Home and Away (33 page)

Rupert swallowed hard. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We knew you’d have to go back soon.”

Callum turned to look at Rupert. “Yeah, but I didn’t, I don’t—”

Rupert shushed Callum with a brush of their lips. “I know.”

“But the boys. They won’t understand.”

“They’ll understand fine, because we will explain it to them. You still want to be in their lives, don’t you?” Rupert thought he knew the answer, had been so sure, but he still held his breath for the second it took Callum to swallow and answer, his voice a raspy whisper.

“Yes. Of course. But only if you—”

“Do not insult either of us by finishing that sentence.”

“Okay,” Callum agreed, as meek as Rupert had ever seen him. “Thank you.”

Rupert brushed their lips again. “We’ll figure it out.”

Callum deflated in his arms. “I can’t—we can’t keep doing this. It wouldn’t be fair to you. And in Denver, the press…it’s not just my reputation at stake.” He scrubbed an angry hand through his hair. “God, I’m so stupid. The press would go nuts if they ever found out. And then you, the boys, Michaela would all get dragged through—god, I don’t even know what. I can’t—”

“Shhh…” Rupert murmured. He quashed the anger, a perfectly reasonable attempt to protect himself from what the coming, and focused on the tiny ember of joy that Callum so clearly wanted more, wanted Rupert beyond the intransigent deadline of the end of summer. That was more than Rupert had ever allowed himself to hope for, even if it was of little comfort now.

“I’m so sorry,” Callum said again, his voice thick with the tears.

Rupert brushed their lips together again and gave Callum the only thing he had left to give. Acceptance.

“I understand.”

All the air left Rupert’s lungs with the force of Callum’s embrace, and he held on just as tightly, running a hand through Callum’s hair, over and over, unable to soothe either of them.

“I’m going to bed,” Christian announced from the hallway, his voice soft. Rupert turned his head to look at his newest charge and smiled gratefully. He wasn’t sure what Christian had overheard, or that Callum had heard Christian at all. He’d sort that out in the morning. He’d have to talk to both boys about Callum going away.

Once the door to Christian’s room clicked shut, Rupert towed Callum toward their bedroom, shutting off lights as they went. It was too early for bed, normally, but every minute was suddenly precious. More so than ever, and Rupert had come to treasure the last two months more than any others. Time spent with the boys had been some of the very best of his life, but right now, he only wanted time with Callum.

Callum would still be in their lives, of course. He owned the Ice Cats. He loved the boys. There was the phone and Skype and Facetime and email and all the other wonders of technology to allow him to be part of their lives. To love and support them.

But this, Rupert thought as he carefully tugged the clothes from Callum’s body, was only now. Just a few more achingly short days and it would be done. Then they could go on as friends. As family, even. But Rupert would not ask for Callum’s love. Or his fidelity. Callum had only just figured out who he was, who he
really
was, and Rupert would not try to keep that all for himself. Not from two thousand miles away.

Rupert wouldn’t ask, but he knew, in his heart, he would accept it if it was offered. It hadn’t been, though, and that was okay. Somehow, he’d make it okay. For everyone.

 He guided a docile Callum onto the bed and spread him out across the soft linens. He took his time, looked his fill, touched every inch of a body that had become as familiar to him as his own, and even more beloved. He kissed all the spots he knew made Callum sigh. When the tension vibrating from Callum’s muscles finally eased, Rupert moved on to kissing the parts that made him twitch. That made him groan and grasp and writhe against the bed.

Rupert tasted salt, musk, and sweat. Licked smooth skin and scars. Rolled Callum across the bed, until there wasn’t a spot on Callum left untouched. Then Rupert made love to Callum like he’d ached to do since he’d answered that damn call. Since Callum had protected Christian from that horrible bully in his troop. Since they’d gone to London and Callum had coaxed Oliver into his arms.

Callum stared up at him as they moved together, his eyes open, a wealth of emotions Rupert couldn’t sort out, there for him to see. Except the sadness. That he could pick out just fine, so he leaned forward and urged Callum up, sealing their lips together as their rhythm shifted, heartrates quickening. Callum’s hands dug into Rupert’s scalp, his hip. His huge goalie thighs around Rupert’s ribs squeezing him tight, pulling him closer as he went over the edge, gasping into Rupert’s mouth.

