Sunday, June 14, 2026
🌈🏒Sunday's Sport Stats🏒🌈: Rules of Engagement by Brigham Vaughn
Rules of the Game #5
Rule #1: Don't fall in love with your best friend's brother
After Anders Lindholm lost his wife and baby daughter in a car accident, he knew he’d never find love like that again.
Hockey, routines, and his team are all that have kept him going since.
But as he approaches forty, an injury makes him consider what life after retirement will be like.
And when his teammate, who just so happens to be his best friend’s brother, offers him a helping hand—in more ways than one—it reawakens something in Anders he can’t deny.
Rule #2: Don’t let anyone know the real you
Kelly O’Shea has been in love with Anders since he was fifteen. He’s been hiding the fact that he’s gay for just as long.
He loves his family, but their over-protective meddling is what made him move halfway across the country and hide who he was.
Although Kelly and Anders both agreed it would stay casual, Kelly begins to hope that maybe they’ll eventually be more than just friends with benefits.
And the more time they spend together, the faster the ice around Anders’ heart melts.
But with a playoff spot to clinch, fractures within the team, and overprotective brothers to worry about, Anders’ fear of letting go of the past isn’t the only challenge they’ll have to overcome.
TRIGGER WARNING:
Off-page and non-graphic mentions of death of secondary characters including a child. Grief. Brief and non-graphic mention of suicidal ideation. Talk of homophobia and homophobic slurs.
Non-graphic mentions of sexual harassment and sexual assault.
ANDERS & KELLY
“The day I stop giving is the day I stop receiving. The day I stop learning is the day I stop growing.” -Wayne Gretzky
PROLOGUE
FOUR MONTHS PRIOR
“You should slow down, Kelly,” Anders Lindholm said softly.
Kelly O’Shea squinted at his teammate, wondering why there were two of him. One was bad enough. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
He proved it by tossing back another shot.
“That’s my boy.” Jack Malone pounded him on the shoulder, sending him slumping into Lindy, who caught and steadied him by wrapping an arm around his back.
The weight of it made the floaty feeling inside Kelly settle and his skin go hot.
Mmm, fuck. How does Lindy always smell so good?
Okay, maaaybe not deep in the postseason at the end of a game that went into double overtime when Anders’ pads were all nasty and gross. Though Kelly still spent a lot of time in his bedroom with his underwear shoved down and his hand on his dick, thinking about licking the sweat that trickled down Anders’ neck.
When they hugged on the ice, sometimes Kelly buried his head in the crook of Lindy’s neck and breathed, let himself enjoy those fleeting seconds of Lindy’s arms tight around him, pretending it was something he got to keep.
“Hey, you still alive in there, Irish?” Ryan Hartinger hollered across the table.
Kelly forced himself to straighten, though Lindy’s arm remained draped over the back of the booth, fingertips brushing Kelly’s shoulder.
“Still alive! Still partying!” Kelly shouted, his tongue thick in his mouth.
“Fuck yeah!” Malone shouted. It was a raucous club, and they were in the VIP section, so no one cared how obnoxious they got but Kelly still winced. One of these days someone would record their antics and blow it up on social media.
And with the ring on Malone’s finger and the random girl draped half on top of him, someone would post the damning evidence and land the team in hot water.
Kelly swallowed, sick with the realization that if he wasn’t careful, someone would also notice the way he looked at Lindy.
Maybe they already had.
Malone glanced at him. “Hey, you know what? We need to get you laid, Irish.”
“Yeah?” Kelly asked, trying not to grimace. Or sway. Was he swaying already? Or was it the room?
“Been a while, huh, bro?” Malone asked with a smirk.
Kelly shrugged. “I do all right.” The lie tripped off his tongue with ease because he’d said it so many times now.
Malone snorted. “You could be gettin’ it every night of the week, even with your stupid red hair.” He turned to the girl on his lap. “Hey, you got any friends?”
She smiled coyly. “Why, what do you have in mind?”
“Oh, well … how about you find someone who might want to hook up with us?” He palmed the curve of her ass. “And see if you have another friend who’s into fire crotches.” He nodded at Kelly.
Heat built in Kelly’s cheeks until he was probably as red as his hair. Yes, the carpet matched the fucking drapes. He’d been chirped enough times about that growing up. But what Malone suggested made cold dread build in the pit of Kelly’s stomach.
He shoved at Lindy’s shoulder. “Hey. Get up,” he yelled.
Lindy raised an eyebrow, but obediently shifted to let Kelly out from behind the table.
“Bring shots,” Malone hollered when Kelly finally staggered out of the booth. “I don’t know where the stupid waitress is. For what we’re paying, she should be living at this fucking table.”
“Gotta piss,” Kelly shouted. “And besides, I got the last round. C’mon, Coop. You’re up. This one’s on you, man.”
Brett Cooper grumbled but he got up. “Fine. What do you assholes want?”
“Eh. Whatever. If it’s got alcohol in it, I’m good.” Kelly waved vaguely at them before he turned to find the bathroom, stopping when someone grabbed his upper arm.
“You sure you’re okay, Kelly?” Lindholm asked, sliding his big hand up Kelly’s back, sending sparks dancing across his skin.
“Lookin’ for the bathroom.”
“Okay.” Lindy squeezed his neck and Kelly stifled the urge to sigh and press into the touch.
“Maybe take it easy on the drinks when you get back. And grab some water. You’re not as big as those guys and it always hits you harder.”
“Not small either,” Kelly squawked, offended. “Just not a friggin’ giant like the rest of you.”
Kelly eyed Lindy up and down, liking the way he had to tip his chin up to look him in the eye. God, he looked so good right now.
“I’m only looking out for you,” Lindy said, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. Kelly wanted to press his lips to it.
Knowing he couldn’t made Kelly’s words come out snappish and short. “I can take care of myself.”
Lindy pulled Kelly in for a second, not quite a hug but close enough to speak without shouting. “I know. But your brothers would murder me if I let anything happen to you.”
Kelly stiffened and pulled away, blindly striking out for the bathroom. He stumbled, turned around and unsure which direction to go, and felt a soft pat on his hip, guiding him toward the rear of the club.
Thankfully, Lindy didn’t follow him down the hall or into the bathroom, but Kelly’s guts still twisted with shame and arousal.
Sometimes he hated the way Lindy made him feel.
If only he didn’t look so good. Didn’t play hockey so well. Wasn’t the nicest goddamn person on the planet.
Kelly had no idea how everyone in the universe wasn’t in love with Anders Lindholm.
Kelly’s fingers were clumsy as he unzipped and pulled his cock out, aiming at the urinal. He braced himself against the wall, his eyes half-closed. The room spun but he was still half-hard from the warm brush of Lindy’s breath against his cheek.
