Page 11
“Ummm. I dialed the wrong number.” I check my contact, but he must’ve changed his number.
“You’re calling Emmet? This is his husband,” he says with a growl.
My memory for names serves me well. “Jayce? Hi, we met the other night at Patrik Liska’s bachelor party. I’m—”
“Lark,” he finishes for me. “Angel,” he calls. “Phone.”
There’s whispering, then, “Hello?”
“He calls you angel?” I ask before identifying myself.
“Funny coincidence, huh?” Emmet replies.
“Do you think of me when he calls you that?” I joke since he helped me fill out the paperwork to change my name.
“No! Never crossed my mind until you said it. Thanks, asshole,” he says without heat. “Should I call you Skylar or Lark? He/him or they/them?”
This is why I called Emmet. He can roll with whatever. We have that in common. “He/him and everyone calls me Lark, but…it’s up to you.” I surprise myself. So much for Skylar being dead and buried.
“I prefer to call you by the name you chose for yourself.”
“Thanks,” I say, and dodge the question because for the first time in years, I’m questioning who I am and who I want to be. “Listen, you probably figured out how I ended up at that party, and it wasn’t to teach dance. There’s a picture online, and I’m worried that people will reverse-image search me and…” I trail off, afraid of being too cryptic and also too obvious. My website isn’t connected to my name unless you’re privy to my past.
“As far as I know, the guys actually believe you were there to teach dance,” he bursts out with sympathy.
“But someone could identify me and cause trouble. I didn’t do my spiel about no pics and no posting online.” I cover my eyes.
“You met Mav before,” Emmet states matter-of-factly.
“We went to high school together,” I confirm. “I gave him my website info, so he’ll have the facts, but I don’t want this to harm the team.” It’s not Maverick’s fault my life took a hard left and gave me whiplash. “The gossip sites are brutal.”
“Yep, been there, done that,” he says, and there’s a story, a scandal that I purposely didn’t read because he’ll tell me himself. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. I’m worried I might ruin their wedding day with rumors or worse.”
“These guys live in the public eye. They won’t blame you. We’re a very queer organization, so it’s possible other people are already aware.”
“You’re smearing lipstick all over a pig’s snout,” I complain. “One of the guys on the team used to chat with me online.” A stab of involuntary guilt hits me.
Maverick wasn’t his teammate then, and Jamal King was one of my most innocent clients. In my opinion, he needed a safe space to ask questions, and we bonded over our love of dance. King was lonely, a queer, black man in a very white, homophobic sport.
“Sorry we lost touch. I should’ve been a better friend.”
“It’s a two-way street, Em, and life sometimes lifes at you hard.” Zero part of me misses the old days with Emmet while we were struggling. Our friendship was born out of common trauma. “Maybe we wanted to leave that part of our lives behind us.”
“Yeah,” he agrees softly. “But I’m glad you’re good.”
“And look at you, married to two people! A real adult,” I tease.
“Now don’t be accusing me of that.” He laughs. “Listen, I can talk to a couple of Enforcers to give them a head’s-up if it will help.”
Hesitating, I say, “I’ll think it over and see if anything breaks. No reason to freak out if nothing comes of it.” We say our goodbyes, and I’m still flat on my studio floor.
I clunk my skull on the hardwood to knock some sense into myself. When I shut my eyes, I’m flooded with memories of Mav, and I can’t stop them. A dam has broken and everything I tried to forget surfaces. Mav smiles with his entire face, and he lit up when he saw me. He was so focused, but I could make him laugh in record time. His hands could cover my back, and nothing bad could touch us. And his kisses. Fuck.
We were young and dumb, and our feelings were too big to handle. Reality stacked against us from the start. If I had followed him to Boston, I would’ve resented him. He wasn’t ready to come out, and I can’t blame him. Hockey players use homophobic slurs as part of their everyday vocabulary. Mav didn’t want to alienate his teammates or hurt his NHL prospects.
As a dramatic little shit, I’d absolutely have made a scene and made him choose: me or the team. We’d both lose if that happened, and I’d regret outing him for the rest of my life.
