Page 48 of Game On

“Do the Orcas know what happened in Charlotte?” Dorian eventually asked.

“I don’t know. I certainly haven’t mentioned it, but the hockey world isn’t really that big. Someone knows somebody who knows somebody else. I wouldn’t be surprised if word had made it out here, but no one’s said anything.”

“What was it like for you? Joining a new team mid-season after what happened with your last one?”

Jamie thought back to that first day he’d walked into the practice facility with Coach Shore. “It was kind of like what I would expect it to be like if I started a new school halfway through the year. I came in feeling like the odd man out. Like the wonky marshmallow in the Lucky Charms box.”

Dorian’s steps faltered. He side-eyed Jamie. “Or like the burnt cornflake in a bag of Corn Flakes?”

“Yes!” Jamie grinned, pleased that Dorian got it. It made him feel understood in a way he’d only ever felt with his family. “Exactly. The guys made me feel welcome right from the start, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I’m still the new guy. I take it you’ve felt like that before?”

“Yeah.” Dorian stared forward. “My parents threw me into all kinds of activities when I was a kid, and usually everyone already knew each other because they’d done the activity together the year before. I hated it.”

“Why’d your parents make you do it, then?”

“Probably to show everyone that they were better than them.” Dorian’s voice went flat like he was reciting someone else’s story. “My parents don’t have friends so much as business associates they’re always trying to one-up. It’s like the corporate version of dick measuring meant pitting their kids against one another to prove who was better. It was why they transferred me to a private school in second grade. Because all their associates’ kids were there. God forbid I didn’t come home with better grades than them.” His tone turned light at the end, almost joking. But there was an undercurrent of tension Jamie didn’t think he would’ve caught if it hadn’t been so dark out, when he would’ve been focused on Dorian’s expression rather than his voice.

“I take it you’re not close?” Jamie asked.

“With my parents?” Dorian’s scoff was hard. “No. Not with my brother or sister either. They’re cut from the same cloth as my parents. I haven’t seen my sister in a year and a half, my brother in six—he’s a hotshot entertainment lawyer. Way too good for the rest of us. And my parents in... three years? Two?” Brow scrunched, he cocked his head. “When did Notre Dame burn?”

Jamie’s heart clenched. “Baby, that was four years ago.”

“Oh.” Dorian visibly started, whether at the endearment or the passage of time, Jamie wasn’t sure. “So four years then.”

“Were you in Paris when it happened?”

“No, but my parents were. They arrived back in Vancouver shortly after, boasting about how much of a unique experience it was to see the cathedral on fire.” Dorian made a sound of disgust. “They talked about it with the kind of excitement people usually reserve for newborns or seeing a wild elephant on safari. I haven’t spoken to them since.”

“Do they live in the city?”

“Mm-hmm. In West Van. Hey, are you going to do your thing or what?”

Jamie stared for a second before he realized that Dorian had diverted his attention to the dog.

“She only poops if you’re watching her,” Dorian confided to him. Back to Poppy, he said, “Go on. I know you like that patch of grass by the porch stairs. Hurry it up so I can stoop and scoop. It’s cold out here.”

The words stoop and scoop coming from a guy who’d been vehemently against pets would’ve been laughable if Jamie were in a laughing mood. Poppy was a blot of darkness as she wandered farther into the yard to find the perfect pooping spot.

Dorian hadn’t talked to his parents in four years. His brother for more than that. His sister in almost two. By contrast, there wasn’t a day that went by that Jamie didn’t talk to his family. Hell, they had a family group chat that was mostly populated by memes and pictures of his siblings’ kids.

Was this why Dorian was the way he was? Did he change the subject when it got uncomfortable because he’d grown up with people who hadn’t valued who he was, only what he could do for them? Did he think nobody cared about what he had to say?

Jamie cared. More than was wise.

And didn’t know what to do about it.

Somewhat tentatively, he asked, “Are your parents the reason you don’t do hockey?” hoping he didn’t offend.

But Dorian just laughed. “They had me in hockey when I was six. I didn’t know anyone on the team, the other kids made fun of me for being tall and skinny and uncoordinated, and I’d barely had any skating lessons. I’d come home crying, but my dad wouldn’t let me quit. It sort of soured the whole sport. All team sports, if I’m being honest.”

“And that followed you into adulthood?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, and in the halo of the porch light, it was very haughty. “Are you telling me that nothing from your youth followed you into adulthood?”

“Well, my brother did bring home a gecko once, and one morning, I woke up with it next to me on my pillow.” Jamie shuddered and suppressed the urge to do the get-it-off-me dance. “Lizards are probably the only animal I’d never voluntarily have as a pet. With their beady eyes and scaly skin and just... ugh.” He shuddered again.

Dorian burst out laughing.

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