Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

RIVER

After fleeing the house, I had no idea where to go, so I drove to the closest restaurant. It’s Thanksgiving. They have a limited menu. Our options are turkey, ham, and cornish hen with family-style side dishes.

“Smile, Rivie,” my moms says, sliding her hand across the table to touch me. “You love Thanksgiving. I know it’s not the same… but we will make it work.”

“Momma,” I whisper, fighting back tears. “I hate that you had to leave Dad for me. You should be home with him.”

“I’m with my baby. Where I’m supposed to be.”

By some miracle, she hasn’t shed a single tear. Meanwhile, I’m dying on the inside, torn between right and wrong, trying to decide if I should bring her home.

He called me the f-word . On repeat, I replay those final moments in my head, disgusted by his reaction.

He’s still my dad.

I love him.

So, why can’t he accept me?

I feel like shit, my skin itching as if dozens of ants are crawling over my arms and legs.

All of this is my fault.

“We’ll have one of everything,” my mom tells the server and hands her the menus. “And all of the sides. I’ll also have an iced tea. And…” She turns to me. “Do you want a soda or beer?”

“Soda, I’m driving.”

“A Coke,” she tells the woman.

The cops are always out in full force on holidays. I don’t need any more headaches today. My dad’s rejection was enough.

“Double scotch,” Nate says, flashing one of his boyish smiles. “And keep them coming. It’s been a long day.”

Her gaze lingers on Nate briefly, then she returns to me. I know she recognizes me because her eyes light up in acknowledgment. She’s blonde and thin and in her late twenties or early thirties.

“I know you, right? You look so?—”

“Familiar?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“I have one of those faces, I guess.”

A massive grin tugs at her mouth, curling up her pale pink lips. She takes a step back, still looking at me, and pauses. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

After she disappears, Nate puts his elbows on the table and whispers, “If she only knew you play for the other team.”

All of us burst into a fit of laughter. It’s the first time I’ve felt anything but anger and sadness in over an hour.

“I’m so glad River has you,” my mom says to Nate. “You’re good for each other.”

He looks at me and smiles. “Yeah, we are.”

A few minutes later, the server arrives with our drinks and sets a glass of soda in front of me.

“I figured it out.” A smile reaches her eyes. “You’re River Rousseau.”

I nod. “That’s me.”

She removes a pen from her pocket and says, “You probably get this a lot… but would you sign something for me? My younger brother is a huge fan. He follows all of your games.”

“Sure.” I take the pen from her and scribble my signature on the paper she places in front of me. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Brian,” she lilts. “Oh my god. He’s going to freak out. This is so…” She takes the paper from my hand. “Thank you.”

My heart feels fuller as she walks toward another table, cheeks flushed. The fans motivate me to keep going even on my worst days. I refuse to lose this feeling.

I glance at Nate. “That’s why no one can know about us. My dad was right. He just had a shitty way of going about it.”

My mom frowns. “Your father… Rivie, I’m sorry for what he said. I know he means well. He loves you. He only wants you to succeed. But I… I can’t forgive him for calling you… that .”

Clutching her arm, I force a smile. “Momma, you have to go home. Dad’s already called twenty times.”

“He doesn’t deserve us.”

“I go back to school on Sunday,” I remind her. “You can’t stay away forever. It will only make him worse.”

Nate shakes his head. “Stop defending him.”

Mom’s cell phone rings. She checks the screen, rolls her eyes, and stuffs it back into her purse. “It’s your dad again. That man is relentless.”

“Did you turn off your location?”

“Oh, shit,” she mutters. “No.”

“Watch him show up here.”

She bites her lip and scans the busy restaurant. “He won’t make a scene in front of these people.”

An hour later, we’re all stuffed full of turkey and heavy side dishes, rubbing our full bellies. Nate is buzzed and mumbling as we head toward the car. Thankfully, my mother is sober and coherent.

We walk to the parking lot, and as I had predicted, my dad waits by my car. Wearing a winter coat and jeans, he folds his arms across his chest, a stern look on his face.

He steps forward, his eyes lighting up when they land on my mother. “Baby, look, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I didn’t mean to?—”

“No, Ryan. You owe an apology to River,” she shouts, her voice shaking.

His head snaps to me, then back to my mother. He seems torn between us, but I know he will always choose her.

“River,” he says in a hushed tone, eyes pointed at his feet. “I was in shock.”

“You knew,” I say, moving in front of him. “How many times did you ask me about Nate? We weren’t together back then… but you figured it out. You had plenty of time to come to terms with my sexuality.”

His head lifts, and our eyes meet. “I didn’t want it to be true. Gays can’t play in the NHL. They will never accept you.”

