“I know,” he says, averting his eyes, looking slightly embarrassed. “It’s just lately you’ve been getting careless.”
“Careless? By fighting? Brandon, it’s fine. We all drop the gloves at some point in our careers.” I brush my thumb across his cheek.
“I’m not talking about the fight,” he says, still avoiding looking at me.
“Then what are you talking about?”
He finally turns to look at me again and opens his eyes. “Don’t you worry about people starting to notice?”
“Notice what? That I play hockey?”
“No…” A hint of frustration flares in his eyes. He closes his eyes again and when he opens them back up, that annoyance is gone. But now he looks more scared. “Us,” he says. “You’re acting like you’re not scared if people find out about us.”
I roll onto my back and sling my arm over my head as I look up at the ceiling. Needing to formulate my thoughts on this, I take a deep breath. “It’s not that I’m not scared,” I say, because that is the truth. I dread what will happen if this gets out. But likely, not for the reasons I should. “I am. But I’m also tired of hiding.”
“Do you want to come out?”
“What I want is for me and you to be able to be together and for it to not be a big deal.”
He grabs my hand between us and gives it a squeeze. “I’d like that too,” he says. “But we both know that’s not how this works.”
“I know,” I sigh. “But there has to be a way for us to do this without needing to hold a big gay press conference announcing our relationship.”
His head shifts on the pillow we’re sharing. I turn to look and find him staring back at me.
“Is that what this is?” he asks. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth.
“It is to me,” I say, and immediately feel a rush of relief run through me for just saying that out loud.
“Me too,” Brandon says. “But I’m not ready to come out yet.”
“That’s fine,” I tell him. Because it is. “We can keep this between me and you.” Rising, I start to pull him off the bed. “Come on, let’s take a shower. The bus leaves for the arena in two hours.”
Brandon
“Here.” Ryan tosses me a flat, wrapped box that he pulls out of his suitcase.
I drop the towel I’m using to dry off my hair and catch it. “What’s this?”
“Nothing really. Just a little welcome-to-the-playoffs gift for you.”
“I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts for this.”
“We’re not,” he says, despite the clear evidence to the contrary. He steps over to where I’m sitting on the edge of our hotel room bed and places a kiss onto the top of my head. “What’s the point of being your boyfriend if I can’t spoil you occasionally?”
I look up at him. “I’m pretty sure we only just decided I was your boyfriend before we took that shower.” I wave the lightweight box between us. “So where did this come from?”
Ryan grins. “Maybe I had this planned all along. It’s also not a big deal.”
I eye him skeptically as I pull off the tape that’s securing the wrapping closed. Underneath the paper is an expensive-looking gray box with the name Tom Ford filigreed across the center. “This doesn’t look not a big deal.”
He steps away from me and pulls on his ocean-blue suit pants. While he zips them up, he eyes me with purpose. “How many ties did you bring with you on this trip?”
“One.” I shrug. I hardly see his point, and unlike him, I think the league’s suit rules for traveling and games are a bit excessive. And also, unlike Ryan, I’m a lot less bold with what I choose to wear. I’m frightened of opening this box. It might contain a brightly colored, patterned tie like he likes to wear to spice things up, as he says. I’m not nearly that playful, or confident.
“And how many games are we playing?” he asks.
“Two.”
