Twenty-Two

TWENTY-TWO

FELTON

I'm not in the net on the last game before the break against St. Louis. We lost the previous three games, two of which I was in the net for, so I was relieved when Coach called for Marion to be in the crease tonight.

It was a good game, and Marion did a great fucking job. I'm so fucking proud of him. Not that I watched him much. I was too busy staring at Ren.

Have I ever noticed how much of a wall that man is? I swear, he blocks half the shots all on his own. I've never been prouder of someone than when I'm watching Ren on the ice. He's just… impressive. Magnificent. I could watch him all day.

The rest of our team was great too. There were some amazing plays, both that I saw and missed and had to catch it on the screen as they were replayed.

Hockey has always been something I love to get lost in. Whether I'm playing or watching, hockey has just been something fun for me. Yes, it's work. Both mentally and physically, not to mention it is my actual job. But when your work is your passion too? It makes your days enjoyable.

I remember the first time I saw hockey. Even my father's remark of ‘maybe you'll actually be good at this' didn't dull my fascination. In that moment, nothing he said had the power to bring me down. I fell more in love with the sport every single day. Especially when it turned out that I had some talent.

At the time, I didn't recognize my coach's praise for what it was. It wasn't a secret that he encouraged me and told me how much I'd been improving much more than the others. At first, my teammates were angry about it.

Then they stopped being angry. Hell, they even told me how proud they were after a while.

I thought I must be the luckiest person in the world to have such a supportive team. How much they encouraged and supported each other. How much they thought I had skill. It was probably them that made me strive to be better. To always perform. To improve.

Looking back, I think I know exactly what happened. First, my coach must have witnessed my father berating me. And then later, my teammates did.

Still, even knowing this, I'm convinced that I had the best team in the world. My teammates, and even my coach, could have been bullies and treated me just like my father did. They could have hopped on the bandwagon and, seeing that someone else was tearing me apart, decided that it gave them permission to tear me apart too. Especially since that someone was my father.

But they didn't.

It's proof that there are good people in the world.

As I look at Ren, I wonder how the hell I managed to find one of the best people. Moreover, how did he somehow see through all the peeling paint and crumbling interior and decide that he wants me?

Me!

What the hell have I to offer him? I'm a fucking mess on a good day and those good days have been few and far between lately. Yet Ren wants to be with me. He said so. I heard him say so. And when he looks at me, smiling, I'm convinced I didn't even make it up.

Was it just yesterday when Ren told me he wanted to be with me? Has it only been twenty-four hours? It feels so long ago and yet brand new.

The game ends with our win, 4-2. We spend extra time on the ice, thanking our fans. Throwing pucks over the boards and the occasional stick too. On the way out, we sign jerseys and hats and whatever else that's pushed our way.

It's the holiday season, after all. And honestly, we almost always have a near-capacity crowd. We have some really amazing fans, so spending a bit of time with them is the least we can do.

There's a lot of excitement in the locker room. Both in anticipation of the break, since it's rare that we ever get one this long, and coming off the high of our recent win.

I strip out of my gear, not nearly as sweaty as most of the others on my team. It's a lot of pads that I wear and even stationery, I can get hot in them. But not like Marion. He was kickass tonight. There were something like seventy-three shots against him and he only let in two. That's over 97% that he kept out. I don't care what anyone says, those are fucking good stats!

It doesn't take me long to strip out, shower, and change. Mostly because I don't have to wash the stench of hockey sweat off me. I don't linger, though. It's weird when gay guys linger in a locker room. I've overheard that a lot, even from teams I've never had a problem with.

Not from Winnipeg, specifically, but it's made me conscious of the fact that some people feel that way, so I grab my bag and wander into the hall to wait for Ren. We came together and I'm going home with him tonight.

I try not to let that excitement sway me any one way or another. It's not a promise for sex, even though my cock thinks it might be. Honestly, I'm realizing now how long it's been since I've gotten off. Nearly a month!

I'm horny on a regular day, so an entire month without getting off?!

"Not that we're going to tonight," I murmur to myself.

Honestly, I don't want to rush anything with Ren. He could change his mind or maybe finally see the mess that I am. And I don't want him to. I want him to want me.

Is it okay to want something good for myself?

