Home and Away (22 page)

Callum hitched Oliver higher on his hip. “And you were worried about what you smell like.”

“Shut up,” Rupert said, “Nobody wants to rent to someone who’s going to contaminate their space with body odor.”

Callum laughed. “Alexei and Mike are hockey players. Body odor is probably a comfort to them. I promise you, if Yankee Candle had a
Soothing Scent for Hockey Players,
it would smell like old, used socks and sweaty jock straps. Seriously, have you
been
in the locker room?”

Rupert tried to smile, but he could feel the heat working its way into his cheeks, his shame burning him from the inside out.

Because the answer was no.

The manager of the Ice Cats was afraid of setting foot in his own team’s changing space, even when the team wasn’t in it.

Callum put a hand on his arm. “Hey, I was just kidding.”

“I know,” Rupert said, then made the terrible mistake of looking into Callum’s concerned eyes as his arm curled protectively around Rupert. “But you know I’m not...I hate the locker room. Any locker room. That’s where they—”

“
Rupert,
” Callum whispered, pulling him closer.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I need to learn to shut my mouth. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not unreasonable to expect, given my current position, that I would be well acquainted with the locker room. It’s my own fault. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll go check it out. See if I, too, find the smell of sweat and feet as calming as you apparently do.”

Callum smiled. “I’ll come with you.”

Oliver’s hand landed on Rupert’s cheek. “Me, too.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” Rupert said.

Callum’s smile faltered, but he didn’t look away. “You’re welcome.”

“Can we see Alexei now?” asked Oliver, his patience with old people acting weird having dried up.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Callum said, looking around with a frown. “And I’m telling you both right now, I will kill Alexei if this was all some joke.”

Rupert shook his head. He’d lived in constant fear of Alexei Belov’s infamous pranks when he’d first come to Moncton, but the man he’d come to know, the friend who doted on Oliver and made a point of harassing Rupert, wasn’t cruel.

“Are we supposed to wait here, do you suppose?” Rupert asked.

“Oh. No, his email said we should to take the elevator to the fourth floor.” Callum cast a dubious look at the lift in question. “Do you think we’re supposed to bring the car with us?”

Because it
would
possibly fit.

It took them a few moments to figure out how to close the doors and get the thing moving, but eventually they were headed upwards at a slow rattle and sway. Callum got paler with every floor, smiling weakly when Rupert threaded their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze. Rupert wondered if he had a thing about small spaces, but then again, this elevator was only a few square feet smaller than Rupert’s office, and was at least twice the size of the janitorial closet Callum had dragged him into just yesterday to steal a kiss.

They came to a juddering stop, and Callum practically threw Oliver into Rupert’s arms. Years of being forced to train with a partner for potential pairs skating
finally
came in handy. Callum had the doors open in three seconds flat, revealing a hallway so luxurious, Rupert felt like they’d gone down the rabbit hole.

The walls were dark teal, the crown molding, baseboards, trim, and chair rail a pleasantly contrasting cream, the carpet a dark pattern of colors with just a hint of the teal picked out within it.

Mike and Alexei stood proudly before a dark wood door with a discrete brass
2
on it. At the other end of the hall was a second door with a
1.

“The garage definitely sells the place short,” Rupert observed.

“You should see the other floors,” Alexei said. “They’re just a mess of demolished materials and bare bulbs right now, but we have addressed anything dangerous, and the rats are definitely gone for good.”

Mike gave his boyfriend a bone-dry look. “You’re no longer in charge of marketing.”

Alexei grinned and sent Rupert a wink. “Well, we don’t want just anyone to move in here, do we?”

“I should hope not,” Rupert agreed with a grin.

“Ready to see it?” Mike asked, and received three ardent nods in return. He threw open the door and stepped inside, running his hands over the glossy wood. “We just installed this for you. We’d been putting it off until the very end.”

“Congratulations, then, on the project being done. I’m sure I will—”

Whatever Rupert had been about to say flew out of his mind when he stepped into the apartment. He tried to look at everything at once. The dark cherry cabinets and warm brown granite in the kitchen, the rich red walls and mahogany floors in the open living and dining rooms beyond. From the door, you could see out the massive windows to the river and the countryside beyond, and down a long hallway lined with doors to another window and the city below.

“Holy shit,” muttered Callum behind him.

Oliver giggled, but no one bothered to correct Callum’s language.

“Do you like it?” Mike asked with a hint of insecurity.

“I love it,” Rupert assured him. “It’s gorgeous.”

Mike looked pleased, smiling at Alexei, who threw his arm around Mike’s shoulder.

“The bedrooms and full bath are down there,” Alexei said, gesturing at the hallway. The half bath is here.” He opened the door off the foyer. “The ceilings in the bedrooms are a more standard ten feet, with a large crawl-space above for storage, all of which will keep noise from traveling out here and between bedrooms.”

