Like You’ve Nothing Left to Prove

Excerpt

Like You’ve Nothing Left to Prove
E.L. Massey © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

The problem with dating a celebrity is that sometimes they have to do ridiculous things like take a call from their agent on Christmas Eve when they should be cuddling with their boyfriend.

Something about a sponsor and a New Year’s appearance and an upcoming photoshoot that had to be rescheduled? Eli lost the thread pretty quickly. He watches all of Alex’s games and has made an effort to actually understand hockey rules (though what actually counts as goaltender interference is still a mystery to him). He thinks his boyfriending duties are pretty well covered. He doesn’t need to know which jockstrap Alex is currently endorsing or whatever.

So Eli is reading Great Expectations, proud of himself for getting a head start on next semester’s readings, hoping his boyfriend comes to bed soon, and feeling very sleepy. Though that could be the Dickens. Actually, that’s not fair. He enjoys Dickens a fair amount. But Great Expectations is certainly no Bleak House.

He flips the page and glances up as Alex paces into the bedroom from the hallway, where he’s been in and out of earshot for the last half hour.

Eli’s parents are asleep at the opposite end of the house downstairs, and his sister, Francesca, is still awake next door if the music coming through the shared bathroom door is any indication.

“Hey,” Alex says, tossing his phone onto the top of the dresser. “Sorry about that.”

Eli waves Great Expectations at him in a conciliatory manner. “No problem. But since you’re up, I left my Chapstick in the bathroom.”

Alex gives him a fond look that Eli is still getting used to: a little squint, a little crooked smile, a raise of one eyebrow. “Is that a request?”

Eli tries to look as cozy and pitiful as possible. “Please?”

Alex rolls his eyes but slips through the bathroom door and switches the light on, painting the wood floor gold.

“I loved him against reason,” Eli shouts after Alex, “against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”

“I already said I would get it,” Alex shouts back. “You don’t need to woo me with Dickens.”

“Ah, but I must always woo you, my love,” Eli argues, affecting a terrible English accent, “With Dickens or otherwise.”

“Can you do your wooing a little more quietly?” Francesca yells from her bedroom.

Eli stifles his laugh in the duvet.

Alex turns off the light, runs into the cedar chest, swears, and then crawls up to flop inelegantly on top of Eli. He tries, very ineffectively, to apply the Chapstick for Eli until, laughing even harder, Eli wrestles it away from him and does it himself while Alex pretends to pout.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs, smudging the words into Eli’s neck, “do you maybe wanna do that thing where you drag your fingernails up and down my back until I fall asleep completely blissed out on oxytocin?”

Eli slides his book and then the Chapstick onto his nightstand and moves his hands automatically to Alex’s shoulders. “How did you know? That’s exactly what I wanted to do.”

“Oh.” Alex makes a point of settling in further before going absolutely boneless. “Well, that’s perfect, then.”

The bruises on Alex’s side look particularly stark when painted in moonlight, and Alex is warm and sleepy and vulnerable. His curled fingers in the periphery of Eli’s vision make Eli’s chest ache in a way he can’t explain with anything other than love. This soft, tactile man, who smells like VapoRub and Eli’s detergent, is so far removed from the visceral, overconfident Alexander Price, whose skill and notoriety sell out hockey arenas. In the dark and the quiet of Eli’s childhood bedroom, it almost feels as if they’re two different people. Except Eli is the only one privileged enough to know this gentle night-time version.

“Mm,” Eli agrees, dragging his nails lightly, so lightly, up the expanse of Alex’s back. “Perfect.”

*

Alex wakes Eli up at 7:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. “Hey,” he whispers urgently into Eli’s temple. “I want to call James.”

“You what?” Eli growls somewhere in the vicinity of his sternum.

And, okay. Admittedly, saying he wanted to call his ex-boyfriend might not have been the best way to go about waking up his current boyfriend.

“Sorry. Sorry. I know it’s early but I was laying here thinking. And I realized I’m ready. I’m not afraid to talk to him anymore, and I know he’ll be awake but probably not downstairs with his parents yet because his mom likes to sleep in.”

He takes a breath. “But I don’t have to right now. I can wait until tonight.”

“No, no this is good,” Eli says, shifting so he can blink up at him, bleary and shadowed in the early-morning light and his hair an absolute disaster.

There are pillow creases on his cheek and his lips are chapped and his morning breath is rank.

Alex loves him.

“I’m good,” Eli says, pressing his palms to his eyes. “Do I need to be awake for this, or…?”

Alex loves him so much. “No. This is fine. Just…be here? While I talk to him?”

“Done.” Eli yawns, throwing an arm around Alex’s waist. “Go for it.”

“Okay.”

And Alex calls James.

“Alex,” James says after the third ring, and Alex has to close his eyes for a moment at the familiarity of it.

“Hey,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. What are you doing up this early? Isn’t it 7:00 a.m. in Houston?”

“I’m not in Houston,” Alex says. “But, yeah.”

“You’re not in Houston.”

“I’m not.”

