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The problem with getting drunk, Laurent realized, was that when you woke up the next day, you wanted to die and remain perfectly still. But the only things that would make you feel better involved getting up and moving.
He sat up, somewhat aware he was naked, in bed, in his apartment. Isaac was sprawled next to him and taking up most of the room. There was evidence of their activities of the night before strewn all over Laurent’s bedroom—clothing, a bag of hockey gear, and a few empty condom wrappers and a bottle of lube on the floor next to the bed. Isaac’s stupid Doc Martens were right in front of the bed, again. He was so messy.
Laurent was a little sore when he went to move too. Isaac had been as excited about the Spitfires’ Kelly Cup victory as if he’d been in goal himself.
As for Laurent, he was just relieved it was over.
When he stood in goal and watched the clock tick down to zero, it meant more to him than the Spitfires winning the Kelly Cup. It meant the end of playing a sport he loathed because of a man who would never love him. Isaac would be back in goal next season and do what he always did—in goal or out—defend and protect, and love the game while doing it. And Laurent would be the one watching with pride as Isaac excelled. That’s what he wanted.
But despite his relief in the end of the season and his smug satisfaction at knowing his father’s plan hadn’t worked like he’d wanted, Laurent had to admit a certain pride in his accomplishment. He had played well, even if he hadn’t done it for a trophy. He’d done it for a blue-haired goalie who couldn’t put his shoes somewhere Laurent wouldn’t trip over them. Laurent couldn’t even remember who dropped them off the night before. Someone must have followed them home in the Jeep, because the keys were on the small kitchen table.
And Laurent maybe told Isaac to “fuck me like a goddamn champion, Drake.” And Isaac had done just that, a little rough in his excitement in a way that Laurent didn’t mind at all, because it was out of love, not jealousy or anger.
Laurent managed to stumble into the kitchen to get a glass of water and drank it thirstily while standing naked and covered in sweat and other fluids—and magic marker, because his teammates were morons. Laurent waited for the panic to set in, the sick twist of his stomach to send him to the bathroom. Then he stood in the warm, bright room and marveled at how it never came.
Well, not exactly. He might have to take himself off to the bathroom in a minute, but that was just because of his hangover. He stood in the sunlight, drank his water, and thought about never putting that mask on again. Being Laurent St. Savoy, or rather, finding out who Laurent St. Savoy was. He wanted to be an artist. He wanted to own a comics store. He wanted to be Isaac Drake’s boyfriend. He wanted to be Saint.
There was just one thing he had to do first.
Laurent got dressed, put a glass of water and some Advil on the bedside table, and wrote Isaac a letter. Then he grabbed a few things and threw them in a bag, stuffed his jersey from the game the night before in a plastic bag, and pocketed Isaac’s keys. Then he headed downstairs, climbed in Isaac’s Jeep, and drove to Asheville.
Isaac,
I know you’re going to think this is dramatic and also probably be mad that I’m leaving with your car.
I’m tired of being afraid of him. I’m tired of how he gets away with treating people like they’re nothing. Like they’re worthless. He does it because, by the time he’s through with someone, they don’t think enough of themselves to stand up to him and make him stop. Believe me. I know. That’s what he did to me. But I can stand up to him now because of you.
This is my championship game, Isaac. I have to win it now or I never will.
I love you.
Saint
––––––––
“Are you worried about Laurent?” Max asked Isaac as he reached over and snagged the vodka bottle from the island. He drank out of it instead of a glass, with a defiant swig and a glare at Misha.
“I’m divorcing you,” Misha said disapprovingly.
Isaac’s stomach was tied up in knots, but he managed a smile. Of course he was worried. He’d been worried since the moment he woke up and found that goddamn note. “You guys really should just get married already.”
“Not until Max learns to drink vodka with proper respect,” Misha said as he took the bottle from Max. He looked one step away from petting it. “Do you want to borrow my car? It is not that far to Asheville.”
Isaac casually checked his phone for the six thousandth time—no missed calls, no messages. “You know I do. But I feel like this is important to Laurent. I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “But if I haven’t heard from him by tomorrow, I’m taking Hux and Murph and going to get him.”