“Stupid,” he muttered.
A guy a few urinals away shot Kelly a look but he didn’t respond.
How could Kelly explain this?
How could he put into words how desperate he was to have his teammate’s big hand wrapped around his cock, stroking? If Lindy touched him, Kelly would press up on his toes and push his head into the warm space at the crook of Lindy’s neck, panting against his skin as Lindy worked him over. Kelly wanted his big rough hands and his soft words, tinged with faint traces of his Swedish heritage.
Kelly shuddered, realizing he was more than half-hard now and his bladder fucking hurt. He needed to stop thinking about Lindy or he’d never go soft enough to piss.
Instead, Kelly thought about a guy he’d played with in college who’d had nasty toenail fungus. Kelly’s dick finally softened and he was able to let loose. He sighed as the pressure in his bladder dissipated and when he was done, he shook off to dry.
Probably the most action his cock would get all week. Or all month or all year. Because Kelly was sad and pathetic. Red hair or not, he could pick up girls fine, but he didn’t want them, never had.
Kelly’s stomach churned at the thought he’d have to fake it soon. It had been a while since he’d gone home with anyone. He fucking hated it but it was expected and Kelly always did what was expected of him.
Except moving to Illinois and being straight, and he might not be entirely happy about the whole being gay thing but even he knew he couldn’t change it.
Maybe someday he’d have what his teammates had, he thought blearily as he washed his hands, splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to sober up.
Maybe someday he’d be brave like Hartinger and Murphy and kiss someone he loved on the ice. Maybe he’d hoist the Cup and pose for pictures draped in rainbow flags for the local magazine. But for now, he wasn’t out, and he was sad and lonely and afraid of disappointing everyone.
He stared at himself in the mirror, the low light of the bar bathroom making his stupid red hair darker and less obnoxious, water glittering on his lashes like he’d been crying.
Something hurt right there in the middle of Kelly’s chest, and he let out a weird noise. The guy washing his hands—was he the same one who’d been by the urinal?—looked over.
“You sure you’re okay, man?”
“Yeah.” Kelly smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m okay.”
He’d never be okay about Anders but some stranger didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know Kelly was in love with the one man he could never have.
“You look kinda familiar,” the guy said, narrowing his eyes. “Do I know you?”
“I play hockey,” Kelly said, but he left the bathroom before the guy could ask any more questions.
Rather than go to the table, Kelly headed straight for the bar, ordering two shots, which he downed in quick succession.
They had two nights in Pittsburgh before their next game and he was determined to get obliterated enough to forget how pathetic he was.
* * *
Muffled swearing outside Anders’ door pulled him out of bed. He should have been asleep hours ago but he’d only just dropped into a drowse. He checked the peephole in time to catch a flash of red hair. He had the chain unhooked and door open before the next heartbeat.
“What’re you doin’ in my room?” Kelly slurred, slumping against the doorframe as he squinted at Anders.
“This is my room,” Anders gently pointed out.
“Oh.” Kelly stared at his keycard, freckled nose scrunched in confusion. “Guess that’s why this didn’t work.”
“I guess so. Do you need help getting into your room?”
“Umm.” Kelly looked up and down the hall. “I think maybe yes.”
Anders plucked the keycard from Kelly’s loose grip, slipped an arm under his shoulder, then steered him toward the room next door. “This is you.”
A single swipe of the card let him in the room and Kelly let out an excited whoop. “Hey, it worked!”
“Shh. Don’t wake anyone else up.”
“Oh, right.” Kelly giggled and turned his head, burying it against Anders’ shoulder. “Sorry.”
Anders focused on getting Kelly into the room and closing the door behind them. He gently deposited Kelly on the bed, where he continued giggling.
“You are going to feel it in the morning, aren’t you?” he asked under his breath. Thankfully they didn’t have a game until the day after tomorrow.
Anders coaxed Kelly into sitting upright long enough to drink a Gatorade, then set the trash can beside the bed. He removed Kelly’s shoes and, with Anders steadying him, Kelly stripped down to boxers, kicking his clothes away from the bed. He stumbled, lurching against Anders’ chest.
“C’mon. Into bed with you.”
“You could join me.” Kelly gave him an impish grin, locking his arms around Anders’ neck and tilting his head back.
Anders froze, staring at Kelly’s heavy-lidded gaze, his mouth stained redder than usual from the sports drink.
Absently, Anders brought his thumb up to wipe at the corner of Kelly’s lips.
Kelly giggled and nipped at his finger, the gesture so playful it felt alien to Anders. It had been years since he’d been this intimate with anyone, felt bare skin against his in a dim room, desire blooming through him until every little hair stood on end.
“You need sleep,” Anders said hoarsely, loosening Kelly’s tight grip. “You’re very drunk and very tired.”
“Kiss me, Anders,” Kelly begged. “Please.” He dug his fingers into Anders’ hair, the clumsy tug of it sending a wave of sensation through Anders, his body flushing hot before turning cool and clammy.
He felt feverish and dazed with Kelly’s lips close to his, begging him for the one thing he could never give him.
“I can’t,” he finally rasped.
Kelly pursed his unnaturally bright lips. “But—”
Anders pressed his finger to Kelly’s pout. “Don’t ask me to, Kelly. Please.”
“You’re no fun.” Kelly stuck his lip out further.
“Yeah.” Anders sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that. C’mon. You need to lie down, okay?”
Kelly gripped his hand. “Don’t go … stay with me for a bit.”
“Of course,” Anders promised him. “Of course I will.”
Because although he couldn’t be with Kelly the way he wanted, he would always look out for him. He would have done it even if Kelly’s brothers hadn’t made him swear to it.
Anders coaxed Kelly to roll onto his side, then pulled the covers over him. Kelly let out a sleepy murmur of thanks and quickly slipped into dreamland.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, Anders stared at Kelly a moment, smoothing his damp hair off his forehead, watching the flutter of his lashes against his freckled cheeks. He looked achingly young.
Twenty-two felt like three lifetimes ago to Anders.
Twenty-two was long before he’d met Astrid and fallen immediately head-over-heels in love. Before they’d married. Before they’d had Elia.
Before Anders had lost them both.
Anders closed his eyes, throat going too tight at the memory of the twisted, mangled scraps of metal left after the car accident.
He reached up, gripping the chain holding two wedding bands, one large enough to fit the smaller one straight through. He brushed his thumb over the warm metal, the gesture as familiar as breathing after four years of loss.
Kelly let out a sleepy sigh and Anders shook off the past long enough to tuck the blanket more firmly around him, then retreated to the chair on the far side of the room to watch over him.
