Chapter Twenty-Six
The next two weeks were total misery for Ryan.
The flights, which would have been difficult anyway without Wyatt, were absolutely harrowing. It was all Ryan could do to force himself to board each plane. When he was on board, he sat alone near the back and hyperventilated. By the third flight, he asked the team doctor to give him something extra to help him calm down. The pills didn’t cure his anxiety, but they made him drowsy and downgraded his panic to a manageable level.
Despite what he had promised Fabian during their fight, Ryan could feel himself developing a dependence on drugs. He was in so much pain all the time, and the relief that came from a Toradol shot was heady. The pills he took after the game helped keep the excruciation of the aftermath of playing with an injury to a minimum.
He’d also started asking for sleeping pills. Every second he wasn’t focused on his back pain, he was overcome by the agony of his shattered heart.
The hardest part was knowing that Fabian had been absolutely right.
Every word had been the truth. And because of that, Ryan knew he shouldn’t try to contact him. Just as Ryan had always believed, Fabian deserved so much better than him.
He knew Fabian was playing shows. He knew his album release show was coming up next week, but Ryan wouldn’t dare go. The best thing either of them could do was forget this entire stupid relationship.
Like all NHL teams, the Guardians had a week off either before or after the NHL All-Star weekend. This year the Guardians had theirs the week before. Ryan tried not to think about how wonderful it would have been to spend it with Fabian. Instead, he holed up in his apartment and focused on healing his back.
On Wednesday, Ryan was woken by a phone call from Wyatt.
“Hey, Pricey. How’s vacation?”
“It’s okay. Quiet.” Ryan’s head felt a little thick. He’d taken a sleeping pill late last night and the effects hadn’t quite worn off.
“I’m just calling because I wanted you to hear this from a friend before you heard it somewhere else.”
Ryan blinked. “Did you get traded again?”
“No. It’s about Duncan Harvey.”
“Harvey? What about him?”
He heard Wyatt exhale and then say, “He died. They found him yesterday. At home. It looks like suicide by overdose.”
Ryan sat up. “What?”
“I know. It’s awful. It’ll be all over the news today.”
Ryan was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. “Is there a funeral?”
“No details yet, but I imagine it will be in his hometown. He’s an Ontario farmboy, but I forget the town. I’m in the Bahamas with Lisa right now, otherwise I’d try to go.”
“Yeah.” Ryan wished he could will away the effects of that pill. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around any of this.
“I’m sorry to have to give you this news. Will you be okay? Is your, um, boyfriend—?”
“I’m fine,” Ryan said quickly, not wanting Wyatt to mention Fabian even in vague terms. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Ryan was so far from all right it wasn’t funny. “Yeah. I’ll look into the funeral. Have fun on the beach, okay?”
“Sure. But, y’know, call me if you need to.”
God, Ryan missed Wyatt. “I will. Thanks.”
They said their goodbyes and Ryan hauled himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where he immediately turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it.
Okay. He would find out when and where the funeral would be held, and he would drive there. That was something he could do. It was the least that he could do. Hopefully a lot of NHL players would do the same.
He couldn’t help but replay their last fight—or, more accurately, their non-fight—as he showered. Was Ryan partially to blame for what had happened to Duncan? Had his refusal to fight him pushed him closer to the edge?
He couldn’t let himself think these things.
When he stepped out of the shower, his head felt clearer and he realized his back wasn’t bothering him as much. It seemed that actually taking the
time to rest and heal was indeed effective.
“You were right, Fabian,” Ryan said to the empty room.
“Feel free to take that off the shelf, if you want a closer look.”
Fabian blinked, and realized, as his eyes focused, that he’d been staring at a stainless steel anal bead wand with what must have been an expression of deepest longing. But the truth was he’d only been thinking about Ryan.
Again.
“I can give you the staff discount on one if you want,” Vanessa continued. “It’s the least I can do after I made you test out that garbage vibrator.”
“No, sorry. I wasn’t even looking at it. I’m just...scattered.”
Vanessa turned away from the shelf of lube bottles she’d been straightening and rested a hand on Fabian’s arm. “You could reach out to him, you know.”
Fabian shook his head slowly, and forced a laugh that sounded hideous.
“The whole idea of us was absurd. We don’t make sense.”
“But you miss him.”
“God, so much.”
Vanessa gave an exasperated sigh, then went back to straightening the
lube shelf.
“What?” Fabian asked.
“I don’t know. It’s like you went into this thing with Ryan determined to prove that it couldn’t work or something. Yeah, I never would have expected you to fall for a professional hockey player, but you did. And then as soon as the hockey stuff got real, you bolted.”
“That’s not fair,” Fabian argued. “He was lying to me. Hurting himself.
He’s...self-destructive.”