“No,” Misha said, and before Isaac could argue with that, he clarified, “You’re taking me.”
“And me,” Max added.
“It is a brave thing he is doing,” Misha said quietly. “He has come a long way from the man he used to be.”
“You like him better than me, don’t you?” Isaac laughed at the stricken look on Misha’s face. “I’m kidding. I know you love all your kids equally, Dad.”
Max snorted. Misha, of all things, blushed. His phone rang before Isaac or Max could tease him about that. Misha answered and took his chance to escape the kitchen.
“You doing all right?”
Isaac took himself out of his thoughts and looked at Max. “Sure. Ankle’s much better, and the bruising is going away. Getting the full range of motion back.” He held out his leg and rotated his ankle to show Max. “See?”
“That’s great, but it’s not what I meant.” Max capped the vodka bottle and put it back in the freezer. “I know this shit with Saint has to be hard on you.”
It was, but hearing Max use that nickname for Laurent made Isaac smile. “Yeah. I mean, I love him.” Isaac gave an easy shrug and dragged his fingers along the smooth granite of the island countertop. “And y’know. It’s hard when you love someone and can’t fix things for them.”
Max put a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. “I know, Isaac. But you can’t.”
Isaac swallowed past a lump in his throat. “You and Misha—I mean, you guys fixed stuff. For me.”
“No we didn’t. We helped you when you needed it. That’s not the same thing.” Max squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll work out. And Laurent’s lucky to have you.”
“Aren’t you going to say I’m lucky to have him?”
“Not unless you want me to make a joke about making difficult saves,” Max said and patted Isaac’s shoulder. “Just... if you need to talk to someone, my door’s always open.”
Isaac gave him a sly grin. “Always?”
“You know what I mean.” Max laughed, but he sobered as Misha strode into the room with an expression on his face that Isaac immediately knew meant trouble.
“That was Belsey,” Misha said, and before either Max or Isaac could remark upon the unprecedented amount of time that Misha had spent on the phone with their general manager, he continued. “Apparently there have been several rather severe allegations brought forth to the ECHL commissioner against Denis St. Savoy in regard to player relations, illegal incentives to cause injury, and general mismanagement.”
Isaac’s mouth fell open. “There have?”
“Yes,” said Misha. “Someone gathered a group of former and current Ravens players together and brought enough evidence to bypass the usual channels for filing a formal complaint. So there’s going to be a hearing in two days.”
“Cool. Can we go tell them about that broom he brought on the ice last year?” Max asked and he scowled. “I still can’t believe that asshole did that.”
“I think the allegations are more serious than lack of class,” Misha said. “Or there would be a lot more of these hearings.”
Isaac inhaled sharply as he realized what must have happened. “It was Laurent, wasn’t it? Who brought the allegations?” Isaac looked wide-eyed at his coach. “That’s why Belsey’s calling. Because Laurent’s going to be there.”
“Yes,” said Misha. “I think you both better go pack.”
––––––––
When Isaac finally saw Laurent in the hotel lobby the next day, he dropped his bag like they were in the middle of a movie and yanked him into a fierce hug.
Laurent had his usual “fuck you I hate everything” expression on, but he hugged Isaac back, and Isaac could feel him trembling.
“I’m so proud of you,” Isaac managed, choked up and relieved to find him unharmed. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Me neither,” Laurent said as he pulled away. Isaac let him go, but Laurent put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders and took a deep breath. “I had to do it, Isaac. I had to. I know he paid Simon to hurt you. He’s done it before. And he’ll do it again unless someone stops him.”
“I know. That’s the only reason I let you abscond with my Jeep.”
“Coach Ashford’s Jeep.”
Isaac wanted to kiss him. “So? Are you going to tell me how you did it?”
“I think we should move this out of the lobby,” Misha suggested as he appeared next to them. “We have rooms upstairs. Let’s make use of them.”