The seat was large and plush, comfortable to sink into. The lamp beside it spilled light across the room, illuminating Kelly’s bare shoulder and arm, muscular but not bulky, his body lean and tight, sprinkled everywhere with freckles.
Anders closed his eyes, remembering the sound of Kelly begging for a kiss.
Despite what his wife used to say sometimes, Anders wasn’t an idiot.
“Kelly is in love with you,” Astrid had announced one night after a team event. She’d pushed her headband up to get her blonde hair off her face and she looked at his reflection in the mirror, expression unusually grave.
Anders liked watching her go through her nightly routine, washing her face, brushing her teeth, smearing on various lotions. He liked it so much that when they’d remodeled the bathroom, she’d worked with the designer to pick out a chair suited to his large frame.
That night, Anders had looked at his wife in the mirror, thinking about her words.
“No,” he’d protested automatically. “Surely it’s hero worship. He’s straight. I’ve seen him leave bars with women.”
She gave him a pointed look before splashing water on her face, her voice slightly muffled as she patted dry. “As far as your teammates know, you’re straight too. You’re married to a woman.”
“True.” He gave her a rueful smile when she lifted her head.
When they met, he’d been upfront about his previous involvement with men. She’d merely nodded and treated it exactly the way she’d treated his obsession with Scandinavian military history. She didn’t fully understand it herself but offered him a casual but loving acceptance that it was simply a part of who he was.
He hadn’t expected anything else, in part because Sweden was generally much further ahead than the United States when it came to these things, but also because it was very her.
“I suppose Kelly could be bi as well,” Anders had admitted. “Are you sure he has serious feelings for me though? It’s probably just a minor crush.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Anders,” she’d tartly corrected him. “Kelly O’Shea is in love with you. It’s sweet. He’s absolutely devoted to you.”
Anders had thought about their previous interactions and nodded, his throat thickening. “He is.”
She’d met his gaze again. “Be kind. Don’t break his heart.”
Astrid had been a smart woman. Frighteningly so.
Not perfect. God no.
She’d left her toenail clippings on the bathroom floor and absentmindedly wiped her dirty fingers on her jeans when she snacked and read. She had the most appalling habit of kissing him when her tongue tasted of the salted licorice he detested, and she left a trail of belongings in her wake wherever she went.
But she’d been the love of his life. His breath of fresh morning air and his nighttime sigh of contentment and now she was gone, and he couldn’t breathe any more.
She’d left him in the blink of an eye and yes, Kelly loved Anders, and maybe Anders felt something for Kelly as well but it wasn’t fair to taunt him with something Anders couldn’t give him.
Tonight, he’d hated to see Kelly’s worshipful gaze and bright smile dim when Anders had denied him but no matter how much he cared for Kelly, Anders wasn’t the man for him.
Anders wasn’t whole and Kelly deserved someone who was.
Someone who would kiss every freckle and delight in his sense of humor and love him for all his imperfections the way Anders had loved his wife.
But losing her and their baby daughter had broken Anders in a way that would never heal, and Kelly deserved better.
The problem was, Kelly O’Shea was like a toothache.
The pain of having him around was almost pleasurable. Every time Anders bumped up against it, he flinched. But he found himself poking at it again, just to feel the sharp zing mellow to a sweet ache.
Just to feel anything at all.
Sunday Sport Stats
Rules of the Game
Relationship Goals
Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.
EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com
Rules of Engagement #5
Rules of the Game Series
Relationship Goals Series
Saturday, June 13, 2026
🌈🏒Saturday's Series Spotlight🏒🌈: According to Liam by VL Locey Part 2
Summary:
When you see the world through the eyes of a child, there’s magic everywhere.
And crumbs. Lots of crumbs…
But that’s not going to stop Mike and Bryn Kneller from traveling with their nephew Liam at their side. Not that deciding to take the lad to visit Bryn’s homeland was an easy decision for the two recently wedded men despite how much they adore the boy. This trip was supposed to be a romantic anniversary trip after all.
However, life, as it does, tends to lead us down a path of its own choosing. Combining an unexpected announcement from a family member with the not-so-subtle pleadings of Bryn’s parents, the decision was made. With lots of hand sanitizer and a heaping helping of patience, the journey begins, leading Bryn and Mike to discover a great deal about themselves, their marriage, and their plans for the future.
Summary:
The bonds of family aren’t regulated by blood. They’re defined by love and an open heart.
Bryn and Michael Mettler have lived a life that many can only dream about. The two men had a whirlwind romance and ended up happily married. Bryn played hockey for the Pittsburgh Ravens, and Michael worked at a job he loved in web design and writing a successful humor blog. They also doted on Mike’s nephew Liam as all good uncles should.
They’ve welcomed a new member into their small but loving clan. Made strides to heal a fractured past hurt. Traveled the world and settled into their new home and lives with great joy. The only thing missing was a child of their own. That absent piece is now here, and their lives are about to change in a million charming, unexpected ways.
According to Liam Novella
Will it be too late to find love or are they destined to be “just friends” forever?
Jamie Palmer has been waiting for Mr. Right for a long time. Heck, he’s been waiting forever for a decent man just to date! Given the shy looks of appreciation he’d been getting from a certain Finnish defenseman for the Pittsburgh Ravens he thought perhaps he had found him. But it’s been months since Heikki has returned to the States, and they’re still trapped in the friend zone. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on Jamie’s part to imagine a rough-and-rowdy hockey player could fall for a trans man who has a deep affection for 60s movies and well-crafted sneakers.
Heikki Keto is having a rough time of it as his team starts the painful process of a rebuild. The Ravens are having trouble finding the back of the net, and his new defensive partner is a joker who never knows when to stop fooling around. His personal life isn’t much better. For months, he’s been flailing around mentally trying to work out just who he is. As he battles with himself, the man who has captured his heart is talking about dating apps and having dinner with a new client. Can Heikki find the courage to admit to the world—and to Jamie—that he’s tired of living on the edge of what could be a once-in-a-lifetime romance?
The World According to Liam #4
1
Mike
“Can we build a caterpole?”
I looked around the screen of my laptop at my nephew Liam, who was standing in the doorway of my office with a frozen juice pop.
“Where did you get the freezer pop?” I asked, my blog post forgotten at the sight of a cherry freezer pop melting all over his hand.
“In the freezer.” The DUH wasn’t said but it certainly was implied, and with good cause. “Can we?”
“Can we what? Did you dribble freezer pop drops all the way down the hall?”
He glanced over his shoulder then looked back at me, his chin, lips, and neck wet with sugary red juice.
“Only a few drops.” He took a lick. “Can we build a caterpole?”
Sighing inwardly, I pushed to my feet. The blog post for my blog Life According to Liam, about the story he had spun last week, was now on hold. I had a strong uncle-y hunch that this one might top the one about airplanes being flown by giant potato bugs.
