Empty Net (27 page)

Laurent smiled down at the notes he’d gathered as he recognized Isaac’s warm, amused voice. “Not enough to recount the drawer, he doesn’t.”

Isaac appeared from around the shelf. His hair—still blue—was damp from his postcamp shower. He grinned. “Lies. Hi.”

“Hi.” Laurent held up the papers and the money from the drawer. “I have to put this in the office. Be right back.” He put the notes on Charlie’s desk and the money in the safe, turned off the lights, and made his way back. It was early fall, so the light from the afternoon sun shone through the dirty shop window. Laurent would clean it, but it was plastered with posters and flyers. Besides. He liked that the place wasn’t perfect and hardly ever appeared to have been dusted. If Charlie owned a vacuum, Laurent had never seen it. About the only thing they ever cleaned was the bathroom.

“How was your day?” Isaac asked him as he leaned against the counter and flipped through a comic. He’d never quite caught on to loving comic books as much as Laurent and Hux, but he was nice enough to listen when the two of them got going about them.

Matt Huxley was the closest thing—besides Isaac, of course—that Laurent had ever had to a best friend. Thinking of that made him grab the newest issue of
Demon Detective
and shove it in his messenger bag, along with his sketchbook. “It was fine. How was camp?”

“Ugh,” said Isaac, but cheerfully. “Our new goalie is a baby. As in he’s twenty or something. And he’s like, six feet taller than me.”

“Everyone is like six feet taller than you.”

Isaac flipped him off and pretended to scratch the side of his head. “And I forgot how much I hated conditioning drills. Or more specifically I forgot how much I hate
Misha
and conditioning drills. But I’m glad to be back. Missed you, though. How was class this morning?”

Laurent had enrolled in Wofford College and had just started his first semester. It was a bit overwhelming, and he still had problems relating to his classmates—who were so much younger in so many ways besides age—but it was going all right.

He was a business major with a studio art minor, and he hoped that, if he couldn’t take over Charlie’s Comics one day, he could start his own shop while he worked on his original comics. He’d received a scholarship, thanks to his artistic talent, and someone—he suspected it was Misha—was paying for his books and studio supplies. His job at the comic shop and Isaac’s meager salary meant they were broke all the time. But they were happy enough for it not to matter.

Laurent told Isaac about his finance class as he locked up the shop and they headed home. They were living together in the one-bedroom apartment that was across the hall from Laurent’s old studio apartment, where Hux was living since Murph and Erin got engaged.

Mrs. Bowen, still alive and kicking despite a bad fall that had put her in the hospital for a few weeks earlier in the summer, met them in the hallway with a plate. “Oh hello, boys,” she said with a warm smile. “I had some extra cookies.”

She always had extra cookies, because she made them for her “boys.” Laurent knew that Hux would get a plate of his own when he got back from practice. “Thanks, Mrs. Bowen.”

Despite Mrs. Bowen cooking for them and generally adopting the three of them as surrogate children, none of them had ever called her by her first name. Laurent wasn’t even sure what it was.

“You’re welcome,” she said, beaming. “Is that tall young man coming by anytime soon? He looks like he could use some macaroons.”

Only someone as old as Mrs. Bowen would call Misha Samarin young.

“We’re supposed to go to his house for dinner tomorrow night,” Isaac said, already munching on a cookie. He was always hungry. “We can take some if you want.”

“You’re a good boy, Jack.”

“Thanks,” Isaac said, and Laurent hid a grin behind a cookie of his own.

Their apartment was stuffy since they’d both been gone all day, and they went around in companionable silence and turned on ceiling fans and the three air-conditioning window units. Their apartment wasn’t much, and most of the furniture was secondhand. Unlike Laurent’s, now Hux’s, studio, it didn’t come furnished. But every time he looked around, Laurent couldn’t help the rush of simple happiness that it was his home.

And that the guy in the boxer briefs with no shirt and the lip ring was his boyfriend. If Laurent loved hockey the way he loved Isaac Drake, he’d have a stack of Vezina Trophies already. And while he didn’t mind watching Isaac—and giving him advice—while he was in goal, and already had season tickets to the Spitfires, not a single part of him missed playing.

But beneath it all he was sad when he watched his boyfriend and his friends on the ice—like he’d missed out on something pure and joyful. His father had hurt him in a lot of ways, but making hockey a punishment instead of a pleasure was one of the worst. Laurent was working with Liz on forgiveness, but he didn’t think he’d ever get to a point where he’d forgive Denis St. Savoy for that.

“What do you want for dinner?”

Always a loaded question. Laurent’s recovery was, for the most, progressing nicely. But he’d had a bit of a relapse right after starting school. The stress of being judged and found wanting made him creep off to the bathroom to throw up when Isaac was asleep. But Isaac had found him there afterward, miserable and shaking and convinced he’d ruined everything, and had just wrapped his arms around him and sat with him on the floor until Laurent felt better.

“That’s why they call it recovery,”
Liz told him. “Instead of recovered. It’s ongoing.”

That and Isaac’s assurance that he understood, was enough to keep Laurent from giving in to the urge to throw up when he felt stressed out. He hoped that one day the urge would go away entirely, and when he told Liz that, she was proud of him and reminded him that on his first visit, he said he didn’t want to stop. That was, in itself, a victory, and Laurent was proud of himself for it.

He learned not to think he deserved things that hurt him. Or he was learning, anyway. And without the stress of his father and hockey, with friends and a boyfriend, a job and a pursuit he generally enjoyed—with the possible exception of finance class—things were better than they’d ever been. He’d stood up to his father and taken control of his life, and it felt amazing.

“Pizza,” Laurent said confidently, in response to Isaac’s question about dinner.

