by Avon Gale
After a few moments of silence, Tristan said, “So either I come out, or we’re through?”
Hearing it put so succinctly made Sebastian wince, but he couldn’t necessarily deny the truth of Tristan’s words. Still, it was hard to reduce this to something so simple when they both knew the situation was anything but. “I’m saying we both have a lot to think about, but essentially? Yes. I know this isn’t fair, and it kills me. But I can’t... I can’t do this. I can’t resent you, and I don’t want you to resent me.”
“But I’m the one who has to make the decision,” Tristan pressed, as determined as he was on the ice when he was trying to keep the opposing team from taking the puck. “You’re asking me to make a huge decision about my career. There aren’t any out players in the NHL. I don’t—I don’t know how to even do this, Seb. It’s not only me, it’s my team, and...” He trailed off, sounding miserable.
Sebastian felt like an asshole, but he didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t fair for Tristan to have to come out if he wasn’t ready, but it wasn’t fair for Sebastian to be forced back into the closet, either. “I know.”
“No, you really don’t.” There wasn’t any rancor in Tristan’s voice. Just hurt, and confusion, and a weary resignation that Sebastian hated to hear. He couldn’t see Tristan’s eyes, but he knew how they’d look. Sad, devoid of their usual cheerful light, like the night he’d shown up at Sebastian’s house after that humiliating loss in St. Louis.
“This is something you need to think about, Tristan. And I understand that. I know that I’m asking you to make a huge decision in order to be with me. And I—” Sebastian’s voice broke a little. “I know this means I’m probably going to lose you. But I’d rather both of us do what we know is right for us, even if it means not being together. That’s why I’m not coming up with you.” He knew how that would go. They’d talk, they’d go to bed, and nothing would really get solved between them.
“I—” Tristan’s voice sounded choked. He was staring straight ahead, his hand clenched into a fist by his side. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” Sebastian reached out and turned Tristan’s face toward him with two fingers on his chin. “But the truth is, I’m in love with you. And because I love you, I can’t ask you to make this decision without giving it the thought it deserves.”
Before Tristan could say anything, Sebastian leaned in and kissed him. He closed his eyes, savoring the press of Tristan’s full mouth against his own. The taste of him, which had become as familiar as breathing. “I’m going to give you the space and time you need, and I’ll respect whatever decision you make. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, Tris. But I hope you understand why I’m doing it.”
He pulled away, and heard Tristan sigh. He didn’t say anything, just turned and got out of the car. His movements were hurried and clumsy. For such a big guy, Tristan usually moved with an athlete’s grace, even in the cramped confines of a car. Clearly he was beset by emotion, and Sebastian understood that, but it didn’t make it easier to watch him hurry out of the car and away toward the building.
Tristan didn’t look back, but Sebastian stayed where he was until he saw Tristan’s tall, broad-shouldered form disappear.
* * *
For the next few days, Sebastian kept himself busy with classwork and going on a lot of long, grueling runs. He had tickets for the Venom’s home game that weekend, but he resolutely refused to go to the arena. He managed to watch a few minutes of the first period before the sight of Tristan in his jersey made him switch over to an old episode of Forensic Files.
Murder and mayhem were easier to deal with than the memory of their last conversation, how hurt Tristan had been when he’d gotten out of the car. Not to mention Sebastian’s irritating habit of checking his phone more often than usual, then berating himself for feeling disappointed when there was nothing from Tristan.
Finally, when he couldn’t stand the silence or his own turbulent emotions anymore, he called R.J. and asked him to come over for dinner.
“Wait, you can’t cook,” R.J. said. “Why don’t you come over here, instead? You bring the booze, and I’ll make you dinner.”
“Thanks,” Sebastian said, secretly relieved he didn’t have to cook. He was bad at it when he was in a good mood, much less...well.
He showed up at R.J.’s house, a condo in Druid Hills, with a bottle of Scotch and a six-pack of Dogfish IPA. R.J.’s house smelled delicious, but Sebastian’s appetite had been shit for the last few days and he barely registered the garlicky aroma of R.J.’s famous spaghetti. He put the Scotch on the kitchen island and went to find a glass.
“So, what’s up?” R.J. took one look at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Something tells me this is going to be a sad visit.”
Sebastian scowled and filled his glass with plenty of ice. He didn’t want to be a weepy drunk. Definitely not before dinner. “It’s not happy, that’s for sure.”
“Tristan?”
Sebastian sat back down and took a long drink of the Scotch. He’d gone for a twelve-mile run that day and had barely managed to choke down something for lunch—he couldn’t even remember what it had been. The warmth of the liquor hit his stomach and immediately went to his head. He made a note to drink slower and pushed the glass away. “Yeah.”
“Since you didn’t bother to glare at me or say anything snarky, it must be pretty bad. What happened?” R.J. took one of the Dogfish IPAs and opened it, storing the rest in his fridge.
Sebastian relayed the incident at dinner in as few words as possible, making sure he gave R.J. all the relevant information. R.J. listened with a sympathetic expression, slowly sipping his beer and letting Sebastian talk.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said, when Sebastian was finished. “That’s rough. I mean, I can see your point. I know you well enough to know you’d never be okay being with someone who wasn’t honest. But I can also see Tristan’s point that it’s not easy for him to be open about his sexuality.” He shook his head. “That’s tough.”
