by Kate Meader
“When did this happen?” Surely Dante would know if one of the team had flown back to San Antonio.
“A couple of days ago, he called his dad.”
Dante shot upright. “He came out to his dad on the fucking phone?”
Violet threw up her hands. “That’s what I said! I mean, the most serious conversation of your life and you dial up daddy-o on FaceTime?”
They both basked in this brief moment of consensus before Dante flourished a hand, encouraging her to continue.
“Cade said he wanted to do it this way so both of them would have an out, to hang up the phone, and they wouldn’t be stuck looking at each other in the family living room, I suppose.
“So he said it—I’m gay—and his dad shut down. Didn’t get angry, but basically went into denial right there on the phone. Cade asked him if he’d heard what he said, and Tucker said—” She shook her head.
“He said what, Violet?”
She looked up, her mouth in a sneer. “He said if Cade’s mom were still alive, this news would have killed her.”
Dante squeezed his hand around the Lionel Richie mug so hard there was a chance he might crush it to porcelain fragments. What an incredibly cruel thing to say to a man about the mother he had loved so much.
“That’s . . .” He couldn’t even finish.
Violet nodded. “I know. Not cool.”
“I wish he’d talk to me.”
Violet’s eyes went wide. “Do you blame him? You fucked up, Dante. You knew he was going to do this incredibly difficult thing and you made it all about you. Right at the moment he needed you most, you let him down.”
Shame crept over him, but he dug deep to justify his poor behavior. He’d worked too hard and come too far to allow a little lust to fuck it all up now. Seeing that look of hurt on Cade’s face a week ago had practically killed him, but better a sharp blow now than a bellyache of pain later.
How does it feel to have your own advice shoved in your face, Moretti? Why, awesome!
“He doesn’t need me. Not really. He only thinks he does.”
“Whatever. I’m surrounded by people who are in denial about their needs. Harper figured it out, thank God, but Isobel? That girl’s headed for a crash.” At Dante’s look, she waved a hand. “Nothing for you to worry about. Cade was finally getting there, and he thought you were on his side.”
“I was. I am. But this thing between us—it’s a quick burn that would’ve faded in time. He’s got this whole new life ahead of him. This whole new, out-in-the-open life. He needs to figure out the landscape of that before he jumps into a relationship with someone.”
Violet raised an eyebrow.
“What’s that for?”
“What’s what for?”
“What you did there. Like you’re drawing conclusions but you’re too smug to share with the class.”
“Do I really need to spell it out?” She sighed dramatically. “You actually think that now Cade has—or is about to have—a smorgasbord of hot guys laid out before him that you can’t compete?”
Basically. But that wasn’t all.
“How does it look if I’m making business decisions with my dick?”
“You’re a gay GM in the NHL, so I know you’ve heard worse. Harper navigated the so-called ethics problem with Remy because she decided that all the game wins in the world couldn’t beat how special he made her feel. People are gonna talk smack about you, about Cade, whether you’re together or apart. Isn’t it better you weather that as a couple?”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions, Violet.”
“Am I? Why the hell are you here?”
Because I screwed up. Because you’re my best connection to this man I idiotically fell in love with. Because my heart aches without him.
“Like I said, just checking in on Cade because we can’t seem to communicate, not while it’s so raw for him. I’m trying to be a good boss, especially in light of this last game we need to win the day after tomorrow.”
Violet paused, then asked, “And what about you? Is it raw for you?”
Yes. But that wasn’t why he was here. He didn’t need to be soothed, he just needed to ensure that Cade was okay.
“I’ve been through this before. Coming out. Breaking up. I just want him to know that the team is here for him, with whatever he needs.”
That earned him another sneer. “Right, the team. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that when he’s all alone in his bed. Oh, but you’re so sure he’ll have them lined up around the block, so problem solved.”
