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Derek won’t meet his eyes in practice. Andy’s having difficulty too, feels like his face is on fire, like everyone’s going to look at them and know what they did, but he’s doing a better job than Derek, who is acting like he’s allergic to Andy’s face.
This is exactly why Andy left. At least this way he got to shower and eat breakfast, got to prepare himself before he had to face the fact that Derek can’t even look at him right now.
Andy corners Dan before practice. “You left,” he accuses.
“Dude, you had it in the bag,” Dan says, frowning. “How’d you mess that up?”
“Carruthers,” Andy spits, and Dan sighs, long-suffering, and then pats him on the shoulder.
“Next time just us two, if you want,” Dan says, giving his shoulder a squeeze, and Andy can’t really stay pissed at him, which is a shame, because he needs to be pissed off at someone, and right now he’s feeling about fifteen different conflicting things about Derek, and pissed is only one of them.
They’re terrible during practice, Coach yelling at them specifically at least half a dozen times because passes don’t connect when you’re not looking at your linemate, when you’re trying to do the whole thing blind, but that’s nothing compared to when they have a game the next night, and they’re still messed up, they still can’t get things right, and in a blowout loss, they’re on the ice for the majority of the goals against.
Dan’s silently pissed at them in the locker room, which is fair, especially since the whole line got yelled at for that massive fuck up, not just Andy and Derek, and Andy’s kind of embarrassed for both of them. Embarrassed for that and the fact that it’s been two days and he totally can’t deal with this, today he thought of at least a dozen things he needed to tell Derek before he remembered that they weren’t talking, and he hates himself a little for messing things up with his feelings, and Derek, just a little, for being too chickenshit to look him in the eye.
The only good thing that comes out of the complete disaster of a game is that when the locker room’s mostly emptied out, Derek comes over, hovers beside Andy’s stall until he looks up.
“If we don’t talk about it,” Derek says, fast. He’s blushing, and it looks ridiculous on him. Andy has to try not to be charmed by him, even now. “Can we go back to being bros again?”
“Yes please,” Andy says, just as fast, and Derek grins at him, wide and goofy, and Andy doesn’t even know if the feeling in his stomach is relief or the stupid butterflies he gets when Derek smiles like that. Probably both.
Derek reaches out for a fist bump, and Andy obliges, and doesn’t think about how the last time that he touched Derek he was jerking him off. He doesn’t.
*
After that it’s back to acting like nothing happened, and Andy should be relieved by that, he is relieved by that. He’s got his best friend acting like his best friend again, which is obviously the most important thing. He’s totally capable of drawing a line, thinking of the way Derek had kissed him, the way his hand had been rough and calloused and the best thing Andy had ever felt, how hot his cock had been in Andy’s hand, thinking of that in the dark with his hand around his dick and guilt simmering low in his belly, easy to ignore until he got off, then overwhelming.
That’s in the dark, and during the day, Andy doesn’t let himself think of it at all, because that person isn’t the dork who steals everyone’s scarves and toques and gloves from the locker room during an optional practice he skips just so he could make the whole roster of snowmen with his stolen goods. Andy’s snowman looks jaunty, Derek gave him freckles with pebbles and his furry aviator hat is lopsided on a bed of red yarn. Most of the guys leave their snowmen be, stick their hands in their pockets and zip their coats right up, swear at Derek but pull out their phones to get photos. They all look weirdly accurate. Olsen’s has the creepiest smile Andy has ever seen on a snowman. Andy feels the need to apologize to it.
“How long ago did you get here?” Andy asks, fiddling with Derek’s black yarn hair to make it more messy under its bright red toque.
“Only like six hours,” Derek says, “Coach’s kids helped.” He points to a huddled little snow family, the big snowman wearing a tie and a scowl. Andy giggles and doesn’t want to kiss him, because that’s something he isn’t allowed to want during the day.
The end of the year looms, and with it a sense of dread. Dan had given him a speaking look when Andy admitted his parents didn’t know anything about his sexuality, and Olsen had been giving him speaking looks in general. For what, Andy doesn’t know, but they make him feel guilty, so they’re working, he guesses.
