Page 5 of Crossing Lines

“Well, I’m glad you two can still be friends. He pulled you out of a horrible time in your life.”

“Yeah, that he did.” I winced and dipped my head. After the injury, it was Laurent who’d kept me from losing myself to drugs and alcohol. I owed him my life.

“Anyway, don’t forget to call your father at some point. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear from you.” She chuckled. “And I’m doing fine, so don’t you be worrying about me.”

“Yeah, okay.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Dad had a new family to focus on, but Mom was always hopeful my relationship with him would return to normal. The truth was, along with my hockey career, the accident had destroyed that as well.

“Have a Happy New Year, son, and go have some fun tonight. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you. Bye.” I bit my lower lip.

“Love you too. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone.

With a heavy sigh, I strolled to my sofa and dropped onto the end of it. I should get this phone call out of the way so I could leave. “Here goes nothing.” I dialed Laurent’s number and waited while it rang.

“Hey, Ryan. Good to hear from you.” Music and laughter filtered through the phone.

He was probably already at Lori’s party. She’d been friends with Laurent since grade three, and going to her place for New Year’s Eve had become a tradition. “Hi, Laurent. You at Lori’s place?”

“I am.” The clinking of glass sounded through our connection. “How are things? Have you met your new team?”

“I have. They seem like… Well, like typical college hockey players.” I toyed with a fold in my jeans. And that one guy? Damn, he was a beauty. Best-looking guy I’d seen in a long time. The way his blue eyes lit up under his dark hair…just my type. “They knew I was a Canuck as soon as I opened my mouth.”

“Of course they did.” He freed a soft snort. “Any fellow Canadians on the team?”

“Yeah, a few. One of them is from BC but calls Chicago home now.” I tilted my head and gazed toward the now-dark patio doors. I’d gone over the roster with Coach Patterson but still had to put faces with the names.

“Cool. It’s really great the head coach let you stay here and take care of your mom while she went through chemo. I don’t know of many employers who would do something like that,” he said.

“It says a lot about the organization. Plus, they’re queer-friendly. Mike, the head coach, says he’s got six guys who are all out and queer. They stick together, even live in the same house.” My chest warmed. It was one of the reasons I’d picked ASU over a university on the East Coast. I wanted to help these guys and be a part of abolishing discrimination against the queer community in hockey.

“Are you serious? That’s great, eh. I’m sure you’ll fit right in there.” He mumbled something and another male voice snaked through the phone. “Hey, sorry. I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll catch up with you another time.” I flung my arm over the back of my sofa. It sounded like he already had another guy on the hook for tonight. A soft ache floated through my chest. It didn’t matter, really. I’d be doing the same. He was on meds now and the virus was undetectable in his body. It wasn’t any of my business how he lived his life.

“You cruising tonight?” he asked.

“I am. There’s a gay bar a few blocks away, so I don’t even have to drive.” A smirk swept over my lips. I was on a mission to get laid, but no need to rub it in.

“Well, have fun, but not too much fun.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, you too.”Miss you…my breath caught. No, I’d leave that alone. “Bye, Laurent.”

“Bye, Ryan.” He hung up the phone.

I set my phone down next to me, then circled the silver-beaded bracelet he’d gotten me on our first anniversary around my wrist. I never took the thing off. It had become my good luck charm. I hoped it gave me good luck tonight.

After orderingin some Chinese food for dinner, applying some eyeliner and gelling my hair, I strolled up the metal stairs to the gay bar, aptly namedThe Club on Mill. Pounding techno music spilled out of the door, where a large man wearing all black checked IDs.

After showing my ID, I stepped into the bar and looked around. Gyrating male bodies, mostly half-naked, bounced around on the dancefloor and colorful lights swung and blinked overhead. A man in a gold Speedo stepped toward me, holding a tray of colorful hats and noisemakers. “Here, on the house.”

“Thanks.” With a smile, I grabbed a silver-fringed noisemaker off his tray. It matched my shirt, after all. And a hat? No, that wouldn’t do. It would ruin my carefully quaffed hair. Lifting my chin, I strutted for the bar, noting a few glances shooting my way. Yeah, I was getting lucky tonight.

I lay my forearms across the black bar top, my scattering of tattoos on full display, remnants of the time when I’d gone hog wild and hadn’t given a shit about myself. On impulse, I bent my knee slightly, checking for pain. No, the thing was on a good streak right now. If I was careful and didn’t do something stupid, like slip or fall, it’d stay that way.

I skimmed a tall chalkboard behind the bar with a display of shot names all lit up in neon colors. Holy shit, some were hilarious, likeDirty BoyorI’m Fucked. Which one was I tonight?

A muscled bartender wearing only a pair of tiny jean shorts waltzed down to my end of the bar. “What can I get you?” He wiped the bar top with a rag.

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