Well, why not? Heterosexual Cade was already a hot property; gay Cade, the first out guy in the NHL, would revolutionize the game. Just think of all the new fans they’d gain, and how many of them would be throwing themselves at Cade’s feet, fingers already grasping for his jeans zipper. Once he was out, he wouldn’t need to worry about discretion. All he’d have to consider was which guy he’d grace with his favor.
“How do I fix this, Violet?”
She stood, all five feet five inches of badass attitude, and returned that threatening stance he’d pulled on her earlier.
“Assure him he’s not alone.”
Like he’d believe that. When Dante came out and his parents disowned him, it ushered in the loneliest period of his life.
But Dante had vowed to protect Cade from the beginning, and despite—or because of—everything that had happened between them, he would complete the mission.
His player was hurting, and he would do everything in his power to ease that pain.
SIXTEEN
The Chicago Rebels made the play-offs for the first time in fifteen years.
It wasn’t without drama, of course. Shay and Petrov had to be restrained from beating the shit out of each other before the final game, the circumstances of which had made it clear that the Russian was sleeping with his coach and Rebels’ team owner Isobel Chase. Isobel resigned her consultant position on ethics grounds, and didn’t Dante feel swell accepting that when he had also crossed that line. But coach and player were now together, their reunion coming just in time to propel Petrov to stellar heights of play and a game-winning goal in double overtime.
All in all, a nice end to a soap opera of a regular season.
At the postgame celebration, Cade and Dante both seemed to have the layout of the Empty Net bar—and their positions in it—imprinted on their brains. Neither of them took a step without the other knowing it, all so they could ensure no accidental run-ins.
So Dante had his job, a team in the play-offs, vindication as a productive pro team managing exec—and a personal life in the toilet. And now he was about to do something that would probably not be so productive, but was absolutely necessary for his peace of mind and the sanity of one of his players.
He pulled his rental into the driveway of a low-slung ranch-style house in Terrell Hills, just five miles northeast of downtown San Antonio. He’d hoped he’d have a couple of minutes’ respite to psych himself up for what lay ahead, but the front door was already opening and Tucker Burnett was already stepping outside.
They exchanged pleasantries about the drive from the airport, the killer temps, the live-armed kid the Missions were fronting this season, all while Tucker led him through the house and Dante searched feverishly for hints about Cade’s upbringing. He thirstily drank in the sight of art, trophies—even the worn furniture that Cade had likely sprawled over while he watched hockey on TV as a kid. One wall was filled with photos, most of them of a woman with Cade’s hazel eyes and warm smile.
“Want a beer?” Tucker Burnett raised a bottle of Bud from the fridge and gestured at Dante.
“Sure.”
“Let’s take this outside.”
There was no missing the rather ominous emphasis on “this.” Dante followed Tucker out to a patio overlooking a picture postcard backyard, the perfect advertisement for summer in the burbs. Whorls of smoke eddied from a heating grill; the Texas sun gleamed off the paving stones.
&nb
sp; Tucker sat in a blue Adirondack chair and jerked a chin at its pair opposite. Dante sat, then inhaled a slug of his beer. Good in the ninety-five-degree heat.
“Surprised to get your call,” Tucker said, but that surprise couldn’t have lasted long. They both knew why Dante was here.
“Your son’s in a lot of pain, Tucker.”
“That’s on him.” He coughed, then glared accusingly at the beer bottle in his hand. “He was fine before you joined up.”
Yep. This was going to be about as tough as he’d expected. “That’s not really how it works, and I think you know that.”
“What the hell are you expecting here, Moretti?” It was evidently a rhetorical question, as Tucker continued to speak. “Cade’s still pretty young, and I expect he’ll snap out of it. And when he does, we can work on rebuilding what we had.” He looked off into the distance at a row of cypress trees at the end of the well-tended yard. “He had some strange ideas when he was a kid, but he grew out of it.”
Fury rose in Dante’s chest. “So you’ve suspected, or worse, known all along, and you’ve chosen to bury your head in the sand? Let him think what he was feeling was wrong?”