Rupert didn’t think anything of that factoid until Mike blushed. Rupert smirked. “Very considerate. Thank you.”

Alexei went on with the tour, opening doors and pointing out features. Oliver was utterly delighted with his new, bright yellow room, as was Rupert with his dark blue office and warm gray master bedroom.

“The colors are lovely,” Rupert said.

Mike shrugged, almost shy. “I chose them with you in mind. If you don’t like any of them, we can change them this week.”

Rupert hardly knew what to say. “No, I—they’re perfect. Thank you.”

Mike shrugged again, but now he looked pleased, and Alexei was beaming at Rupert. Was it only a month ago Rupert had been prepared at all times for Alexei to drown him in muscle cream or shave off his eyebrows?

“So, when can we move in? And what do you need from me?”

From there it was fairly simple. A check, some paperwork, their detailed list of ways they had made sure the property was safe for Oliver—including finishing the fire stairs and replacing the emergency exit doors so that he could open them easily. Rupert was honestly touched by the amount of care they’d put into making this place a good home for them.

“So, it’s ready any time,” Mike said.

“Great,” Callum said. “How about we move in as soon as I get back from my trip?”

We
? Rupert kept his face carefully neutral. Obviously, he’d hoped Callum would move out of the hotel with them, but he hadn’t known how to broach the subject. He also didn’t think Callum realized just how
obvious
he was being, given the expressions on Mike and Alexei’s faces. But then, maybe Callum thought they could set up a guest room for him. Rupert cataloged his belongings and decided he could buy what was needed if that was the case.

“That sounds great,” Rupert said.

And so it was settled. Which was all well and good in theory, but left Rupert little more than five days to get all his belongings from a storage unit in Nova Scotia to Moncton. He reached for his phone without thinking, pulling up his list application and starting a new one.

He paused halfway through to laugh at himself.

He was getting better at being flexible, but he wasn’t cured yet. If Callum’s fond smile was any indication, his obsessive list-making wasn’t entirely a bad thing. At least it gave Callum something else to tease him about.

Callum stared blindly at the in-flight magazine and counted down the minutes until his arrival in Las Vegas. The return to his “real” life made him think, a lot, about the last couple months.

Kissing had been a revelation. The way it made his heart speed up, how good it felt to hold Rupert close, to press their bodies together and hold on for the ride. In his weaker moments, when he’d lain awake at night alone in his bed in Denver, pining like a teenage girl, he’d hoped it would be like that. The real thing was better than the imagined, by far, but he’d
hoped
, anyway.

The blow job, on the other hand, had changed everything. Changed Callum.

He’d been nervous, and objectively terrible at it, but he’d wanted to do it. Like,
a lot
. And he wanted to do it again. Callum had been sure that giving oral sex was something he’d do because it was his turn or he had some favor to repay. He’d been even more certain that he’d never want someone to come on his face, and,
wow
, he had been wrong about that.

How had he never figured out how hot
filthy
could be?

He’d had men ask for that, kneeling beneath him on some probably disgusting bathroom floor, and when he’d done it, he’d always felt worse after. All his sexual encounters before Rupert had left him feeling hollow, the release of tension gratifying, but also leaving a hole in him he couldn’t fill. He’d gone longer and farther between those nights, sneaking out of a hotel in a city where he was sure no one would recognize him. Tampa Bay, Phoenix, Dallas. Hell, most of Dallas didn’t know they had a hockey team, let alone what anyone else’s looked like.

He’d waited almost a year before he went out that last time. And now it had been four years since then.

Callum shut his eyes and shuddered, forcing himself not to go back to that club. To remember anything that happened that night. Not that he could forget, but nothing good came of dwelling on it.

He shoved the magazine back into the seat pocket in front of him. The stranger in the seat next to him glanced over but clearly had no idea who he was, except for some nut that couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to read about the miracle of Antigua’s beaches.

Callum relaxed and tried to clear his mind. They were about to begin their decent into McCarran, where he would be greeted by whatever driver the league had sent, the one-hundred-and-two degree weather—who cared that it was a dry heat when it was that freaking hot?—and possibly some fans hanging around the airport hoping to catch the arriving players without the big crowds of the award show.

He should be looking forward to it, but he’d gladly ditch the tuxedo and the red carpet and the television cameras to stand by the Université rink, holding Oliver’s hand, and watching Rupert and Christian.

Rupert stood in the middle of the perfectly clean, just-Zambonied sheet of ice and took deep, measured breaths. He was waiting for Christian, who’d asked to meet him for an extra training session today since school was finally out for the summer. Five minutes ago, Christian had run into the arena and straight to the locker room. A moment later, his father had charged in after him.

