by Avon Gale
He’d never been much of a fan favorite in Asheville. So it wasn’t that unusual.
The day before the team was scheduled to leave for their first road trip of the season, Laurent learned he was to be roommates with Drake on the road. It made sense, as Drake’s last roommate, Anthony Lathrop, was his former backup who’d retired the season before. Neither Laurent nor Drake were happy about it, but Coach Samarin gave them both a stern lecture about how they were teammates, and if Laurent had issues sharing a hotel room with a gay guy, he was welcome to sleep on the bus.
It didn’t matter because, as Laurent quickly found out, Drake had no intention of staying in a room with him.
He came up to Laurent as they were loading their gear on the bus. “Look, St. Savoy. I’m going to stay in Hux and Murph’s room, and you’re not gonna say a damn word to Coach about it either. You and I both know that rooming together is not going to make us get along.”
Laurent gave an indifferent shrug. “I don’t care what you do, Drake.”
Being abandoned still stung, even though it shouldn’t. Laurent sat by himself on the bus and, when he was sure no one was paying any attention, pulled out a small sketchbook and started to draw. At some point on the trip, even with his teammates’ dislike heady in the bus’s generally cheerful atmosphere, Laurent was able to actually relax. Not having his father there made it an entirely different experience, and if he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, Laurent could imagine he was part of the team for real.
It was in the locker room a few days later that everything finally came to a head. Laurent was cautiously looking forward to the peace of his room and wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. He was waiting for his teammates to stop showering and go do whatever they did after games, when someone reached around him and slammed his locker shut.
Huxley of course. “What the fuck do you want?” Laurent snapped.
“We were just wonderin’, is all. How come you don’t ever shower with the rest of the team. Huh?” Shawn Murphy asked from his other side and leaned in too close. Laurent hated being crowded—hated it—and searched quickly for something he could say to anger them enough to either punch him or leave him alone.
The bottom dropped out of Laurent’s stomach because he hoped to God that no one had ever noticed that he didn’t shower with the team. Or that, if they had, maybe they just chalked it up to him being an unfriendly asshole. “Just ’cause the rest of you are fags doesn’t mean I am.”
Sometimes Laurent heard the things that came out of his mouth and wondered who the hell he was.
“Jesus fuck,” Huxley said and shook his head. “You’re committed to this antigay shit, I’ll give you that.”
“Merci,” Laurent drawled. He tried not to think about how he’d seen Hux reading one of his favorite comic books—the one about the demon detective—and had almost done something stupid, like mention it. “We done here?”
“It’s just, like… why are you such a hater?” Murph asked and poked him in the shoulder. They must have figured out Laurent hated to be touched, because the two of them did it on a regular basis.
“I’m not. I don’t want to bend over and have someone’s cock in my ass,” Laurent snarled, and a tiny voice in his head asked him what the hell he was doing and if any of it was worth becoming a person who could say that and sound like he meant it. It was harder to ignore that voice without his father around.
Murphy looked like he was going to say something, but Hux gave a rough jerk of his head toward the door, and Murphy just hit Laurent hard with his shoulder and moved past.
Hux leaned down and said, “You know what? I hope when we play your asshole ex-team, that Coach starts you in goal. I hope they spit on your fucking face, since none of us can.” He gave Laurent a shove and headed after his friend.
Laurent didn’t understand what they meant by that, until he remembered what next week was.
The Spitfires were playing the Ravens.
Oh God. There was no way Samarin would put him in goal… would he?
Of course he would. You’re miserable, and you go out of your way to insult him and his team. If you think he won’t take any opportunity to get you back, you’re wrong. That’s how it works, idiot. Didn’t you learn anything playing hockey for your father?
Laurent heard a horrible, raw sound and realized it was himself, breathing. He looked around, made sure he was alone, and went to take a shower. He needed the heat and the water to calm him down.