“What’s a caterpole?” I asked as I skirted around my desk and the empty packing boxes that were piled in the corner.
Moving day was six weeks away. I had time despite what my somewhat control-driven husband thought. Sure, his office and all those hockey mementos were all packed up already, and he was now working on sorting the kitchen stuff. What we were going to cook with I had no clue, but when I mentioned that little snag, he’d merely waved a hand and told me that nothing was ever gained by procrastination. To which I replied that having a pot to warm soup in might stave off starvation so that was something gained. Then he mumbled something in one of those foreign languages he spoke and packed another pot into another box. I had quickly learned that it’s not the big things that married couples tend to argue over, it’s the little things. Like packing all the pots six weeks before you’re supposed to move. Let’s not even get into the innocent habit of leaving kitchen cabinets open. Your spouse hits his head one time on a cabinet door left open, and you’d think the world was ending. For such a tough hockey player, he sure whined about that long enough.
“It’s a thing that shoots big rocks into the air and the rock crashes into the castle! Ka-Boom!” he shouted and threw his hands into the air. His freezer pop broke in two, one half falling to the hardwood floor, the other clinging perilously to the stick clutched in his gummy red hand. His green eyes darted to the half a freezer pop on the floor. “That sucks.”
I bit back the snort of amusement. “Liam, we don’t say that sucks. It’s not considered polite.”
“But you and Uncle Bryn—”
“Yes, I know but don’t say what we say.” I placed a hand to his flyaway golden hair and gently cranked him around. “Go back into the kitchen where you’re supposed to keep all food and wait for me to come along.”
“Then can we talk about building a caterpole?”
“Yes. Now go. And don’t dribble!” I shouted after the boy as he raced back to the kitchen. I went over to pick up the half a freezer pop then rushed to the trash can under my desk. I’d wash the trash can out later or ants would magically appear. After I wet mopped the hallway and the kitchen and got Liam a new freezer pop, grape this time, to share with me as he had sadly lost half of the cherry one, we sat at the island and enjoyed our treats.
“Can we talk about building a caterpole now?” I took a bite of my grape freezer pop and grimaced. Liam laughed. “Your brain is froze!”
“Sort of yeah,” I groaned then chuckled. “Okay, so, first it’s a catapult. Not a caterpole.”
“Okay, can we build one in your new back yard?”
I took a lick of my pop. “Are you planning to lay siege to the good people of Squirrel Hill?” He blinked at me in confusion. I had to smile. “Laying siege to something means that you’re going to attack someone for a long, long time.”
“I want to shoot fire rocks at Mark Millson’s treehouse.” His face puckered up. The kid had not learned how to school his features. Something that Bryn said was genetic, yet Kelly and I argued against vehemently.
“Is Mark Millson being a jerk again?” His blond head bobbed then he bit off a chunk of freezer pop and chewed it loudly. “What did he say this time?”
Liam chewed and chewed. I waited. I’d been appraised of this new problem in the old neighborhood by my sister. Seems the Millson family were a loud group, with four boys ranging in size and age from teenager to first grade, which Liam was moving into come the fall. Mark was the youngest and the one who had been bullying Liam.
“Can we build the catapult?” he asked again.
“You know anything that Mark says that upsets or hurts you can be repeated to your mom, Adam, Uncle Bryn, or me, right?”
He nodded, his focus on the freezer pop. That worried me a bit. Liam wasn’t a child to keep things bottled up. What he was thinking generally just flowed out, so this sudden reticence was perplexing and upsetting.
“Okay, well, as long as you know you can tell us if something upsets you.”
“I know. So can we build the catapult?”
“No, buddy, sorry.” I was relatively sure flaming balls of rock flying through the sky over our humble little Pittsburgh neighborhood had been outlawed by the city council years ago. “We can go talk to his parents if he’s being mean to you. Is he calling you names?”
“No, not me.” Again, he clammed up tightly sucking on his pop, his brow creased with worry. Which sucked righteously. One should not have worries at six. But at least I had a clue now.
“Did he say bad things about me and Uncle Bryn?” I tugged the last bite of the freezer pop free from the stick with my teeth and let it melt on my tongue. Liam stared straight ahead, chewing on another bite of grape goodness. Again, I waited patiently.
“No. He said something mean about Peter.” Ah, okay. So the bully was picking on Liam’s transgender friend. Mark needed a firm talking to. At that moment, the front door opened and Kelly shouted our names. Liam slithered down from the stool and raced off, remembering at the last minute that food was not allowed out of the kitchen, so he ran to me, gave me what remained of his slippery spit-coated freezer pop then streaked off to greet his mother.
“Ewww.” I carried the melted mess to the sink. When the chunk was down the drain, I tossed the gummy stick into the trash then washed my hands. Kelly walked into the kitchen as I was drying my hands. She looked like several miles of bad road. “What did the doctor say? Food poisoning, right? I told you to stay away from that Turkish grill. The last time we ate there Bryn had the runs for days and swears there was something wrong with the lamb cag kebobs. I personally would have suspected the hamsili pilav. Anchovies are just not to be trusted in any way, shape or—”
“I’m pregnant.” She said it so matter-of-factly. Like she was saying the sky was blue or the grass was green. My jaw dropped.
“So it wasn’t the anchovies,” I muttered in shock. She shook her head, gagged, and then shoved me aside to vomit into the kitchen sink. I turned and gathered up her long blonde hair to hold it back from her face. Poor thing. She’d been sick as a dog during her pregnancy with Liam as well, only shaking the morning sickness that wiped her out when she was well into her fourth month. Why had I not thought of this possibility over the past few weeks? What kind of big brother was I?
“Never mention…anchovies again,” she gasped, cranked on the water, and washed out her mouth as well as the sink. Liam ran past the kitchen, little sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floors, shouting about something on TV that he needed to buy. I handed her some paper towels to pat at her damp face after she straightened up. Then I hugged her as hard as I dared. She clung to me like a barnacle on the underbelly of a ship. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Mike.”
I rubbed her back softly. “You’ll be fine. Adam will be a great father to this child too. Look at how well he does with Liam. You’re the best mom in the whole world. This baby will be so loved.”
“I am, really? I feel like the worst mother ever. Always leaving Liam with you and Bryn. I just wasn’t ready for a baby yet. Maybe in a few years but right off the bat? We’ve only been married a month! What if Adam freaks out?!” The tears welled up again.
“Hush, now.” I patted her hair as she whimpered and sniffled. “Adam will not freak out. If he does I’ll send a hockey team after him.” That made her piggy snort into my shoulder. “Seriously, baby sister, he’ll love your news. Do you want to leave Liam here tonight so you can tell Adam in private?”
