Page 36 of One More Time

What was the point in loving someone when you couldn’t love them out loud?

The black town car halted outside my father’s Beacon Hill condo. The thick black lacquer door extended a cold welcome. I glanced back at the driver, Silas, lightly tapped his shoulder with a polite thank-you, and ascended the stairs.

Ignoring the erratic rhythm of my heart, I forced each step, feeling like the protagonist in a movie. Although, I wasn’t sure if the music score in that moment would be a cinematic suspense piece or something from an intense action movie.

Before I could even knock, the door whooshed open. Then I was staring up at an older, matured version of myself. He scrutinized me from head to toe, and decided if I was worthy enough to stand in his presence. This was our family home, not a country club filled with his colleagues, yet the same standards were upheld. “Hunter.”

“Dad.”

His outstretched hand became the closest semblance of a loving touch I would receive from the man who raised me. I took it, careful not to apply too much pressure—just enough to convey strength without posing a threat. It felt like a carefully choreographed dance. One I had to perform flawlessly to meet his expectations. Did other families engage in these calculated exchanges? I couldn’t be sure; my exposure to “normal” people was limited.

I grew up in a world where straight meant more than just posture. In terms of sexual orientation, it noted your beliefs and your place in the hierarchy as men and women. The misogynistic, patriarchal ideals I was raised with left little room for individual expression. A woman’s role was to be a trophy: defined by her ability to bear children and keep a home. That was the straight and narrow path I was expected to follow—the quintessential American man.

I followed my father through the house, feeling more like I was entering an old-fashioned parlor. Leather, wood, and a flickering fire provided the only warmth in the room. I took a seat on the unworn leather couch, ignoring its protests while my father settled into an armchair, his back turned to the cold streets of Boston. Despite the early hour, he held a snifter of whiskey. I eyed that golden liquid as if it were my only salvation to make it through that afternoon.

“Your team is playing well it seems.” His voice was cold, void of any emotion.

“We’ll take The Frozen Four this year, I can feel it. Scouts are watching us."

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. My father’s stern mouth hardened. Scouts weren’t a part of his plan. As the head of Graves Law, it was decided that I would transition into the family law firm.

“Well, that may be true, but understand this: old money did not come from boys being pansies on a slab of ice. Our legacy, was built on decades of hard work and preserving the family name. I followed my father just as he followed his. We built this company—the Graves legacy. We have every CEO and every senator; we have America in our hands. They want us to represent them. It will not end with me. Hockey is not an appropriate career for a Graves man.”

My nails bit into the palm of my hand.

“If you even consider talking to those scouts, I will make sure everyone suffers. Not just you—your entire team. Do you hear me? How would you feel if a certain Australian boy lost his scholarship? I see how you two are on the ice. I can tell you two have a… connection.”

My skin itched like fire ants tore into every cell. Tyler’s face haunted my thoughts. Of course, my father noticed. And of course, he hated it. My protective instincts took over.

“He’s my teammate, sir. But I know my place. You have been kind enough to let me play these last few years. I promise I won’t talk to the scouts.”

The words alone cut through me like a knife. That small, broken part of my soul would always be left crying in his presence. He didn’t have a conscience—he sat poised and perfect, back straight and shoulders square as those around him crumpled.

“Good. Now, your grades.”

That was the moment I realized I wouldn’t leave that pristine black door unscathed.

I tried not to flinch with each tug of my jersey, hiding the offensive skin underneath my long-sleeve skins. Both Tyler and I remained silent, though he still casted glances my way. Both of us had a single focus: the game. We were often the first at the rink and the last to leave, training harder than anyone else. Though I waited until I was alone before I changed.

We still found each other in the gym before the sun, but I no longer took my shirt off to flirt with him. His eyes still sought mine out, as if he wanted to capture even a fleeting moment of that connection we once shared. But we knew better. We pushed it deep into the shadows. We had to play the straight card now. My father would have been proud, but my soul ached.

I felt a kinship with the men of the past, those who secretly lusted for another man but were constrained by the illegality of it. Unlike them, I’d never felt guilty about my sexuality. Everyone who needed to know did. I was proud of who I was. I was good in bed, and I enjoyed it, But now, being hung up onsomeone I couldn’t have left me hating the turmoil of feeling this way about a man. What made it even more gut-wrenching was seeing the same emotion in Tyler’s eyes.

Coach clapped to capture our attention, breaking me away from my thoughts. “Alright boys! We have a home game tomorrow with UMass Lowell. We have quite a few away games lined up so please make sure they’re in your diary. Your roommates have been emailed to you and I won’t be taking any feedback. This is a good chance for team bonding.”

I couldn’t grab my phone fast enough. My heart raced as I saw the email notification. My thumb hurriedly tapped the screen, clumsily opening the email. Beside my name, Tyler’s somehow seemed larger and in bold. I bit back a smile and glanced beside me, only to see Tyler far from impressed. My heart shattered. That team list was my chance at just one more time.

Before I could say anything witty to play off my disappointment, Tyler’s phone rang. Anxiety worked its way across his features. His head twitched as if he were about to look at me, but he thought better of it. He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear but before he could say anything, another voice sounded through the speaker. I couldn’t discern who it was, but the smile on his face made my stomach drop.

Tyler got his bag and swung it over his shoulder without so much a second glance. I wasn’t the only teammate looking at him like he sprung two heads. His voice changed as he spoke to whoever it was, more vibrant than I’d ever heard it. An unusually thick Aussie twang echoed down the hall. “How are you? I missed you. What have you been up to?” .

Mouse and Jarman appeared to either side of me, leaning against the lockers.

“Aussie has some serious game! First Kins and Kels, now an Aussie girl?” Mouse bellowed, broad smile beaming at the possibility of our Aussie being a secret player. He was a player alright, playing my heart like a piano.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” I muttered, trying and failing to hide the disappointment in my voice.

Jarman’s eyes briefly locked onto mine. He was the type that didn’t miss much. But thankfully he always kept his findings to himself.

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