Max cleared his throat and gave Misha a pointed look. “Why don’t we give Isaac and Saint some time to, uh... catch up? We’ll meet up in a few hours. The hearing is in the morning, so we have plenty of time. There’s no rush.”
Laurent’s expression darkened, which Isaac knew was only because he was nervous. So he mumbled, “Don’t talk, Saint,” and gave his coaches a nod. “I’ll text you.”
“Why can’t anyone your age just call?” Misha muttered loudly enough for Isaac to hear.
Max gave a low snort of laughter. “Come on, old man.”
They rode the elevator together to separate floors, and the minute they closed the door to their room, Isaac pushed Laurent against it and kissed him. It was a long, hot kiss, full of unspoken need and desire. But while Laurent’s hands settled on Isaac’s hips, his response was lackluster at best, and his body was tense in ways that had nothing to do with sex.
Isaac pulled back immediately to give him space. “Sorry. I just missed you.”
“No, I—it’s okay.”
Isaac put his fingers on Laurent’s mouth to quiet him and shook his head. “No. It’s not.” He took a step back, and they made their way into the bedroom proper—and it was way nicer than the hotels they were used to when traveling with the team.
Laurent didn’t look angry or mulish, but he was clearly agitated. Isaac sat on the bed to give him space and was surprised when Laurent climbed right on top of him.
“I don’t want to be quiet,” he said as he pushed at Isaac’s shoulders. “And I want you to kiss me. Sometimes it just takes me a minute to remember that the person touching me isn’t going to hurt me. That it’s you.”
Isaac stared up into Laurent’s eyes, saw the set of his jaw and tilted chin, and gave a nod.
“Okay. Yeah.” He slid a hand into Laurent’s hair and pulled him down, and they ended up stretched on the bed and kissing until Laurent’s hips pushed demandingly against his own. Laurent was much more aggressive than Isaac was used to, but it totally turned him on. A lot.
He nipped at Laurent’s lower lip. “Want to fuck me?”
Laurent’s answer was a low groan and another hard push of his hips, which seemed like a yes to Isaac.
“Mmm. Good. I want you to. But I gotta take my shoes off. Get some stuff from my bag.” It was hard to stop kissing long enough to do it, but eventually Isaac untangled himself from Laurent’s long-limbed form and rummaged for the lube and some condoms, which he threw on the bed.
“We don’t need these,” Laurent said as he picked up the condom packet. “We both got a clean bill of health. Remember?”
Isaac had been tested when he hurt his ankle, and Laurent as part of the preplayoff health screening the team provided. “Yeah,” Isaac said. He toed off his shoes. “But you know. Better to be safe.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Drake.” Laurent put his hands on his hips and looked down his nose at Isaac. He still could pull off arrogant asshole better than anyone Isaac had ever met, even though Isaac knew very well that Laurent slept with the stupid stuffed duck that was technically Isaac’s.
“I’m not,” Isaac said. But he had to admit that, yeah, he probably was.
“You’re not fucking around on me, are you?”
Isaac narrowed his eyes and climbed on the bed. Then he shoved Laurent’s shoulder. “You know I’m not. I’d never.”
“Then what’s the problem? You like these things that much?” Laurent made a face at the condom. “Or do you think I’m cheating on you? Is that it?”
“Come on. Don’t be like this.” Isaac hated that he could feel an argument in the air, threatening to consume them in lieu of the sex they both wanted.
“This isn’t my hang-up,” Laurent said. “For once.” He tossed the condom pack aside, grabbed Isaac, and pulled him in for a rough kiss. “I want to fuck you, and I want to feel it. Feel you. Everywhere. I need it, Isaac. For the last goddamn time, I don’t care what you used to do. Nothing could make you anything less to me.”
“Fuck,” Isaac groaned and rested his forehead against Laurent’s. “Yeah. Fine. It’s my hang-up. And I know. I just want to... y’know.”
“Protect me,” Laurent finished as he swung a leg over Isaac to straddle him. “I’m not the goal, Isaac.”
Isaac wrapped his legs around Laurent’s waist. “You kind of are. But right now I’m happy to let you put one between my legs.”