“You have no right to come here and insult my parenting skills, Moretti. This is between me and my son and—”
“Cade Burnett is a player on my team. I have a responsibility to ensure the physical and mental health of those men.” He blew out a breath, then dragged on the weak-as-piss beer, anything to calm the rising tide of emotion. He needed another way to get through to him. Tucker Burnett was a family man, so reframing this in those terms might be the way forward.
“I haven’t spoken to my father in nine years.”
Tucker’s mouth formed a tight seal that pronounced him unsurprised by this revelation. But he remained quiet, so Dante continued.
“He’s known I was gay for longer than that, but the day I went public when I was twenty-six years old, he stopped speaking to me. My mother, too. I have to arrange visits to my sisters in New York in such a way as to ensure there’s no chance I’ll run into my parents. I couldn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral, a man I was closer to than my own father, so no one would be offended by my presence. I don’t return home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, even though those holidays meant the world to me when I was younger. And that’s just my family. When I came out, people I thought were my friends turned their backs. The press went wild, and since the advent of social media, it’s only gotten worse.”
Tucker was looking at him now, confusion on his face rather than disgust. “Then why do it? Why upset everything just to make some statement?”
“What kind of statement am I making other than to demand that people accept I can love whomever I want? Do you think gay people are bucking society’s so-called norms to mess with straight people’s minds? Do you honestly think your son is choosing to hurt you, Tucker? You two have always been close. He loves you, and I know you love him, but there comes a time when a person realizes that respect for self overrides the feelings of others. Your son is not doing this to spite you. Your son is doing this because he’s been unhappy for a long time and now he sees a light at the end of the tunnel. Don’t be the fucking boulder blocking the light.”
Tucker Burnett sat there, not unlike a boulder, his hand wrapped around a bottle to the point his knuckles popped white against his tanned skin.
“His mother would know what to do.”
“He thinks she was ashamed of him. She knew but she didn’t react well.”
The man’s expression flashed with a pain that clutched at Dante’s heart. He didn’t want to make it worse for him or do anything that tainted the memory of his wife, but he had to make him realize the harm his attitude was doing to Cade.
He had a living, breathing, amazing son who needed his father’s love.
“Cade told me that after her death, you two became closer. All these years, he’s held this thing inside: who he is. Who he wants to be. He kept that secret in deference to your grief and the strength of your bond. And while I recognize you never get over losing someone you love—I know this intimately—I hope you also recognize that he’s done nothing but respect you and your feelings for his entire life. That’s a long time, Tucker. It would be nice if you would do him the same honor.”
Dante put the beer bottle on a nearby side table. Piece said, duty done.
He stood and thrust out his hand. “Thanks for listening and for the beer. I’ll let you get back to your Sunday.”
Tucker stared at the outstretched hand and appeared to labor over a decision. Painfully long seconds ticked over before he spoke.
“If you don’t mind, I’m not going to shake your hand.”
Right. Dante had only made it worse.
Tucker drew himself upright. “I can’t pretend that this is going to be easy for me to come to terms with. But I love my son. I truly do.” He rubbed his forehead, his emotions appearing to almost get the better of him, but then his tough-guy Texas genes kicked in. “If you’re not in a hurry to get back on a plane, I’d like to talk to you some more. And if, after a steak and a couple more beers, you still want to shake my hand, then I’d be honored to accept it.”
The words to respond were stuck somewhere deep in Dante’s throat, so it took a moment for him to dig something out.
“Thanks, I’d like that very much.”
Cade opened the door of his condo and did a cartoon double take at the sight of his visitor.
“Dad!”
Tucker Burnett stood there, looking a lot tenser than any Texan should. “Son. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Cade stood back.
“Congrats on making the play-offs. That was some mighty fine work you did out there.”
“We all played well. It’s a team effort.” As his dad walked in, Cade asked, “Is everything okay? Aunt Maisey isn’t in trouble again, is she?” His aunt had a habit of leaving the nursing home half naked and getting herself arrested.
