The Inside Edge, page 23
But this was Nate’s niece’s first Christmas. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks.
And Aubrey didn’t know what he’d do if he made that offer and Nate turned it down.
“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly and wanted to kick something.
“It’s okay,” Nate assured him, though he sounded disappointed. And then he cleared his throat, and Aubrey knew the conversation was over. “All right, I have to go. Caley and Kelly’s holiday party is in an hour and I haven’t even bought wine. I’m a disgrace.”
“Truly a failure as a gay man,” Aubrey agreed, trying for a levity he didn’t feel. Good thing he was a natural-born performer. “For shame.”
“I shall diminish, and go into the west,” Nate quoted. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Aubrey agreed, and they hung up.
For a few minutes, he simply sat in the sunshine, which was growing cooler by the minute. Finally he couldn’t stand his own company anymore, so he went back into the house to grab his keys and gym bag. He was still sore from the physical challenge of work—learning new skills and the various apparatuses the show employed took training and effort—but right now he needed the meditation of exercise.
Too bad Nate was in Chicago and Aubrey was here. Sex would’ve been a really great way to get out of his head.
Chapter Twenty-Five
AFTER THAT Saturday’s episode, Nate needed a few minutes to himself. Preferably to break something that wasn’t his own teeth.
So it didn’t help much when Paul found him in the green room, pacing and working on aforementioned teeth breaking, and said, “Hey. Can I talk to you?”
The answer was a blatant no. Before they had to work together, Nate hadn’t minded Paul’s company. They weren’t ever going to be best friends, but they were both amiable enough, or so Nate thought.
But ever since Paul stepped into Aubrey’s shoes, Nate’s general tolerance for the man had taken a nosedive. Still, he couldn’t exactly have a temper tantrum in front of him. He didn’t want to be difficult. He knew well enough what happened to bad sports in hockey—in the media as well as on the ice. So he worked on pulling his shoulders down from around his ears, straightened his spine, and affected an open, inviting posture he absolutely did not feel. “Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”
Paul closed the door behind him and scratched behind one ear. He reminded Nate of a mangy dog.
Then Nate second-guessed himself. That wasn’t fair to dogs.
Damn it. He was going to shred his reputation for being easy to work with, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“So, I know the whole point of the show is for us to have some spirited discussions.” Paul helped himself to one corner of the single sofa in the room. “Or did I get that wrong?”
In that moment Nate utterly despised him. “You didn’t get it wrong.”
Paul spread his hands. “Okay. Then maybe you can help me understand. The point of the show is spirited discussions about topics hockey fans care about. So how come every time I try to start one, you act like I just pissed on the flag or something?”
A vicious, insistent throbbing started up at the base of Nate’s skull and then immediately migrated to his temple and frontal lobe.
Nate had only ever been in a handful of hockey fights. He prided himself on his equilibrium. He had patience.
Or he used to have patience until he had to work with Paul. “Paul. Seriously?”
Paul made another, broader shrugging gesture, as though he truly did not understand. “What? Like, I never got the impression you wanted to wring Chase’s neck during the show, no matter how hard the two of you went at it”—Nate grimaced internally at the word choice; Paul didn’t know they were dating, and Nate sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell him now—“but me? You fucking hate my guts, dude.”
If I do, it’s your own fault. He took a deep breath. “Aubrey and I debated the finer points of hockey contracts, pros and cons of trades, play styles.”
“Isn’t that what we do?” Paul challenged.
“It’s what I try to do,” Nate clarified. He was pissed now, and Paul was literally asking for it. “You want to talk about whether women’s hockey has merit! You want to talk about whether it’s okay for guys to use homophobic slurs on the ice, Paul, you fucking asshole. It’s the twenty-first century, and I’m gay, in case you forgot.”
Paul gaped as though it had never occurred to him that his shitty homophobic behavior could offend Nate. “Oh, come on. You don’t think I believe that, do you? It’s just entertainment.”
Just entertainment. Nate’s frustration, Nate’s pain—? “Entertainment?” Nate thundered. “You’re gonna let every queer kid watching a stupid fucking talk show about hockey know the game isn’t for them, that the game itself hates them, because it’s entertaining? Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Hey,” Paul protested. “Take it down a notch. Queer kids aren’t exactly our target audience.”
Nate’s jaw dropped. He could not come up with a single thing to say.
Paul either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “And look, you think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think the name Mitchell is a coincidence? My father’s on the network’s board of directors. When I came to him three months ago with the idea for the show he was all. Over. It.”
The idea for the show? “The show that was already on air?” Nate said. “Wow, I hope you didn’t strain yourself coming up with that one.”
Of fucking course. Nepotism at its finest.
“I think I’m done here,” Nate said coldly. And he walked out of the arena and hailed a cab.
“Where to?” the driver asked without giving him a second glance.
“Airport,” Nate said shortly. He wasn’t spending another second in Paul’s company.
THERE WERE a lot of calls he needed to make, but he didn’t want to talk in the car. He felt like he needed some small measure of privacy, and as contradictory as it might be, the airport seemed like a better place for that.