That got a real laugh out of Laurent, though it was tired and a little frayed around the edges. Then he took off Isaac’s pants.
They’d fucked only sporadically after the first time because of the playoffs and Isaac’s healing ankle. But each time it seemed to get better and better. Isaac had been ready and willing for Laurent to fuck him the night the Spitfires won the championship, but Laurent wanted it the other way around. And it wasn’t like Isaac didn’t have a lot of pent up energy to expend, so that worked out fine.
But Laurent was clearly feeling the need to be the aggressor, including at one point, holding Isaac’s wrists pinned against the bed. They were both naked, Laurent was flush on top of him, and their cocks slid together as they kissed.
“What’s up with this?” Isaac asked as he bit wherever he could reach. The season was over, and Laurent liked Isaac to bite him and leave marks where he could see them. “Happier marks,” he called them.
“I like it, but it’s new. Didn’t know you were into bondage.”
“I just don’t want you to go anywhere.”
Isaac lost his breath for a moment at the honesty of that statement and the sincerity he could see burning in Laurent’s dark eyes. “I’m not. I’m all yours. Caught in your net.”
Laurent rolled his eyes, kissed him, and went back to urgently grinding on top of him. It felt good, and Isaac was so relieved he could move his ankle and not be in pain that he lifted his legs and wrapped them tightly around Laurent’s hips. “Come on. Fuck me and do it hard. I want it.”
Laurent moaned and finally let go of Isaac’s wrists. He scrambled to find the lube. “Shouldn’t I do stuff?” He dropped the bottle, swore, and hurriedly grabbed it again.
Isaac reached up with his free hand to grab Laurent’s hair. “I told you I’m not going anywhere. It’s all right.”
Laurent nodded jerkily and calmed somewhat, but he was nowhere near as graceful as usual as he pushed Isaac’s legs apart. “I—tell me what to—”
Isaac grabbed the lube from him, opened it, and put some on his hand. He passed it to Laurent. “Slick your cock up. Do it kind of showy, so I can watch.”
With a hint of a smile, Isaac lifted his hips, slid his hand between his legs, and teased himself open with his fingers as he watched Laurent kneel between his spread legs and jack himself.
“Goddamn,” Isaac breathed, pleased with his life and his choices and the image of Laurent St. Savoy, naked and gorgeous, as he worked his lube-slicked hand up and down over his cock.
Laurent watched Isaac fingerfuck himself, and seemed as enraptured with the sight as Isaac was with watching Laurent jack himself off. Isaac pulled his hand away, and maybe he could have used some more prep, but he wanted that cock inside of him.
“I’m—it’s good. Come on. Fuck me.” Isaac lifted both his legs. “I’m flexible. Push my knees back.”
“Your ankle, though.”
“Is not my knee.” Isaac got tired of waiting and rested his calves on Laurent’s shoulders. “There. It’s fine. God, Saint, you’re killing me.”
Laurent ignored him, guided his cock with a trembling hand, and gently pushed the head against Isaac’s hole. He stopped, panting like he’d finished a bag skate, and stared at Isaac like he had no idea where he was. “Isaac?”
“Yeah?” Isaac was so turned on he was going to die. “What?” Laurent was visibly shaking, and Isaac had a horrible thought that he was going to have a panic attack or something. Then he realized that Laurent was being cautious because he’d never done it before, and didn’t want to hurt Isaac. Right. “You’re not going to hurt me, Saint. Unless you don’t start fucking me. Press forward.”
Laurent bit his lip and did as instructed. The head of his cock breached Isaac, and Isaac hissed and tilted his hips up as he breathed out. “Keep going,” Isaac panted. He grabbed at the bedding beneath him and moaned as Laurent gave a sharp thrust of his hips and slid home.
“That’s—yeah. Fuck. Go on. Do it hard,” he encouraged. And whatever restraint or hesitation Laurent had shown earlier was gone as if it had never existed.