“Mom! Mom! They have Avengers sneakers at the shoe store!” Liam thundered into the kitchen then hit a dead stop behind his mother, bottom lip quivering. “Mom, are you sad?”
Kelly’s shoulders squared. In true mother style, she pulled herself together, plastered on a smile, and then dashed at the wetness on her cheeks. Liam was close to tears himself. He was incredibly close to his mother, and me, as we’d been his only family for the first four years of his life. He tugged on the hem of her blue sundress. Her green eyes met mine. I released her with a soft smile then she spun around and dropped into a crouch.
“I’m not sad. Only tired and my belly hurts. You remember when you had the flu last winter, and you were so sick you cried?” He nodded his fine brows still tangled with concern. “That’s how I feel. Plus Uncle Mike talked about anchovies, which are super gross, and that made me puke again.”
He threw his arms around her neck. “You can cry on me too, Mommy,” he whispered as he cuddled her tightly. My eyes got blurry with unshed tears. “I won’t let no hairy fish make you puke again.”
She kissed his face a few dozen times. “I love you so much. Come on, let’s go home. We can stretch out on the sofa in front of the fan and watch Spider-Man cartoons.” Kelly rose, bringing Liam up with her, his cheek on her shoulder. My eyes flared. Should she be lifting him? “Stop. It’s fine. You worry too much. We’re going home to watch cartoons until Adam comes home then we’re going to have a family night.”
I nodded because it was required, but my fretting nature was already taking over. Despite my protests as we gathered up Liam’s stuff, my sister took her son home and left me all alone to worry. I did manage to tell Kelly that Mark Millson had been saying rotten things about Peter. She sighed and promised me she’d try talking to Liam about it later tonight.
By the time Bryn rolled in an hour later looking tanned and gorgeous in his yellow, blue, and white golf clothes, I was a burping mess of anxiety.
He was barely in the door right when I hit him with the news. “Kelly’s pregnant.”
His deep brown eyes didn’t register any shock. He tossed his white golf gloves to the coffee table then flipped his hat off as well before speaking.
“You sound surprised,” he offered as he toed off his white golf shoes. “I suspected she was a few weeks ago.”
That took some of the starch out of my sheets. “I guess I didn’t think about that. She was on the pill the last that I knew. I should have thought of it though, her symptoms are the same.”
“Yes, but she also mentioned taking St. John’s Wort before the wedding for a month or so to ease anxiety.” He dropped down on the sofa, his brown hair flattened to his head. “Does that not interfere with birth control pills?”
“How in the name of all that is holy would I possibly know that?!” I grabbed my phone from the table and started searching St. John’s Wort. “I’m a gay man. I have no use for such knowledge.”
“Well, I’m a gay man, and I knew about it.” I gave him a pickled look that made him chuckle. “Michael, you’re stressing. It’s just a pregnancy. Women have them all the time. She’s young, healthy, and happily married. Everything will be fine.”
I scanned a few pages before glancing at Bryn resting comfortably on the sofa. “You’re right. How the hell did you know that?”
He tapped his left brow. “My mind is a steel trap.”
“Mm, so I see. Did you remember to pick up milk?”
“Damn it,” he spat. I sat down beside him then leaned into him, eager to feel his arm come around me and smell his sun-kissed skin.
“Steel trap, eh?” I teased, cuddling into his side. He tucked me into his ribs, hand resting on my shoulder, and kissed my hair. “She looks terrible. When she was pregnant with Liam, she was so sick. I ran her to the ER a few times because she’d grown weak and dehydrated. Once she gets through the first trimester, she should be better. I hope Adam is okay with this news. What if he’s not? I swear I’ll punch him right on the nose.”
“Michael, darling, stop. You’ll be up in the middle of the night with acid reflux. This is something that is entirely out of our control. Kelly is married, and she and her husband will work out any difficulties just as we have. What does Liam think about it?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I think he’ll be a wonderful big brother. He’s got such a big heart.”
“That he does. I’m happy for them,” he said, his fingers stroking the side of my neck now. The tension began to ease. What a way to start a Saturday morning. There were a million things I should be doing. Packing for our flight to Germany next week. Bryn’s suitcases were out, open, and with a layer of undergarments skillfully placed in the bottom. Mine were still in the hall closet where they’d been stashed after our honeymoon. “Are you happy for them?”
“What? Yes, of course. As soon as I know Adam is happy, then I can relax a little. I know I get fidgety about Kelly.” I burrowed my nose into his golf shirt. “Oh, and Liam is having trouble with the Millson boy again. He wouldn’t say exactly what Mark said, but he did confess it was about Peter, and that he wanted to build a catapult to lob flaming rocks at the Millson tree house.”
“Dear Lord, is the boy channeling the spirit of Alexander the Great?”
I sniggered. “You’d think. So I’m not sure what will come of all of it. It’s so common, this damn bullying mentality. Did anyone ever pick on you when you were a kid? I bet not. You were this athletic, handsome hockey player.”
“Oh yes, no one ever picked on me. Please, Michael, I’m a gay man in a sport that’s entrenched in toxic masculinity.”
I lifted my head from his shoulder. “I didn’t mean once you were a grown man, I meant back in elementary school.”
He threw me a look. “Yes, I was picked on. Everyone is. Children can be cruel. But we all manage to work through it. If this Millson boy continues to be a problem for Liam, we’ll speak with his parents and see what can be done.”
“Okay, good. Good.” I eased back into his side. We sat there quietly, enjoying each other’s company as our minds wandered. “How was the golf game? Did you win?”
“Meh, I played a decent game. The greens were mobbed. I told Brent they would be early on a Saturday, but of course, he never listens to me.”
“Oh, the price of fame.” I sighed, tucking my feet up under my backside, my eyes growing a little droopy as we snuggled. “I have a shit ton of work to get done before Friday. I pray Jamie can handle all my accounts and his while we’re visiting your folks.”
“Jamie is a competent young man. He’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to showing you Germany. I think you will love it, and the break from work and your sister’s life will do you good. You carry the worries of the world on your shoulders. Four weeks away from home should free you of all that stress.”
“Mm, I cannot wait to get on that plane.” My husband was more right about the stress weighing on me than he knew. At my last physical, my blood pressure was higher than it should be, to the point that my doctor had said I needed to reduce stress or be put on medication to control my hypertension. Damn my genes and worrisome nature. “So, tell me all about your holes.”
Bryn snickered then pinched my earlobe. “I’d love to. On the first hole I…” He began talking golf. I made the required sounds of appreciation at his mastery of a tiny white ball as my mind danced around Kelly’s big announcement. I was happy for her, of course I was. She and Adam would be marvelous parents and Liam would be an exemplary big brother. Bryn and I would have an incredible holiday. Everything would be sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows just as that old Leslie Gore song promised.
