Empty Net

by Avon Gale

  When Misha saw St. Savoy grab Laurent and saw Laurent’s automatic response, Isaac knew things were dangerous. Misha muttered in Russian and then stepped forward and said, “You may see your son on his time, not mine. The bus, Laurent, Isaac. Now.”

  He didn’t touch Laurent, but when St. Savoy let go of his arm, he deliberately put himself between them. Samarin was taller than Denis and about a thousand times more dangerous.

  Laurent’s face was pale and his dark eyes wide as he looked between his father and his coach. Isaac waited not one second longer and nudged him toward the bus. He knew instinctively that Laurent didn’t want to be touched, but he also knew that he would physically drag Laurent away if necessary.

  St. Savoy was clearly going to try and say something about it to Coach Samarin, but Samarin just turned his back and walked away. That enraged St. Savoy, who shouted something at his son in French, and whatever it was, it made Laurent inhale sharply next to Isaac.

  Everyone was talking on the bus. A few people had seen the altercation, but Coach Samarin’s face made everyone pause. He looked infuriated—the exact opposite of how he should look after a shutout win over their rivals. But then he sat down next to Coach Ashford, the engine turned on, and the bus was on its way.

  Isaac looked out the window and could just see Denis St. Savoy’s figure, alone in the parking lot.

  He resisted the urge to wave. Or maybe flip the guy off.

  Laurent sat next to Isaac and trembled.

  “What did he say?” Isaac asked in a low voice. He was surprised that Laurent wanted to sit next to him, but glad they could talk without anyone overhearing. “Saint?”

  As always the name seemed to reach through whatever dark fog held Laurent in its grip. He gazed at Isaac. “I’m not telling you.”

  “Why? Dude, I know he’s a prick. You can say it to me.”

  “No. I promised I wasn’t going to say that stuff to you anymore.”

  Isaac made a face. “That bad, huh?”

  Laurent slumped down in his seat. “I can’t do that again.”

  “Talk to him? You don’t have to,” Isaac promised, though he had no idea how he was going to keep it.

  “No. I mean. Play like that,” Laurent said, drawing in on himself. “It’s too…. He’ll make me come back.” He looked around, visibly panicked. “He’ll expect that, but I’ll do it, and he’ll hate it. He can’t stand when I’m good. He can’t stand when I’m not good. He can’t stand me.”

  “Hey.” Isaac was worried. He expelled a breath and thought about what he could say. “He can’t make us trade you. We’re not going to. Okay?”

  Laurent gave a wild, trapped laugh. “You don’t know anything, Drake. You think you do, but you don’t. You have no idea what he can do… what he’s done.”

  “Well, I know Coach Samarin could beat him up,” Isaac said seriously.

  Laurent stopped talking. He looked at Isaac. “He could get Coach Samarin fired. And that’s what he told me he was going to do. He hates him. Because he stood up for me.”

  “I don’t think he can do that,” Isaac said, trying to be soothing. “On what grounds? That Coach Samarin told his player it was time to get on the bus?”

  Laurent opened his mouth, but suddenly Hux loomed over the seat in front of them. He held some comics in one hand and a graphic novel in the other. “Hey. Saint. Your dad sucks balls. Here’s your comics.” He handed over the Demon Detective series.

  “And I don’t know if you’ve read Judge Dredd, but it’s awesome. Here’s the first one. He’s like, a dude that doesn’t smile and never takes his mask off. Like you, kinda. I mean you take your mask off, but you know.”

  Laurent reached up and took the graphic novel. He blinked and then looked at Isaac.

  “Anyway I don’t know what your problem is, but after seeing your dick ex-teammates on the ice, I figure you’re just not used to like, normal teammates who aren’t dickheads.” Hux nodded. “So sorry about the shower. We’re not dickheads. And that’s like, my favorite comic, so I hope you like it. It’s cool you like comics. Means you can’t be that bad. And no one else on the team reads anything, so tell me what you think when you’re done with it.”

  “Thanks, Hux.” Laurent, whether he knew or it or not, used Huxley’s nickname.

  “No problem. But like, if you go back to saying dumb shit? I will beat your French ass up and get those comics back.” Hux paused. “You’re French. Right?”