He’d been in there a few minutes, just starting to relax beneath the spray, when he heard a voice drawl, “Well, well. Look what we have here. Mr. I’m Afraid of Showering With the Gays.”
Laurent startled and immediately pressed his back to the shower wall and stared with terrified eyes at Hux and Murph.
“Hey. So we’re not gay,” Murph said, eyes narrowed, a thoroughly nasty smile on his face. “But we thought maybe we’d give you a reason to be afraid of straight guys in the shower, instead of gay dudes. How’s that?”
“No. Don’t—” Laurent’s hands came up, and he wished to God he could dart past them without showing them his back.
“What? Don’t worry, bro. I’m not getting my cock anywhere near you, but what’s the real reason you’re so shy?” Hux laughed and reached out to grab his arm. “C’mon, Murph. Let’s see that ass he’s so determined to keep safe.”
“Please.” The word burst out of him before he could stop it, but all he got for it was hands on his arms, laughter, and—
“What the fuck are you guys doing?”
Drake. Of course. Because it wasn’t humiliating enough.
You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it.
“Just showing the new guy why saying dumb shit is… dumb.”
“Yeah, Murph. Thanks. But could you take a look at yourself right now?” Drake was staring at his friends with a look not unlike one he might turn on Laurent. “Because I don’t know what you think you’re gonna do, but you’re not gonna do it.”
“You know the stupid shit he said about why he won’t take a shower?”
“No, Hux, but I can guess,” Drake said, and his voice was rising. “Because I’m used to that shit, and I’ve told you a thousand times that I don’t care what this stupid motherfucker thinks about me being gay.”
“But it’s not… it’s not right, Drake.”
“Well, no. But neither is whatever you’re doing. So could you stop it?” Drake gave a disgusted sigh. “And don’t you ever try and stand up for me by doing the same thing to him that you think he’s doing to me.”
It took a few seconds for Hux and Murph to respond, but Drake’s obvious anger got through and they both let Laurent go.
“Sorry, Drake,” Hux mumbled. “We just want him to shut up.”
“Yeah,” Murph said. “You don’t deserve that shit from him.”
“I know I don’t. But he’s our teammate, and no one gets threatened like that in my locker room.”
Hux and Murph both looked appropriately sorry, and Laurent pressed himself back into the corner of the shower, grateful to have his back covered by the tile and still not sure what the fuck he was supposed to say to Isaac Drake.
Drake looked about as exhausted as Laurent felt. “I hate what this team is becoming,” he said to Laurent, after Hux and Murph had left. “And I don’t know what else to do. We’ve never done anything to you, and you go out of your way to piss everyone off. Especially me and the coaches. Why?”
Drake held up a hand. “Don’t answer, or I’m probably gonna break my word to Coach and punch you.” Drake made a disgusted noise and turned an equally disgusted look at Laurent. “But for the record? Even though you have spit in my face, I’m not gonna let anyone bully you.
“That’s the kind of team you’re on, and you don’t even see why you should be glad about it. But here’s something else, since we’re having this nice little talk. You don’t ever, ever have to worry about my cock touching anything of yours. I don’
t fuck bullies, and that’s all you are, Laurent. A bully. Just like your father. He must be so proud of you. I can’t imagine anyone else ever is.”
With that, Isaac turned and left Laurent alone in the spray.
Laurent heard the door slam, and that was it. All his self-control fell away, and he turned around, buried his face in his arm, and started to sob.
Chapter Four
ISAAC WAS pleased with his fuck-you speech in the locker room, even if he was so furious at his stupid friends that he was going to possibly murder them.
And Laurent. First of all no one should be that hot when naked and being manhandled—and Isaac should in no way be thinking that—and second of all—
Shit. Wait. Where were his keys?
Scowling, Isaac reached his Jeep and dug around in his pockets and his gear bag and then remembered he’d hung them on the little hook in his locker that was specifically designed for keys. Goddammit.