Family According to Liam #5
1
Bryn
“Bryn!Bryn! Do you think that tonight’s win against Philly to secure a playoff berth was because of puck luck?”
I studied the mob gathered around my cubicle, seeking the moron who had asked such a stupid question. I knew, deep down, that I couldn’t reply as I wished. Hockey players, aside from a scant few, were not known for scathing replies to the press. Certainly, Bryn Mettler wasn’t. Oh, but there were times I longed to let loose.
Luck. How fucking insulting.
Perhaps chance played a part in any team’s success occasionally. I would never discredit that. We all had our sacred routines that we adhered to before a game. Superstition and repetition. It was part of what made up a hockey player. Yes, luck did strike now and again. A funny bounce of the puck that resulted in a game-winning goal. A key opponent getting sick before a big game. Luck. Fate. Destiny. Fortune. Call it what you will, it does, at times, help. Does it win a big game against an incredibly tough and physical team or keep your team in the top three throughout the season? No, not wholly. Why we Ravens had walked away with the win and a coveted playoff berth was because of hard work and sacrifice. A lifetime of it. So being asked if we had won because of the vagaries of fate –that pissed me off.
Still, I schooled my features as I’d been coached from a youngster up and found the overweight man with the bright orange phone standing behind a sports blogger named Steve. He nudged his way closer. I wiped at the sweat about to run into my eyes with a Ravens towel as I lined up my words carefully.
“What is your name?”
“Shaun Corel from Pittsburgh Hockey Times,” he replied. “We’re a new online site that deals with all the major Pittsburgh sports teams.”
I gave him my best smile. It felt strained, but I was beyond tired. I was exhausted. And all I wanted to do was shower, go home, and curl up with my husband. Sitting here in two sweaty and smelly cups as bloggers and sports columnists dreamed up ridiculous questions to see if they could outdo each other with new tidbits was tiresome. But it was part of the job. Every other Raven was doing the same. The dressing room was packed with players and the press corp.
“Always happy to have more representation among the Pittsburgh sports fans. As for luck being responsible for our win tonight, I’d be a fool to spit in the eyes of the hockey gods.” That got a chuckle from the men pressed tight around me. “As you know, we goalies are dogmatic about our rituals and lucky socks.” Another round of laughter. “But I cannot say that it was only luck that won us a place in the playoffs. This team has worked hard all year to be where we are now. We’ve pushed ourselves harder than we ever have before. We’ve kept our eyes on the prize and are now one step closer to bringing the Cup back to Pittsburgh.”
Someone else shoved a phone at me while asking another question. After fifteen more minutes, I called a halt to the post-game feeding frenzy citing the need to shower before I began offending someone other than myself. The reporters moved off to chat with a new defenseman we’d picked up from Liiga, known as the Finnish Elite League in America. A massive Finn named Heikko Keto, who was now and forever known as “Hickey” among the team. He was a lovely young man with pale blond hair and eyes as blue as the skies over his homeland. Big too, and ferocious in front of my net. I liked him a lot and had taken to inviting him to dinner simply because he seemed lonely in his new country. Coming right from Finland to the United States was jarring as was leaving his family behind. I knew how that felt all too well.
Thankfully, he had no wife or girlfriend back in Rauma, his hometown. I predicted that his single status would soon be rectified. He was adorable, shy, prone to blushing, and was in the sights of several of the players’ wives who felt all players must be fixed up and in love within moments of putting on a Ravens sweater. Not that I was complaining too loudly. If not for a few lovely ladies, I may have never met Michael. I couldn’t imagine my life without him and the family we now had. A family that would be growing soon. My mind on domestic life, I showered and dressed in a hurry. I was eager to get home.
When I pulled into my narrow drive fifteen minutes after I left the arena, I was in the middle of a conversation with Joanne Case, the executive director of the Bryn Mettler Foundation, and all-around Girl Friday. Oh my. I groaned at the term.
“Is there a problem with the finalization of the shelter plans?” Joanne asked.
“No, no, I just…” I glanced from my house with the front porch light on to my phone resting in its holder. I cut the engine of the Mercedes. “I just used a term for you in my head that was rather sexist.”
“Dare I ask?”
“I thought of you as a Girl Friday which I know is highly offensive. You are far from a girl.”
“You didn’t need to put that much emphasis on the word far, but I thank you for recognizing how derogatory that was and corking yourself before it slipped out into the world.”
“It was a close thing. So, I’m home now. Michael and I will be at the groundbreaking dedication for the new LGBTQ youth shelter tomorrow at two. Can you contact Page for me and ask her to whip up something for the press as well as some tweets Michael and I can send out about the dedication ceremony?”
“Already done.”
“You are a godsend.”
“Yes, I know. See you at the groundbreaking.”
After we ended the call, I grabbed my personal bag from the passenger seat, got out, locked the doors with the fob, and hauled my weary ass into the house. After securing the deadbolt on the front door, I padded through the quiet house, expecting to find Michael in bed. But he was in the second bedroom, which was still being used as his office despite the renovations that had been completed to make it a child’s room. Warm yellows, greens, and grays to replace all the pink that had been here when we’d bought the house. We’d known early that we’d be using gender-neutral colors. One reason was that we didn’t know the sex or age of the child we’d be adopting. And two we were rather boisterous supporters of letting children learn their identities while not enforcing gender stereotypes.
Michael was slouched over the desk by the window, in his lounge pants and his favorite Ravens T-shirt, sound asleep. I walked over to him, touched his back, and gently called his name.
He jerked awake with a yelp, his wide green eyes flying around the room then landing on me standing behind him.
“Oh shit,” he panted, sitting back in his old office chair, his cheek carrying the imprint of the laptop keyboard. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed between his shoulder blades as I peeked at the laptop monitor. “Why are you still working on the Henderson Supermarkets account? I thought you and Jamie had finished that design and sent it to Skip.”
His upper lip rolled. “Skip. Fucking Skip Gardella. We should have known he’d be a dick. Anyone named Skip is a dick.” He pushed away from the desk, rolled his shoulders, and slapped the lid of the laptop down. “Skip decided that the preliminary design outlines weren’t food-oriented enough and sent it back for a complete rework. Not food-oriented enough. There was nothing but food all over that website. I showed you the mock-up. Did you see the squashes and zucchinis?”
“I did yes. Why is he doing this again?”
“I think it’s because he dislikes having a gay man and a trans man on his new team.” He threw air quotes around the words new and team. “Of course, he’s never said it, but he is constantly rejecting any idea that bears mine and Jamie’s name. I hate Skip. Skip needs to go back to Oregon.”