Andy only has a three day break for Christmas, and it barely makes sense to make the trek home, but his mom insisted, mentioned it every time she called until Andy bought a plane ticket and rented a car and assured himself he could cancel if he needed to. He ends up on the plane, sleeps through that trip, but sleeping isn’t much of an option during the drive between Saskatoon and Prince Albert, so he just chews his lip and tries to figure out how coming out is supposed to go. He asked Dan, but Dan said “I just told them,” which was the least helpful advice ever. Andy doesn’t know what Dan’s family is like, but there’s no ‘just telling’ his parents.
Andy’s mom knew when he was coming, so even though it’s five-thirty when he’s pulling in his driveway, the kitchen light is on and he can see his mom inside, hair down, housecoat on, fiddling with something on the stove, and his heart clenches a little, he forgets why he was so reluctant to come back home. He lets himself in with the house key that stays on his keyring even during the season, tries to be quiet as he comes in, though after he takes his boots off in the mud room she’s standing in the doorway, so he guesses he failed.
“Made you breakfast,” she says. “If you didn’t spoil your appetite at the airport.”
“I didn’t,” Andy says, and gives her a one-armed hug, tucks her right under his arm.
“Did you grow more?” she asks, squinting up at him.
“Maybe you’re starting to shrink,” Andy says, and gets swatted for his sass, nudged right into the kitchen. Breakfast is too much for even him to eat, but he tries his best, has two cups of bracingly strong coffee, which he shouldn’t be having, along with half a rasher of bacon, which he really shouldn’t be having. But it’s Christmas Eve, and he’s tired and hungry and stressed, and if he wants half a rasher of bacon, well, then he’ll just have to hit the exercise bike for the next forever.
“More?” his mom asks when he finishes, and Andy shakes his head a little frantically. “Good,” she says. “Didn’t save much for your dad.”
“I’m a growing boy,” Andy says, and she ruffles his hair, pours him another cup of coffee, which is too tempting to ignore.
His dad shuffles out of bed around seven, pats him on the head, and then makes a beeline straight for the coffee.
“Wait,” he says, once his first cup’s been drained. “Are my eyes deceiving me? I’m pretty sure my son is a big-shot hockey player who’s too busy to call,” his dad says. “Let alone come.”
“Dad,” Andy protests. “That joke doesn’t work, I call you every week.”
“Back when I was a big-shot hockey player, I called my parents every day,” his dad says.
“Can I ask grandma if that’s true?” Andy asks.
“Absolutely not,” Andy’s dad says, and goes to get more coffee. “Ellie, did you feed him all this?” he calls, looking at what remains of breakfast. “You can’t feed him all this.”
“He’s not a dog,” his mom says, coming into the kitchen. “He’s perfectly capable of deciding when to stop.”
“Exercise bike?” his dad asks, and Andy nods.
He does do a couple of hours on it, while his dad’s out shovelling Mrs. Joplin’s driveway for her, even though there’s no way she isn’t too old to drive by now, and his mom’s started making even more food Andy’s going to live to regret.
He takes a nap on the couch for about twenty minutes before he’s interrupted. “Why don’t you go see who all’s home?” his mom suggests. “I think Rebecca’s back from university.”
Rebecca has a big, mean mouth, and an inexplicable crush on Andy that’s existed since they were ten years old. The last time Andy saw her was when he came home the summer he was drafted, at a dumb house party, and she made a speech about them being meant to be, and then drunkenly kissed him. It’s the only reason why Derek wasn’t his first kiss, and that’s good, Andy guesses, because your first kiss is supposed to mean something, and he wouldn’t want it to only mean something to him.
“It was a long flight,” Andy argues.
“If you can’t sleep tonight it’s your own fault,” his mom scolds, but leaves him to it.
Andy eats more food than he should, subsiding guiltily when his dad starts looking pointedly at his plate, sleeps in his old bed, which he has to curl up in so his feet don’t dangle off the end. Exchanges Christmas gifts at the crack of dawn because it’s when he used to wake his parents up, even though, right now, he’d rather be back in bed.
He did a good job; his mom puts on the bracelet he got her right away and keeps looking at it, and Andy is totally fine with how embarrassed he was when he asked Dan to get Lapointe to sign a jersey, because his dad can’t stop raving about the way he plays. Andy’s a little sulky that the Christmas pictures are taken with his dad in a Habs jersey, but it’s his own fault, and his dad played for them for a couple years anyway.