Isaac shouldered his bag and went back into the locker room, not looking forward to returning after that excellent exit he’d made. The shower was still on, and there was no sign of Laurent, so Isaac grabbed his keys from where they were so helpfully hanging in his locker—and heard Laurent St. Savoy sobbing like his life was over.
Isaac stopped, his eyes wide, and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do. Laurent’s sobbing sounded wretched. And familiar. In fact it reminded Isaac of how he’d cried the first night he had to sleep in the alley behind the grocery store where his mom shopped on Sundays. Until that moment Isaac hadn’t understood how vulnerable it would feel to sleep outside in the elements with nothing but his convictions to keep him warm. He remembered how he wanted his mom to find him and tell him it was all right and bring him home. And how it had felt as the hours crawled by and no one came.
It didn’t feel very good to know someone else was feeling that way because of what he’d said. Even if Isaac hated the guy, he couldn’t just walk away.
Isaac turned and went back into the showers, where Laurent was leaning face-first against the tiles and shaking with the force of his tears, one hand clenched into a fist as he hit the wall.
The first thing Isaac noticed were the scars and welts on Laurent’s back. Isaac’s stomach turned when he thought about Laurent saying please and the look of fear on his usually disdainful features while Hux and Murph manhandled him. Those scars… they looked like someone had whipped him. More than once. Recently, and a long time ago, and many times in between.
“Hey,” Isaac said cautiously. He dropped his gear and his keys and walked into the shower fully dressed. “Laurent?” Careful not to get too close in case it freaked him out, Isaac reached in and turned the water off. Laurent’s harsh, guttural sobs echoed in the quiet of the shower.
“Laurent,” Isaac tried again to get his attention. “St. Savoy?”
The last name got his attention, but not in a good way. Laurent turned and looked at him over his shoulder. His eyes were red and even with the tears and shit, he was still gorgeous. His mouth was open, and he struggled to breathe. “I hate that name.”
Was there anything Mr. Ray of Sunshine didn’t hate? “Okay. So. I’ll, uh… call you….” What kind of nickname could you come up with for Laurent, for fuck’s sake? The ones the team had made up were definitely not appropriate. Nothing came immediately to mind. And Savoy…. Savvy? But Isaac seemed to recall that had been Denis St. Savoy’s nickname—hockey players are not original—and that was definitely out.
“Anyone ever call you Saint?”
“No one calls me anything.”
Isaac rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to add “because you’re kind of a brat.” “Can I ask you one question?”
Laurent just looked at him, clearly miserable, his arms huddled around himself as he turned away from the wall and hid his back again.
Do not look anywhere but his eyes, Drake.
“Do you give a shit that I’m gay?”
Laurent shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. Come on.” Isaac motioned to him. “No. Seriously, come on. We can’t stay in here, and….” You are so naked, hot, and vulnerable, it’s like a wet dream. Literally. “Just, c’mon.”
To his surprise, Laurent followed him, and the two of them walked, dripping into the locker room. Isaac found a towel, handed it to Laurent, and made sure to keep a good distance between them. Not because of gay panic, but because it suddenly made so much goddamn sense why Laurent was the way he was.
Isaac pulled his shirt and jeans off, rummaged through his locker, and found a pair of track pants and a T-shirt stuffed in the back. The shirt was a little crunchy and probably didn’t smell great, but it was better than driving home drenched.
“You have clothes. Right?” Isaac said, worried, because Laurent was standing and shivering with a towel around his shoulders, like he had no idea where the hell he was.
Laurent nodded and methodically started pulling things out of his locker. He kept his head bowed and reminded Isaac of a kicked dog that was finally tired of trying to defend itself.
Jesus. What is with him?
While Laurent got dressed like he was submersed in pudding, Isaac tried wildly to think of what to do. He had to do something, and logically it was “call Misha,” but that probably wasn’t the best idea right then. Laurent—it was easier to think of him as Saint—would bolt. Isaac was sure of it. He had one chance to get through to the guy, and he had to take it.
