Breakaway

by Avon Gale

  “With the—” He waved the paper again.

  “The Maple Leafs,” Cook answered, grinning. “I love this part of my job. That’s why I came down here in person. Even though I really think I’ll die in this heat. Why is it like this?”

  “Oh. It’s Florida, and maybe it’s closer to the sun? I don’t know. I was bad at geography.” Lane was still in shock. He was going home to Canada, which was mildly depressing if you thought about the winters, and completely joyful when it meant playing for the team he’d grown up cheering for.

  “That’s not geography. That’s science,” Spence said. But he was grinning too. Even Curtis was laughing at him. But whatever. Lane didn’t care.

  All he cared about was going home and telling Jared “we’re moving to Toronto.” If he practiced on the way home, surely he’d be able to say the words by the time he got back to his apartment. Right?

  The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Lane remembered shaking hands and nodding a lot. And the drive back to his apartment was surreal, like he was flying. He got honked at three times at a light, because he kept looking down at the contract to make sure it was still there.

  Jared was awake when he got home, freshly showered and shaved and making breakfast. Apparently that was toast with shredded cheese, and chocolate milk, because those were the only things in his apartment that weren’t leftover pizza, Dr Pepper, or beer.

  “We should probably learn how to go grocery shopping at some point.” Jared presented him with a plate of toast. “You’re welcome. Add cheese toast to the list of stuff I’m great at.”

  Lane stared at him. He tried to speak, but it didn’t work out so well. He didn’t even take the toast.

  “You’re looking at me like we’ve never met. Hi, I’m Jared Shore. I’m your boyfriend. You like gay sex. I hope that’s not a problem.... Lane?” Jared waved the toast at him. “It’s just like pizza, only without the sauce. Have I blown your mind with this? I have, haven’t I?”

  After a moment, Jared set the toast on the counter. “Could you blink once for yes, twice for no?”

  Lane blinked. Several times in a row.

  “Oh my god. You even blink excessively, like you talk.” Jared’s smile was slow and suggestive, and he grabbed at Lane’s belt to pull him closer. “I have ways of making you talk. It’s not cheese toast, but it’ll still blow your mind.”

  “Umm.”

  Jared finally realized Lane wasn’t being a weirdo for no reason, and his brows knit together. “Lane, I’m mentally prepared in every way to hear you tell me we’re moving to Syracuse. If there are tears, ignore them. I’m just weeping for the warmth I’ll never see again.”

  “We’re not moving to Syracuse.”

  “Holy shit. Are we going to Tampa?” Jared’s eyes went wide. “Fuck me sideways, Lane. I will go right now and buy you an Egg McMuffin at McDonalds.”

  Lane shook his head again, just slightly. “No.”

  “Okay, fine. A sausage biscuit? It’s ten thirty. But if you want a cheeseburger, I guess I could wait...?”

  “No, I mean. Not Tampa. I got traded.”

  When no other words were forthcoming, Jared looked very patiently at him. “You’re in shock. Right? I forgot this hasn’t happened to you. By traded, you mean the Lightning traded your rights. Yeah?”

  Lane nodded. And then, because he remembered, blinked once.

  Jared snorted. “Okay. So you’ve been traded... where?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Jared tugged him closer with his fingers on Lane’s belt. “Or you’ll have to kill me?”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Kill me? What? Lane, this conversation has gone on ten minutes longer than it should. Which, I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Jared kissed him on the neck, trying to get him backed up against the counter. “We’re not getting in a car and driving around until we magically hit the city we’re moving to. So I’m just going to make out with you until you tell me.”

  Lane was distracted by that for a minute, but he managed to push free of Jared’s hands on him and that got Jared’s attention immediately. “I can tell you’re into it, because you’re you, and you’re always into it. What’s going on? You can’t tell me where we’re going? Why?”