He checked in and went through security, then found an out-of-the-way seat near a coffee cart—at this time of night the airport was sleepy anyway—and sat down to dial.
Despite the hour, his dad picked up on the second ring. “Nathan?” he said. “It’s a bit late, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be on a plane?”
“I’m at the airport,” Nate answered. “Sorry for calling so late.”
“It’s fine.” He could practically see his father brushing this off. “You know your mother and I are always here for you. What’s up?”
Nate took a deep breath, difficult with the lump in his throat. He hadn’t really even thought the words to himself yet, but it was time to admit it all out loud now. “I know you’re always saying you raised me to persevere against the odds.” Professional athletes didn’t stop when things got hard. They’d never make it if they did.
“We did. Your mother and I are proud of everything you’ve accomplished, your determination….” He trailed off, sounding uncertain. “What’s this about?”
“I…. Dad, I’m not a quitter, but I hate my job.” There. He’d said it. Pushing the words out seemed to loosen something in his throat, and more followed after. “I was so proud of everything Jess and I did, and Aubrey made it all feel like it clicked. Then the network sold us out, and ever since then—well, you’ve been watching.” Ratings in their previous demographic had dropped, though they’d picked up a few points in other areas. Nate was more miserable now than he’d ever been when he was John’s co-anchor. “Paul is a troglodyte. I feel like we’re catering to a completely different audience who wouldn’t like me anyway. I don’t have any creative control, and I miss Aubrey.”
“Nate….” He could almost see him shaking his head. His gut churned. Disappointing his parents was something he absolutely could not do. Not when they’d sacrificed so much for him. “I don’t know where you got this idea that not being a quitter meant suffering through a job that’s making you miserable.”
Nate’s breath came out in an unexpected rush. “I….”
“You want to keep your hand in in the sports-anchor world or in the entertainment world, then your mother and I expect you to put your best effort into that. What we don’t expect is for you to continue doing this show.” He paused, and Nate could hear something vague in the background. “Your mother says, ‘Please tell him to quit so we don’t have to watch this garbage anymore.’ Direct quote.”
Nate barked a surprised laugh that brought a tear with it. Did he have a Kleenex or something somewhere? He checked his pockets. “All right. Thanks. I—”
He paused and pulled a tiny piece of paper from his pocket. It was crumpled—had it gone through the wash? Absently, he smoothed it out.
Follow the middle path. Neither extreme will make you happy.
“I have… some more news,” he said roughly. What a stupid time for an epiphany, but— “I’m not coming for Christmas. Tell Emily—tell her I’ll make it up to her, I promise, whatever she wants. I’ll take everyone on a vacation somewhere, just… I have somewhere else I need to be.”
“I understand,” his father said, and Nate didn’t think he was imagining the approval in his voice. “Say hi to Aubrey from us.”
Nate laughed a little incredulously. “I will.”
In retrospect, an airport on December 23 was a stupid place and time to come to a decision. On the other hand, at least he’d finally made one.
The idea of getting back on a plane with Paul, who wasn’t Aubrey, going home to Chicago, where Aubrey wasn’t, dropping off his bag at home and then flying on to Michigan to meet his own parents, finally made something inside him snap.
This was stupid. He was stupid. But he had the resources to stop being an idiot and do what he wanted with his life.
He sent a text message to his agent, because this was going to get messy. He sent another to his mom, because she deserved an apology of her own.
Then he found a ticket counter and prepared to pay through the nose to change his flight to somewhere he actually wanted to be.
Chapter Twenty-Six
AUBREY HAD once had his own apartment in Vancouver, of course, but considering the difficulty of finding housing there and the restrictions on vacant real estate, he’d leased it out. So, for the first time in forever, he was staying with his family—albeit in his parents’ guest house instead of the main building.
His family. How strange. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent a holiday with them and actually enjoyed it. And sure, things weren’t perfect, but Rachel’s wedding was fun. He didn’t feel jealous, at least not of the attention heaped on her. The serene happiness she projected everywhere and the obvious adoration in her new husband’s eyes… those he could envy.
His mother must have noticed, because she’d reached over and squeezed his arm. “Give it time.”
He’d already tried getting Nate to move in with him. The ball was in Nate’s court now. Giving it time was all Aubrey could do.
Meanwhile, it was already the morning of December 24, and the tree needed decorating.
“No professional this year?” he asked as his father set a dusty box of ornaments on the floor next to the tree.
“Your mother’s therapist suggested it would be a good family activity.”
They looked at each other, then at the box, then at the tree, which was nearly tall enough to reach the fourteen-foot ceiling.
Aubrey said, “Does Mom’s therapist know you’re afraid of ladders?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” his mother chided, coming into the room with a stepladder that one of them might, generously, use to get decorations two-thirds of the way up the tree.
“I hung upside down from a roof last week with knives strapped to my feet,” Aubrey pointed out.
“Which reminds me we’ll be needing tickets to your first show.”
Aubrey smiled. What did they think he got them for Christmas? “We’ll see.”