That was an understatement. “It is. But I can’t go back to being someone’s ‘friend,’” Sebastian said, giving the word a sarcastic inflection. “Coming out is never easy. It wasn’t for me, and I know it isn’t for him, either.”
R.J. was quiet for a moment. “Have you ever been given any shit for being gay? You said your family accepted you, and the college seems to be... Well, if you’ve had any issues, you’ve never told me about them.”
Sebastian scowled down at the granite countertop. “It’s not a matter of being given shit, R.J. Does my family accept me? Yes and no. They accept that I’m gay, but it doesn’t mean they’re happy about it. And by ‘family,’ I mean my parents. I have relatives who haven’t spoken to me since I came out. Old friends who pretend they don’t know me if I see them when I’m home visiting my folks. There’s a big difference between the way they accept me and, say, the way you do.”
R.J. smiled, but it was a little sad. “I’m glad that you know I don’t have any issue with it, but I’m sorry. That it’s a problem for anyone. It shouldn’t be.”
“No, it shouldn’t,” Sebastian agreed. “But it is. At work, there are a few people who aren’t friendly, but that could be because they think I’m an asshole, not because I’m gay.”
“You do have that spectacular resting bitch-face,” R.J. said with a nod. “So there’s that.”
Sebastian was too mopey to laugh, but it at least got a hint of a smile out of him. “Right.”
“If I recall, your hesitation about dating Tristan was that the other faculty and the administration would think you’d been dating him when he was your student,” R.J. pointed out.
“Obviously I got over it,” Sebastian said, with a bit of a bite. He took another sip of his Scotch. Lashing out at R.J. was not going to help anything.
“Did y
ou?”
“What?” Sebastian’s head jerked up, and he leveled a glare at his friend. “We’ve been dating, haven’t we?”
“Yeah. Have you brought him anywhere around your colleagues, though? I don’t think I’ve seen Tristan near your office, and you haven’t brought him to any functions.”
“I don’t go to those because they’re dreadful,” Sebastian pointed out. “Why are you even going to those?”
“Free food? Free booze? That hot astrophysicist that sometimes shows up?” R.J. shrugged. “My point is, aren’t you just as worried about being seen with Tristan? Not because you’re gay, but because he was your student?”
Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, then realized he couldn’t. He snapped it shut and thought about it. Was he still worried about that? Maybe a little. Sure, Tristan had a schedule that barely allowed the two of them time to spend together, and he couldn’t imagine that Tristan would want to hang around a bunch of college faculty and administrators. Hell, Sebastian only put in an appearance when necessary, and that was all about getting tenure.
“Are you still worried that someone will see you two together and that will reflect badly on you? Because if so...” R.J. trailed off.
“That’s not the same thing,” Sebastian protested, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was more similar than he wanted to think. He swore under his breath.
“I’m not trying to make you feel like an asshole,” R.J. assured him. “I’m really not.”
“I know.” Sebastian thought about it. “The thing is,” he said slowly, “this isn’t Tristan’s fault. I’d always thought his teammates were like my colleagues. They existed in this separate world that would somehow never intersect with the one he and I lived in.”
“I could have told you that doesn’t work.” R.J. reached out and tentatively patted Sebastian on the shoulder. “I’m not saying it’s wrong that you don’t want to be in the closet, you know. But you can’t get mad at Tristan for keeping you on the down-low if you’re doing that to him too. Even if it’s for a different reason.”
“So I should parade him around at faculty parties?”
“Or,” R.J. said, not reacting to Sebastian’s waspish tone, “you could bring him as your date, like literally everyone else does. You know. Since he’s your boyfriend and all.”
Sebastian thought about that as he watched the ice cubes melt into his Scotch. “I see what you mean, and you’re probably right.”
“‘Probably’? Really, dude?”
“Fine, you’re right,” Sebastian snapped. “But it isn’t the same, R.J. It really isn’t. This is a much bigger issue for Tristan and you know it. You said it yourself—there are plenty of professors who have married former students. There isn’t one single out player in the NHL, and that’s what I’m asking Tristan to do for me. He’s young, he’s got a long, promising career ahead of him, and I can’t ask him to risk all of that for me.”
“But you did, didn’t you?”
Sebastian closed his eyes. “I asked him to think about what he wanted. R.J., I can’t go back in the closet, and that’s that. It’s not fair to me. Asking him to make this choice isn’t fair, either. But what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” R.J. said, his voice kind. “But I think you made the right choice. I just want to make sure that you’re not doing the same thing he is. If he decides to come out for you, Seb, you can’t leave him at home for the rest of your life because he was once your student.”
“Have you been to these parties, R.J.? Why would Tristan even want to come to one?” He was being a recalcitrant asshole and he knew it, but at this point, it was a way of life.
“Because he’s your boyfriend, he loves you, and he’s proud of you. He supports you and your career. Isn’t that why you go to his games, even if you still can’t figure out what icing is?”
