by N. J. Lysk
Love was time, most of all—the time you gave, the one you were given.
He didn’t imagine hockey was a very likely career for any of them—they weren’t even playing on skates—but if they could just believe in something... in themselves a little bit, in the world giving them a chance, in other people being worth getting to know...
If he could, somehow, offer them that much. Or even if all he did was make their week better. Hell, he’d take making their day a little less worse. It’d make him happy too, and joy wasn’t something to be squandered.
For the first time, he wasn't looking forward to seeing Uri. In fact, he'd called the centre directly and made arrangements with the caretakers who'd have a weekend shift. Nobody had asked whether Uri was going to be there this time and he hadn't said either.
It was up to fortune.
Walking up to the big house on his own felt a little odd after his previous visits—even odder was to think he'd got into a habit when he'd only done it twice. He could count the number of times he'd seen Uri and still have fingers left; how could it feel so... big? His absence like a fog Thomas had to wade through.
But he'd learned early how to persevere through discomfort, and more, really. His parents’ hypervigilance came out of their deep belief that they had to protect their children by limiting their access to those things that would harm them, and it was one of the reasons Thomas had taken to hockey so passionately. The field, and later the ice, had become a space where there were no limits beyond how fast he could skate and how well he could pass.
And a way to be out from under his dad's attentive gaze, of course.
The caretaker who opened the door had a patient smile for him, eyes flickering curiously around. “No Uriel today?”
Thomas shook his head. “No,” he managed to say. “Just me.”
That got him a raised eyebrow. “You sure you can handle this lot on your own?”
It hadn’t even occurred to Thomas to wonder and it probably showed on his face. “I think it helps having a bit of alpha will at your disposal,” the other man said with a wry smile. “But you’ll do fine, friend, and you can call anytime, of course.”
The casual reference to Uri’s orientation made his pulse pick up. He wondered if the man knew because he was an omega... an alpha? He couldn’t tell, of course. Maybe it’d been on Uri’s papers. Thomas himself had presented his identification so his criminal history could be checked, which was coming in handy now that he didn’t have Uri to supervise him.
“Thank you,” he made himself say, even as the words soured in his mouth at the notion that everyone had known, that everyone assumed he knew, and that Uri had kept it from him, which he could simply do because...
It was just the way they were, the way their bodies worked. It was no one’s fault... Except Uri had used it. He probably hadn’t meant to hurt Thomas, to take advantage, but he had.
And it was not the time to think about Uri. He was here for the children, and it wasn’t a joke or an excuse. It was fun, but it was no distraction—he wasn’t going to leave them hanging.
As he emerged into the garden, the bright sunlight of early spring hit his eyes and made him wince. He heard the rhythm of the children’s movements and conversations shift right before he squinted down into Kyeran’s eager face. “Hey.”
“You came,” the boy told him with a grin.
Thomas nodded, not wanting to comment on anyone else’s doubts. “I came.”
“On your own?” That was Blendi, eyeing him sceptically.
If there was any explanation for Uri’s absence, Thomas didn’t have it, so he just shrugged. “Guess I won’t play goalie today,” he said instead.
She rolled her eyes at him, which was as close to approval as he felt he was going to get. “Okay, so Jamil and Tim will captain today, just so everyone gets a chance.”
GETTING BLENDI AND T’Jean out of their positions as leaders turned out to be a great idea, even if neither of them could quite keep from trying to backseat drive their respective age mates. Thomas didn’t interfere; it was between them, and it wasn’t a coach’s place anyway—in a game, the coach was just an observer who could stop the game, it was your teammates you had to rely on to get things done.
Kyeran wasn’t having such a great time on goal, but he was the only one skilled enough to even have a chance to stop shots from kids as big as T’Jean and Tim. Thomas did go to him when he stopped them all to get them to drink. “Hey, you alright there, mate?”
The boy huffed. “What’s the point? They always shoot too fast.”
“You stopped two shots,” Thomas pointed out. “That’s a lot more than most people could do against someone bigger than them. You’re winning, you realise that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but they got in six. Two out of eight is nothing,” Kyeran almost spat.
Thomas snorted, then had to raise his hands when the boy glared at him. “Kyeran, any shots you stop is a lot. This is a team sport. If your team scores more than you’re scored on, you win. It doesn’t matter if you let in a hundred pucks, not if you team got in a hundred and one.”
Kyeran didn’t look sold on the notion. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
Thomas didn’t argue, you couldn’t argue with feelings, and every player who was truly committed to the game felt that way, like they should personally be able to make a difference. “Maybe you’re not thinking about the maths of the whole game,” he suggested, quoting Coach Hernandez almost word-for-word. “Maybe consider that there’s only one goalie and three forwards per line.”
“There’s the d-men,” Kyeran said reluctantly.
“Huh, doing some research?” he checked, surprised at how easily the abbreviation fell from the kid’s lips.
Kyeran shrugged. “That’s what they called them in your game.”
That made Thomas stop fiddling with the tape on the ratty stick he was holding and look at the boy. “Oh, you watched that?”
