Crack In The Ice - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Owen smiles when I open the door.
Stuffed duffel bag in one hand, a suitcase and a paper bag in the other, he stands at my doorstep and I smile back. His nose has gone red around the tip from the cold outside, which is to be expected the day before Christmas Eve in Calgary. I step aside to let him into our home and he hugs me before I can close the door.
There's muffled patting as Dean runs to us from the kitchen. He slips on socked feet trying to come to a stop in front of us, narrowly avoiding a fall. The huge grin on his face doesn't falter, though. Owen laughs as Dean gives him an attack-hug.
"Missed you too, buddy," Owen says, patting Dean's back.
I smile. "Do you think maybe you can let him in and continue that with the door closed?"
Dean lets go of Owen and I help him bring his bags into the living room, before finally closing the door to our apartment.
"Sorry." Dean laughs. He's wearing his apron right now.
"No problem," Owen says. "Nice to be wanted."
"Good to know you think so," I say. "Because he's been cooking something special for you. Made me clean the house too."
"My mom always cleaned the house before we had visits and she made us all help," Dean says.
"You didn't have to do that for me though," Owen says.
"We really didn't," I agree. "We have a cleaner. She was here yesterday."
Owen smiles fondly at Dean, and I take his suitcase and duffel bag to put them away in Dean's room. When I return, they are sitting both on the couch.
"What smells good?" Owen asks.
Dean grins. "You'll see. It's a surprise."
Owen looks at me, eyebrows arched. "Damn. He's serious."
I smile. "He's really invested. You better fake it if you don't like it."
"This is so nice," Dean blurts. "Our first Christmas together."
I look at him. "We always saw each other on Christmas, Dean."
"Yeah, but this is our first time doing Christmas ourselves. Just the three of us. Together. In our home."
"That reminds me." Owen reaches into the large paper bag to pull out a wrapped gift no larger than his palm and another smaller paper bag, stapled at the top. "I got your presents."
Dean smiles. "I'll put them under the tree with mine and Eli's. We can open them tomorrow night."
Owen watches him arrange the gifts next to ours. "I like your tree."
"Thanks." Dean grins.
"It's not done yet," I say. "He wanted us to only put up the star when you got here."
Owen smiles with a glance at Dean. "That's nice."
I nod to the gifts. "You didn't have to get us anything."
Owen shrugs. "Dean's right though. It's our first Christmas together. We should do it right."
It's strange to think that up until five years ago we had a strict tradition to never give gifts. Christmas, birthdays, never. Dean was the first to break that tradition after we moved out, when he gave me a birthday present with one of our first paychecks. When his birthday came, three weeks later, I knew I had to get him something too. And then it felt wrong not to give Owen something for his birthday, four weeks later.
It was a true mind trap to find something to give Owen. I didn't want it to be too expensive that it could offend his pride in any way, or too cheap that it felt just like a place-holder. So I just gave him a hoodie I knew he'd like. Practical, wearable and it will last - the perfect Owen gift. He returned the favor next year with a hoodie for me, and it's been our gift tradition for a while.
This is our first time giving Christmas presents, though.
The corners of Owen's lips tilt up. "Does this mean you didn't get me anything?"
I snort. "I did, actually."
He glances at the hoodie-sized paper bag, stapled at the top, next to the one he brought. Identical in everything but color. There's no mystery in our presents, and that's honestly where the comfort of this arrangement is.
Dean stands up, looking at the time on his phone. "I'm gonna go check on dinner."
"Need help?" I offer.
"No, it's fine. I got it."
When he's out, Owen looks at me. "How's he doing?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Thought you guys talked every day."
"He likes to stay in touch."
"He's really happy you're here."
Owen tilts his head. "And you're not?"
I smile.
There's a clatter from the kitchen, and I stand up on instinct. "Maybe I should check on him. You can take a seat at the table if you want." I gesture to our set table, with a red towel, and red napkins with gold details that Dean bought just for the occasion.
Like I said. He's invested.
"We got wine if you want," I add. "A guy on our team chose it for us though, because Dean and I don't know shit about wine."
Owen snorts as I slip away to the kitchen.
The scene I'm faced with isn't as bad as it could've been. The oven is open, a mess of plates and pans scattered on the sink overflowing to the balcony. But no fires or charred spots on the ceiling.
"Everything good here?"
Dean smiles. "Yeah, all good." He fans the large serving plate he just took out of the oven. "Dinner's ready."
"Good."
Dean looks down at his work, then up at me, then repeats that three times. I keep my eyes on him the whole time.
"Yes?"
"You gonna do it today?"
I purse my lips.
"You don't have to, you know," he rushes to add. "Just because you said you wanted to tell him. Doesn't mean you have to. You can wait till after Christmas. Or just not do it at all. No pressure. Just curious."
