The Inside Edge, page 13
IN POINT of fact, it turned out to be a fist bump.
A few moments after they finished hiding the ugly vase in the master bathroom, there was an actual knock on the door, and Nate and Aubrey went together to open it.
Aubrey wanted to die. He was making his own bed and he knew it. The problem was he was going to be lying in it alone after this week was over.
Nate cleared his throat. “Hi, Mom. Dad. You’re early.”
Nate’s father gave his son a look that Aubrey interpreted clearly as this was all your mother’s idea. “Nathan. We’re sorry to drop by unannounced.”
“So, so sorry,” his mother chimed in, stepping inside. Aubrey believed her—her mortified reaction hadn’t been fake—but she was beaming with a lot more than embarrassment. She flung herself into Nate’s arms and squeezed.
Aubrey watched with a mounting sense of dread, but he still wasn’t prepared for the speed at which she released her son and fell upon him, taking both of Aubrey’s hands. “You must be Aubrey. Oh, we’ve heard so much about you. I should have suspected….”
Aubrey attempted a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Overton.”
“Oh, no, no. It’s Diane, please.”
Nate’s father, Elliot, was more reserved, and within seconds, it was obvious where Nate got his sense of humor. While Aubrey was shaking his hand, Nate’s mother turned to Nate, mouthed, “Oh my God,” and held out her fist.
Aubrey had the pleasure of watching from six feet back as Nate went scarlet from his nape to the tips of his ears. He did the fist-bump, though.
Nate’s dad watched Aubrey watch this, his own amusement evident, and said, “On the plus side, it’s not like things can get any more awkward.”
“Bite your tongue,” Aubrey said automatically, then immediately regretted saying something so rude.
But Elliot laughed like Aubrey was hilarious and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you can help me with the bags. She’s going to talk his ear off for at least the next fifteen minutes, and I swear she brought three outfits for every day.”
If Aubrey was expecting a shovel speech, he was disappointed. He almost felt indignant on Nate’s behalf. But he couldn’t really fault them. It was obvious the Overtons were warm, open people—a close-knit unit. No wonder Nate had never really thought much about hooking up. If Aubrey had grown up in a family like this, he would have been looking to build his own too.
He managed to make his escape after about an hour, citing a lunchtime social commitment. In actuality, he went upstairs to his frigid apartment, canceled his Hawaii trip, scheduled an emergency session with his therapist, and ate a sleeve of Oreos.
Then, feeling sorry for himself, he took out his phone and scrolled through the contacts.
Mom.
He left the name highlighted for a few seconds, deliberating. Did he really want to put himself through this? He almost always ended up hanging up feeling worse, irritated, even if the conversation had been fine.
He hit Dial before he could talk himself out of it, but the line rang three times and then went to voicemail.
Probably for the best.
Aubrey couldn’t have said what made him leave a message. Maybe it was the happy-families scene going on downstairs. “Hey, Mom. It’s me.” Wow, original. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know there was a change of plan and I’m sticking around Chicago this week. Anyway, I was just… calling to say hi.” For the first time ever. “Maybe I’ll try you again later.”
Click.
Well, that went well. Aubrey sighed at his phone and winced when his breath fogged in the cold air.
Now what?
WITH AUBREY technically on vacation for the week, Nate spent Tuesday filming with Paul Mitchell, a guest star they’d had booked since the preseason.
Nate liked Paul. They’d never played together—Paul had retired a few years earlier than Nate, and they’d never been on the same team—but they’d met several times over the years, and he was easygoing and personable enough to run a successful web series of his own.
Maybe Nate had gotten spoiled filming with Aubrey, because it took him and Paul the first half of the show to find their rhythm, and even then, it felt lacking. Nate would leave the airspace open for a quip, line it up perfectly for Aubrey, but Paul would miss it entirely or go in a direction so unexpected it left Nate floundering.