James huffs out a laugh. “You’re in Alabama, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“And you’re calling me on Christmas morning instead of cuddling with your—uh. Eli?”

Eli, who can obviously hear James, snickers into Alex’s neck.

Alex winces. “Boyfriend. Eli’s my boyfriend. We’re together.”

“I mean, I kind of figured. He said you weren’t, though, when he was here.”

“It’s new. Sort of. We finally got together after Thanksgiving.”

“Good,” James says after a moment’s pause, and Alex thinks he means it. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Alex says.

It earns him a squeeze from Eli.

“Okay,” James says. “Well, I’ll ask again—why are you on the phone with me instead of cuddling your boyfriend?”

Alex bites his lip.

James sighs at his silence. “Alex.”

“I’m…uh. Those two things aren’t exactly mutually exclusive?”

“So. You’re calling your ex-boyfriend while cuddling your current boyfriend? On Christmas morning.”

Eli turns his face into Alex’s collar bone, and Alex can feel him smiling. “Yes.”

“I feel like I should be apologizing to Eli right now, but I also feel like he probably knew what he was getting into. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Really good. There are some things we should talk about.”

“Okay?” James sounds guarded. Which is fair.

“Um. One thing is personal, and one is professional. Which do you want first?”

“Personal first,” James says. “I guess.”

Alex takes a breath, and Eli’s head shifts on his chest.

He smooths one hand down Eli’s side, pressing his fingers to the divots between his ribs.

“I’m sorry. For everything. And I miss you,” Alex says slowly. “I miss being friends with you. And I understand if you don’t want to or if you can’t be friends with me again. After everything. But if you do—”

“I do,” James says. “I’m sorry too. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have cut you out of my life.”

“I understand why you did. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, there at the end. I was…uh…scared. And insecure. And I sort of pushed all of my bad feelings onto you.”

“We both fucked up,” James says quietly and more than a little resigned.

“Yeah.”

“But it also sounds as if we’re both trying to handle our problems like adults now, so that’s good, right?” James laughs, and Alex’s chest feels a little looser.

“So I was thinking we could start talking again?” Alex suggests.

“We could text, maybe. To start with.”

Alex makes a face. “Since when do you text?”

“Well. The team has a group chat. And Cody is always texting me. He even taught me how to use emoticons.”

Alex glances down at Eli, and they share a knowing look. “Cody, huh?”

“Yeah,” James says, completely missing the leading inflection in Alex’s tone. “Cody Griggs? He’s Eli’s friend. The one Eli visited here at Thanksgiving. He’s from Alabama too. He’s a smart player. Fast, soft hands, good eye. He’s going to be a serious asset to the team next year.”

“Yes. I know who Cody is,” Alex says dryly, and from the strangled sounds Eli is making, he’s either trying not to sob or badly stifling hysterical laughter.

“So,” James continues, “you said there was something personal and something professional. Is everything okay with the Hell Hounds? You’re playing well. Your whole line is. You really have a shot at the cup this year.”

“Yeah, no. Everything is great with the Hell Hounds. That’s, um, actually part of—” He takes another breath. Lets it out. Breathes again. “I’m thinking about coming out. I’ve already talked to management and PR.”

“Alex,” James says, sounding winded. “Are you sure?”

Alex curls his fingers into the fabric of Eli’s shirt. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. And it won’t be super soon. I’m going to start telling the team at the end of the season, the rest of the organization over the next year. Probably won’t go public for another year after that.” He takes another breath. “When I do, though, it might implicate you.”

James doesn’t say anything.

“Hell Hounds PR has been through all our old interview footage and game tapes. Apparently, I wasn’t super discreet about my feelings. They think they can play it off as a one-sided crush, but I just wanted to warn you. Especially since two years from now, you’ll probably be—”

“In the NHL,” James finishes. “Yeah.”

And as many years as Alex has spent with him, he has no idea what James is thinking right now.

He wishes he could see James’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says. “I know that’s going to make things harder for you, and I don’t want to be the reason for any more stress in your life. I’ve fucked things up for you enough.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It feels like it,” Alex says, rough and quiet and so honest it makes his teeth hurt.

Eli’s arm around him tightens.

“It wasn’t,” James repeats. “And I think it’s good. That you’re going to come out. After all, if you do, then I won’t be the first.”

It’s Alex’s turn to find breathing a little difficult. “You’re thinking about coming out?”

James doesn’t say anything for several seconds.

“Not seriously. Not yet. I want to play at least a couple seasons professionally first. Prove myself, you know?”

Alex does know.

“But I will someday. And I don’t want to wait until I retire anymore.”

“Does Cody have anything to do with that?” Alex asks.

James’s silence is telling.

“Sorry. That’s none of my business; forget I asked.”

“No. I mean, yes? It’s—maybe.”

“What’s maybe?”

“Cody.” James makes an annoyed noise. “He’s…important. And we’re not…uh… We’re not. But…”

“But he’s making you think about it.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re also still James Petrov.”

“Yeah.”

“I understand.”