  “I’m American,” Laurent said flatly. “My mother was French, my father is—”

  “A huge dickwad,” Murph offered, popping up next to Hux like an ill-timed, well-meaning jack-in-the-box.

  “French-Canadian,” Laurent finished. “But I was born here.”

  “In a bus?”

  “In America,” Isaac said, exasperated. “Seriously, y’all?”

  “He says y’all, ’cause Drake’s from Memphis.”

  “Cordova,” Laurent said. “He’s from Cordova.”

  Isaac smiled, and something warm and totally unhelpful swirled inside. He didn’t need whatever was making him feel kind of dopey. He needed Laurent to not be hated by his teammates and for them to win the Kelly Cup and for Coach Samarin to go all Russian mobster on Denis St. Savoy.

  And maybe to see Laurent walk around in nothing but a pair of jeans.

  He didn’t need whatever it was making him feel all warm and stupid about the guy. No.

  “Anyway, you played like a badass out there,” Murph continued. “But if you go back to being a dick, we’re all going to be mad.”

  “I probably will,” Laurent said, surprising Isaac. “But I won’t mean it. Sometimes it’s just what I do.”

  “Well, try and stop,” Hux said, and he and Murph popped back down and left Isaac and Laurent alone again as the bus pulled into their hotel parking lot.

  Coach Samarin rose from the shadows, and it only took a moment for the whole bus to fall silent as they acknowledged him looming there in the dark.

  “A very good game,” Coach Samarin said, and all traces of his earlier anger had vanished. “It is not easy to face one’s former team. But I think our Saint deserves some credit. Yes?”

  That got a rousing cheer, and Laurent turned redder than usual and slumped down in his seat. Isaac noticed that Samarin had adopted the nickname, and figured it would stick. He was glad.

  Isaac realized he shouldn’t cheer for a guy who might knock him out of his starter spot… but it would be nice to have a reliable backup. He just didn’t want to be the reliable backup. Lathrop had been a good player, but Isaac never felt his spot was in danger from him.

  He remembered that Belsey said he put Laurent on the team as an incentive to Isaac, and he tried to put it out of his mind. If playing with Laurent helped him be a better goalie, then that was a good thing too.

  Isaac usually left Laurent and spent the night in Hux and Murph’s room when they were on the road. But he wasn’t feuding with Laurent, so he figured he should probably stay in.

  “You coming to our room? We were thinking pizza,” said Murph, and Isaac wondered for the millionth time if Murph and Hux knew how much they acted like they were dating.

  Not even Coach Samarin and Coach Ashford said we as often as those two.

  “Not tonight, I don’t think,” Isaac said. He glanced at Laurent, who had shouldered his gear and was waiting for Coach Ashford to give out the room keycards.

  Hux and Murph stared at him. “What?” Isaac asked defensively.

  “You remember that guy you were kinda dating?”

  “Uh,” Isaac blinked. “No?”

  “He’s a Raven. The only one who doesn’t suck.” Murph thought about that. “Or who does. I dunno how you guys work that out.”

  “Xavier?” Isaac had a brief fling with the Ravens forward, Xavier Matthews, but it didn’t last, since Matthews refused to even consider coming out. He was a nice guy, but Isaac had no interest in staying with someone who couldn’t be honest about who he was.r />
  He understood it wasn’t as easy for some people and that situations were different, but he knew himself, and it never would have worked. And Isaac rarely saw anyone more than a few times. He had never been all that keen on commitment.

  “Yeah. Remember how you weren’t into the whole he’s not really gay thing?”

  “He’s gay,” Isaac said dryly. “Trust me.”

  “But you weren’t into him being like, closeted.”

  “Right. And it was long-distance. And I suck at that. What is your point?” Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. “You think—you guys, trust me. Laurent is the literal definition of a hot mess. I’m trying to help. We’re trying to be friends, and that’s it. Okay?”

  “You think he’s hot,” Murph accused. “That’s what literal means.”

  “Duh. But remember how it gets me all mad when you think I can’t be friends with hot guys and not want to sleep with them?”

  “Oh, we know,” Hux said. “But don’t lie. You know you want to.”