She jabbed a bottle of lube in his direction. “Sounds like he could use some love and support.”
Fabian didn’t have anything to say to that. He knew it was true, and it was the reason he’d felt like complete shit for the past two weeks. He wasn’t strong enough to be Ryan’s boyfriend. He wasn’t able to overcome his own hatred and fear of everything hockey was. Everything it did to people.
“I saw Claude last night,” he said quietly, changing the subject.
The disappointment was clear on Vanessa’s face. “Oh, Fabian. No. You didn’t, did you?”
“No. No, I promise. Nothing happened. I ran into him at Greta’s art opening. We talked. Shared a joint outside.” He looked away. “I mean, he did try to kiss me. But I told him I couldn’t.”
“Oh. Good. Why are you telling me, then?”
“Because seeing Claude just made it all so much clearer. I don’t want him or anyone like him. I think I might be ruined for anyone other than the one person I really shouldn’t be with.”
“Which brings me back to my first suggestion: reach out to him.” A customer walked in the door then, and Vanessa gave Fabian an apologetic smile. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, but Vanessa had already left to help the customer. Fabian shouldn’t have been bothering his friend at work anyway. He left the shop with a wave and an abysmal attempt at a smile in Vanessa’s direction, and walked out into a light snowfall.
As soon as the hockey stuff got real, you bolted. Oh god, that was exactly what Fabian had done, wasn’t it? He could handle dating a hockey player as long as he didn’t have to see any real evidence of it.
But maybe that wasn’t unreasonable of him. His whole life, Fabian had only known hockey to be a horrible, toxic thing that celebrated homophobic bullies and trained boys to believe there was only one acceptable way to be a man. Hockey was the wall that separated Fabian from his own family, the blueprint for masculinity that prevented his parents from understanding their only son. Fabian knew himself, and he knew he would never be a fan of the game, or the culture that surrounded it. So wouldn’t it be unfair of him to pretend he could overlook all of that?
He liked Ryan a lot—he always had—and he wished he could be the strong, supportive cheerleader Ryan deserved. All he could do was worry about Ryan while refusing to even watch his games. That was a terrible foundation for a relationship.
But still, Fabian wanted to be with him. So maybe he could meet Ryan in the middle somewhere. If Ryan would just take time to let his fucking injuries heal, it would be something. If he could tell his coaches that he didn’t want to fight anymore. If he could...
Fabian sighed. He knew enough about what hockey was like to know that Ryan couldn’t do either of those things without risking his entire career.
Ryan wasn’t a superstar; he was in no position to make demands. He was replaceable.
But not to Fabian, obviously. With each passing day it was becoming clearer that Ryan had completely claimed Fabian’s heart. Fabian had no doubt he could find an attractive man to replace Ryan—tonight, probably, if he wanted—but the man wouldn’t have Ryan’s sweetness. His giant heart.
His courage.
Because Ryan was the bravest person Fabian had ever met. Ryan might not believe it, but Fabian knew it was true. He faced his fears every day— flying, fighting, socializing—and how many people could say that? Fabian was the coward. Ryan’s career terrified him, so he’d run away.
Fabian wanted to fix this problem desperately. He had no answers right now, and he really needed to focus on the album release show, which was only days away. Maybe after that show he could devote some time to this.
Maybe a healthy relationship with Ryan was impossible, but if there was even a chance, he had to try.
Ryan entered the small funeral parlor that sat across the street from the Tim Hortons in Duncan Harvey’s hometown. His back was a little stiff after driving for three hours, but overall wasn’t bad.
Ryan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but there were a lot of empty seats in the room where the service would be held. He didn’t see any NHL players among the crowd. He recognized some of Harvey’s coaches, but none of his teammates. Chicago’s team captain, Clarke, wasn’t even there.
But, of course, today was Friday. And Clarke would be at All-Star Weekend in St. Louis.
Ryan found a seat in the back row and tried to swallow his anger. It was like Harvey had never existed. He’d given everything he had to hockey, and when there was nothing left, hockey had abandoned him. He didn’t even seem to have many friends or family here, and maybe that was what happened when you were a miserable addict everyone feared.
Someone sat next to Ryan. Not at the end of the same row, but right next to Ryan. He glanced over and was surprised to see who it was.
“Hey, Price.”
“Rozanov. Shouldn’t you be at the All-Star game?”
Ilya shrugged. “There will be others.”
Did Ilya even know Duncan Harvey? He’d never played with him. It seemed bizarre that he was here.
The service was short and impersonal. Harvey, it turned out, didn’t have much family. His parents had died years ago, and although a sister was listed in the obituary, she didn’t seem to be there.
Was Ryan looking at his own future? He didn’t like to think so. Despite everything, his family still loved and supported him. He was still confident he wasn’t addicted to painkillers or anything else, but he was starting to understand how easily he could become addicted. There was no question that he had preferred how he felt when he was high these past few horrible weeks.