“Yes!” came the enthusiastic response from little Carla. Thomas had been too distracted to notice the younger kids who were Kyeran’s d-men today listening in. “We all watched, and we had popcorn and crisps, and it was awesome!”
Thomas laughed, as much in surprise as pleasure. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said as modestly as he could manage. He’d met plenty of fans, but he’d never had a person go and watch his games after meeting him. It seemed... more intimate, somehow. Like they’d watched for Thomas, not for his skill.
Carla seemed encouraged. “Can we do that pass thing with the...?” She gestured awkwardly until he figured she meant passing backwards with a wrist flick.
“We can...” he said hesitantly. He had no idea if any of them had the coordination for it, for one. He glanced across the field. “But let’s finish the match first.”
Jamil led her team to victory, mostly because she listened to Blendi but didn’t allow herself to be ordered around, which was more than could be said for Tim. Even so, he’d have to mix the teams up next time to ensure there were no hard feelings.
He clapped. “Team J!” he cheered, and they responded in kind, happily loud. “And Team T, please!” The losers startled, only some of them shouting back, but the winners were already excited enough to cheer for them too. The startled expressions of pleasure of the youngest kids on Team T were a sight to behold. “Okay, water break, people,” Thomas ordered.
He could do this just fine without Uri, it turned out, he thought as Jamil offered him her fist to bump on her way to the fountain.
He just didn’t want to.
Chapter Eighteen: Uriel
Javier was very understanding, but Uriel still felt like shit that he was behind filing the application for Jamil’s emancipation.
The old man shook his head at his apologies. “Jamil is safe here, and she knows it,” he reminded Uri. “She’d like to move on with her life once she’s sixteen, that’s all. I’m sure you were working on something more urgent, weren’t you?”
�
��Yeah.” Uri relented. The caretaker had a way of seeing right through him—and through the kids, who knew well enough not to try to bullshit him.
“I thought so,” Javier said pleasantly. “Come sit down and have some tea since you’re here. The littlies should be back from school soon, and they won’t be happy if they miss you.”
“Thank you,” Uri said. It was the first time he’d left the office at a relatively normal time in about four days—they had a meeting with Serene and her lawyers in two days, in which they were going to make it very clear that it was in her best interests not to go to court. In the meantime, Mina and Tenir were meant to be thinking through their options.
Uri was hopeful, only—
“You’re very far away,” Javier said, placing the cup in front of him.
He offered a smile. “Sorry, work’s been... Ugh, too much, I guess. But good,” he added. “I’m doing something important, it’s just hard.”
“Most important things are,” Javier said philosophically. Uri thought he saw his eyes flicker around the room. He loved the kids, but he knew they could be a handful, and all he ever did with them was help them get whatever they wanted from the legal system or goof around. He didn’t want to imagine trying to get them to go to sleep or do homework. “Don’t neglect your work,” he added, pushing the sugar towards Uri. “We got you covered here. Although your friend’s stealing your fans, I warn you.”
“My...” It took his brain a moment to catch up. “Thomas was here?”
“Yes, Saturday, came over for more hockey.” He took a sip of tea, savouring it and possibly Uri’s desperation to know more. “They didn’t eat him, so I’d say your recommendation was a success.”
For a moment Uri couldn’t speak. Thomas had come. Without Uri. He was happy for the kids’ sake, sure, but... When Uri had asked, he’d said he was too busy to meet up.
“Mmm... Yes, I thought so,” Javier said sagely.
“What?”
“You are in trouble, aren’t you, young Uri?”
“No, I— I think I made a mistake. My... boyfriend, he’s mad at me. But I’m glad he came.”
Javier checked the clock on the wall. “You’ve got about five minutes to get out of here before they get back.”
“But you said—”
“They’ll be fine.” Javier gestured for him to stand. “Just come back soon. And don’t forget to send Jamil’s papers.”
“No, I won’t,” he promised, getting up but vacillating. But of course, the old man was right: he’d already wasted enough time wondering if he’d been caught.
It was time to face the music.
IT WASN’T THE FIRST time he’d tried calling, although he’d given up after the third voicemail had got him a short text message update.
When Thomas picked up after only one ring, he almost dropped the phone. “Hi!” he said too loudly in response.
“Hey,” the beta said softly. “Long time no... talk.”
“Yeah, too long,” Uri said equally softly.
“I’ve been—”
“Please let me explain,” he said too quickly, afraid he wouldn’t get the chance or have the guts otherwise. “Just... sit with me for ten minutes and let me explain.”
He heard Thomas exhale. “I feel like you kind of owe me an explanation,” he finally said, a trace of anger in his voice.
“I do,” Uri admitted. “I should’ve— I’m sorry I didn’t explain earlier, but...” He had to stop and breathe. Thomas waited him out. “Can I do this in person? Please?”
“Ugh, you are so bloody polite,” Thomas griped. “Yes, you can. Where?”
Now? Uri barely kept himself from asking. “Um, my place?”
“Mmm... Guess that works.” He cleared his throat. “You’re out, aren’t you? I can hear birds. I’m at the rink so I could be there in an hour.”
“Great!” Uri blurted out, too enthusiastically. “I’ll... I’ll order food. Any requests?”