There were several other people in the locker room with them, Rupert knew, having watched the charming and aromatic Université intermural summer hockey team leave the ice. A few of those men had looked at him askance, but most were perfectly pleasant, one even joking that he’d tried figure skates once and had toe-picked himself into a broken nose. His buddies had cracked up at that, but none had given him a hard time about anything other than his clumsiness.

John would be forced to behave in their presence. Wouldn’t he?

Rupert hesitated a moment longer, furious with himself, then took off for the door to the tunnel. He was just stepping off the ice when several of the hockey players came out of the locker room, grim expressions on their faces.

The man with the toe-pick issues caught Rupert’s eye. “Do you know the kid in there?”

Rupert’s stomach knotted. “Yes.”

“You should go help him out. His old man is a piece of work,” another of the men said.

Rupert froze. He wanted to run for help. To beg these strangers to go back in there with him. He yanked his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.

“Da?” Alexei barked almost immediately. He, Mike, and Oliver were off getting ice cream at a creamery they’d heard about outside of town.

Rupert hadn’t really thought this through. What the hell was he going to say to Alexei?

“Rupert?” Alexei said. “Are you okay?”

“Christian’s father is here,” he said stupidly, as if that explained his bizarre behavior. Or excused him delaying going into the locker room.

“Shit,” Alexei said vehemently. “Do you need us to come?”

“No,” Rupert said firmly as he started toward the locker room. He’d like to think he was charging right in, but with his skates on, it was more of a tromp. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I’ll let you know when we’re done here,” he said, confirming their original plan, then hung up.

His phone rang the moment he shoved it into his pocket, but by then he was pushing open the door and being assailed by John’s furious shouting.

“You will
respect
me, Christian Michael Shaw! I said no, and I meant it. You will not sneak off alone to meet up with some faggot. God knows what he wants to do to you.”

Rupert very nearly threw up, swaying as the blood left his head in a rush. A hand gripped his arm and he turned to see a stranger looking at him with alarm. Several others around them had expression of horror and disgust. One man slung his bag over his shoulder and charged out of the room, his complexion gone white.

“Don’t say shit like that, Dad!” Christian yelled, his twelve-year-old voice cracking painfully. “Rupert is just being nice. He just wants to help me.”

“What, you call him Rupert now? What happened to
Mr. Smythe
?”

“That’s his name, Dad. What’s wrong with that?”

“You have no idea what he could do to you.”

“Why do you think like that?” Christian cried, and Rupert ached at the grief in his voice. “He’s not a pervert!
You’re
the pervert, Dad, thinking all that awful stuff.”

“We’re leaving,” John snapped a moment before Christian let out a pained squeak.

“No!” Christian shouted.

Rupert flew down the row of lockers and around the corner. John immediately released Christian and the boy stumbled away from his father. Rupert caught him and set him on his skates again, then curled his hands into fists to keep them from encircling John’s neck.

“Mr. Shaw,” he said furiously, refusing to quail in the face of such blazing bigotry and hatred, “how dare you accuse me of—of—
you are disgusting
. Do you honestly believe that I’m some kind of monster because I…what? Figure skate? What the bloody hell is the matter with you?” Rupert shouted, his own voice echoing back to him.

Christian was looking between his father and Rupert with wide, terrified eyes.

“No,” John sneered, “I think you’re
gay
.”

“Which means what, exactly, in your feeble little brain? Because last I checked, that means I am attracted to men. Not boys, not
children,
for the love of god. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you live under a rock?”

Christian made a choking sound, then tried to insert himself between his father and Rupert. Rupert gently pushed him back, stepping forward to ensure Christian stayed safely behind him.

“You are not going to lead my son astray.”

“You’re right. I’m not. I’m going to teach him to bloody figure skate, which is what he wants to do. There is nothing nefarious about any of it, you fucking idiot.”

The rational part of Rupert’s brain, which clearly was not in control at the moment, reminded him that continuously insulting the man was probably counterproductive. Damned if Rupert could give a shit.

“We’re going, Christian,” John snarled, reaching for the boy.

Rupert shoved his hand away. “No, you are not. I already saw you mishandling him. I’m not going to let you forcibly drag him out of here.”

“He’s my son!” John roared.

“Yes, he is. And, sadly, I cannot change that. But until you calm down, so that I can be certain you will not harm him, I think he should stay here.”

“You have no right!” he bellowed, and Rupert feared he was right, legally speaking. “I’m his father!”

“
You
,” Rupert said very clearly, “are a
monster
.”

Rupert didn’t know what he expected, but the punch to his face was hardly surprising, in hindsight. He staggered back until he bounced off the lockers, blinking against the pain searing through his nose to his entire face.

“
Dad
!” Christian shouted. He tried to put himself in front of Rupert, but Rupert stayed him with an arm across his chest.

From there, things devolved quickly into chaos.