Rupert jumped with him, his heart and head soaring, even knowing that perhaps not this time, maybe not even the next time, but
soon
it would be his last trip to these particular heights, and there was no way in hell he was going to stick the landing.

Callum stood in the Moncton Airport, his carry-on bag on his shoulder, his gear bag and suitcases already being loaded on the plane. His brain screaming at him to turn around. To walk back out the door and get a new rental car, or just walk and walk and walk until he was home.

No. Not home. Home was Denver. He
knew
that. He’d always known that, since the moment he’d shown up in Moncton with no notice and less of a plan for how he was going to spend his summer.

He’d known it when he’d kissed Rupert. When he’d given his first blow job and lost his virginity in any way that mattered. And he’d known it would suck to leave.

So that was where he was. The suckage. A little early, but just as expected.

Shaking his head, he forced himself through security and to the gate.

Saying goodbye to Jack and Mike and Alexei had been hard. They’d swapped numbers and emails and promised to be in touch, but it hadn’t made hugging them goodbye any easier. It hadn’t made letting go any less painful.

The kids had actually been less traumatic, but, then, he’d see them again in two weeks. Mary Morrison wasn’t about to rescind her invitation to the end of summer Morrison gathering, and neither was Callum—and not just because he was terrified of his mother’s wrath. Which he was.

Rupert had offered to back out, to call Callum’s mother and explain they couldn’t make it, but Callum had stopped him with a kiss and little in the way of explanation. He didn’t really have one. He just knew he wanted them there. He selfishly wanted, no,
needed
a couple more days with the boys.

With Rupert.

He’d been saying goodbye to Rupert since he’d gotten the call that his coaches wanted him back early, pulling him away from…

Well, everything.

Callum didn’t have words for Rupert. He wished he did, but every time he’d opened his mouth, he’d been left mute. Dumb, in more ways than one. So, he’d tried to say goodbye with actions. There wasn’t a moment they’d been together over the past few days when Callum hadn’t been touching Rupert in some way. His hand. His back. Spooned around him in bed all night, pressing as close as he could get. He thought Rupert might have understood. Anyone else in their right mind would have told Callum to fuck off. To leave him alone, or at the very least give him some space.

Instead, Rupert had kissed him any time they were alone. Stripped them both behind any closed doors. Held him close and fucked him thoroughly, repeatedly. Hard and fast or slow and gentle, he had told Callum goodbye all the ways Callum tried to say it back. Without the words. Not even the one Callum promised himself he wasn’t dying a little to hear again.

Rupert said a lot of things, but he didn’t say
that
word again.

Which was fair, even if it ate at him not to hear it.

The flight was uneventful, the change of planes in Toronto the same. Callum barely remembered any of it, somehow surprised to find himself standing in the middle of his living room in Denver, staring out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and over the entire city.

His bags were piled around his feet, the faint stench of his gear reaching him over the astringent smell left by his cleaning service working for two months with no one to make a mess between visits. His massive entertainment center was exactly as he’d left it, framed jerseys still on the wall, a shelf of pucks and pictures of his family prominently placed.

This had been his home for a long time. His safe haven when everyone outside these walls made demands and set expectations that he worked so fucking hard to meet.

It wasn’t, he realized with a sinking heart, his home any longer. He had no idea how to fix that. How to fix any of it.

Sometime later, he heard the door lock snap open and blinked against the setting sun coming in through the windows.

Only one person had a key to his place, aside from the cleaning crew that wouldn’t be here at this hour, so he didn’t worry about his guest. Or mind the intrusion.

He kept watching the sun set, glancing over when Michaela stepped up next him. He smiled, briefly, then looked out the window again, perfectly aware that she had the identical view three floors down and wasn’t here to brood with him.

Michaela didn’t watch the sunset, in any case. She watched Callum.

He stoutly refused to ask “
what?”
like a brat. He knew, anyway.

It was almost full dark when Michaela threaded her fingers through his and sighed. “How long have you been standing here?”

He looked at the clock. “Three hours,” he answered, which explained his aching hips and knees.

“Three hours,” Michaela repeated with a slow nod, as if confirming what she’d already known. Her hand stroked the back of his.

He wished, now, that he’d called her. That he’d spent more time this summer telling her what the fuck he’d been up to and less trying to hoard it all to himself, creating a perfect fantasy of everything he wanted and couldn’t have.