“I just don’t get why sometimes it’s okay to send the puck down the ice and sometimes it isn’t,” Sebastian groused.
“I told you, it’s fine when it’s a power play and—” R.J. cleared his throat. “Not the time. But...can I ask you: are you in love with him?”
“Do you even need to ask? Have you ever seen me act like this?” Sebastian sighed and pushed his mostly empty drink away. He needed to eat before he had any more or he’d fall asleep right here in R.J.’s kitchen.
“Do you think maybe there’s a compromise? Between coming out to the entire NHL, and staying in the closet? I know you have a problem with finding the middle ground, Seb—Oh, don’t glare at me. You totally do.”
R.J. was right, but Sebastian glared at him anyway. “Whatever.”
“I don’t want you to lose someone you love because of this,” R.J. said. “But I know it isn’t easy. Still, I think maybe this is something you should talk to Tristan about with him, instead of sending him on his way to figure it out on his own.”
Sebastian gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No. I can’t do that. I need him to make this choice and I need to respect what it is. I know how hard he’s worked to get where he is. I know how much he loves hockey, and yeah, I think he loves me. But sometimes love isn’t enough. It’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s true.”
R.J. was quiet for a long time. Finally, he sighed. “You’re right. Sometimes it isn’t. But didn’t someone say love was all about compromise?”
“Hallmark? I don’t know.” Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t know, R.J. I love him too much to ask him to give up everything for me, but I also know myself and how denying who we are to each other...that leads to nothing but resentment and that will kill any relationship dead.”
R.J. got up off the barstool and went to check the garlic bread in the oven. “I wish I had some kind of answer for you.”
So did Sebastian. But the only person with the answer to this particular problem was Tristan, and Sebastian knew it.
Fuck it. He was going to have more Scotch. Luckily, R.J. had a comfortable couch.
Chapter Twenty-One
After Sebastian dropped him off, Tristan broke down for a few hours. He let himself have a good cry—because fuck that macho bullshit about how men should be stone-faced and never express their emotions.
There might not be any crying in baseball, at least not according to Tom Hanks, but there was plenty of crying in hockey. It didn’t usually pertain to boyfriend troubles, but hell, Tristan could swear his heart was being torn in two. If he wanted to chug some beer and sob into his pillow, he was goddamned allowed.
He woke the next morning with swollen eyes, a splotchy complexion, and a murderous hangover that made him grateful for the optional morning skate—since he was opting not to move from his couch. No way could he show up at the practice facility looking like he’d been on a three-day bender. The coach would have his ass, and his teammates would give him the third degree. Better to stay home, alone, and lick his wounds.
Once he stopped feeling like his head was going to explode, Tristan buried himself in his studies. He filled his brain with business model components, analytics, marketing strategies, and public policy, and tried very hard not to think about his boyfriend and their last conversation.
Of course, over the next few days, his mind continually went back to it anyway. He replayed Sebastian saying, “But the truth is, I’m in love with you,” about a thousand times and wished he’d heard those words under different circumstances. Then maybe he could’ve said them back instead of pretty much fleeing the car before he burst into tears. Because his truth was, he didn’t have a damn clue what to do. There was no easy answer he could give Sebastian in that moment, and so he ran rather than make a complete spectacle of himself.
He’d known Sebastian’s position from the beginning. And Sebastian had known his. Maybe they’d been deluding themselves by getting involved anyway. Maybe they’d willfully set themselves up for failure when they’d decided to keep things goi
ng beyond that first night. Maybe, in reality, their relationship had been dead before it’d even gotten off the ground.
Lust made people stupid sometimes. It was one thing when he and Sebastian simply couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was an entirely different scenario when lust turned into need and need turned into love.
Tristan had royally screwed himself by letting it go so far. Now he couldn’t decide if the relationship he so desperately wanted to keep would be worth the potential consequences of publicly coming out.
Nearly a week went by. Tristan took his exam—and thankfully passed it. He checked his phone so often it felt like it was becoming a tic. He practiced and worked out with his teammates.
During their next home game, Tristan played like a demon, throwing hits left and right, racking up a bunch of penalty minutes, and adding another sweet goal to his season’s numbers—and hopefully some highlight reels. But off the ice, Tristan was distracted and sad, and he knew it had to be obvious to his team.
After the game that night, when Ryu texted to say he was outside of Tristan’s building, Tristan didn’t feel a hint of surprise as he buzzed Ryu upstairs. He’d caught the looks Ryu had been casting him at practices, on the bench, in the locker room. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before Ryu confronted him.
Ryu entered the apartment, studied Tristan for a second, and shook his head pityingly. “Tell me what happened.”
They settled on the couch with a couple of beers, and Tristan spilled the whole sad story—from his intense attraction to Sebastian to the plagiarism accusation to the Phloydian Slip concert to coming out to his parents, and every little thing in between.
When he finished, Ryu regarded him contemplatively. “First, I think you should know I’m gay too.” Tristan’s jaw dropped open, but before he could summon a response, Ryu continued, “I suspected about you, especially when you were really careful not to say whether your professor was a man or a woman, but well... I figured if you wanted me to know, you would’ve told me.”