John lunged toward Rupert again, but was stopped by the arrival of the remaining members of the intermural hockey team. It took two of them to hold him back. He howled horrible curses and slurs, the hockey players cursing back, begging him to shut his mouth as they attempted to drag him away. Rupert could hardly breathe, his courage deserting him as collapsed against the lockers and held onto Christian, who was curled in on himself and pressed into Rupert’s side.

Shouting came from the corridor, then the man who’d fled the room earlier charged into the room with a man Rupert recognized as the rink manager.
“Get out!”

John tore himself free of the men holding him and Christian attempted to wedge himself behind Rupert, shuddering while his father stormed out of the room.

For a good minute, no one spoke. Rupert couldn’t stop blinking, tears flowing down his face, the taste of blood strong in his mouth and throat.

He gently pried Christian out from behind him. “He’s gone,” Rupert whispered, appalled when bright red flecks appeared on Christian’s white shirt.

“Jesus,” one of the men muttered, passing Rupert a towel from his own bag. Rupert accepted it gratefully, stoically refusing to wonder where, exactly, it had been rubbed in order to acquire its distinct odor. He pressed it to his nose, and it immediately turned bright red.

Rupert looked down at his shirt and the even larger stain there, and swayed on his skates. That was
a lot
of blood.

Someone, and he worried it might have been poor Christian, helped him to sit on a bench. Someone else offered some ice, in a brand-new bag, which was heavenly against his poor face. It was cool and it didn’t smell at all of testicle sweat.

He sat and tried to stem the bleeding. He startled when door to the locker room burst open.

“Rupert!”

“Jack?”

Jack flew around the corner and stuttered to a halt. “Holy smokes!”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Rupert said, wincing at his nasally voice.

“Really?” Jack asked with extreme dubiousness.

Rupert shrugged. Then winced. Perhaps he could save that argument for another time. “How on earth did you find me?” Rupert asked instead.

“Are you kidding? They were talking about you in the parking lot!”

“I mean,” Rupert said patiently, sort of, “what are you
doing
here?”

“Alexei called me and told me to come. He sounded freaked out, shouting about rushing and how I was closer.” Jack eyed Rupert’s face. “I accused him of over-reacting. My bad. Guess I owe him a beer.”

“I could use one, too,” Rupert muttered.

A great sigh from beside him on the bench made him wince. He turned to Christian. “Jack, this is Christian Shaw. I’ve been coaching him a little. Christian, this is my friend, Jack Chevalier.”

Jack thrust out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Christian.”

Christian kept his hands and his gaze buried in his lap. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled.

Rupert prodded Christian with his elbow. “Come on, now. Manners,” he scolded gently.

Christian straightened, lifting his gaze to see Jack. Rupert almost felt sorry for the boy when all he could do was gape for a moment. Jack smiled encouragingly and held out his hand once more.

Christian shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chevalier.”

“Jack, please. Call me Jack,” he offered.

Christian smiled widely, then looked over at Rupert and his face fell. “Oh god. I’m really sorry, Rupert.”

“Bah, Christian. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was my dad!”

Jack’s eyebrows, which had already been steadily climbing, shot way up. Before he could comment, though, the locker room door burst open again.

“Rupert!” Alexei bellowed loud enough to be heard for twenty miles. Honestly.

“I’m here,” Rupert called back. “Be warned though—” Alexei and Mike barreled around the corner with Oliver in Mike’s arms “—I look a little rough,” Rupert finished lamely. So much for warning Oliver.

“Rupert!” Oliver dove forward, but Mike caught him before he landed on Rupert, holding him mid-air. “Easy, Oliver. You don’t want Rupert to get hit in the face.”

“Again,” Jack added helpfully.

“What happened?” Alexei asked.

Christian shot to his feet. “I should go.”

Four men shouted “No!” at once. Christian sat again, his shoulders slumped.

Rupert put the ice pack down on the bench and shot a quelling frown at Jack when he hissed upon seeing Rupert’s face. “Christian, let’s get started. Once we’re done, perhaps it would be best if Mike and Alexei took you home. I don’t think your father wants to see me again today.”

Christian looked sick with worry as he studied Rupert’s face. “Are you sure we should practice today?”

“Yes, yes,” Rupert said bracingly. “I’ll be fine. Go along.”

When Rupert nudged him, he hesitated before letting out another long sigh and going toward the door.

“Go ahead and get warmed up. I’ll be right behind you!”

Callum stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of the Bellagio hotel, craning his neck to catch sight of Michaela. He knew she was somewhere nearby, since her bags were already in her bedroom of the suite and they were meant to meet for lunch. Often she liked to go unnoticed, dressing down and wearing the huge sunglasses that he joked made her look like Jackie O. Other times, like today, apparently, she need only stand still and smile, and the world would slowly shift to rotate around her.