"Dean, it's fine," I say. "I'll do it. After dinner."
He nods. Then smiles. "It's going to be fine. He'll be cool. It's Owen."
"Right."
"He'll love you no matter what. We're friends. Nothing changes that."
I roll my eyes. "Jeez, man. I get it. Need help bringing that in?"
He shakes his head, taking the casserole in his mitten-covered hands.
Owen smiles when we come back. He took my advice and sat at the table, and poured himself some of the wine as well.
"It's good," he says, nodding to his glass. "And dinner smells amazing, Dean."
"It's mashed potatoes casserole. Your mother's recipe. With peas and beef and carrots." Dean smiles. "She emailed it to me so I could make this for you."
"You serious?"
"He wanted to surprise you," I say.
Owen smiles. "Thanks, man."
"Hope it tastes half as good as your mom's," Dean says.
"Remember to keep your game face if it doesn't," I mutter.
Owen snorts.
"I always loved making cookies with my mom, don't know why I didn't try getting into cooking sooner," Dean muses as he serves us all with a hefty portion.
"If hockey fails you, you definitely have a fallback career," Owen points out.
"If hockey fails him, there's a chance I become unemployed," I say.
"My dad always needs help with the plumbing business," Owen says.
I roll my eyes. "Nice."
Even though Owen and I don't keep in the same kind of constant contact as he and Dean do, dinner flows nicely and easily. Because it's us. And we can always get right back to where we last left it.
We put the dishes away after desert in the same kind of light, easy conversation. Then we move to the living room, well fed and feeling like we haven't been living miles apart for the past four years and a half.
"We should put the star up now," Dean says.
I feel like I'm glued to the couch by a hundred pounds of mashed potatoes casserole. Dean must see I have no intention to move because he gets up to grab the star and hand it to Owen, who frowns.
"It's your tree," he says.
"We did the rest," Dean says. "We want you to finish it. So it's all of our tree."
Owen gets on his feet and places the star at the top of the tree. Dean takes a seat next to me on the couch again and Owen looks to him for approval. Dean grins, giving him a thumbs up. With a smile, Owen returns to the love seat.
"You going back to Boston after the holidays?" I ask him.
"Planning to see my parents after New Year's. After that, not sure."
"They didn't make you an offer to stay at that fancy company?" Dean asks.
"They did, actually," Owen says. "I interviewed for a spot as junior analyst before coming here."
"And?" I ask.
"They said it's mine if I want it. Have to give them an answer before New Year's."
I frown. "And you're considering going back home instead?"
Owen glances briefly at me before looking at the tree. "Maybe. I don't know." He shrugs. "It's a really good spot."
"Maybe you could find something in Lake City too," Dean says. "With the Astor Group."
Owen hums. "Yeah. Maybe."
"Do you want me to check with Liam if they're hiring?"
The question is a test concealed under a casual tone. What exactly I'm testing, I'm not sure. But I didn't expect Owen's look in response. It's curious. Focused. Knowing.
"You two still close?" He asks.
I look at the tree, watching the white lights blink lazily. I shrug.
Owen doesn't say anything back. Dean doesn't cut the silence either.
I clear my throat. "I think you should go home." I didn't know that I believed it until I said it, but now that I did it feels right. Like something I've been thinking for a while. I look at Owen. "Your parents miss you. And your sister."
Owen nods, holding my gaze.
"And we'd all be in the same time zone," Dean throws in. "It'd be a lot easier to visit."
"Yeah." Owen smiles at him.
Silence settles in for a moment. I keep my eyes on the tree and I can sense Owen doing the same. I know Dean is watching us both.
I bite my lip. "I have something to tell you."
Owen looks at me. "Okay."
No one says anything for a second.
Owen just sits there waiting. I make a point to look him in the eye as I prepare myself, but my heart isn't going over the speed limit in my chest like with Olie, neither is the room spinning like with Dean. I can still feel my pulse steady, my breathing in check, my head sober.
Owen's face is his typical blank mask. Nothing in it except for the eyes - always shrewd, intuitive, observant. But patient too.
"I'm gay."
I speak clearly. There's no feeling that the voice isn't my own, or that it's caught in my throat.
Owen doesn't even flinch.
He nods, slowly.
"Sure took you long enough."
I frown, but the most surprising thing is how I don't feel all that surprised. Not at all. Like something in the back of my mind expected this.
"You knew."
"Wait, what," Dean blurts. "How?"
Owen glances at Dean but his eyes come right back to me. "I saw you five years ago. At the lake on New Year's Eve. With someone."
This does come as a surprise. I can feel understanding sink in, all the way down to the pit of my stomach, down my spine, like a bucket of cold water.
"Wait, what," Dean blurts. "Who?"
Owen keeps looking at me, leaning back in his seat. And I get it now.