  “Because, J, if I say it,” Lane explained, very reasonably, “it won’t be real.” He handed over the contract, which he was still holding in a death grip. “Read it, and then maybe you can say it, and that’ll be okay.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me it was hockey superstition, idiot? I get that,” Jared muttered, grabbing the contract from him. He stared at it, and the smile he gave Lane was so bright it was nearly blinding. “Holy shit, Lane. Holy shit.”

  “Yeah,” Lane agreed. He pointed at the papers in Jared’s hand. “It says what I think it does. Right?”

  “Yup. I can’t believe we’re moving to Montreal,” Jared said, in a tone of fake reverence, referring to the city where the Leafs’ rival team, the Montreal Canadiens, played. “I don’t even know French.” He started laughing. “Dude, you should see your face right now. Priceless.”

  “It still snows in Tor—there,” Lane said, shaking his right hand, which had cramped up from how tightly he’d been holding that contract. “But there’s another thing? Umm. It’s a two-way contract. And the guy who was there said I’d be....” Lane put his face in his hands. “Probably on the ice with the Leafs a few times.”

  “That you’d what? Probably have lice with Steve on a futon? Ew.”

  Lane dropped his hands. “Be on the ice. With, umm. The team. Maybe just a game or two. But still.” Lane pointed again. “That team.”

  Jared was reading the contract like a hockey player, so that meant he was skimming it for the important parts. “This is amazing, Lane. Wow. Also, did you sign this? I don’t think you’re supposed to keep the original.”

  Ah. That must be why Lane’s phone kept ringing in his pants pocket. Oops.

  Jared set the contract down on the counter and then moved the plate of cheese toast he’d made for Lane away from it, like it wasn’t worthy. “You should say it. Come on. I saw it, so it’s real.”

  “Maybe we’re both delusional,” Lane suggested, reaching for the toast. Being delusional and shell-shocked didn’t mean he wasn’t hungry.

  “People who aren’t delusional don’t play a contact sport for a living.” Jared patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. “But I retired, so that means I’m sane, and you, Lane Courtnall, are going to play hockey for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

  “The Marlies. That’s where I’m going, to the Marlies.” Lane brightened. “I said that part. So I can probably say the other one here, in a minute.”

  “Maybe you need more cheese toast. But we’re out of bread.”

  “I bet it would work if you sucked me off,” Lane suggested. He was always hungry and horny. “It won’t take very long,” he promised.

  “Does it ever?” Jared rolled his eyes. “But okay. Yeah. I can do that. You want to look at that contract while I’m on my knees for you. Don’t you? Don’t lie.”

  Lane blinked and then grinned. He could probably say it now actually. I’m going to play for the Leafs. It wasn’t certain by a long shot, and it was possible he could get traded from the Marlies before he played, but Lane wasn’t thinking about that just then.

  He was thinking about Jared mouthing at his cock through his suit pants and how he should probably answer his phone and sign the contract. And yeah, okay. Speaking of the contract, maybe he was looking at that. At least until Jared put his mouth on him. And for the moment, that was all Lane wanted to see.

  Lane called his parents later that afternoon, and he realized it was time to put all that shit from the last year behind him. To ignore the sacrifices his parents made for him to get to that level was ungrateful, and he knew it. He didn’t want to be just as shortsighted as he was accusing his parents of being.

  It was also time to tell them about Jared. There was
no worry or anxiety about it, because Lane didn’t have any. If his parents did, they would need to work that out themselves.

  “Hey, Mom. Could you put dad on the phone too?”

  “Honey, I’m on my cell phone. This isn’t an episode of Full House. Also, your father is at work. It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

  Lane cleared his throat. “Oh. Right. I have some news.”

  For the first time in his life, Lane heard his mother shriek. It wasn’t all that loud, but it was still pretty respectable. “So, I’ll be headed back to Ontario in a few weeks.”

  “Lane, I don’t even know what to say,” his mother said, her voice shaking. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

  That made Lane smile. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you and dad.”

  “Stop that,” his mother chided him. “We didn’t do anything but nurture the talent you were given, Lane.”

  “And we’re Canadian,” Lane reminded her. “Hockey’s like religion and stuff.”

