildren about.

Hypothetically since I'm still not in a place where I want children. I don't really see that future for me. But the more time I spend with Lo, the more I think that maybe having a kid won't be so bad. He'll be an amazing father. While I don't have a lot of confidence in my parenting instincts, I know Lo won't let me fail at that.

It's not such a scary future.

When I turn around, it's almost as if the universe is testing me. I pause, my breath catching in my throat as my eyes land on Lo holding someone's newborn. I can't look away.

I know what he means when he says he falls in love with me every day. Sometimes, I think it's just an exaggeration of how he expresses his love for me. I've always thought that about my father too.

But looking at him holding this baby? My heart swells and I'm sure that I fall in love with this man all over again. This time, I'm aware it's happening. It doesn't sneak up on me. I can feel it happening as my love for him moves through my entire body.

A very surreal feeling overcomes me, and it feels familiar. Like I've been here before. In another time, another place. I've fallen in love with Lo a hundred, thousand times. Now it's a hundred-thousand and one.

I can't wait to fall in love with him each and every day for the rest of this life and for all the ones to follow.