Page 33 of Next Season
“Were you injured?”
“No, I was gay.”
Riley froze. “You were kicked off your team for being gay?”
“No, I left on my own.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I didn’t want to pretend anymore. It’s difficult to explain, but I had a very different life in those days. I was a party person. Always out, always drinking, always looking for a good time. I had many girlfriends, many lovers. But when I wasn’t on the ice, in a bar, or in bed with a woman, I was thinking about things I didn’t want to think about, like…the sexy valet at a random restaurant or the muscular man at the gym who pumped weights with his shirt off. All the time. I played harder, drank more, and had more sex to keep the desire away. Didn’t work. I was twenty-five before I gave in to temptation and stepped foot into a small gay bar in Vancouver. My team was in town for a game, and when I didn’t show up to the nightclub, I’m sure they assumed I was with someone. Nothing happened at this bar. I only watched the men dancing, laughing, kissing. It was…une revelation.”
“You realized you were gay?”
I gave a humorless half chuckle. “You could say that. The problem was…I didn’t want to be gay. My family is very Catholic. The roles are set. The men are masculine and tough. The Bouchards are fifth-generation loggers. I was given a hall pass to play hockey, but everyone assumed I’d come home to help run the family business. That was my calling. I stubbornly clung to my straightness for three more years. I even got engaged.”
Riley bugged his eyes out. “To a woman?”
“Yes, to a woman. Such acalamité.” I swiped my hand through my hair and opened my arms in a theatric show of despair. “Her name was Marguerite. She was pretty, blond,petit, and best of all, she laughed at all my jokes. The sex was nice. Not great, but nice. Two months before the wedding, I had what I think is called a total meltdown. I hurt my knee and was benched for a few games. No big deal…it happens. But painkillers and alcohol don’t mix well. I crashed my truck into a ditch in the middle of nowhere Quebec on a stormy night.”
“In October?” he guessed.
“Oui. Although, the camping story about the tent and the lightning is true also,” I confirmed. “Anyway, I was alone, hurt, and I could have hurt someone else. I could have hurt a lot of people. I thought to myself, ‘Oh, you got lucky,’ but I was still planning to hurt someone, right? I was going to marry a woman I didn’t love. There were formal invitations for friends and family to witness this mistake in the making. For the first time, I realized my secret would cause real pain. So…I blew it all up. Everything. I called off the wedding, quit the team, went home, came out to my family, who by the way, still think I might have been hit one too many times on the head.”
“Are you close to them, or did coming out change things?”
“They’re good people. They love me and accept me, but I confuse them.” I shrugged and continued, “Not in a bad way. I simply took a new path and started over far from home.C’est la vie. Now here I am. Maybe they’ll visit me someday. We shall see.”
His expression was comically endearing—a funny combination of awe and perhaps admiration. “Jesus, you’ve lived like three lives in forty years.”
“Sometimes it feels that way,” I admitted with a sigh. “The hockey years weren’t honest years. Looking back now, I know I was young and lost. I gave up the parts that were bad for me—too much drinking, partying, and women—and I took an interest in food. How to prepare it, how to enhance flavors, how to make something for others to enjoy. Also…I started dating men. And you know what happened, Riley Thoreau?”
He stood beside me and leaned against the counter, so close our shoulders touched. “What?”
“I became a happier man. Now, I’ve been told I’m a little too cranky sometimes, but that’s because I don’t like stupid very much—stupid people, stupid rules, stupid socks…”
“Stupid socks?” He laughed.
“Don’t get me started. The point is…I’m not proud of the man I was fifteen years ago. Maybe I should have brought up hockey, but now you know why I didn’t lead with that bit of information.”
Riley nudged my elbow, then kissed my right biceps. “God, I think you’re really fucking cool.”
I snorted. “Yes? I tell you that terrible story, and you like me more?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I hooked my arm around him and squeezed. “And I think you are…incroyable—lovely on the inside and out. You shouldn’t apologize for being exactly who you are. You might be injured, but you are not broken. Not even a little.”
He closed his eyes and cuddled close, burying his nose in my neck. I raked soothing fingers through his hair, muttering sweet nothings in French as I pulled him into a warm embrace. Our kisses were lazy and unhurried.
We parted with shy smiles and held hands for a moment before tidying the kitchen and locking up for the night. I showered while he brushed his teeth, sharing pieces of his day over the sound of the spray. He didn’t talk about hockey, though. He told me about Ivan’s latte artdu jour…triple hearts that resembled an atomic bomb. He raved about the beautiful foliage on Main Street, the canopy of orange, red, and yellow, and how fun it was to kick at the leaves like a kid.
I used the toothbrush he’d given me a week ago, nodding or grunting in acknowledgment as he chattered away. He’d never been this…chatty. It was tempting to tease him, but I loved the sound of his voice. Deep and masculine, melodic and animated. His joy was a palpable thing, and I was pleased he shared it with me.
We crawled into bed naked, tangled our limbs, and drifted to sleep.
It all felt so…perfect. Like something I hadn’t known I’d been looking for.
Dangerous thoughts to have about someone like Riley Thoreau.