They get him good winter clothes, claiming Ottawa wouldn’t even know where to start with them, and since Andy’s hat and mitts are still on snowman Andy, or more likely stolen by now, it’s a good gift to get.
Technically he could leave on the 27th, but it’s a game day and he can’t play tired; his dad knows that, even if his mom doesn’t like it, so he drives back to Saskatoon on Boxing Day, his parents driving behind him, half to say goodbye, but probably more to take advantage of the Boxing Day sales in Saskatoon. They could do it all on the internet, but they’re old-fashioned.
On the way, Andy thinks of another few months of Olsen’s speaking looks and Dan being disappointed in him, and resolves himself to tell him. At least he can get away if it goes bad.
Because he’s a wimp, he waits until they’re at Departures, until he’s got his ticket, gives his mom and his dad big hugs before he says, quickly, “I’m gay,” and then walks as fast as he possibly can to security, where they can’t follow him. He’s got long legs, they’d have to run to catch up. Gets on the plane without incident, and feels relieved, even though the worst part’s probably yet to come.
He doesn’t hear from either of them for three days, and he feels like a stone has settled in his belly, before his mom finally calls.
“You’re so young,” she says.
“I’m nineteen, mom,” Andy says. “I’m old enough to know whether I like girls or not.”
“Have you even tried?” she asks.
“To like girls?” Andy asks, sort of incredulous. “It’s not a choice, mom.”
“That man on your team,” she says, sort of dark. “Is that why you’re talking this way now?”
It takes Andy a minute to realise what she’s saying, and when he does, he can’t hold back the laugh. “Mom, being gay isn’t contagious,” he says.
“Well, maybe he’s been...has he been taking advantage of you?” she says, doubtfully.
“He’s got a boyfriend,” Andy says.
“Yes, well,” she says. “I’ve heard all about gay men and their ideas of relationships.”
“Yeah, from some fucking idiot up the street, I bet,” Andy snaps.
“Andrew,” she says.
He bites back an automatic apology, because he shouldn’t be apologizing for that, not even for the language. “Dan’s practically married,” he says finally. “And I was gay before Dan joined the Sens. I’ve known for years.”
“So why are you telling me now?” she asks, sharp, and Andy honestly doesn’t know if she’s mad that he’s only telling her now, or that he’s told her at all.
“I just wanted you to know,” Andy mumbles, even if that’s not quite true. True enough, though if he could have gotten away with his mom never knowing, he would have done that.
She’s quiet.
“Is dad mad?” Andy asks, voice small.
“He’s surprised,” she says. “He’ll come around.”
“Are you mad?” Andy asks.
“Is there something else you need to tell us?” she asks.
“No,” Andy says. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Good,” she says, like that’s the end of it.
*
All-Star break, originally far off, is speeding in fast, and Andy’s dreading it. A week off, so there’s no excuse he could give his parents. If they even want him to come up. Andy isn’t so sure.
When they’ve been back for a week, and the guys are bugging Olsen about whether he’s going to show off his moves, Derek nudges him. “My mom says she misses you,” he says. “And that you’re way better than me.”
“Accurate,” Andy says, and grins when Derek punches his arm.
“Want to come down to Brampton?” Derek asks. “No Jays games but we could check out the Raptors.”
“There’s no way in hell you could get me to watch a Raptors game,” Andy says quickly, and Derek’s face falls a little. “But I could come with you, I guess.”
Derek grins, no sign of the sad face from a moment before, and throws an arm around Andy’s shoulder. “We could find Dan and bug him, too.”
“I like that you think that’s going to make me want to come more,” Andy says sarcastically.
“It totally does, don’t front,” Derek says.
*
Two days later Dan and Lapointe get caught at City Hall red-handed, and the news outlets explode. Derek calls him, too early, the ringtone he set for himself almost as obnoxious as he is, and Andy grumbles wordlessly into the phone, eyes still shut.
“New plan for All-Star break,” Derek says. “We crash Dan’s wedding.”
“What time is it?” Andy whines.
“Your alarm’s going to go off in, like, ten minutes,” Derek says, and when Andy opens one eye to look at the clock, realises he’s right. Still. “Plan? Good? Wedding crashing?”
“Fuck, fine,” Andy says. “But you’re the one telling him.”
“Anything for you, babe,” Derek says, and Andy hangs up on him and tries very hard not to take his words to heart.