Page 18 of The Winging It Holiday Special

“No kidding.” He flipped the stove off. “I feel like Christmas nausea should be restricted to after you’ve had all the candy in your stocking, or at least a few glasses of eggnog.”

The ketchup made a farting noise as Gabe squeezed it onto his plate. Dante snickered like a twelve-year-old.

They lapsed into silence while they ate, and Dante mentally cataloged the contents of the fridge and freezer. Sure, they’d gotten the groceries they ordered, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if Gabe’s dad’s girlfriend had food allergies or, like, a craving for dark chocolate M&M’s? Dante didn’t want to be a poor host, especially not the first time they met Talia in person. Chris had been single for too long. He deserved to be happy.

He probably had time to go to the store. He just needed a list and some body armor to protect him during the crush of last-minute holiday grocery shoppers. But what should he get? Chocolate, obviously, and ice cream; those were given. Maybesome popping corn. Maple sugar candies, because his dad had gotten addicted and Dante only got him the one box for his stocking. And—

“Dante.”

—Gabe had called his name several times by now, judging from the tone. Dante tuned back in to the present and pushed away his now-empty plate. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Gabe waved this off with a half-smile, but it looked strained. “Dishes?”

Ugh, fine. They should take care of that before guests arrived. They should probably light the bougie lamp thing that made the house smell like orange cinnamon too. Nobody liked walking into a house and getting smacked with the scent of frying onions. At least not if it wasn’t dinner time.

He didn’t like that expression on Gabe’s face, though. Like there was something on his mind.

Dante knew damn well he’d been marinating insomethingfor months, but he hadn’t expected Gabe to look this grim about it. Maybe he was freaking out about meeting his dad’s girlfriend.

Or maybe it was something more serious.

Dante was just debating whether he should ask after all when Gabe said, “Can we talk?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. He really was going to do this today. “Now?” he said, gesturing helplessly with the spatula he was putting in the dishwasher. A bit of egg flew off and stuck to the wall. “You’ve been sitting on this since October and you want to talknow? Like, two hours before our parents get here?”

Gabe’s cheeks went very slightly pink, the way they did when he was embarrassed but also a bit surly. Because embarrassmentmadehim surly. “Unless you’d rather wait until they leave?”

“Three or four moredaysof this—no, thank you, I’ll die.”

There—the surliness evaporated, replaced with fond exasperation. Basically Gabe’s default setting when it came to Dante. “Sorry,” he said. “I know it’s hard for you to give me space to work things out. I appreciate it.”

Some perverse reflex in Dante’s brain wanted to tell himIt’s nothing, orDon’t worry about it. Itwassomething; it wasmind-bendingly difficult, and if Gabe worried about it, then maybe he’d start bringing things up before Dante gave himself an ulcer. “It is hard,” he said instead. “Like, you know me, I basically have to install a physical filter in my mouth to stop from asking you about it every five seconds. But I love you, so I toughed it out.”

“Oh, is that what all the blow jobs were about?”

Dante blinked. “Loving you?”

Gabe smirked. “Installing a filter.”

“Well, itwouldbe effective. Short-term, at least.” But he was getting distracted. He’d waited this long. He wanted—

But Gabe started talking again. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” His face clouded. Something didn’t feel right. Dante’s stomach twisted. “Not when we’ll barely have time to process it before our families get here. But it’s…. There’s never going to be a good time. And I can’t keep it to myself anymore, so—”

That was all Dante could take. He was pretty sure Gabe wasn’t leaving him or having an affair, but the sheer level of drama he was broadcasting was sending Dante’s anxiety skyrocketing. Finally he blurted out, exasperated, “Would you just spit it out already?”

“I’m retiring.”

Dante’s heart stopped. His face stopped too, with his mouth agape, words frozen in his throat.

Gabe looked apologetic, his eyes warm and his mouth a soft moue. “You look surprised,” he said. “Say something.”

“What?” Dante said. His voice sounded small.

Hefeltsmall. Gabe was his touchstone. Not just in his personal life but on the ice too. He’d been there when Dante was a rookie, when he didn’t know anything about the NHL or media or pressure. Sure, Gabe had had injuries, had missed months at a time after surgeries, but Dante had always known he’d come back. That the situation wastemporary.

Gabe touched his hand, curled his fingers around Dante’s. “You really didn’t guess?”

Wordlessly, Dante shook his head. He couldn’t come up with the words to tell Gabe how far off-base he’d been in his suspicions. He didn’t have space to process that disappointment on top of this hurt.

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