He grabbed Isaac behind the knees and started fucking him harder than Isaac would have thought, given his earlier gentleness. But it might have had something to do with how loud Isaac was being, or his encouraging grunts and commands to do it harder.
“You want it harder, ange?”
Isaac was so lust addled he thought for a moment Laurent had called him by the wrong name, instead of whatever that word meant in French. “I want it as hard as you can give it to me, Saint. Do it. Make me come.”
Laurent half fell forward, and Isaac put his legs over Laurent’s shoulders again. Laurent grabbed his wrists, pinned him down, and fucked him. His cock hit Isaac’s prostate on enough of his thrusts that it drove Isaac crazy that he couldn’t reach down and get himself off.
“Gonna—let me—get off. Feels good if I come while you’re inside me.”
“Feels good anyway,” Laurent panted. He kissed him hotly, but he let go of one of Isaac’s hands and then went right back to fucking him into the mattress.
It only took a few strokes and some more of Laurent’s enthusiastic fucking to bring Isaac off. He wasn’t lying. It did feel good when you were fucking someone and they came—all that tight heat clenching up around your cock. It wasn’t long before Laurent gave a low shout and shuddered hard on top of Isaac. He gasped something incoherent as his hips twitched and bucked and finally stilled.
“Saint?”
“Mmm?”
Isaac grinned and ran his fingers through Laurent’s sweaty hair. It was kind of like their moment on ice after the championship, but way dirtier. Isaac’s laugh was low and masculine. “You just fucked me like a goddamn champion.”
Laurent raised his head and gave Isaac a smug, lazy grin. “Damn right I did.”
“What did that mean?” Isaac asked him once they’d moved apart. “The word you called me.”
“What? Oh.” Laurent’s fair skin flushed, and he looked away. “Uh. You call me Saint, so....”
“Not an answer.”
“Fine.” Laurent crossed his arms. “It meant angel. Shut up. Seriously, Isaac. Shut up.” Laurent hit him with the pillow. “You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”
“That’s usually my line.” Isaac put his hands behind his head and smirked. “Maybe you should call me devil. Whatever that is in French.”
Laurent said something, but Isaac had played with enough French-speaking guys over the years to know what that word meant, and it sure as hell didn’t mean devil.
––––––––
Before Isaac showed up, Laurent wanted nothing more than to tell him about what had happened, what he’d done, how he’d arranged for the meeting with the ECHL commissioner, and how he’d prevented his father from knowing anything about it until it was too late. He knew Isaac would be proud, and he needed that to offset the terror that kept threatening to drown him.
But once Isaac was there, all blue-haired and post-sex languid, in bed with Laurent after Laurent had fucked him—and God, that had felt so good, being inside Isaac—Laurent didn’t want to ruin it and start talking about his dad.
He tapped on the bed. Their signal.
Isaac turned his head and smiled at him. “Well, we kind of have to talk about him,” he said. “But I can get dressed first.”
“No. That’s not a problem,” Laurent said quickly. A little too quickly. Isaac leered at him playfully.
“Then what is it?” Isaac asked, idly stroking his fingers through Laurent’s hair. Of everything Isaac did to him, with every part of his body, that was still Laurent’s favorite.
No one ever touched him like that—kindly and wanting nothing but to comfort. It reminded Laurent that he was supposed to be brave, but he turned and pressed his face into Isaac’s shoulder. His skin was so warm. “It was terrifying, and I don’t want to think about it.”
“I know.” Isaac kept his fingers moving back and forth and tugged just a little. Like Laurent was a cat. He was silent for a moment. “I knew it was you,” he said at length. “Before Misha said it. Belsey called us to tell us about the hearing, how someone had gotten all these players together to report to the commissioner. And I knew it had to be you. So it’s okay that you’re afraid.”
“It is?” Laurent said, nosing at Isaac’s neck.
“Yeah. Because you did it anyway. It wouldn’t be brave if you weren’t afraid. Right?”
“If I had a dollar for every single thing you’ve said since you got here that sounded like a motivational poster, I could buy a house.”
“Says the man who left me the most dramatic note in the world.”
