Home and Away (18 page)

Rupert hedged. “I’ll probably need at least three bedrooms. And I’d like to stay close to the arena.”

Mike smiled. “There’s a four-bedroom unit available in our building.”

Rupert definitely hadn’t considered living in close proximity to members of the Ice Cats organization. Though at least these two knew him and wouldn’t be idiots about Rupert having a man in his life. The thing was, currently that role was filled by Callum, which might be more problematic.

“I like my privacy,” Rupert admitted, “so I wasn’t thinking of an apartment.”

“The floor is accessed by private elevator, and we’re the only others on that floor.”

“Oh,” Rupert said. It did sound private, and like it would stay that way, even if Mike or Alexei moved out. “So, there are only three apartments?”

Mike and Alexei shared another look, and it was only then that Rupert’s gaydar pinged,
loudly
.

“There are only two apartments on the floor, actually,” Alexei said, the quietest Rupert had ever heard him speak.

“
Oh
,” Rupert said with a growing smile.

Alexei slipped his hand over Mike’s, resting on the table between their plates, and threaded their fingers together. He tilted his chin up, proud, daring anyone to say something. Rupert snuck a glance at Callum just as his mouth fell open.

Alexei looked between all of them, arching one eyebrow. “Is this going to be a problem, boss?” he asked coolly.

Rupert wasn’t sure who he’s asking, since in one capacity or another they were
all
his bosses, but he was happy to be the one to answer.

Rupert grinned. “No problem at all,
neighbor
.”

Callum stared at Alexei and Mike’s hands for a long time. Alexei’s big and wide and battle-scarred from years in the net, his pinky obviously having been broken at least once and unable to lie as flat as the others. Mike’s long, thin fingers, the sinews stretching and flexing as he tightened his hold, gave Alexei’s a little squeeze.

Callum didn’t know what to say. How to say what he was thinking. So he stayed silent, aware of the looks he was getting, and held onto Oliver a little tighter. Mike and Alexei’s expressions grew suspicious, and Callum knew he’d have to find a way to make it clear to these two incredibly brave men that he wasn’t a bigot.

The weight of the life he’d carefully constructed was heavier than ever. He thought about the voicemail waiting on his phone. Michaela, calling to see if she was needed as his plus-one in Vegas. His beard. His big fat lie.

The push of Rupert’s shoulder against his pulled him out of his own head. He wanted to drag Rupert closer, to press his face to Rupert’s chest and hold onto him as tightly as Oliver clung to Callum. That he couldn’t, that he didn’t dare so much as reach out and brush his hand over Rupert’s on the seat between them, only made him feel worse.

Reese broke the awkward silence. “You two make a handsome couple. May I ask if you’ve been together long?”

Alexei cast a wary eye on Reese. “Are you asking out of curiosity, or as the guy that’s been writing my paychecks for the past five years?”

Reese didn’t bat an eye. “I’m asking as your friend.”

“Three years,” Mike answered, his soft smile making something in Callum’s gut clutch tight with envy. “We just celebrated three years.”

The warmth in Alexei’s eyes as he gazed at Mike was beautiful. It hurt Callum to see it, even while he was happy this was something they got to have. That they got have each other.

“That’s great,” he managed, his voice little more than a rasp, his smile wobbling but sincere. “It can’t be easy.”

Mike nodded, his gaze still suspicious, but Alexei just shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

“But you play hockey,” Callum said, quick to point out the obvious.

Alexei laughed. “Mike had this problem, too. It’s not like we’re the only two gay men in hockey. Mike’s not even the first hockey player I’ve dated. Or the second.” Alexei grinned at Reese’s raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry boss, I have not made a second job of debauching Ice Cats.”

Mike’s cheeks turned a warm rosy color, making it pretty clear
he
had been thoroughly debouched. Callum normally would have laughed, but he was too fixated on what Alexei had said.

“You know other gay players?”

Alexei cocked his head. “Yes. A few.”

“All in this league?”

“In
every
league,” Alexei replied seriously.

Callum’s heart sped up. He wanted to ask. He wanted to
know
so he could look at someone’s career and see how they did it. How they lived and if they thrived. So he could go out and find them and beg them to tell him how they shut it off. Kept it hidden.