  His mom gave a small, quiet laugh. “And we’re Canadian. Your father might be at work, but I imagine the entire plant would want to hear about this. You should call him.”

  “I will, but mom? There’s something else I have to tell you.”

  “Of course, sweetie. Do you need your father and me to come get you? I’m sure you’ll want to say good-bye to your friends. Are any of them coming with you?” His mom sounded hopeful.

  “One of them is,” Lane said, and he could see Jared watching him from the couch while pretending he was playing a video game. “His name’s Jared Shore.”

  “The player from the Renegades who blocked your shot during the conference finals?”

  Hockey parents, man. “That’s him. Yeah.”

  “Oh my God. Did they just recognize me as the guy that ruined your shot?” Jared asked in a whisper. And when Lane refused to answer him, Jared took that for the answer it was and threw his arms up in the air in victory.

  “That’s the funny thing about rivals,” his mom said. “The next day they’ll end up on your team. That’s why you have to be nice to people, Lane.”

  Lane covered up a laugh with a cough. He was 1000 percent sure that by “be nice to,” his mom didn’t mean “sleep with.” “Yeah, but he’s not my teammate. He’s retired actually. He’s my boyfriend.”

  It was so easy to say it, and Lane felt stupid for not having done it sooner. Jared went back to pretending he wasn’t listening, and Lane’s mother was still quiet. But Lane just kept talking. Sometimes you had to rely on your strengths.

  “Zoe and I were never dating. She’s actually dating my teammate, Ryan. My roommate... or former roommate.” Ryan had, a few weeks before, moved in with Zoe. Lane wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but they seemed happy. Ryan confessed he’d slept on the couch a time or two, and Lane thought that was a pretty good sign.

  “The one with no manners?” His mother sounded disapproving.

  “He has manners,” Lane told her. “He’s from Toronto.”

  “Being Canadian does not mean you have manners, Lane.” His mother’s voice sounded weird, like she was crying again. Just not because she was happy that time.

  Lane waited for that to make him angry, but it didn’t. He was just sad that she couldn’t be happy for him about that, too. “I know, Mom.” He waited to see if she would say anything else, but she didn’t. “We’ve been together for the whole season, so it’s not new or anything. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have, but I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Lane,” his mother said quietly. Lane could hear her sniffling.

  “You have to admit I have great timing, though,” Lane told her, hoping to hear her laugh, at least a little. “I waited until I could tell you I was going to play for the Leafs to tell you that I was gay.”

  Silence. Lane sighed. “Still think I should call dad?”

  “Yes, of course,” she told him. There was something in her voice that gave Lane the slightest bit of hope. Which was ruined by her next words. “Maybe don’t tell him... all of your news.”

  “What, so he can be happy before he thinks I’m a failure?” Lane’s voice got a little snappy. He couldn’t help it. “How about this. You tell him. Okay? And if he wants to call me, he can. I love you. I love dad too. I’m sorry that loving Jared makes you disappointed in me, but I meant what I said about being grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Tell him that too.”

  After a few moments, Lane ended the call. He walked over, straddled Jared on the couch, and took the controller out of his hands. He put his head in the space between Jared’s neck and shoulder and breathed for a moment without saying anything.

  Jared put his arms around him. Lane could tell he was trying to get the controller to keep playing the game. He snorted a laugh against Jared’s neck. “I bet girls don’t do this.”

  “They would if they were about to beat the Red Wings on the medium-difficulty level.” Jared paused the game and then ran his hands up Lane’s side. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I’m going with you anyway.”

  “Yeah. I did. I had to do it for me.”

  “Oh, I see.” Jared nodded, fingers edging under Lane’s T-shirt to skim over his hips, thumbs rubbing at the indentations there. “You get it when it’s you. You do know why I’m using this heavily ironic tone of voice. Right?”

  Lane made a face. “I guess it’s kinda like when you retired or something.”

  “I would pinch you, Courtnall, but you don’t have any body fat.” Jared kissed him instead, and then bit him on the mouth.