“I’m not going public,” I say, the blood pumping faster through my veins, my heart racing. “No one will ever know.”

He shoves a hand through his dark hair to push it off his forehead and nods. Silence hangs between us, and the tension is so thick it’s palpable. Neither of us knows what to say or how to act.

Mom throws her hands onto her narrow hips, facing off with my dad. “Are we going to have a problem?”

He clutches her arm and pulls her to him, shaking his head. “No. Come home. Please.” Then he looks at me. “I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t called you that . I didn’t think. Guys call each other names in the locker room. It’s said more in jest, not… Well, you know. I’m sure you hear it all the time from your teammates.”

I understand where he’s coming from. Guys always make locker room jokes and call each other gay or other slurs. It’s because they never consider that one of them could be gay.

“I don’t want people making fun of you,” my dad says. “Or treating you differently. You have such a bright future in hockey. I don’t want all the hate to diminish your accomplishments.”

“Neither do I, Dad. That’s why I’m not telling anyone. Only a handful of people know about Nate and me.”

My mom angles her body, standing between us, and sighs. “I hate this, Ryan. Don’t force me to choose between you and my son.”

“I’m not. I would never.”

“Will you accept River the way he is? No more mean slurs or nasty comments?”

He hesitates for a second, and after a long pause, he says, “Yes. It will take me time to adapt. I might say the wrong things. But I will try to understand his choices.”

I want to tell him it’s not a choice to be gay but hold my tongue. My dad grew up in a very toxic masculine environment. Being straight was the only option for him.

Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “No one can take what’s in your heart, Rivie. Whether or not you play hockey, we still love you. So does Nate. I can see it. He would do anything for you. And so would your father and me.”

“Thanks, Momma.” I lean in for a hug and kiss her cheek. “Go with Dad. We’ll follow you back to the house.”

My dad starts tugging her toward his black Maserati, but she yanks away from his grasp.

“Please stay for the weekend. It’s your home. You’ll always be safe there.”

“We have the meetings tomorrow morning,” Dad adds. “You should get some sleep… in your own bed.”

Nate leans into my side, glaring at my father, hand stuffed into my back pocket. My dad notices, his eyes tracking the movement, but he’s smart and keeps his mouth shut.

“Okay,” I agree, but for my mother’s benefit.

Once inside the car, I turn on the engine and take deep breaths. Blood rushes to my head. A whooshing sound in my ears grows louder by the second. Despite the chill in the air, my skin is slick with sweat.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nate says, putting on his seatbelt. “We can stay in Manhattan for the night and go to your meetings in the morning.”

“Will you go with me?”

Nate winks. “Of course.”

Earlier, he wanted nothing to do with the NHL meetings. But without him, I won’t get through the long day. I also want him there for when I sign on the dotted line. My decision impacts him, too.

We drive back to my childhood home in near silence. Nate drums his fingers on his knee to the beat of a rock song. He even sings the chorus. He has a nice voice, much better than mine, and I love it when he belts out the words as if no one is listening. I can’t carry a tune to save my life.

My dad beat me home.

I park behind his Maserati in the circular driveway and turn off the ignition. For a moment, I sit there and stare at Nate. He doesn’t speak or blink.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“Me too.”

“I don’t want people to hate me for who I am.”

“You got me,” Nate says softly, placing his hand on my thigh. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hate hiding. This sucks. I just… I want to feel like me and still play the sport I love.”

“You can’t change the minds of others. Whatever you decide, I will be there for you. If you want to tell people about us, I’m okay with that. Or you can keep us a secret forever. I don’t care as long as we’re together.”

I close the distance and kiss him. It’s a quick peck. “Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for… being you.”

Nate palms my head and steals another kiss. “If you ever decide to come out, I want to marry the shit out of you.”

I laugh. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah. We’d have the dopest wedding.”

Until now, I hadn’t realized Nate was this committed to me and would consider marriage.

My heart fills with so much joy that my chest aches. “I would say yes if you asked me. I’m just throwing it out there in case that day comes.”

Nate smiles, and even in the dark, I can tell it reaches his golden-brown eyes. “We should go inside before our parents come out here.”

After Nate grabs the bags, we climb the grand staircase, shocked to find Spencer waiting for us on the top step. Nate stops, and I put my hand on his shoulder.

Spencer stands, a highball glass in hand, and gestures for us to follow him to the sitting room. “We need to talk.”

“Not now, Dad.” Nate slings his bag over his shoulder and rolls my suitcase along the wooden floor. “I have a good buzz going on… and I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”

“I just want to talk, Nate.”

He pauses at the nickname his dad never uses, even when he knows calling him Nathaniel pisses him off. “You have one minute, old man.”