I gave him a small hug that he melted into. He’d been extremely unhappy at Blue Bell Design since it had been acquired by Laramie Ford Designs out of Portland two months ago. The acquisition had been fast and quite merciless. The only two employees from Blue Bell that remained were Michael and Jamie. All the others had been let go on the spot. There had never been any outward signs of homo or trans phobia, obviously, but Michael and Jamie said they felt it floating around in the air like anthrax. They’d yet to find anything substantial to back up their claims so it was just gut feelings, but as gay and trans men, they knew when the atmosphere wasn’t an accepting one. We all did. Trust me. Growing up as anything but that default straight setting taught you early to read signs and trust your instincts. It could be a matter of life or death.
“You should tell Skip to shove his bigotry up his ass and open your own design business with Jamie,” I whispered beside his ear. He sighed forlornly. “I know I keep harping on it but you two work so well together, and you could then take jobs that fit your vision and creative styles. Also—”
“I know. We both know the city and the city knows us.”
“It’s true. You’re a native Pittsburgher. You’re both young and skilled. Your designs are modernly classic yet innovative, and the two of you are hip and queer and proudly out.” He nodded along, his hands sliding under my dress shirt and jacket. “Why keep taking hits like this from people who can’t see the visionaries you two are? Why keep slaving away on thankless accounts for a company that’s blind to the workers they employ? Take your best accounts and set up your own business. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
He kissed my neck then pulled back so he could look at me. “You’re so good to me, filling me up on praise and Snickers bites.”
“There was no mention of Snickers bites.”
“Oh, maybe that was Kelly. She’s been on this hot tuna salad and Snickers bites kick of late. Or it could have been Liam. That sounds like Liam.” I shuddered at the thought. I suppose odd cravings when one was as far along as she was in her pregnancy were to be expected. But hot tuna salad and chocolate was just…no. “I’ll think about it.”
“You say that but you never do,” I replied, pecking him on his cheek then taking him by the hand.
“I know. It’s just…” He blew out a breath then turned off the gooseneck lamp on the smoky gray desk. “We have so much going on with the adoption and the playoffs now. Congratulations on getting that slot!” He gave my fingers a squeeze as we made our way to the master bedroom.
“Thank you. Philadelphia put up one hell of a fight though. Those men are tough as nails.” I released his hand when we entered our room to loosen my tie.
He sat on the edge of the bed, green eyes moving over me as I undressed and placed my dirty clothes into the two hampers on my side of the room. One was for dry cleaning, the other for wash and wear. Michael also had a hamper, just one, as he tended to dress somewhat casually for work. A tie yes, but no jacket; chinos, loafers, that sort of thing.
“It’s exciting. Yinz looked great out there tonight,” he said as he toed off his slippers before sliding under the thin spring blanket and sheet. I smiled at his Pittsburghese way of speaking. It was like learning a different language at times. Nebby meant nosy, spicket for spigot, keller for color, and of course, yinz which was a kind of southeastern Pennsylvanian y’all. “I’m so tired. Are we still doing dinner tomorrow night?” he asked around a yawn then burrowed his face into his pillow.
“Yes, it’s our turn. I thought we might do something easy like vegetable lasagna and salad.”
“Mm, okay yeah, sounds good. We’ll have to redd up the house when we get home,” he mumbled into the pillow.
“I’ll tidy up. I have a few days off.” I slid in beside him, turned the cover back over him, and let the sheet drift down over my bare chest. “We have the groundbreaking for the new LGBTQ youth center tomorrow. Can you sneak out to attend?”
“Damn right I’ll be there. If Skip gets mouthy, I’ll tell him to jag off and just walk out.”
I rolled to my side, pressed my belly to his side, and slung my arm over his back. He sighed like a contented kitten when I dropped a kiss to his hair. Within seconds, he was sound asleep, and I followed quickly. A hard night on the ice and the warmth of the man you love beside you was the best sleep aid in the world.
* * *
The followingday I tracked down Heikko in the weight room of our practice facility in Cranberry Township. Even though today was not a mandatory skate, I went in anyway, for just an hour, for a massage plus a therapy session with the team counselor. The stress of the season combined with the anxiety of the adoption process had me tight. Rick, the team masseuse, soon had the kinks worked out. As Rick’s fingers dug deep into the muscles across my shoulders, I winced and sighed then let my eyes drift shut as I tried to compartmentalize the delays we’d faced in adding to our family. Perhaps we were being too impatient.
After all, most adoptions took much longer. It had only been eight months or so into the process. Still, we were anxious to add a child to our household, and every day’s delay felt like a month. When on earth would we be allowed to speak and meet with the girl we were hoping to adopt?! It had taken us months to decide. There were so many children in the system. So many needed a stable home with loving parents. Then we’d seen her brief little introductory video, and we knew. She’d recited a passage from Anne of Green Gables—one of my husband’s favorite books from his youth—while wearing a Ravens hoodie. Michael had looked at me, eyes dewy, and gasped, “Oh, Bryn, I think we may have found our daughter,” to which I had nodded silently, my throat too thick with emotion to speak.
So now that we had decided what was the holdup?! It had been weeks since we’d spoken to Neville to let him know of our choice. Why not let us speak to her, get to know her, start to build a bond? It was infuriating to say the least and—
“You’re tensing up again,” Rick informed me as he worked on a knot between my shoulder blades.
“Sorry,” I murmured, took a deep breath, and let my forehead sink into the cloth-covered face cushion, sweeping away the worries that I had no control over—the state moved at its own sluggish rate after all—and let my mind drift. I may have nodded off a few times but when the massage was over, I felt as loose as I had when I was twenty. Or close as close to twenty as I was ever likely to get again.
Rolling my head on muscles that were soft and pliant, I pushed into the weight room of the PGH One Plus facility. There were a few Ravens here. Most were taking advantage of the day off as we waited to see who we would play against. Washington was the favorites to face off against us, but there were a few other games in our division left to play tonight before we would know for sure.
I nodded at the men lifting weights as I made my way to Heikko working on the leg machine. He gave me a broad smile when he saw me coming his way.
“Morning!” he called out in Finnish.
“Morning,” I replied in Swedish. It was nice to have someone to jaw with who spoke both languages. Finland had a high percentage of people who spoke Swedish and Finnish. I waited for him to complete his reps before saying more. “Are you busy tonight?”
“No, not at all.” He stood then wiped down the machine with a disinfecting cloth before waving at me to take his seat.
I waved him off. “I’ve just come from having a massage. Today I’m taking it easy.” I switched to English to prod him into using it more.
“Ah, so a true day off. Good to you, Mets.” He slapped my shoulder so hard my fillings quivered. The boy was a moose. Six foot six frame packed with two hundred fifty-five pounds of muscle. Thank goodness he had such a sweet demeanor. Pity for the opposing team that it disappeared when he strapped skates onto his massive feet.