  “I know. You’re going to be a hockey wife, or whatever. So you have to make sure I have food.” Lane bit him back. “I’m bringing in all the income. Or I will be. Maybe. Whatever. I liked that cheese toast. With sauce it would be just like pizza.”

  “Is everyone in Canada as weird as you?”

  Lane shrugged. “I don’t know. People thought I was weird in Canada too. Other Canadians, I mean.”

  “Mr. International,” Jared joked and started biting his neck. “Want to go fuck?”

  “Yes,” Lane said immediately. “Yes. I do. What about your game, though?”

  Jared looked over Lane’s shoulder at the game, which was on pause, and then back at Lane. “I guess you could be on my team, and we could finish them off and then go fuck,” he suggested.

  Lane didn’t think being gay was any kind of choice or decision he made, but if it was? Right then, he was pretty glad he’d made it.

  A few nights later, Lane sat up in bed and shook Jared’s shoulder. It was two in the morning, and they’d both been asleep. Or Jared had, because every time Lane drifted off, he thought about the contract and woke up again.

  The contract, which he’d signed, and very sheepishly brought back to his agent. He sent a copy home to his parents, whom he hadn’t heard from. Whenever he couldn’t believe it was real, he found the picture of the original contract on his phone and stared at it.

  That had been Jared’s idea. Jared was smart about things, and he was nice about indulging Lane’s idiosyncrasies. Like right then, he didn’t even punch Lane in the mouth when Lane woke him from a deep sleep and said, “J, hey. Wake up. I just thought of something.”

  “God help us all,” Jared muttered, blinking sleepily at him. “What is it? Also. Do you know what I just thought of? We need a bigger bed. This one is terrible. Why are we sleeping on it?”

  Lane’s bed was a full-size mattress that was barely big enough for him, but he wasn’t thinking about that. “No. That’s not what I’m thinking about.”

  “I know. It’s what I’m thinking about.”

  “Wait your turn.” Lane stared at him. Jared stared back.

  “Am I supposed to guess what occurred to you in the middle of the night, because I’m about 100 percent sure that’s impossible.”

  Lane ignored him. “We give magic presents, J,” he said.

  “Is that a code word for blowjobs?”


  “Huh? No,” Lane scowled. “That’s dumb. Why would we need a code word for blowjobs?”

  Jared groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. “I wish you could see the look on my face right now. And that’s not me saying ‘turn on the light, Lane’ either.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve seen it before. Your face and the look you get on it sometimes.” Lane shook his shoulder again. “But we do give magic presents.”

  “Are you asleep? Or a Smurf? I can’t even deal with you.”

  “Yes. You can.” Lane grabbed at the pillow, and Jared wouldn’t let him have it. There was a brief scuffle, and Lane half fell off the bed. “Maybe we do need a bigger bed.”

  Jared laughed. “Nice reference,” he said and then sighed very loudly. “You don’t get that. Do you?”

  “I’ve seen Jaws, moron. It just didn’t make any sense. There aren’t any sharks in here.”

  “You’re killing me, Courtnall.” Jared rolled over on his stomach. “Go back to sleep and dream about magic presents.”

  Lane hit him on the shoulder again. “Listen. I got you a book about Patrick Roy. Right? And you did that glove save thing, just like a goalie. And you get in fights like Roy. But that’s probably not because of a magic present.”

  “When I wake up tomorrow, I’m not going to believe that we had this conversation.”

  “And,” Lane continued, focused, “You gave me a Leafs hoodie. And where am I playing?”

  “Check that picture on your phone. Again,” Jared muttered, face pressed against the mattress. Lane had won the pillow battle.

  Which was good, because he could hit Jared with it. “The Leafs. I’m playing for the Leafs.”

  “Yes. And it only took you two days to say it.” Jared grabbed his wrist, but he made a noise and then said, “Wait. You’re right. Maybe we do give magic presents.”

  “That’s what I said. See?” Lane settled back down again. “We can go back to sleep now.”