Maybe she could have helped him figure out what he was doing. What he’d done wrong. Because none of it had felt wrong at the time, even if he’d known it wasn’t something he could keep. But now. Now
everything
felt wrong.

“Callum?” Michaela said gently, and he could hear the worry in her voice. Feel it in the way she soothed and petted him gently. “What exactly did you
do
this summer?”

Callum sighed, because he’d known going in what he was supposed to be doing. And when things had changed, when Oliver had clung to him, and Rupert had kissed him, and Christian had challenged everything he’d told himself he’d had to do over the past decade, he’d thought he’d known what was happening. He’d been sure he’d understood what his role was, where his limitations lay. And maybe those hadn’t changed.

But it wasn’t until he’d stood in his own living room in the wrong damn city, state,
country
, that he actually figured out the answer to the question of what he’d done that summer.

“I fell in love.”

Rupert was getting mightily sick of everyone around him treating him like he was fragile. He was
not
fragile. He was tough. Fierce. He was completely capable of containing himself in all the ways necessary so that should he feel the need to cry, he did so in the privacy of the master bathroom after the children had gone to bed.

And he felt fucking manful about that, thank you very much.

He stood by as Alexei and Mike took over his kitchen for the third time in as many nights, insisting that they wanted to try another new recipe on Rupert and the boys. Interestingly, this need for culinary guinea pigs had only sprung up the day Callum had left for Denver. And Rupert couldn’t imagine why two men were in the habit of making three times more food than needed and filling Rupert’s fridge with it. What did they think would happen? Rupert would have a nervous breakdown and be unable to care for his own children?

The thought was infuriating. And Rupert would have been really pissed off about it, if only he could get over the desire to hug them and thank them and beg them to keep coming around as much and as often as they wished.

Rupert didn’t do that, though, because then he might not be manful enough to hold out for his bathroom later.

A knock on the door distracted him from that lowering thought and he went to answer it. He wasn’t surprised to find Jack standing in the hall with a six-pack of beer, another of cream soda, a massive binder under his arm, and a smile on his face.

“You know we couldn’t get Garrick to leave Boston even if we drugged him, tied him up, and drove him across the border hidden in the bed of my truck, right?” he asked as he slung the massive pile of papers down on the kitchen island.

Rupert laughed. “You’ve obviously given this strategy some thought. And yes, I know.”

“So, are you taking over?” Jack asked.

“What’s this?” Alexei asked, pointing at the binder with one hand and slapping Jack’s creeping fingers away from the pile of chopped peppers with the other.

Rupert flipped open the cover, revealing the project plan on top. “The construction project. Garrick was running it, then Callum took over. Now, it seems, it will fall to me until we can hire someone, I suppose.”

Alexei leaned over for a closer look. “Can you do all this while you’re managing the team?”

Rupert shrugged, because what choice did they have? He was saved from answering by the doorbell.

Who could possibly be coming over to coddle him and spoil his children now?

Reese, of course.

“Can I come in?” Reese asked in a dry voice while Rupert poked his head into the hallway to look for Hodges or Matilda.

“Yes, yes, of course. Come in,” Rupert said, throwing the door wide. He checked the hallway again before closing it.

“I’m
alone
,” Reese informed him, indignant.

“You were in Nova Scotia at lunch time. I know you were. We spoke on the phone. Did you drive yourself here?”

Reese rolled his eyes, which was fair. It
was
a stupid question. Reese hadn’t driven once in the five years since he’d been run off the road by some lunatic. “Hodges brought me,” he admitted snippily.

Rupert nodded. “Okay. Sorry. You know I worry.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one,” Reese said with a self-deprecating smile and a meaningful glance at the men in Rupert’s kitchen.

Rupert smiled, then let out a loud
oof
as Reese yanked him hard against his chest.

“This hug thing still working?” asked Reese, holding tight.

Rather too well, in fact. Rupert allowed himself to wallow for a moment, letting Reese comfort him while reminding himself it would not do to let the kids see how upset he was. It was only their faces peering over the couch that held him in check.

“Rupert!” Alexei bellowed.

Rupert and Reese jumped apart.

“Yes, Alexei?” Rupert asked at an appropriate volume for speaking indoors.

“Mike and I can do this,” Alexei announced, gesturing at the counter.