“As far as I know, she’s fine. Cade—” He placed a hand on Cade’s shoulder. “I didn’t handle . . . what you told me so well, did I?”
No, he didn’t. But now he was here and Cade had never been so glad to see someone.
“I probably should have told you in person, Dad. I’ll admit that I just wanted to get it out there because I had a feeling it wouldn’t go over well.”
“Shit, son, I let you down and I’m right ashamed.”
His father looked ashamed, but Cade loved him too much to feel any sort of vindication.
“It was a shock. I get that. I’m just glad you’re here. It means the world to me.”
“Well, you can thank your GM.”
Cade’s heart jerked. “Dante?”
“Yup. Came to see me in San Antonio. Laid out his story and made me look at things a little differently. Now, it’s gonna take me a while to get used to the idea of a son of mine being with, uh, guys, but if the alternative is never talking to you again . . . Cade, I can’t imagine any father doing that to a son he was so proud of.”
Like Dante’s father had done to his son. Cade couldn’t believe that Dante had flown out to Texas.
His father went on. “That Moretti kicker’s pretty sure of himself, and he hasn’t a bad word to say about you.” Tucker gave him a sly smile. “Yeah, not a bad word.”
Better nip this one in the bud. “Dad, that’s not how it works. Just because he’s gay and—” He stopped, realizing that he’d been about to say it for the first time, directly to his dad’s face. “And I’m gay.” God, that felt good. Strange, but good. “Does not mean we’re an automatic couple.” And that didn’t feel so good.
“Maybe not, but him getting involved like that seems above and beyond the typical duties of a manager. He sure got a kick out of seeing your trophies and all those posters of hockey greats on your bedroom wall.”
Cade’s heart sank to the floor. “Dad, you didn’t show Dante Moretti my room?” With . . . oh fuck, a poster of Moretti himself w
hen he played for Philly.
His father grinned. “Yeah, he enjoyed that, all right.”
So it was embarrassing, but Cade would set that aside because Tucker Burnett was here, ready and willing to listen. As wonderful as this was, though, Cade couldn’t help aching for Dante, who was still on the outside looking in where his own family was concerned.
Hell, it was simpler than that. Cade just ached for Dante.
SEVENTEEN
“ ‘Welcome to Chicago O’Hare International Airport, where the local time is 12:25 p.m. Please keep your seat belts fastened while we taxi to the gate . . .’ ”
Forty-five minutes late, of course, owing to April showers turning into thunderstorms across the Midwest. Dante felt like a yo-yo bouncing all over the country: Texas, New York—where he’d spent a couple of days with his sisters and their kids—and now, finally, home.
Home. It had only been a few months, but Chicago was in his bones. God knew why. He wasn’t dating anyone. He had barely made any friends outside the Rebels, and those connections were probably more out of obligation and proximity anyway. He spent most of his hours at work or traveling to work or thinking about a certain hazel-eyed defenseman who put both black and green olives on his pizza, looked after him when he was sick, and was one of the nicest human beings Dante had ever met.
You’re in the play-offs, Moretti. No time for this shit.
As the plane neared the gate, he slipped his phone out of the seat pocket in front of him and turned off airplane mode.
What the—? Forty-seven voice mails. Almost as many text messages. His Facebook notifications had blown up, too, and some of the first comments were not so nice.
The first voice message was from Harper, the second from ESPN. He listened, his heart thundering, his legs already pushing up so he could rip open the overhead bin and leapfrog over the two rows ahead of him in business class. He had to be off as soon as the cabin crew let them out.
While he waited on the balls of his feet for the door to open, he watched the video that was currently trending number one on Twitter. He wasn’t alone. Behind him, the sound of Cade’s voice echoed a strange, dissonant chorus as other passengers caught up with the news cycle. The one that had been spinning while Dante was locked in a tin tube at thirty-five thousand feet.