“You kept it, didn’t you?” Laurent lifted his head. “I know you did.”
Isaac’s warm laugh was as comforting as the fingers still buried in Laurent’s hair, but Isaac gave a sharp tug. “Maybe. Shut up. Like you don’t have that dumb duck with you. My duck.” He kissed him, and then they moved away from each other reluctantly. It was four in the afternoon, and Isaac’s phone had buzzed twice. Coach Samarin, no doubt.
The hearing was at nine the following morning. Laurent struggled with the urge to throw up, which was stronger than it had been in a while. He went through his mental exercises and tried to center himself in the present, but nothing worked. Finally he looked at Isaac. “I want to go throw up.”
“Please don’t,” Isaac said, and that was all it took. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Laurent looked down and pulled on his jeans. His fingers shook, but gradually the urge passed, and he settled somewhat. Finally he gave a short nod and pulled his shirt on. Then he geared himself up while he waited for Isaac to get dressed.
“Call Coach,” Laurent said. “Tell them to meet us—” He gave an uncertain glance at the bed, with the covers rumpled, the prominent wet spot, and the bottle of lube. “Maybe in their room.”
“You sure?” Isaac asked as he grabbed his phone.
“I only want to tell this story once,” Laurent said. “So yes.” And he had to do it then, while he was still bolstered by Isaac’s words and his presence and while the feeling of being inside Isaac warmed him all the way through.
“All right,” said Isaac, and he moved his thumb over the screen of his phone.
Laurent gave a pointed throat clear, and Isaac rolled his eyes and lifted the phone to his ear instead. He flipped Laurent off as he began speaking. “Hey, Misha? What’s your room number? We’ll be there in twenty.”
He ended the call and tossed his phone on the bed.
“Twenty minutes? It’s like two floors down.”
“I know. But I need a shower.” Isaac smiled ruefully. “Even though I’m sure they know what we were doing.”
Laurent didn’t want to think about that on top of everything else, so he pulled out his sketchbook and drew the duck he’d given Isaac—yes it was in his bag—with a pair of angel wings, a halo, and a pitchfork for its tail. He gave the duck a piercing through its lower beak.
Laurent quickly closed the sketchbook as Isaac came out of the bathroom and watched him with quiet pleasure as he dressed.
“I know you’re going to tell this whole thing, but I just want to make sure he’s not going to be there tomorrow.” Isaac pulled a shirt on over his head. Laurent had left bite marks on his shoulder.
He didn’t need to ask who. “No. Unless somehow he gets wind of it. But the commissioner promised me he would keep this between him and a few other administrative people who were coming with him.”
“Okay. Good. I think if he showed up, Misha would go for his throat. After they pulled me off of him.”
The idea of Isaac—or even Coach Samarin—anywhere near his father made Laurent want to hyperventilate. “Come on,” he said as he shoved his room key in the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s go get this over with.”
They left and headed down a couple of floors to Misha and Max’s room. Laurent remembered that Isaac said, “I’m sure they know what we were doing.” When they got there, he blushed hotly, tried to avoid anyone’s gaze, and pretended that Max’s cough was not a knowing sort of laugh.
Misha gave Laurent a glass of water, and Laurent drank it gratefully. Then he sat down and started to talk.
“I realized that if I didn’t do something, it was never going to stop. That if someone was going to get rid of him, it had to be me. I’ve played for him for years. I’ve seen what he’s like, but I’ve also heard him talk to players. Offering money to make sure someone on the other team couldn’t play.” Laurent sat stiffly in the hotel-room chair, hands folded tightly in his lap. Isaac stood behind him with his hands on Laurent’s shoulders.
Laurent took another breath and tried not to talk to his shoes. He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done. He wasn’t. “My father always took for granted that I’d be quiet. He didn’t censor himself around me or anything. And he’d have meetings sometimes with players at our house. He has a private investigator that he hires to follow his players around and find out things he can use against them if he needs to. That’s how he found out Xavier Matthews is gay. He’s always used that to make Matthews do what he wanted and to keep him from requesting a trade. Matthews’ family is super religious and involved in a church in Asheville.