“Supper?” Rupert asked, confused. Wasn’t that why they were there?

“No, the construction project. Mike and I can manage that.”

Rupert honestly didn’t know what to say to such a generous offer. But unlike Garrick and Callum, Mike and Alexei didn’t own any part of the arena or the team.

Reese, as usual, dove right in at the brass tacks. “How would we pay you?”

Mike shrugged. “Hire Belvedoro to do it. Then you don’t have to worry about it messing with our hockey contracts. You just pay the company like you would any other contractor and Alexei and I can sort it out on our end.”

“You’ll sort it out, you mean,” Alexei said with a warm smile. “I suck at the books.”

“Yeah, you do.” Mike bent down to peck Alexei’s lips then turned back to Reese. “The project is supposed to be done before the season starts, right?”

Reese smiled. “It damn well better be.”

Mike and Alexei grinned back, obviously looking forward to the challenge. Rupert tried not to take it personally that Jack looked so relieved.

Dinner was a raucous affair, as per usual with Alexei involved. There was more than enough food to go around and
still
have leftovers, and, for a little while, Rupert’s friends stopped looking at him like he was going to shatter into a million pieces.

Rupert just wished he didn’t still feel that way.

His only solution was to focus on doing what needed to be done, for the team and for his boys. He was rather proud of how well the past three days had gone, with him juggling the logistics of having two children with wildly different needs and schedules, plus his own. He’d learned a lot from Callum, and no lesson was more important than there being no shame in asking for help.

Rupert looked around the table, smiling fondly at the odd collection of men laughing and teasing each other, cajoling Oliver to eat and asking Christian about his training. Reese caught his eye and grinned, and Rupert knew Reese understood.

There was nothing more important than family, whether chosen or born. Something else his time with Callum had taught him. How long would it be before it stopped feeling like such a big part of his family was missing?

Clearly, the men around him were determined to fill that role as much and as often as Rupert would allow, which was, honestly, quite a lot. They filled his home with laughter and love, and there was no imaginable reason to do anything but encourage it.

And if, at the end of the night, Rupert let Alexei pull him into a long, hard hug, there was no harm in that, either.

“You’re going to be fine,” Alexei said softly, just for Rupert to hear. “You’re a really good father.”

Michaela grabbed Callum’s hand, stopping his incessant drumming on the center console of his car. He was fidgety and nervous, and had no idea why he’d let Michaela drag him out tonight.

He’d had a long day of training in the gym and on the ice. All he’d wanted to do was stay in his apartment, ice his knees, wonder if his coaches were trying to kill him, then go to bed early and do the same thing the next day. He’d found the relentless routine numbing, and had added as much to his days as his body could stand. He still hurt, in every possible way, but he was so exhausted by the time he climbed in bed at night that he could sometimes pass out before he had time to think. Before the ache in his heart made the rest of his pains seem like nothing in comparison.

“You’ve been moping for a week straight, Callum,” Michaela said, still holding his hand. “Now you’re acting like you want to crawl out of your own skin.”

“I have not. I am not. I’ve just been busy.”

“You’ve been brooding.”

He had been, was the thing. He was gearing up for the new season, which should have been exciting. At some point, it would feel familiar again. He’d find his groove. And then maybe the vise around his chest would ease enough so he could take a full breath again.

The only bright spots had been his calls and Skype sessions with the boys. And Rupert.

Which was funny, since they were also agony. Callum hadn’t been sure if Rupert would speak to him at all after he left. He would have understood if Rupert had wanted time and space. Callum probably should want the same, but he couldn’t resist seeing Rupert and hearing his voice, his accent so crisp and ridiculous when he was worked up about something. They talked about the boys, the team, their friends, and it was if they’d never been apart. As if nothing had changed.

But, of course, everything had changed.

Rupert was paler than he’d been all summer, and Callum was too thin to be heading into the season. His coaches and the nutritionist were all over him about his diet and workouts, and he was trying to keep up, but it felt like his energy was slowly draining from him, no matter how hard he worked. Like he could eat and eat and eat and never be full enough.

He didn’t talk to Rupert about that. Didn’t mention how fucking much it hurt to see Rupert and to hear the boys laughing and to know that all of that was thousands of miles away. How Rupert could use Callum with so many of the plans and projects Rupert was involved in, but he wasn’t there to help. It hovered between them, unspoken, a constant presence. Callum’s guilt was a weight on his shoulders, pushing and pushing until he could barely breathe.