He didn't say anything for five years and he knew the whole time. He's not going to say anything to Dean now either. It's entirely my choice. It always has been.
I look at Dean. "Liam."
Dean's eyes widen. "Wait, what. Astor?"
I nod.
Dean frowns like he's about to object, then his lips part like it's sinking, then his eyes bulge out as it clicks. "Is that why you two got so close all of a sudden in senior year? I thought it was just 'cause you were working together."
"I imagine working together helped," Owen muses quietly and I can swear there's a shadow of a smirk there.
And then it hits me. That look. I've seen that look over the past five years. That private look. How I didn't immediately realize he knew is beyond me. That look has been there the whole time.
"Wait a minute," Dean says.
I look at him.
"Beijing. Three years ago," Dean says. "We found Liam at our hotel and you went up to his room to help him fix his shower and only came back in the middle of the night." He gasps. "Last month, he and Chloe came here and you helped him take her to her room, and you weren't home in the morning." He jumps on his seat. "How did I not see it for five years?"
Owen smiles. "So you two are still together."
"No."
Owen cocks one eyebrow.
I bite my lip, looking at the tree to avoid the full weight of his dark eyes. And that look. The one that has always been there for me to ignore.
"Not really," I mumble. "It's complicated."
"Why?"
"We... It's not," I huff. "I think I fucked up, so we're not really talking anymore. But I could still ask about a job interview."
Owen rolls his eyes. "We're not talking about that now. Don't change the subject."
"We were talking about it before you changed the subject."
Owen frowns. "I didn't change the subject."
"So you wanna talk about why you don't want to stay in Boston?"
"Not until you tell me what's up with you and Astor."
"Fine. I can tell you that. We hook up. That's it. It's all there can ever be between us."
Owen's voice is dry. "Why?"
"Because."
"That word doesn't work if you don't add something after."
"I can't be with him, okay? It just doesn't work."
"Why not?"
"You know why."
"I don't think I do, Eli."
I glare at him. "A couple of years ago I took a hit so hard that my shoulder still has not fully healed. And that was just the game. Do you have any idea what they would do to me on the rink if they knew I was batting for the wrong team?"
"You're afraid they'll be rough with you on the ice? You're a defenseman, Eli."
"What about my team? What about the locker room? What about the fucking suits in the offices? What will they think? What will they say? What do you think they'll do?"
"I don't know, Eli," he says. "And neither do you. They could be absolute dicks about it. Or they could be fine. Either way, what does it fucking matter?"
"Why did Boston matter? Why did that fucking hockey scholarship mattered to you? Why did the fancy internship with the fancy company matter? It's my career. My life. And I'm not like you. I can't do anything else. This is it for me. I have no other talents."
Owen scowls. "So you two, what, just sneak around between games and competitions? Is Liam okay with that?"
I purse my lips, looking away to the tree. "I don't think so. Not anymore."
I'm very aware of Dean, sitting between us just watching. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, a crease between his eyebrows. I know this is getting away from the nice first Christmas together just the three of us that he had in mind. It makes a flush of guilt swallow the irritation that had been boiling until now.
"Nor should he," Owen says. "It's not fair. For either of you."
I gulp. "I know."
"Then what exactly are you doing?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know," Owen repeats. "Why are you with him?"
"It just happened, okay?" I shrug.
"Bullshit," he says. "After you left, you could have stayed away if you wanted. You were leaving miles apart. National borders between you. It couldn't have been easier, if you really wanted to stay away."
"I tried."
"Did you?"
"Yes. He's just... under my skin." I rub a hand down my face. I need to cut this course of conversation off.
"You said you fucked up and you two aren't really talking anymore," Dean says, surprising me. "Was that when he was here?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
I look at him. Dean doesn't budge, but his look is not the same as Owen's knowing righteousness. It's softer. Concerned.
I don't know why I said it. I meant to stop this. Find a new topic.
Still.
"Liam said he loved me," I mutter. "Accidentally. Maybe. I don't know."
Owen shakes his head. "You don't know?"
"I thought it just came out."
"But?"
"He said it again."
"And you fucked up because you ran?"
I huff, looking at Owen. "Basically. Happy?"
"No," he says. "Are you?"
I look at the tree, then at my lap.
"Do you love Liam?" Dean asks, making me look up at him. I can still feel Owen's gaze burn into the side of my face, but I ignore it.
"I don't know," I say. "No."
"One or the other," Owen says.
I glare at him. "I can't, okay? Not in the way I think he wants. This wasn't in the plan. None of this was."
Dean presses his lips together like he's not sure what to say, but Owen's expression softens. He leans forward.
"The plan, Eli?" He says. "You and I made our plans before we were even in high school. People change. Priorities shift. I'm not sure a plan that was made decades ago is worth sacrificing your life right now."