  Well, he couldn’t lie about that. Isaac flipped his friends off, grabbed his gear, and headed for his room.

  Laurent was in the bathroom by the time Isaac got there. He sat on the bed and wondered if Laurent was okay and what the fuck he could even do about it if he wasn’t.

  Laurent came out of the bathroom dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, his wet hair slicked off his face and looking so insanely hot it wasn’t fair. The second his eyes met Isaac’s, he looked away. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Isaac grabbed his stuff and headed for the bathroom. He gave Laurent a friendly smile and felt a twinge of strange tension as he escaped into the small tiled shower. He picked up the little soap as he stood under the spray, rubbed it over himself and had an unbidden thought about Laurent doing the same. In Isaac’s imagination Laurent soaped up that goddamn gorgeous body of his and rubbed his hands all over his chest and the sleek muscles of his stomach.

  Isaac got hard immediately. He tilted his head back, enjoyed the water and his fantasy, and pretended Laurent didn’t have more issues than The Hockey News and that he was gay or bi and totally into Isaac and didn’t have a crazy father and—

  The thought of Denis St. Savoy’s evil face immediately killed Isaac’s good time. Isaac scowled, grabbed the shampoo, and viciously scrubbed at his scalp. When he saw blue Manic Panic dye beginning to run down the drain, he noted that he needed to re-dye his hair.

  Isaac finished his shower and toweled off. He dried his hair with the blow dryer tucked beneath the counter to avoid staining the sheets of the bed with the dye. He padded back into the bedroom and expected to find Laurent asleep or reading comics. But he was sitting at the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands.

  “He said I shouldn’t let you touch me or I might turn into a fag that takes it up the ass.”

  Isaac rolled his eyes. Spoken like a man who’s never had anyone show him how magical his prostate is. “Original. You hungry?”

  “He doesn’t even care. I know he doesn’t. He knows Matthews is gay. But he said it’s okay as long as you’re giving it and not the one on your knees.”

  Isaac huffed and flopped back on his bed when it was apparent that Laurent was going to ignore him about dinner. “I bet your dad doesn’t know shit about sex with dudes.” He wondered if he should say anything about Xavier. He didn’t want to. It wasn’t a surprise that Xavier’s sexuality wasn’t as much a secret as he thought. Isaac had been telling him that for ages, but Xavier clearly wanted to believe otherwise.

  Laurent looked at Isaac. “I don’t know anything about sex. I hate the thought of anyone touching me.”

  “I know. You said that.” Isaac studied him. This was going somewhere, and he was suddenly afraid that he knew where. Not that he didn’t want things to go there, but…. In a way, he sort of didn’t. “What’s this about?”

  Laurent got up, and walked over to Isaac’s bed, and stared down at him with his intense, sharp-eyed stare. “No one has ever. Done what you—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m…. Fuck,” he muttered. He crawled up the bed, all lean-limbed and graceful, and alarm bells went off in Isaac’s head just as quickly as his dick hardened in his pajama pants.

  “Saint—”

  “I tried to get off the other night. I kept thinking about you.”

  Oh holy fuck. What? That was so not what Isaac needed to hear. Needed to think about, maybe, when he was alone. But right then? Yeah no. “Look, you’re probably just—”

  “Don’t tell me what I am.” Laurent sat next to him. “Listen to me.”

  Isaac shut up and listened. He tried to ignore how close Laurent was and how he could feel the warmth from Laurent’s body. “All right.”

  “Usually when I do that, it’s just about getting off and getting it over with. I don’t think about anyone. Men, women. I don’t think about anything. But I thought about you. Why?”

  Because I’m nice to you. But Isaac couldn’t bring himself to say that. “Because we hang out?”

  “Maybe. I’ve been playing hockey and on teams my whole life, though. And I’ve never wanted any of my teammates to touch me.” Laurent moved closer. “Isaac?”

  It was a terrible idea. Terrible. “Yeah?”

  “Other people touch me, and it makes me want to be sick. But I don’t think that happens when you do it.”

  How the fuck was he supposed to deal with that? Isaac stared at Laurent and searched his warm eyes, which were just the color of melted chocolate. Maybe with bits of caramel. Great. He was thinking about Laurent’s eyes like candy. Was he hungry or horny? Hard to tell.