Only it wasn’t hidden if Alexei knew.

“I’m not going to tell you names,” Alexei said with a hint of anger, as if he could read Callum’s mind.

“No!” Callum said quickly. “Of course not. I would never ask you to betray—”

“Alexei,” Mike said gently, his grip changing to hold Alexei’s hand, and his attention, more firmly. “I think Callum was just surprised.”

He cast Callum a sly glance, as if he could see all his secrets.

Callum wanted to object, to make a loud comment about the hot waitress or how if he’d been in a locker room with any gay guys he sure hadn’t noticed—at least that was true, anyway—but he didn’t have the heart, or the will, to put another lie together. Instead, he glanced at Rupert helplessly, who took mercy and started asking questions about the new apartment. Apparently, it was huge, available immediately, and it was inordinately important to Mike and Alexei that Oliver be given a particular bedroom.

What was up with that?

Callum was too lost in his own thoughts to poke at their weird conditions for Rupert moving in. Among other things, Callum had to call Michaela back. And set up that meeting with his agent. And figure out if he could get in and out of Vegas in fewer than four days. He tried to remember who from his team would be there and realized he’d been ignoring those emails for too long. He’d been ignoring everything for too long. Pretending he could just come to Moncton and be someone else. Be himself.

He was quiet for the ride back to the hotel, silently shadowing Rupert and Oliver to the elevator and down the hallway, casting a bleak look at his door. He hadn’t spent more than ten minutes at a shot in there. He tried to run in once a day to mess up the bed and throw a towel on the back of the toilet, but he’d skipped even that a few times in the last week. It was just more lies.

“Are you okay?” Rupert asked quietly as he opened their door.

Callum looked past Rupert to the entryway where they’d made out just a couple hours ago. His chest ached at the memory. At how simple and easy it had felt, in spite of his nerves and indecision.

Rupert touched his arm, bringing him back to the present.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said gruffly, then waved a hand over his shoulder. “I just need to run to my room for a few minutes. To make a phone call.”

Rupert frowned, aware that Callum could make any calls he needed to from Rupert’s place, as he had been for weeks already.

“Okay, I’ll get Oliver ready for bed,” he murmured, ushering his brother inside with a hand on his shoulder.

Oliver spun out of his grasp and marched back to Callum, taking his hand where it hung useless at his side. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

Callum swallowed, but his voice still came out thick. “Yeah, yes, of course.”

Oliver tugged at his hand until he crouched down to his level. Oliver wrapped his sturdy little arms around Callum’s neck and squeezed, and Callum was helpless to do anything but hug him back. They stayed like that long enough for Callum to feel the tension leave Oliver’s body, for him to sag against Callum as the fatigue of a day filled with adventures caught up to him. Callum ran a hand over his back and rubbed his cheek against the mop of dark silk hair.

Oliver pressed a sweet kiss to Callum’s cheek. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Callum whispered.

Satisfied, Oliver marched past Rupert, who looked at Callum for a long moment before letting the door swing shut.

 Callum staggered down the hall and through the door to his room on wooden legs. He dialed without thinking, determined to tell Michaela that he was willing to brave the awards red carpet on his own.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as he’d said hello.

His best friend was way too perceptive. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, feigning innocence.

“You are incapable of hiding shit from me, Callum William Morrison. Give it up. What’s wrong?”

Honestly, he’d never admit it, since he wanted to live to see forty, but sometimes he loved Michaela so much because she was
exactly
like his mom.

“It’s nothing. Just shit going on with a couple players on the team,” he said, sticking as close to the truth as possible in case that long-distance lie detector thing wasn’t just Michaela’s wishful thinking.

“Uh huh,” she said dubiously, “is that what you’re going with?”

“What? It’s true!”

“Okay, Callum, I’ll let it go, but only until we get to Vegas. Then I’ll get the truth out of you.”

Which, actually, was why he was calling. “About that—”

“It’s no trouble. I already made plans to meet up with some friends, and I bumped into Abby the other day. She and Mitch are going, so I suggested we get drinks.”