“You got a coupon? We are so broke.” Isaac shook his head. “Professional athlete. Can’t afford to order pizza. Welcome to the ECHL.”

“We can. You just need to find the right coupon.” Laurent opened his laptop and navigated to a folder on the desktop. “I put them in here. Remember?”

“God. You’re such a dork,” Isaac said fondly as he walked over to kiss the back of Laurent’s neck. “Ooh. That one has a free side of chicken wings.”

“With the purchase of an extra-large pizza only,” Laurent pointed out. “See if Hux wants to go in on it.”

While Isaac went across the hall, Laurent sat on the couch and flipped on the television. Cable was included in their rent, because Mrs. Bowen had it, and she liked the package with the “movies from my day,” which happened to include the NHL Network.

On which there was a story about his father.

“Nominations for this year’s hockey Hall of Fame have been announced, and it looks as if former goaltender Denis St. Savoy’s name is not on the list. Earlier this year St. Savoy was banned from coaching in the NHL and its affiliate leagues after numerous allegations of blackmail, incentivizing players to cause injury to opponents, intense homophobia, and general misconduct. St. Savoy, a former goaltender for the Nordiques and the Rangers, allegedly paid one of his players to injure goaltender Isaac Drake of the Spartanburg Spitfires during a playoff series. It would appear that St. Savoy’s egregious ethical violations and lack of personal character could not be overlooked, and it doesn’t appear as if he’ll be considered any time in the near future.”

Laurent could tell that Isaac had come back into the room. He could feel Isaac’s presence behind him like a sentinel.

Laurent had heard not a word from his father since the day he left, and he never wanted to. Shortly after they returned from Asheville, Laurent hired a lawyer and contacted the authorities about a restraining order. Not that he’d needed either. His father was content to let him go, and that was the single nicest thing the man had ever done for him.

“He’s not getting into the Hall of Fame,” Laurent said, looking over his shoulder at Isaac. “Because he’s not good enough.”

“Goddamn right they’re not,” Isaac growled as he walked around to look at the television, arms crossed in front of Laurent, like he was the goal Isaac was protecting.

“You make a better door than a window, Drake.”

Isaac gave him a sheepish grin and stepped to the side.

The program finished the recap of the on-going scandal and moved on to the future of the Ravens. Isaac had declined to press charges against Tyler Simon, as long as the former player was banned from the league like Laurent’s father. Simon had issued a mumbled apology to Isaac, though clearly at the recommendation of his lawyer, and not in person. It was broadcast on television, and Isaac just made fun of the shirt Simon was wearing and changed the channel.

The next bit on the program was an interview with the new Ravens’ head coach, Troy Callahan. Callahan was not a fan of Laurent’s dad, and if anything, might hate him as much as Laurent. Callahan had been incredibly vocal about the situation since it all came to light in the spring, talked bluntly about playing with St. Savoy for the New York Rangers, and how Denis had been a reprehensible player and a thoroughly odious human being. The man certainly didn’t mince words.

He also wasn’t shy about coming out as gay either.

“I still think the Ravens hired him to look all queer-friendly,” Isaac said as the program mentioned how much trouble the Ravens were having selling season tickets. “Still wish Xavier had been traded, though.”

Instead of asking for a trade since he was free of St. Savoy’s blackmail, Xavier Matthews had become the Captain of the Ravens. Laurent wouldn’t want anything to do with that sinking ship if he were Xavier, but apparently the Ravens organization had hired a bunch of new staff, including a PR guy to come in and fix their image. That’s probably why they ended up with Callahan as a coach.

The program moved on the power rankings and predictions for the season that hadn’t started yet, and Laurent flipped the channel to one of Mrs. Bowen’s old movies. When she came home from the hospital, Laurent spent a lot of time with her because she couldn’t move around a lot. He ended up telling her everything about his father and his eating disorder, and that was probably why she was always bringing him cookies.

“Hux said he’ll be over for pizza, if that’s cool,” Isaac said and headed toward the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Sure.” Laurent rifled through his bag and pulled the comic book out so he’d remember to give it to Hux. He took out his sketchbook and pointedly ignored his finance text, choosing instead to grab a graphite pencil and his kneaded eraser. Thinking about Isaac as a sentinel had given him the urge to mess around with his current original comic project. It featured a tough, five-foot-eight, blue-haired warrior angel who saved the soul of a cursed man from being tormented for eternity by the devil.

Not very subtle, but Isaac sure as hell looked hot with wings.

IF YOU
or someone you know are struggling with an eating disorder, please know that there are resources available to help you and that you do not have to go through this alone. The National Eating Disorder Association has a website full of resources, including a hotline and other emergency contact information, at http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/.

If you are in need of immediate assistance, you can call the Recovery Connection and receive confidential help 24/7 at 1- 800-993-3869.

A Scoring Chances Novel

Drafted to play for the Jacksonville Sea Storm, an NHL affiliate, twenty-year-old Lane Courtnall’s future looks bright, apart from the awkwardness he feels as a gay man playing on a minor league hockey team. He’s put his foot in his mouth a few times and alienated his teammates. Then, during a rivalry game, Lane throws off his gloves against Jared Shore, enforcer for the Savannah Renegades. It’s a strange way to begin a relationship.

Jared’s been playing minor league hockey for most of his career. He’s bisexual and doesn’t care if anyone knows. But he’s determined to avoid another love affair after the last one left him devastated. Out of nowhere a one-nighter with rookie Lane Courtnall gives him second thoughts. Lane reminds Jared why he loves the game and why love might be worth the risk. In turn, Jared hopes to show Lane how to be comfortable with himself on and off the ice. But they’re at different points in their careers, and both men will have to decide what they value most.