“Yes, I’m old and need time to recuperate,” I joked. Well, it was mostly a joke. “If you’d like, Michael and I are hosting a small dinner tonight. Please, come join us.”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you! I would like that. My apartment is so new, and this city is so…” He floundered around a bit.
“Intimidating?”
“Yes, intimidating. But friendly! I walked last night, and many people waved and called to me.” He wiped at his sweaty face with a Ravens towel.
“Yes, the people of Pittsburgh love their sports teams. And they will also let you know when they feel you are playing poorly.”
“Yes, I’ve felt the stinging of the fans a few times,” he said then chuckled.
We talked for a bit then I excused myself. Hickey had to work on his upper body, and I had an hour with Dr. Megg followed by shopping and meal prep. It promised to be a lovely evening with close friends.
Tangled in Clouds
One
Jamie
“Paula,you need to stop this. I’ve put so much love and effort into you over the past year and this is how you repay me? Where the hell did you ever get aphids?”
My philodendron didn’t reply because…plant, but she did look contrite. And droopy. I spritzed her with more vinegar water then gently wiped her leaves off.
“I bet you picked them up when we were at Laramie Designs.”
Paula sat there in my kitchen sink quietly. Deep down I suspected she appreciated the TLC she was getting. I should have caught the problem sooner but with quitting the ghastly homo and trans phobic Laramie Designs, starting Panda Web Designs up a few months ago, moving from my crappy little apartment to a bigger place within walking distance of our new office, and dealing with yet another holiday season spent with my family, I missed the aphid infestation.
“I think I’m going to simply skip Christmas next year,” I told my plant. I really needed a pet or something. Being a cool single dude slash entrepreneur was all well and good but I’d be thirty in June and here I was on a Saturday night bathing and conversing with my plant. “Maybe a cat?” I enquired of the sickly houseplant. She threw off a strong vibe of dislike. “Right, it might poop in your pot.”
Cats did that. The kitten Bryn and Mike had gotten for Bridgette had pooped right beside its new litter box for weeks after they brought it home. I thought Bryn was going to lose his marbles until Ruth, the orange kitten, figured out that turds go in the box not beside it. It was pretty funny actually. Mike had even blogged about it. Bryn though, control freak and tidy man that he was, had found no humor in it.
Thinking of Bryn made me think of Heikki Keto. I paused in plant care to stare out the frosty window of my kitchen. I’d seen him just the other day at Mike and Bryn’s post-Xmas party they’d thrown. He was hard to miss. He towered above all the other people who had been there, even most of the Ravens. The man was gorgeous. Like a damn Viking or something with silvery-white blond hair and eyes as blue as a fjord. Not that I’d ever seen a fjord in person but I’d seen images online. He was massive, broad-shouldered, thick arms, and those damn sexy skaters’ thighs and ass. Plus he was shy. That turned me on to no end. A huge man that blushed when you complimented him? Shit yes, give me a double dip of that sweetness. If this spray bottle had straight water I’d be spritzing the shit out of myself. We’d exchanged a “Yo” head nod and that had been it.
I’d tried to keep my distance as he was obviously uncomfortable with the fact that I was a trans man. It had taken me a long time to work through that for some reason. It certainly hadn’t been the first time I’d run into that reaction from a person. Sadly, I was sure it wouldn’t be the last either. Try to find gay men to date on any online dating app when you’re trans.
It’s almost impossible even with having completed top and bottom surgeries as I had by age twenty-five. I’d known from the age of five that I was not Laura, I was Jamie. Now if some members of my family could catch the fuck up.
“No fats, no femmes, no trans, no Asians, no Blacks,” I mumbled as I watched tiny flakes drifting downward to coat the icy streets of Pittsburgh. So why was moving past the oddness of Heikki Keto so hard? Maybe because we’d hit it off really well. And he had acted interested even after he knew I was trans. Then he flaked off to Finland for the summer without even a goodbye. Even now that he’d been back for four or so months things between us were weird. The way he looked at me…God, it gave me shivers. But he seemed unable to move past a short chat over mundane things or a bob of the head across a crowded room. He tied me up in knots and I needed to work out exactly why so I could get him out of my head.
He’d given me hope, I guess. And that had made the slap in the face that much more painful. He should have just come out and said…
An incoming call pulled me from the disappointment of Heikki Keto. It was my grandfather. I hurried to pick up. Gramps didn’t text. He called. Which was cool. I adored my paternal grandfather. He’d been the only one in my family to accept me as Jamie from the first time I’d stated that I was a boy. He’d gifted me the money for my surgeries and had come to be with me during the long, painful recoveries. Grampa Bruce was the fucking best. My parents were still iffy about me but had come around enough to call me Jamie. My brother Clark was a whole different story. He simply refused to call me Jamie even though I now had a beard, balls, and pissed standing up.
“Jamie, it’s time!” I blinked then glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Shit. I forgot. I’ve been killing aphids.”
“Poor Paula,” Gramps sighed. He was a big gardener and had been the one to tell me about the vinegar water treatment. “Get yourself settled. I’ll wait.”
I hustled around the kitchen, pulled out my Saturday night snack of Chex Mix and a diet ginger ale, and dropped down onto my sofa.
“What are they playing tonight?” I asked as I fished my remote out from between the dark brown cushions and turned on the set mounted to the wall.
“Barefoot in the Park,” Gramps replied. I kicked up my feet in glee.
“I love Robert Redford so much! God, blonde men do me in.” I flipped to the classic movie channel for the Saturday Night Romance Classics show. This was a tradition for me and Gramps that we’d started the week after I’d moved away from Philly to attend college at Pitt. My love of old 60’s rom-coms was all thanks to my grandfather. He’d always told me that nothing in this cold world could warm a heart like a good laugh and a lasting love. He should know. He’d been married to my grandmother for over fifty years before she passed nine years ago.
“That Jane Fonda ain’t nothing to sneeze at,” Gramps tossed out.
I stuck my hand into the bag of Chex Mix, sat back, and let the movie carry me off to a world where romance was easy. If you were straight and looked like Bob Redford. Which I was not. Whatever. I was fine being single. Who cared that the ball would drop on a new year in four hours? What did it matter that everyone in this city was out on a date wearing their fanciest clothes while they sipped champagne and kissed their loves at midnight? Who gave a tinkers damn as Gramps would say? Not me. Nope. I had a plant who loved me, my best buddy in the world—next to Mike—on the phone, and Jane and Bob on the tube. My life was great. Romance was overrated anyway.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com
The World According to Liam #4
Family According to Liam #5
Tangled in Clouds
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