But it was the last show he had to do until Saturday. Thursday Kelly was hosting a combination clip show and commentary with Caley while Nate spent the whole holiday with his family. He hadn’t been able to do that in years.
Of course, this year would be a little different.
By the time he returned from the studio, his stomach was growling. He waved to the concierge and got into the elevator, vaguely hoping there was something left in the fridge. If not, maybe he could sneak upstairs and raid Aubrey’s cupboards.
But when he pushed open the door, he found the apartment rather more occupied than he expected.
Before he could do much more than say hello, Aubrey got up from the couch, leaving Nate’s parents alone in the living room, and tilted his head toward the master bedroom. Nate followed, bemused. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I thought they fixed the heat at your place this morning.”
“Yeah, they did.” Aubrey looked wild around the eyes. “I ran into your parents in the lobby when they were on their way back from the Art Institute. They insisted on inviting me up for dinner and a show. Our show, except without me.”
That sounded even more awkward than Nate’s evening. He winced. “Sorry.”
But Aubrey shook his head, some of the manic brightness receding from his face. “It was mostly fine. Well, no, your mom wanted to make your ‘favorite’ for dinner, but I convinced her you’d mentioned a craving for sushi this morning, so we ordered takeout. Your spicy tuna roll and whatnot is in the fridge.”
Nate’s stomach growled on cue. “Thank you.” He’d loved his mother’s spaghetti growing up, but now the idea of white pasta in a sauce that was mostly ketchup made him consider a hunger strike. “How was the show? From the outside, I mean. It felt like a train wreck from where I was sitting.”
“Eh.” Aubrey waggled his hand back and forth. “It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t bad. I could tell Paul missed a lot of the cues you were feeding him, but it went smoother when you both just stuck to the teleprompter.” He scratched at his nape, looking sheepish. “Your mom kept commenting on how much better we are together.”
“Well, she’s not wrong about that, even if she is wrong about why.” Nate wondered if the change of pace would have an impact on whether they got canceled. It didn’t seem fair, but that probably wouldn’t matter to the execs.
Then again, a more serious, less banter-driven show might have appeal with the market they’d alienated when John got fired. It could go either way.
“Anyway, I’m starving,” Nate said, which Aubrey would know because Nate was always hungry after a show. “So I’m going to eat. You want to stick around? Four’s the right number for a game of euchre.”
“God, I haven’t played since high school.” Aubrey grinned as though reminiscing on a fond memory, but then he cut his gaze back to the living room, where Nate’s parents were studiously ignoring a commercial break via their cell phones. “You’re sure you don’t want me to get lost? I don’t want to, I don’t know… crash your family time.”
“My parents literally invited you to family time without me,” Nate said wryly. “They like you fine.”
Aubrey’s grin dimmed a little at that, and he shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. But then he said, “I guess I understand. I mean, I never brought a boyfriend home. Mom would probably cry tears of joy. She was always trying to pair me off with a society boy. You’d do in a pinch.” He raised a hand and traced a faint scar on Nate’s cheek, a remnant from a stray Zdeno Chara slap shot. “You’re a little rougher around the edges than those guys, but you clean up nice and respectable.”
Nate fought not to shiver at the unexpectedly intimate touch, not to mention the level of personal sharing. Aubrey didn’t talk about his family much. “You say that like it’s an insult.”
The moment broke as Aubrey shook himself and winked. “Well, I do prefer you disheveled and debauched.”
That, Nate decided, did not require a response. “So, are you in or what? We always play at Thanksgiving, but Emily’s visiting Jurgen’s people this year, so we’re stuck without you.”
And anyway, in the quick glimpse he’d caught when he first came in, Aubrey seemed to be enjoying himself, sitting opposite Nate’s dad on the sofa, engaged with his mom in a discussion of something that had them both smiling. Aubrey was certainly more than capable of turning Nate’s parents down when they asked him to come for dinner. Maybe he was getting something out of this.
Maybe he was just humoring Nate.
“All right.” Aubrey lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Where are the cards?”
