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The Spitfires were the unlucky team that had to play a game on the day after Thanksgiving, so the team’s abbreviated celebration was a party at the coach’s house after they won. Laurent’s father, being Canadian, had not celebrated the American holiday, so Laurent didn’t think much about missing it. But apparently the year prior, they’d had a large get-together that included Coach Ashford’s parents. Laurent, a little intimidated by the idea of a huge meal and a lot of people, was just fine with the pizza and beer provided by the coaches.
The better holiday was Christmas, because for the first time in his life, Laurent didn’t have to accompany his father to Montreal and spend it with family neither of them liked. It made his father’s mood dangerous, and Laurent still had scars on his back from two years before, when the shirt he’d been instructed to buy for his cousin was too small and made Denis look stupid.
So he spent the holiday with Isaac. They could have stayed at Isaac’s house, since Coach Samarin went with Coach Ashford to visit Coach Ashford’s family. But instead they spent it in Laurent’s apartment. They watched movies, fooled around, and Laurent spent a lot of time drawing and even showed Isaac some of his original comics. They were planning on having takeout Chinese for Christmas dinner, but Mrs. Bowen found out they were there and insisted on making them dinner. It ended up being more entertaining than either Laurent or Isaac thought it would be, as Mrs. Bowen showed pictures of her and Harold and regaled them with stories of a vaguely scandalous nature. Laurent and Isaac did the dishes, and she sent them home with food after they all watched the world’s oldest version of A Christmas Carol.
For New Year’s they went to a party at Jack Belsey’s. It was a palatial and tacky house, but there was free booze and an indoor pool, which Laurent wouldn’t go near. And despite others being pushed in, his teammates didn’t have quite the nerve to try that with him yet. Thank God. It was a strange party, but Isaac kissed him at midnight, and no one seemed to care at all. So Laurent sent up a fervent hope that the New Year would bring more of the same and that he could finally sever ties with his old life.
Speaking of... they were getting ready to play the Ravens in two days.
Laurent was already regretting the promise he’d made to Isaac, which was to go out and celebrate with the team if they won.
That wasn’t fair, because Isaac had been blowing him when he made Laurent promise. First he bit the inside of Laurent’s thighs and nearly made him come without putting his mouth any closer to Laurent’s dick. And then, when he was deep-throating him, he stopped, pulled off, and said something like, “Promise you’ll come out after the Ravens game if we win.”
Laurent had said something that was a cross between “fine,” and “fuck you,” and a moan, but Isaac took it for a yes, and Laurent was stuck and couldn’t get out of it. He was going to have to go be social with Isaac and his teammates—his teammates, who of course knew they were together.
Laurent learned that when Hux and Murph cornered him in the locker room—though it was, thankfully, nothing like the first time—and brought it up.
“So, you and Drake,” Murph said. He sighed. “I should have guessed. Even I think you’re pretty, and I’m straight.”
“We just want to make sure you’re not being, like, sneakily evil or something,” said Hux. He crossed his tattooed arms over his massive chest and scowled. “Don’t. Okay? Isaac is a good guy. And I like borrowing your comics, so don’t be a dick. On purpose,” Hux added. “Sometimes I think you can’t help yourself.”
Laurent had no idea what to say, so he just shrugged, ignored that he was blushing, and promised he wasn’t trying to do anything evil. They seemed to believe him.
The game against the Ravens—which Isaac was in goal for—was tense, and it came down to the wire and a five-minute overtime period. Crowder’s goal two minutes in gave the Spitfires the win, and while Laurent was glad about that, he also dreaded the inevitable forced merriment he’d agreed to attend thanks to Isaac’s skill with his mouth.
Despite his anxiety about partying with his teammates, Laurent might have cheered a little loudly when Crowder scored. He liked seeing his father angry across the ice. He liked seeing his father lose. And the way Isaac looked when he skated up to the bench and took off his helmet, all sweaty and smug, made Laurent want to climb on his lap.
Right there. So his asshole father could see.
The mood in the locker room after the game was jubilant, even if it wasn’t the playoffs, because the Ravens were their archrivals, and everyone hated them—even without Laurent on their team. Laurent quietly changed out of his uniform. He enjoyed how happy everyone was and that Isaac was the recipient of enthusiastic backslaps and hell yeah, Drake’s. Laurent got his helmet taps on the ice when they won a game, but the team clearly wanted to win against the Ravens with Isaac in net. Laurent couldn’t blame them. He wanted that too.
He wasn’t surprised to see his father waiting out in the parking lot. Nor was he surprised to see Coach Samarin’s car with its headlights on, directly across from Isaac’s Jeep.
“Laurent,” his father hissed in French. “You will stop pretending I don’t exist. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it stops now. You will speak to me.”
“Gotta go,” Isaac interrupted. He yanked the door to the Jeep open so forcefully that Laurent was surprised it was still attached to its hinges. “C’mon, Saint.”
“Laurent.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Laurent said to his father. He wanted that to come out strong and forceful, like Isaac would say it. But it didn’t. It sounded reedy and whiny, but his heart was hammering, and his mouth was so dry it was hard to speak. He inched closer to the Jeep and toward Isaac. Toward safety.
His father flicked a dismissive glance at Isaac and then glared once more at Laurent. “You’re going to be sorry for this,” he said coldly, still speaking French. “I won’t have you and that coach making a fool of me. Now get over here and tell that—”
“Shut up,” Laurent said, feeling oddly like he was watching someone else do it, like it was an out-of-body experience. “Just leave me alone. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Denis St. Savoy smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Because, son. I’m your father. And it’s not about what you want.”
“Saint, let’s go,” Isaac said. He was glaring at Laurent’s father, and Laurent knew that Isaac would do something stupid if he didn’t get in the Jeep—something on his behalf. And Laurent didn’t want that. Isaac would probably try and hit him, and Denis would have him arrested and thrown in jail for assault.
“You’re pathetic,” his father spat, using words to hurt, since he couldn’t use anything else. Not like he needed to. “You need a lesson on what happens when you disobey me.”
“Get. In. The. Goddamn. Jeep,” Isaac said very softly. “Or I’m gonna end up suspended for the rest of the season.”
Oh no.
Denis narrowed his eyes, and Laurent went to the Jeep, grabbed the door handle, and pulled. He practically fell over himself getting in, but when Isaac didn’t immediately go around to the driver’s side, he said, “Isaac, please.”
“Begging. You’re so pathetic,” his father sneered, in English that time. “You bending over for that fag and taking it from him? Hmm? You beg for that, don’t you? You’re a sorry excuse for a man and a son.”
“Yeah. Well, you’re a sorry excuse for a father and a coach,” Isaac snapped. Then he added, “Your team sucks,” climbed in the Jeep, and slammed the door shut.
“I hate him,” Isaac said, and his eyes were slitted in anger. His face was flushed, and he was so tense that his jaw looked like it might crack.
For him. He was that angry for Laurent.
Laurent nodded. “I hate him too.” He leaned over and kissed Isaac, right there in the parking lot. He hoped his father saw it. He slowly breathed out and pressed his forehead to Isaac’s. “Can we please go?”
“Yeah,” Isaac said, and suddenly he didn’t sound quite so angry. He ran his fingers through Laurent’s hair, then kissed him gently on the forehead, and sat back. “We can.”
Laurent sat quietly shaking in the passenger seat. He felt like he’d just declared war.
Isaac reached over and took his hand. He didn’t say anything. He just held it tight in his own, all the way home.