Maybe Rupert saw it. Maybe Rupert felt it, too. Because he always seemed to know when it was time to pass the iPad off to the boys, ending the game of emotional chicken before one of them cracked.

It was probably unhealthy and ridiculous and had to stop, but Callum couldn’t bring himself to be the one to do it. He was too selfish. Too desperate for that tiny trickle of happiness seeing Rupert brought, even if it was buried under the flood of misery leaving Moncton had unleashed.

He turned into Mitch and Abby’s driveway and parked next to the minivan under the basketball hoop. It occurred to Callum that there was room for a basketball court in the warehouse garage, the ceiling more than high enough to allow for a regulation hoop. Maybe he’d email Alexei later and suggest it. For Christian. And Oliver, one day. He tried to imagine Rupert playing basketball and smiled.

The pain in his chest got worse.

“Brooding,” Michaela said with a sigh as she climbed out of the car.

She wasn’t wrong. He was fucking pathetic with it.

By the time they stood at the front door, Callum had shaken the worst of it off. Or was doing a damn good impersonation of it. He even smiled when Mitch opened the door and waved them into the house.

From there it got easier. All three kids were still awake and tearing around the house, and Callum was more than happy to act as tea-party guest, Lego engineer, and jungle gym. He threw himself into it, and for an hour felt almost whole.

Mitch and Abby did a lousy job of hiding their surprise at his willingness to be adopted as Uncle Callum. Michaela just laughed and helped secure his tiara squarely on his head for the duration. She was a good friend like that.

He wanted to whine as loud and long as the children when their mother announced it was time for them to go to bed. He gratefully accepted their hugs goodnight, and with each departure felt the yawning hole inside him open up a little further.

Michaela looked sorry for him. Mitch looked like he’d never seen him before. Callum turned away from Mitch’s searching gaze and found himself face-to-face with a wedding picture. Two tuxedoed grooms and Mitch grinned at the camera from beneath a trellis, the ocean at their backs. Mitch’s arm was around the one that had to be his brother, and he looked so fucking
proud
.

Callum swallowed the lump in his throat and quickly offered to help Abby in the kitchen.

Dinner was delicious and fun, and Callum tried to join the conversation. In all the years he’d been in Denver, he’d only ever accepted a handful of these invitations, preferring to stick to the team events and dinners when it came to socializing. He usually sat near or with Mitch at those, since he was happily married and less inclined to push Callum at every pretty girl in the bar. They’d talked a lot over the years, so they knew each other pretty well.

Except the part where Mitch didn’t know Callum at all.

“I have something I want to tell you,” Callum announced, grimacing when everyone looked at him with confusion, which was understandable given that he’d just interrupted a lively conversation about the local school system.

He grabbed Michaela’s hand under the table and her eyes widened, but she held on tight.

She was a
really
good friend like that.

“What’s up, Cal?” Mitch asked, giving him his full attention.

Mitch was a good guy, the kind of guy Callum would like to be good friends with, if he could. And that wasn’t going to be possible unless he told Mitch the truth. Until Callum could be himself.

He clung to the idea that a real friendship was possible, even as his heart started to pound and his palms sweat. Maybe this would make Denver better. Home, again. A place he wanted to be and could relax and spend time with friends.

“I’m gay.”

And, well, maybe he should have prefaced that with
something
. Mitch and Abby just stared at him, neither moving for what felt like a fucking eternity. Then Abby’s eyes darted to Michaela, her lips turning down.

Mitch was still staring at him with a completely blank face.

Callum swallowed to wet his dry throat. “I’m sorry. I understand if you’re angry. Of course you’re angry. I’m an idiot. I understand if you can’t forgive me. Michaela told me about your brother and, well, it made me feel stupid. I’m stupid. I should have told you years ago. When we first met, even. But back then—” He cut himself off from offering excuses. They didn’t make sense to Callum anymore, he could hardly expect them to hold water with anyone else. “I just—I wanted you to know. I guess, I guess I needed you to know. And I’m sorry. About lying. About…everything,” he finished lamely.

His hosts appeared stunned by that flood of inarticulate babbling. Michaela was squeezing Callum’s hand so hard his fingers ached. Or maybe that was how hard he was holding onto her.