Chapter Fourteen
TUESDAY NIGHT Aubrey lay awake in bed for two hours, staring at the ceiling. It was a weird inverse repeat of the night before, when he’d gone to bed with Nate without the obvious pretext of having sex with him, because his apartment was a deep freeze.
He expected it to be awkward, but instead, he’d closed his eyes, was assaulted by Nate’s body heat, and fell asleep within thirty seconds.
Tuesday Aubrey sneaked out of bed before Nate could open his eyes.
Ignoring the consequences of his own bad decisions was a lot easier when he was with Nate, but that was mostly because he kept forgetting the whole thing was fake.
By the time he dropped off to sleep, alone in his own bed, it was technically Wednesday morning.
He woke up after a half-remembered dream that he immediately wanted to purge completely. He needed to get out of his apartment—out of the whole building, preferably to do something that wouldn’t permit any distraction.
When his cell phone beeped an appointment reminder, he smiled. Perfect.
There were seven cars in the arena parking lot when he pulled in. Aubrey picked up the stuffed dog and yellow roses from the passenger seat, snagged his skate bag from the trunk, and hightailed it to the locker room.
Greg groaned when he saw him. “What is this? Aren’t you supposed to be in Hawaii? I don’t need someone documenting my failures.”
“Obviously I should’ve brought vodka for the kiss and cry,” Aubrey said wryly. Greg always got like this before a big skate, and he was always fine. “Come on, suit up. I’ll warm up with you. Take your mind off it.”
“You’re a terrible man and I hate you.”
Aubrey clapped him on the shoulder. “Love you too, buddy. Let’s go break a leg, okay?”
“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me why you’re not three mai tais deep right now.”
“It’s, like, six in the morning in Oahu.”
Greg had the ice for twenty minutes of warm-up time before his Cirque audition was scheduled. They spent ten minutes stretching and skating, and then Greg’s jitters got so bad Aubrey gently checked him into the boards and called up their playlist on his phone.
“Change of plan. You need to loosen up.” Aubrey’s portable speakers pumped out the opening bars of “Hot Stuff.” “You remember how it goes, right?”
For a few seconds, he thought Greg might really balk. He skated backward away from Aubrey a half meter or so, shaking his head.
Then he shot him the finger and launched into their routine. For three minutes and forty-seven seconds, Greg and Aubrey dance-fought to Donna Summer. Greg kept his part simple to conserve his energy, but Aubrey lost himself in the rhythm and the pure athleticism, reveling in the stretch of his body, pushing his limits. He nailed every landing and couldn’t keep from grinning as he mentally awarded himself top marks.
When the song wound to a close, Aubrey caught sight of a man and a woman dressed in business suits making their way into the stands. He clapped Greg’s shoulder again. “You got this.” Then he skated over to the visitor’s bench.
He was right too—Greg nailed the routine, putting on a very entertaining program for the Cirque officials. Aubrey watched them when he wasn’t watching Greg, and though they didn’t give much away, he thought they were impressed.
At the end of the program, they came down to the ice and shook Greg’s hand, and Aubrey could tell from the mutual smiles that Greg was in.
He grinned and collected the flowers and stuffed animal and skated over to deliver them. “I guess we can skip the crying this time?”
Greg snorted but accepted the gifts. “Yeah. I still want my kiss, though.”
“Smartass.” Aubrey gave him another gentle bump and then a loud smack on the cheek.
“Mr. Chase!” The male Cirque rep extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Lucien Bastille, and this is my colleague, Sharice Kim.”
“Pleasure’s mine. But please call me Aubrey.” He shook with both of them.
Sharice palmed a card and slid it to him. “We know you have commitments in Chicago. Greg’s been very forthcoming about that.” Oh, had he? “But if you ever find yourself in need of a diversion or a change of scenery and you think you might like to spend some time in Las Vegas, please don’t hesitate to give us a call. You’re obviously in competition shape, and your choreography would be a good fit for us.”