Chewing the inside of my lip, I can almost hear what my father would say. Don't be so greedy. You're spoiled.

The one thing my father has never touched on is my sexuality. Like, ever. I came out when I was seventeen and he just kind of shrugged. It took me three years to work up to telling him because I imagined it would only give him one more thing to be disappointed with.

But it's literally never come up. In every single way I've let him down, this has never been a point of contention.

Honestly, it's baffled me for years. He's gone so far as to subtly mention how much he dislikes that I'm so tall! As if that's my fault. It comes from either his genetics or my mother's. It's not my choice!

But my sexuality? Nothing.

For years I braced myself for it though. Always waiting for it to be the next thing out of his mouth. I'm still wary. Still waiting. But less so now. I feel like if it hasn't come up nearly two decades later, it probably won't, right?

Maybe that's why I have this strange compulsion to be a good son for them. There are so many people in my community that lose their parents and families by coming out. But I haven't. No one has ever said anything negative.

It's not like they're ignoring it, either. There have been questions about whether I'm seeing someone. If I have a boyfriend. What about the guy that I was seen with the other day.

They don't pretend I'm something other than I am.

So… I'm grateful. I guess maybe that's why I try to be the good son that my father demands of me.

I'm standing in the hall heading outside when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but it's local. My finger hovers over the green button, but then the phone is out of my hand. I look up to find Ren with it. He shakes his head as he hits the decline button.

"No calls from numbers you don't know," he reminds me.

It feels both like I'm being chastised but also a relief that I don't have to feel like I should answer the phone. I nod.

The phone rings again. Ren declines as he takes my hand and leads me to his car.

My phone rings no less than a dozen times as we drive back to his house. Since this is the last game before break, I already have a bag in the trunk with clothes for the week. There's no need to go back to my house. When he said I'd stay with him and his family for the holiday, he meant it.

When we step inside his house and the phone rings again, Ren answers it with irritation. I can hear my father's voice and I cringe away.

I flinch when Ren talks over him. It's not loud, he's not shouting in the least. In fact, I've never heard him raise his voice at all. Yet, I know my father stops talking as if Ren just steamrolled over him.

"I'm disappointed you can't tell how much stress and pressure you place on your son," Ren says. "Quite frankly, I'm disgusted by how much you seem to enjoy hurting him."

My father responds, but I can't quite make out the words. Meanwhile, I'm absolutely horrified by what Ren's saying. Not because I disagree, but… because he's actually saying it to my father. Out loud.

"He's not going," Ren responds as he drops his bag on the floor and proceeds to kick off his shoes. As if this is normal. Like he's telling off a telemarketer.

He's not hyperventilating like I am.

"Yes, he is," my father shouts. "Who the fuck are you? What makes you think he's not coming home?"

The fact I can hear his words clearly tells me just how loudly he's yelling. Fuck, I can't catch my breath. My eyesight dims, so all I see is Ren on my phone.

"Because I'm not letting him," Ren answers calmly before hanging up.

He hangs up on my father! And then turns the phone off before handing it back to me. "You're not turning this on until the 31 st ."

I'm pretty sure my eyes are so fucking wide right now. Holy hell, Ren Ho just hung up on my father. I'm not sure whether to be on my knees in front of him, worshiping him, or sick to my stomach.

My father is probably furious.

Ren's hand touches my cheek. "I promise, everything is going to be fine."

"How do you know that?" I whisper.

"Because I will make sure it is, Fel." He pulls me to him, and I have to bend over so he can bring my mouth to his. God, why hasn't he always kissed me like this?! "I will always make sure everything is fine. No more worrying. Let me take care of it."

I practically sink into him. A part of me is very conscious of the fact that I'm heavy. It comes with being as fucking tall as I am. But Ren doesn't bend or fold under me. It's as if I'm a doll. An infant. A feather pillow. He holds me tightly, steadily.

"I'll take care of you," he swears, pressing soft kisses to my face.

There's a chance that maybe I could convince myself that Ren is too good for me and that I need to walk away. That chance was a very small blip in my life that happened before he showed up that day to check on me.

But today, there's only one thing that's happening between us. I'm falling for this man. And nothing is going to make me stop falling for him.