“I remembered that Isaac said Matthews was a good guy, so when I got up here, I called him and told him what I was going to do.” Laurent looked back up at Isaac. “I stayed with him. I slept on the couch.”
Isaac’s smile was sudden and wicked. “Goddamn right you did.”
Coach Samarin cleared his throat pointedly. Laurent tried not to tense up more than he already was and continued. “I remembered some of the other guys who got offered an incentive but didn’t take it. All of them are done playing hockey, because you don’t tell my father ‘no’ without consequences. And I called a few of the other Ravens who are still on the team. One guy had a DUI when he was eighteen. He’s twenty-eight now and has two kids. My father said if he didn’t score enough goals, he’d make sure they found cocaine in his locker so he’d end up in jail. I told them I was trying to find a way to get my father away from coaching, and if they could speak to someone without worrying about reprisals, would they? They all said yes. Even Matthews.”
Laurent slowly breathed in and out, felt the panic, and waited for it to recede a little. “Then I called the ECHL office and told them everything. I didn’t use any of the guys’ names, but I said I had plenty of people willing to talk about my father’s policies.
“At first they wanted me to contact the GM of the Ravens or the owner. But the GM.... He’s not a bad guy, I don’t think, but he does whatever my father tells him to. They hired him to be a yes-man, and that’s what he is. But they kept insisting I had to do that, unless I had some reason why I was afraid for my safety. So I told them exactly why I did have concerns about my safety. About what my father did to me at home. About my back. And Liz called them too.”
“Liz?” asked Max.
Laurent knew that Isaac didn’t go around telling his business to people, but it still warmed him a little to know that he’d kept Laurent’s visits with Liz to himself. “Liz Parks. She’s my therapist. I’ve been seeing her because I... I have—”
“I think we know why,” Max said a bit dryly.
“Well. Yeah. My father. But I also have... umm.” It was hard to say it. “I have an eating disorder. I’m getting help for it.”
“Oh,” Max said. And then, “I played with a guy in juniors who had an eating disorder. It can be dangerous. I’m glad you’re getting help, Laurent. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything was wrong.”
“I was good at hiding it from everyone.” Even me. Laurent didn’t want to talk about that.
Isaac kneaded Laurent’s shoulders, and rubbed his thumbs up and down the column of Laurent’s neck. Laurent leaned back into the touch. “It took two days before they called to tell me the commissioner was coming to meet with me. That’s why I didn’t call. Because if he hadn’t, I was going to go to the ECHL headquarters in New Jersey. I can’t let my father find out about this until after everyone’s had their say.” Laurent felt a rush of angry satisfaction. “It’s been a long time since my father’s had to stop something he can’t see coming.”
“I’m going with you to meet with him.”
Laurent blinked at hearing that, the first words Coach Samarin had spoken since Laurent started his story. He shrank back at the look of pure rage on his coach’s face. The inherent panic to flee was as strong as the urge to throw up. He’d done the wrong thing. Coach Samarin was angry with him—
“Misha.” That was all it took, that soft recrimination from Max, and a look, and Coach Samarin closed his eyes, rubbed at his temples, and took a few breaths. It was one of the few times Laurent had seen him visibly rattled.
He crossed the room in two long strides so he was standing in front of Laurent.
Laurent stood up. He didn’t know what other option he had, and besides, he hated how far he had to crane his neck to look up at his coach when he was sitting down. Isaac was supposed to be the short one.
“You have no idea how much I respect you for what you’ve done. I never managed to stand up to my own father, and he was much the same. It’s a very brave thing.” Misha’s heavy gaze didn’t waver. “And you are nothing like your father.”
The man Laurent’s father always wanted him to be wouldn’t have been moved to tears by that simple statement. But for the first time in his life, Laurent was proud of the man he’d become instead. And as he shook his coach’s hand, he didn’t bother to hide his tears. He wanted Coach Samarin to know exactly how much those words meant to him and how it felt to hear them.
You are nothing like your father.
Thank God.