20. Smitty

The drive to the airport was quiet. The flight between Toronto and New York City was quiet. The wait between flights was quiet. But the silence on the icy road between Burlington and Elmwood felt like an omen.

I tried to brush off Bryson's noncommunicative state as parental concern. I wanted to give him space to process the past forty-eight hours from hell and assure him the doctors knew what they were doing. Jake was a healthy young man who'd skyrocketed in popularity overnight. He was the new hotshot in the AHL—a good-looking, tough, smart player who'd seemingly bounced back from injury like a knight slaying a dragon at the last possible second.

It was normal to be worried, but parents weren't consulted regarding bumps to the noggin—even the ones that knocked their kid unconscious. The Scorpions planned to sit Jake for one game, but he was expected to practice and play in Syracuse next weekend.

That was it.

Hey, I'd been in Jake's position. I understood that "play at all costs" mentality. I got that Bryson saw this from an angle I couldn't appreciate, but I wished he'd talk about it. I was the one who clammed up about feelings and shit. Not Bryson.

But here we were on a lonesome stretch of road, my grip tight on the wheel, instinctively bracing for patches of thin ice. Because that was what I did when shit got real.

"You all right?" I asked for the millionth time.

"Hmm."

See?

"Jake's okay," I continued cautiously. "I know that was scary as fuck, but they'll be careful with him. He's their franchise. They won't ignore his medical needs or?—"

"I know."

I fiddled with the music for a mile or two and settled on an old Dolly Parton song my dad had liked. When she'd hummed her final plea for Jolene to leave her man alone, I turned the volume down and tried conversation again. Neutral conversation this time.

"My storage unit is too full. I'm gonna have to go through some of those boxes one more time. Maybe you were right about the Pokémon cards." Nothing. "It was good to see some of my old teammates. No one seemed surprised I didn't stick around for that newscaster job. I think it was the suit. I don't do suits." Nothing. No jokes, no lascivious comments…nothing. So I pushed and went to that one place that still scared the crap out of me. "I almost came out to them."

Bryson's head swiveled my way. "You did?"

"Almost. We were a couple of beers in, and we needed to get to the rink. The timing didn't feel right, but…it's gonna happen. Take it to the bank."

He went quiet, but I could see him nodding in my periphery. I took my eye off the road for a beat and glanced over.

I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't shaky hands and suspiciously shiny eyes. Okay, now I was officially freaked out.

"Good. That's…great," he said after an awkwardly long pause.

I frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm happy for you." He cleared his throat. "I am."

I shot him another sideways look. "C'mon, Bry, talk to me. I don't do guessing games well. Is it Jake? Are you worried?"

"Yes, but…I shouldn't be. He's high as a kite. Feels better than ever. Can't wait to get on the ice." Bryson's monotone delivery was almost as worrisome as his detached air. "I know it's part of the game. I'm talking like a parent, and he's a young man whose world is opening up in front of him."

"That's what you want for him, right? You've supported him from the start. You know the risks as well as anyone."

"Yeah." He looked out the window again. "I know."

More quiet.

I veered right, slowing my truck on the winding road leading to the Four Forest area. Church spires dotted the horizon through the snow laden evergreens.

We passed the Black Horse Inn and drove through another winding section of road in silence before reaching Main Street. Snow painted the landscape with a light dusting of white, covering rooftops, cars, and lampposts. Even in the depths of winter, it was a pretty sight.

I turned onto Walnut Street, the beginnings of a speech forming in my head as I parked in my driveway. I unfastened my seatbelt and twisted to face him.

"Talk to me, Bry."

"I can't do this," he whispered.

"What?"

"This…us."

Panic robbed me of oxygen for a beat. I stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean? Is this about Jake?"

"No. It's about me realizing I'm in over my head." Bryson rubbed his nose and licked his lips. "And I'm losing myself in a fantasy."

"Okay, I'm fuckin' nervous here. What's going on and why do I feel like you're about to say something I'm not gonna want to hear? I?—"

"I love you."

The words echoed in the confines of my truck.

"Wh-what?"

He jutted his chin proudly, his mouth quirking at one corner.

"I love you," he repeated. "I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. I know you care about me, but?—"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Well, I feel more than that and it's complicated."

I furrowed my brow and bit the inside of my cheek. "This doesn't have to be complicated, you know."

Bryson smiled sadly. "Too late for that. I don't know how to balance the way I feel with reality. The reality is…I'm older than you, I'm a father, I'm a boring real estate agent who lives in a sleepy town. I know you like this place and maybe you'll stay for another year. Maybe two. But you might change your mind, and that's okay. You're still young. You might meet a nice woman or a younger man, adopt a few kids, start a family, be a dad, and have all the things I can't give you."

"Jesus, Bry. I don't want?—"

"You don't know what you want, Smitty. Not really." His nose flared as he inhaled sharply and glanced out the window. "This place is a bubble. In some ways it's not real. And I want it to be…for a lot of selfish reasons. But the spotlight will be on Jake and everyone in this town again. You'll be in the spotlight too, like it or not. That's the real world. I don't think either of us is ready for it. 'Cause this weekend—that's what hiding in plain sight, pretending to just be good friends while your world is falling apart feels like. I'm in too deep and I'm tired of lying. It's not healthy."

"I get that and I'm going to come out. I just?—"

"Don't do it for me," he rasped. "I don't want that. I don't want it to be for the wrong reasons. When you're ready, do it for you."

"I…"

Shit, I had nothing. Words wouldn't come.

Bryson rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking more undone than I'd ever seen him. "We'll figure this out. We're neighbors, we're friends. I just…I need to think things through. I'm going to organize my schedule at work, then fly to Utica early before the next game, but…it'll be okay. We'll be okay."

His smile was wobbly and strained, and probably didn't deserve to be called a smile at all. He was obviously miserable and I was…fuck, I couldn't process this, and the only thing I could think of saying was, "Don't go."

Bryson leaned across the console and kissed my cheek.

He pulled his suitcase from the backseat and rolled it across the street to his house. I opened my door, stumbling over my feet as if to go after him. He was too fast. My heart pounded as I watched him fumble with his keys and disappear inside.

I stood there for so long my fingers went numb from the cold, but I couldn't move. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I had a flock of birds and stars dancing around my skull while I tried to make sense of what the fuck had just happened.

He said it was over, but he said he loved me.

He said he was leaving, but he was coming back.

He said it was complicated, but my God…

"This is real," I whispered.

Was it love?

Sure, I loved how I felt when I was with him. And I loved the feeling I got when he walked into a room. I loved his sweet smile and kind heart. I loved his sexy body. I loved holding him, kissing him, being inside him. I loved everything about Bryson. Even his endless supply of bad dad jokes.

But love…I wasn't sure I liked that word.

It scared me. The last person I'd said that word to had trampled my heart and made a mess of me. I didn't want that kind of love, and I didn't want complications.

This was complicated, though. Look at me now, staring after the man I'd secretly been hooking up with for months, willing him not to leave me. Willing him to tell me we could still be something and that nothing had to change.

Or was it too late?