Aubrey blinked and looked sideways at Greg. It had never occurred to him that he might end up with a job offer at the end of this, but judging from Greg’s tiny smirk, he wasn’t surprised. “Thanks,” he said, taking the card. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He held on to his questions until Lucien and Sharice left and they were packing up in the locker room, but they came rapid-fire after that. “What just happened? You looked like you knew something was up, but I thought I was going to be in Hawaii for this until two days ago.”
Greg shrugged. “I knew they were looking for more talent. Your name came up when we arranged the audition.”
“I didn’t book my vacation until last week,” Aubrey realized. “You sneaky bastard.”
“Don’t get me wrong, you were never going to get the gig instead of me, but I know you miss performing with your whole body and not just your face.”
Ooh. That one landed hard enough that Aubrey winced as he wiped down his skate blade.
“Oh, uh-oh, back up, speaking of your face, what’s it doing right now? Aubrey? What did you do?” Greg snapped a skate guard on and shoved it in his bag. Realization dawned, and his eyebrows shook hands with his hairline. “Did you sleep with Nate again?”
“No!” Aubrey said, because that wasn’t the problem. Then, in the interest of honesty: “Well, yes, twice, but that’s… okay, that is how I got into this mess. I—”
His phone buzzed on the bench beside him. The call display lit up. Mom.
Well, saved by the bell, sort of.
“Sorry, I have to take this.”
Greg rolled his eyes, and Aubrey walked out into the hallway to answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Aubrey, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”
Apparently all of his poor decisions were coming back to haunt him today—though he couldn’t decide if the decision in question was limiting contact with his mother or picking up the phone again to call her.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. I just wanted to….” I just wanted to see if maybe we could have a better relationship, since one of the most important ones in my life is in danger of disintegrating at any moment. “I just wanted to check in. I haven’t talked to you and Dad since….”
“Thanksgiving,” his mother supplied. “In October.”
Aubrey winced. “Right. Sorry, I know… I know we don’t talk much.”
But instead of the response he expected, his mother just said, “Oh, honey. I didn’t call you either. But I wanted to.”
For a moment all Aubrey could do was flap his mouth soundlessly. He’d been expecting accusations, veiled rancor. This hurt in a different way. “Why?” he finally managed. “I mean, not why do you want to talk to me—I’m delightful and you love me—but why didn’t you call? If you wanted to.”
His mother exhaled a long, slow breath. “Honestly, Aubrey? Even my therapist can’t work that out.”
Aubrey’s brain did a record scratch. “Wait, you’re in therapy?”
“You don’t have to say it like that.” Ah, there was the mother he knew. “There’s nothing wrong with getting the help you need.”
Bizarrely, Aubrey found himself smiling. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I’m also in therapy.” Was that rude to say to your mother? Did that imply some kind of judgment on her parenting skills? “I was just surprised.”
His mother huffed. “Well. Perhaps going forward, we can spend a little time talking to each other instead of talking to our therapists.”
“Is yours terrible?” Aubrey asked. “Who gave these people license to be right about everything?”
She laughed, and Aubrey felt the power of it zing through him. For years he’d craved his mother’s attention and approval while she was busy pursuing other things. But now, making her laugh—genuinely laugh—was enough.
Therapy. Who knew.
“They’re the worst,” his mother said. “Although I think they do actually have a licensing body, so your question isn’t as rhetorical as you think.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head. “So, what’re you in for, Mom? You may have guessed my main issues are attention-seeking behavior and poor coping mechanisms.”
“Ah, well, that’s a personal question, Aubrey.” He could almost see her deliberating, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on whatever was nearest—a table, an armrest, a steering wheel. “The usual suspects for a woman my age. Guilt, regret, nostalgia.” She said all these flippantly enough that Aubrey could guess none of them was the real issue, but she was right, it was a personal question. She didn’t have to tell him, especially not when their relationship was just starting to find its first solid footing in years.