When it was over, Ilya stood and said, “Walk with me?”
“Sure. Okay.”
When they got outside, they trudged across the snowy parking lot. Ilya stopped walking when they reached a large, leafless tree at the far end. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, tilting it first toward Ryan in offering. Ryan declined.
Ilya pulled one out for himself and lit it. He leaned back against the tree’s trunk as he took his first drag. He was a very attractive man: almost as tall as Ryan, with sparking hazel eyes and curly, golden-brown hair that fell lazily around his face in a manner that matched his unbothered personality.
“Was nice of you to come,” Ilya said after he exhaled.
“Figured it was the least I could do.”
“Yes. Well. Least you could do was too much for most players, it seems.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
Ilya blew out more smoke and said, “This game can be really fucking terrible.”
Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “I know.”
A moment of silence passed, and then Ryan couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you here anyway? Did you know Harvey?”
“No. Not really. But...his death. Suicide. It matters to me.”
“Oh.” Right. Ilya’s mother. The whole reason he had started a charity with Shane Hollander.
“We don’t talk about it enough in this sport. Depression. Addiction.
Mental health.” Ilya glanced at him. “You know about it.”
Ilya had never had a problem with being direct. “Yeah. I know about it.”
“How are you doing?”
“Some days are better than others. But I see a therapist. It’s, like, on Skype, but it still works. And I take meds. I should probably talk about it more, but...”
“You are a private person. I understand that.”
He had to smile. “Do you?”
There was a funny little twist to Ilya’s lips. “We all have secrets.”
Ryan nodded. Of course Ilya had secrets. He wondered if Ilya was possibly as lonely as he was.
“Do you like playing hockey?” Ilya asked suddenly.
Ryan almost answered “Of course” without thinking, but he stopped himself and instead considered Ilya’s question.
“No. I don’t think I have for a long time.”
“It doesn’t make you happy?”
The last thing hockey did was make Ryan happy. “I think it makes me
miserable, to be honest.”
“That’s a problem,” Ilya said.
“I know.”
Ilya finished his cigarette. “Wyatt Hayes is a good guy.”
“He is. I miss him.”
“He said you help out at a place with kids? Play hockey with them?”
“Oh.” Ryan looked at the ground, embarrassed that Wyatt had been talking about him to Ilya Rozanov. “Yeah. When I can. Which isn’t often.”
“You like it?”
“I do. I like kids.”
Ilya nodded. “What are you doing this summer?”
Ryan was having a hard time keeping up with Ilya. “I don’t know. Might go back home to Nova Scotia. Why?”
Ilya fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to him. “Give me your number. We are organizing these camps for our charity. Me and Shane.
Hollander, I mean.” He looked oddly embarrassed for a moment. “They are hockey camps for kids. They will be in Ottawa and Montreal this summer.
We could use help.”
“What, me?” Ryan truly couldn’t fathom being a coach at the same camp where kids would be learning from stars like Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.
“I don’t want to teach kids how to fight,” Ryan said, just to make it clear.
Rozanov looked at him like he was stupid. “No. You are a defenseman.
You will teach them how to stand still and not score goals. Defenseman
things.”
Ryan laughed. “Asshole.”
“Also, it is going to be for everyone, you know? Like...” Ilya seemed to wrestle with how to say the next part, but then just bluntly asked, “You are gay, yes?”
Ryan snorted, surprised by another subject change. “Yes.”
“Good. That’s what I mean. The camps will be for that too. I mean we
will teach, um...”
“Tolerance?”
Ilya smiled. “Yes. Try to change things, right?”
“You should ask Scott Hunter then.”
He made a face. “Maybe.”
They walked back to their vehicles in silence. As Ilya was unlocking his Mercedes SUV, he said, “Find something that makes you happy, Price. Hold on to it.”
Ryan nodded, and his throat suddenly felt tight. He’d had someone who’d made him happy, and he’d let him go. And for what? A life of nothing but pain and misery that he felt obligated to endure. There was money, sure, but Ryan didn’t even enjoy spending it. He could live without an NHL salary. He just needed to find something he truly enjoyed doing.
During his drive back to Toronto, he considered the fact that he had quite a bit of money saved. He could sell his ridiculously expensive apartment and live quite comfortably for a long time while he figured out the rest of his life. He was only thirty-one. Outside of the hockey world, he was still a relatively young man.
He could quit. He could just quit. His heart started racing at the realization of how possible this was. There was literally nothing stopping him. Sure, he would piss some people off, and probably get yelled at, but would anyone really care? His coach had been threatening to replace him for two months now.
Let him do it. Let someone else live the NHL dream. Ryan was done.