“Nah, guess you’ll have to choose something to impress me,” Thomas retorted.
It seemed oddly flat of him until Uri’s brain caught up and recognized it was his own words being thrown back at him. He was fairly certain it was a joke, or maybe it was a reminder of how hard he’d made Thomas work for this.
He was more than willing to work for it himself, but he guessed he had to prove that.
HE’D ORDERED THE FOOD straight away and made a stop to pick it up, even if it meant hoverboarding the last twenty blocks to his place. As apologies went, it wasn’t a dozen roses, but he’d noticed Thomas favoured a sweet aftertaste in his savoury meals and he hoped a little spice would help make things interesting.
He almost stumbled right off the hoverboard when he caught sight of the other man leaning against his doorway. It made Thomas snort with laughter, at least, which was a good start.
Uri carefully dismounted, using the opportunity to look away even if he couldn’t do anything for his trembling hands and accelerated pulse. “Hey,” he said when he finally faced Thomas. “Thanks for coming.”
Thomas’s expression wavered, but he couldn’t completely hold back his natural smile. “Smells like it’s going to be worth my while,” he suggested, but his smile dimmed a little. Like he wasn’t sure.
Dammit, Uri didn’t deserve to have this made easy, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to make what he was going to say sound any better. Nothing but the truth. He believed in the truth, he reminded himself. He unlocked the door and gestured for his guest to walk in first.
He hadn't tidied up at all this time; it was too late to hide. The remains of his rushed breakfast lay on the table where he'd laid a feast for Thomas on his previous visit.
"Drink?" he offered, putting down the bag of food and starting to pile up the dirty dishes. He turned around when Thomas didn't answer.
Even the soft smile was gone. "Just water."
Was it the flat? Had Thomas figured it out when—? He cut off the thought, nodded, and turned towards the kitchen. He placed his load in the sink, then washed his hands a little too slowly before getting a couple glasses of water and carrying them back.
Thomas was still standing. "Here," he said, putting the glass on the table instead of making him step closer to take it. He licked his lips, then took a sip for something to do. "Should we sit?"
Thomas was uncharacteristically silent as he did. He looked up at Uri, who only then noticed he was still on his feet. He hastily took the other chair. He focused on the green of Thomas's eyes and exhaled. "You know."
"Yes," Thomas said simply. "I saw your ID in your wallet." He was holding onto his own hands hard enough his knuckles had gone white. “You left it on the bedside table.”
He didn’t apologize for looking.
Uri couldn't blame him; he'd let Thomas reveal so much while hiding himself, a little coolness was the least he could expect. And Thomas was here, he reminded himself, which meant he was willing to listen.
"I didn't plan to lie," he started to explain. "It honestly didn't occur to me to tell you. I mean, it wasn't— I didn't think I'd see you again."
"But then you did," Thomas pointed out. It was said neutrally, but it sounded cold from Thomas, who didn’t seem to know a subject he couldn’t take with levity.
Uri nodded, keeping his eyes on his face by willpower alone. "Do you remember the first time?"
Thomas nodded back, and Uri could see every line of tension on his mouth and neck. "I remember."
He glanced to the side, needing at least that much space to make the words come. "You were... nobody had ever touched me like that." It was a poor explanation, and even that had cost him enough his breathing was a little ragged.
"You mean because I fingered you?" Thomas sounded calm.
He could feel his face heat up, knew it was visible under the artificial lights of his living room. He inhaled as slowly as he could manage. "You... you licked my neck, you moved me around, it was—" He cut himself off, not because he didn't want
to be explicit, but because he didn't know how to be. He could describe everything Thomas had done, but that wouldn’t explain what it’d meant to Uri, when he’d never...
"Good?" The question seemed genuine, even though Uri couldn’t see how Thomas could doubt that much.
He laughed, more an exhale than an expression of amusement. "Amazing," he admitted, feeling his chest constrict with panic. His eyes seemed glued to the glass, half full. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Thomas’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
"So you didn't tell me you were an alpha because... you didn't want me to stop?"
"I..." Uri scrubbed at his face as if he could clear the fog from his mind. He’d thought about this, he’d even talked about it with his mum a little. "It wasn't about the sex,” he said, and it was true. But not all the truth, “Not just,” he added. And it was also true, but it wasn’t... it wasn’t enough. He gulped, then drank some more. “I didn't want you to stop treating me like I was normal."
The words came out low, ragged, but they seemed to echo in the space between them.
"What?" Thomas inhaled sharply.
"I know," Uri said quickly, looking up as if his gaze could keep Thomas there. "It sounds crazy. Being an alpha is normal, just different and all that... but... it doesn't feel that way. I didn't want it," he asserted, meeting Thomas’s eyes defiantly. "I don't want to control anyone. I don't— I don't want to have to be careful all the time not to hurt the person I love. And I— I don't want to be expected to enjoy things just because— I don't want... I don't want the fucking instincts that make me look at people I don't even know and want them."
Thomas was watching him with wide eyes—he'd said too much, which was why he'd have rather not said anything at all. And then, so softly Uri thought he'd misheard, he said, "Okay."
"What?" he blurted out, not sure if he was asking for clarification or repetition.