“Look, Saint. You and I, we have to get some shit straight.” He winced. “Figured out. Because I’ve got my two best friends acting like junior high bullies, and I hate that, but I also think things don’t need to be like this. Come with me. Okay? I’m not going to hurt you.” It felt kind of stupid to say that, since Laurent was at least four inches taller than he was and far broader across the shoulders than Isaac. But he didn’t think he’d ever really been in physical danger from Laurent. He’d made it clear he didn’t want anyone to touch him.
Laurent followed him to the Jeep without a word, climbed in, and rested his head against the window. He showed no interest in where Isaac was taking him, didn’t say anything, and looked so exhausted that Isaac nearly fell asleep looking at him.
In the end Isaac took him back to Misha’s. Home.
When he first moved in, Misha had gone out of his way to make sure Isaac knew he was “welcome to have guests over.” But Isaac wasn’t sure if Misha meant “you can fuck in your room if you want” or if he meant “Murph and Hux can come over as long as they don’t spill shit or drink my good vodka.”
Murph and Hux came over sometimes, and maybe once they’d each had a sip of the good vodka, but Isaac had never brought anyone over for the purpose of hooking up. Now that his days of selling blowjobs for cash were far behind him, he was picky about his hook-ups, and while he had a Grindr account thanks to Murph, he didn’t use it all that often. But even when he did, he wouldn’t bring anyone back to Misha’s.
It felt like he had a home—a real home—not just a place to stay. And it had been so long since he’d had that, Isaac guarded it jealously, even though no one was trying to take it away from him.
But he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, he had no idea where Laurent lived, and he was supposed to empty the dishwasher before dinner. So, home it was. But he remembered those barbed comments Laurent had made about their coaches, and they still made Isaac mad. One glance over at Laurent extinguished his anger completely, though. The thought of those welts on Laurent’s back made Isaac sick to his stomach.
Speaking of stomach… “You want me to stop anywhere for food?”
Laurent looked over at him, hollow-eyed. “Don’t do this.”
“Feed you?” Isaac cleared his throat. “I mean, get you food?”
“Don’t feel sorry for me.”
Man. The guy was just determined to be difficult at every step of the way, wasn’t he? “Don’t be a jackass and then have an epic breakdown in the locker room, and I won’t.
”
“You really are a dick,” Laurent said, showing a little spirit.
“Yeah. Well. Takes one to know one.” Isaac found himself giving Laurent a tentative smile. “Can we stop and pretend that all this shit didn’t happen up until now?”
“No,” Laurent said flatly.
Isaac’s smile vanished, and he pulled onto the side of the road, ignored the irate honking of annoyed drivers, and slammed on the brakes. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m trying to help you, you know. I’m trying to get past this shit. Why can’t you do the same and just let it go?”
“I don’t want you to forget it. I don’t deserve that.”
“This isn’t about you,” Isaac said, and suddenly he had an idea. “You know what your problem is? You never just shut the fuck up and listen. So how about this. You just keep your mouth shut until I tell you that you can talk again. That’s it. You can say whatever you want after that, but can you just do that one thing. Please?”
Laurent nodded.
“Hallefuckinglujah,” Isaac muttered, and he pulled the car back onto the road.
No one was home when Isaac parked the Jeep in front of the house, and he quickly said to Laurent, “Yes, I live with Coach Samarin and Coach Ashford. No. I’m not screwing either of them. Yes. I’d bang Coach Ashford into next week if I thought Coach Samarin wouldn’t impale me with a vodka bottle. Yes. Everyone thinks I’m a twink because of the eyeliner and my hair and the fact I’m not like, six feet tall and a bear. People have stupid ideas about being gay, and even if you didn’t mean any of that shit you were saying, you probably do too.”
Laurent almost said something, but he clearly remembered his promise and pressed his lips shut.