They hadn’t done much more than open boxes when the doorbell rang. Aubrey’s mom set down the garland she was holding and headed to the foyer. “That’ll be Rachel and Tim.”
“We brought mimosas,” Rachel said cheerfully as she and Tim entered a few minutes later.
“And cinnamon buns,” he added.
“I’ll put on another pot of coffee,” Aubrey’s dad said. It did not escape Aubrey that he was conveniently going to be away from the ladder for the next several minutes.
The advent of booze and breakfast—and, Aubrey found to his own surprise, company—improved the decorating experience immeasurably.
“I think if I get the angle right, I might be able to land this in one of the upper branches,” Tim said idly, hefting a glass ornament the size of a softball.
“And if you miss, you can land in my mother’s bad books indefinitely,” Aubrey pointed out. Then he shoved another piece of cinnamon bun into his mouth. God, it was still warm. Bless his cousin and her foresight.
Tim’s face fell.
Aubrey licked his fingers clean of the last of the cinnamon sugar and held out his hand. “Give it here. I’ll do it.”
Rachel laughed into her mimosa, flush-cheeked, grinning, and happy, and Aubrey relished it. His childhood should have been like this. He spared a flash of bitterness that it hadn’t been, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. He could make sure he had more holidays like this one.
It was almost perfect, with just one thing—one person—missing. Nate would be on a plane again now, if not already back in Michigan with his parents. He’d been looking forward to seeing his niece. Aubrey would call him later… maybe on Skype. Nate was pretty irresistible with children, and it was Christmas. If Aubrey wasn’t going to see him in person, he should get to see him with a baby.
An hour or so later, they’d run out of ornaments and ambition to attempt reaching the top of the tree. As a result, the decorations mainly clustered around the bottom two thirds, leaving the top naked and sad.
It was still kind of nice, though.
“So next year,” Aubrey said, turning to his mother. She was lounging with her feet up, mimosa in hand, and she raised her eyebrows in invitation. “Hire the decorator and we’ll just do the mimosas. Therapists don’t know everything.”
Now she raised her glass as well. “I always knew you got my brains.”
Aubrey’s dad accepted this with a mild smile, and Rachel and Tim exchanged grins as well. Which just figured. Maybe next year he’d get to be something other than the fifth wheel.
If he could convince Nate they were worth fighting for, at least.
But before he could get any further into his own self-pity, the doorbell rang again. “Who else did you invite?” he asked his mother. Maybe she was going to have someone deliver an actually decorated tree?
“Nobody,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone’s here.”
Well, obviously not. Aubrey heaved himself off the couch to answer the door. Maybe someone had ordered a last-minute gift?
But when he opened the door to the drizzly Vancouver morning, it wasn’t a beleaguered delivery person on the doorstep.
It was Nate.
Aubrey’s mouth dropped open.
“Merry Christmas,” Nate said, dripping ice water from his eyelashes. “I hope your mom loves me as much as you think she will.”
“HOW DID you even find us?” Aubrey asked, ushering Nate into the guest house on his parents’ palatial estate. Nate guessed this must be where Aubrey was staying while he was in town, which was kind of hilarious. He easily could’ve taken a room in the mansion and had enough privacy that he wouldn’t have seen another soul unless he wanted to.
“Honestly? Luck. I ran into Jackson Nakamura in the airport.” He managed a partial smile as he worked off his boots. It was the polite thing to do in Canada, and his socks were wet through.
Aubrey helped him wriggle out of his coat. That was soaked as well. “Was that your rental car in the driveway?”
Nate winced, not relishing the way his shirt and jacket clung to him or the way he smelled after so much air travel. His eyes felt like sandpaper. But there was a manic energy humming beneath his skin too. “What, you don’t like it?” It was a bright green Kia Soul that had barely made it up the steep driveway. “It’s December 24. Options were limited.”
He paused as they both absorbed that. They hadn’t actually addressed the elephant in the room yet.
Nate hoped the past two weeks hadn’t changed Aubrey’s mind. “It’s okay that I came, right?”
“Yeah!” Aubrey said a little too loudly. Maybe he was having flashbacks to their first I-love-you; God knew Nate was. But he could relax now. “Yeah, it’s—I would have asked you, but, uh.” He blew out a breath. “I was afraid you’d say no.”
“I might have,” Nate admitted. His priorities had been confused. “But it would have been the wrong decision.”
They were still standing too far apart, but after flying God knew how many thousands of miles, Nate didn’t know how to close the last two feet. This wasn’t how he’d imagined it. The arrival he envisioned had less talking, no rain-soaked clothes, and a lot more kissing.
“I just….” Aubrey was staring at him like he’d never seen him before. Nate couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Oh—and there was the kiss, Aubrey’s fingers in his hair, his warmth against the damp chill of Nate’s body, his smile against Nate’s mouth. Nate put his hands on Aubrey’s hips and held on, reveling in everything he’d missed for the past weeks.
Finally Aubrey pulled away and said, “Okay, I love you, and I’m thrilled you’re here, but you’re freezing. Do you want a shower?”