  “I don’t know what you want right now from this,” Isaac said. “You look like you had a rough night.”

  “I got a shutout, Coach Samarin made my father go away, someone gave me comics, and people talked to me like a person.” Laurent gave a very small, genuine smile. “It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

  Isaac groaned and put his hand over his eyes. “Why are you doing this? Look, Laurent. I’m gay, and it doesn’t make me some kind of predator, but you are so goddamn hot and totally my type, and—mmph.”

  Laurent suddenly pressed his mouth awkwardly against Isaac’s, and kept it there, not moving.

  Lust hit Isaac like a slapshot to the gut. He twitched, his body heated, his cock got harder, and okay… it’d been awhile, but he shouldn’t be acting like that. He was attracted to Laurent. Sure. But his reaction was too intense for it to be merely about attraction.

  Laurent pulled back. He looked terrified.

  Isaac sighed, and then rolled on his side. “Come here. Lie down.”

  Laurent faced him, but Isaac kept enough distance between them to make sure his sanity stayed intact. “What is this about?”

  “I don’t know,” Laurent said. “Is your type assholes with daddy issues?”

  It was so unexpected that Isaac gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Wow. No? Maybe? I don’t know. It’s usually just pretty. And that’s definitely you. How’d you get so hot, anyway? Your dad is so not good-looking enough to be your father.”

  Something cold flashed in Laurent’s eyes, and his expression tightened. Isaac had said the wrong thing. But he answered anyway. “My mom was a model.”

  “Was?”

  “Maybe she still is. I don’t know. I’ve never met her. She didn’t want a kid, so my dad kept me.”

  Talking about Laurent’s dad was nowhere near as awesome as kissing. Even if Isaac wasn’t sure they should be doing that either. “I don’t know that this is a good idea.”

  “I’m sure it probably isn’t,” said Laurent. “I’m awful.”

  “You’re… well, sometimes. Yeah,” Isaac said, teasing gently. “But I meant because you don’t like being touched. Is that what this is, you just want someone to touch you, and I don’t make you sick?”

  “I thought about you. How you told me to be quiet. How you call me Saint. I don’t know what it means. You’re the only person I’ve ever met t
hat I don’t hate.”

  Oh great. That’s totally normal. “Because I’m nice to you.”

  “You’re not that nice,” Laurent said, but he smiled again. “That’s the thing. You treat me like I’m normal.”

  Isaac closed his eyes and groaned. “You don’t have, like, internalized gay panic do you? You can’t. That would make Murph right, and that’s just weird.” He opened his eyes. “Murph thought that was why you were always calling me a fag.”

  Laurent had the grace to wince. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was a word that hurt you. That’s why I used it.”

  “It doesn’t hurt me.” Isaac reached out and lifted Laurent’s chin. “I need you to understand that. I don’t care what you call me. I care about why you’re using it. Because you want it to hurt, and that’s what I’ve got a problem with. That and all the other people who aren’t me who might hear it, and who might feel bad because of it.”

  “I know.” Laurent didn’t flinch from Isaac’s touch. “You should just go back to hating me.”

  “Stop telling me what to do,” Isaac said. He pressed his mouth to Laurent’s and kissed him.

  Laurent didn’t do anything, so Isaac pulled back. “You don’t even know if you’re gay,” he said. “You might not even like guys.”

  Laurent’s brows drew together in a scowl. It did nothing to make him less attractive. “I don’t like anyone.”

  Well, Isaac couldn’t argue with that. He leaned in again, kissed Laurent a little harder, and lightly stroked Laurent’s jaw.

  “Do you like this?” Isaac asked when they broke apart.

  “I don’t know,” Laurent said, frustrated. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I want you to stop touching me, but I’m not sure about kissing.” He exhaled loudly. “I like your lip ring, though.”

  You should feel it on your cock. “Okay.” Isaac settled on his back and rested his hands behind his head.

  “Do you want to touch me?”

  Laurent gave him a tortured look. “How do I know?”

  That probably meant no. Isaac’s cock throbbed, and he wanted to hit someone. “I don’t know how to tell you that. Are you turned on?”