Callum deflated against the pristine kitchen counter. “Right, Mitch is going.”

“Of course, he’s up for the Masterton Trophy, you goof.”

“Right,” Callum repeated, the reality of it sinking in. There were going to be a ton of the guys there, drinks and meals and photographers and TV cameras…it was going to be a total clusterfuck, just like it always was. And he could do it alone. He could. But it would be so much easier with Michaela there. She was used to the press. The constant attention. And while she found it as exhausting as he did, she’d been doing it since she’d hit puberty and the world had discovered the heiress daughter of one of America’s wealthiest families was also a knock-out. His agent had commented more than once that she’d stopped worrying about Callum’s press once he’d started dating Michaela. She was better at training him on how to behave in front of a camera than any publicist could have been. Hell, Anna, his agent, had even invited Michaela along to their lunch meeting.

“Callum?”

“Oh, yeah. So I’m going to book my tickets. Do you want me to book yours?”

“No, I can do it. Just send me your itinerary,” Michaela said. They’d done this a million times in the past few years. “Callum, what’s up—?”

“It’s nothing. Really,”

He heard her frustrated growl but didn’t say anything more, instead asking after her parents and what she’d been doing since they’d last spoken. She let him get away with it, because she was a good friend and she knew him well. She also was sharing a hotel suite with him in Vegas, and he knew he better have his answers ready when he got there.

Rupert lay stretched out on the king bed he’d been sharing with Oliver and Callum for the last month. Oliver was sprawled across his chest, the covers pulled up over them both. It was dark and warm and quiet in the still room, the curtain drawn and hum of the air handler in the corner blanketing them from the sounds of the city and the rooms around theirs. There was something deeply comforting about the Oliver’s rhythmic breaths, his chest rising and falling against Rupert’s, and the steady beat of his heart against Rupert’s ribs. Rupert rubbed gently with the hand on Oliver’s back, careful not to wake him, but unable to resist soothing them both, even now, when Oliver was none the wiser.

Rupert supposed it was an accomplishment that he’d gotten Oliver ready for and into bed without any trouble. Mostly, though, he just felt disappointed. He’d been telling himself that this was what he needed Callum for. That Callum was the magical four-year-old-child whisperer and that Rupert would be lost without him.

But that wasn’t true. Rupert could do it himself. And yet, he still felt lost.

Occasional bouts of panic that Callum wouldn’t come back struck Rupert, but were quashed when he recalled Callum’s promise to Oliver. Callum had a lot on his mind, but he wouldn’t lie to Oliver. He wouldn’t lie to either of them.

Rupert let out another deep breath.

Oliver shifted against him, wriggling to make himself more comfortable while using his big brother as a mattress, pillow, and safety blanket all rolled into one. These were roles Rupert had never in his life thought to play for anyone, and certainly not for a child, but he liked it. No, he loved it. He loved how Oliver needed his care, needed to be held and how he held Rupert back. No one had ever done these things for Rupert, but it felt like he was making up for that loss by doing this now with Oliver.

He had Callum to thank for that. For showing him what simple physical affection with family was. It was pathetic, really, that he hadn’t known, but now he wouldn’t have it any other way. Oliver had hugged him goodnight and told Rupert he loved him, and Rupert had said the words back so easily. The momentary flinch he’d experienced the first few times was not only gone, but something Rupert was ashamed to have felt at all.

Of course
he loved Oliver. And he was so grateful that Oliver loved him in return. He smiled down at the boy sleeping on his chestand knew he was lucky in a lot of ways.

He didn’t move when he heard the door open, just lay there in the dark and listened to Callum move around the living room. It was early yet, far earlier than Rupert would normally be in bed, but he had no intention of going anywhere else tonight. Not even as far as the couch in the next room. He had everything he needed right here, if not everything he wanted.

Callum appeared in the bedroom door, his shoulders curled in, his hands fisted at his sides. His face, lit from the muted sconces in the hallway, was blank, but Rupert knew whatever was going on inside that man’s head was nothing like the calm, bored façade he liked to present. Just like the arsehole Callum tried to be was so very far from who he really was, in his heart.