“Yeah,” James says, laughing a little. “I bet you do. At least you’ve already proven yourself though. Youngest captain in the NHL for the number one team in your division. Calder your rookie year. Currently first in points and second in goals in the league. You could come out tomorrow if you wanted.”

And all laid out like that… James kind of has a point.

Alex swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. “Aw. You still keep track of my stats?”

“Of course I do. But hey, listen. I don’t want you to have to lie for me. So just— Keep me posted about your plans and whatever PR is telling you, okay? We have time. Who knows how I’ll feel a year from now.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees.

They both go silent, and Eli shifts a little, rubbing his cold nose against the bare skin on Alex’s chest. Eli’s nose is always cold. Even in ridiculously warm Alabama winter. Alex has no idea why, but it’s hopelessly endearing.

“Thank you,” Alex says.

James doesn’t ask him for what, which he appreciates. Nor does he dismiss the gratitude.

“Yeah,” James agrees. And then: “I can hear my parents downstairs. Talk later?”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas, James.”

“Merry Christmas, Alex.”

He ends the call and lets his phone slide down the pillow, disappearing into the cloud of Eli’s duvet. He just breathes for a minute, eyes caught on the dark wood of the peaked ceiling.

He thinks maybe it should hurt that James is considering coming out. That he doesn’t want to wait until retirement anymore—something he’d been so painfully adamant about for so many years. He thinks maybe it should hurt that James might be willing to do it for Cody, a kid he’s known for less than six months, when he wasn’t willing to do it for Alex. But it doesn’t hurt.

Or maybe it doesn’t hurt as much as it could. Because Eli is stretched out in a solid line of warmth next to him, tracing absent patterns on his stomach with gentle fingers, letting him process.

What does hurt is how broken, in retrospect, his relationship with James had been. How disjointed and noncommunicative and unintentionally cruel they’d been to each other—both terrified, with no idea how to love someone and no one they could go to for help with figuring out how. He can’t say he wishes that first desperate kiss at sixteen had never happened, but he hurts for his past self. For past James. For both of them. It wasn’t fair.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eli makes a distressed noise and sits up, then leans over to thumb away his tears, eyes wide and concerned, and Alex cannot with Eli’s stupid beautiful face right now.

He hides in Eli’s lap, embarrassed, wraps his arms around Eli’s waist, and tries to get a goddamn hold on himself.

“Hey,” Eli says, fingers hesitant in his hair. “Is this good crying or bad crying? Because I am really bad at this shit, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Okay. Well. Are you, um, not crying in a good way or not crying in a bad way?”

He laughs wetly. “Good. I think. Just…” He breathes for a moment, thinks about being honest and making things simple and saying what he means, and all the other super frustrating shit therapy has introduced to him, which is actually kind of helpful.

“I think I’m sad because James and I had a pretty fucked-up relationship, but we didn’t know any better, and we ended up just making things worse for each other. And that sucks. But I’m also relieved? We’re both so much happier and healthier now. But then that makes me mad, like, on behalf of my past self. Our past selves. We were just kids. And it’s not right that we had so much pressure on us and were so afraid of being caught. It’s not fair.”

His voice might have broken on the last word.

Eli’s fingers move more purposely through his hair. “You’re right. It’s not. I can’t even imagine what you went through, and you are completely allowed to be upset about it. Sad and relieved and angry and happy and whatever else you need to feel.”

Sometimes it is abundantly clear Eli is also in therapy.

“But, hey,” his voice goes kind of rounded and soft. “Think about the impact you’ll have when you come out. You can prove to kids all over the world that living with secrecy and shame isn’t the only option. Think about what it would have meant for you, if there had been an out player in the league. And not just an out player, but a captain, with awards and accolades, and…sponsorship deals with Gatorade.”

“I don’t have a sponsorship with Gatorade.”

“Oh my god, Alex. You know what I’m saying.”

He does. And it’s…admittedly not something Alex had thought of previously. But Eli is right. It would have made a difference to have that as a kid. Maybe even a huge difference.

“You’re right,” he says, face still tucked somewhere in the vicinity of Eli’s upper thigh.

“Thank you.”

Neither of them moves for several seconds, apart from Eli’s restless fingers.

“So,” Eli says eventually. “I know we’re having an emotionally fraught moment and everything, but I really have to pee, so—”

Alex cracks up, which, judging by the restrained noise Eli makes, probably doesn’t help things. “I should shower,” he says, resigned, and sits up.

“After I use the bathroom,” Eli says.

“I guess I’ll allow it.”

Hawk, who had slept through the proceedings, wiggles her way up from the foot of the bed to say good morning.

“You want me to let her out?” Alex asks.

“Yes, please.”

Alex gets a close-mouthed kiss as he’s pulling on a shirt. He catches Eli’s hand as he starts to retreat and ducks to press his mouth to Eli’s knuckles; he’s feeling particularly overcome at the moment, and it seems like the thing to do.

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s pretty sure if Eli’s skin wasn’t so dark, he’d be tomato red.

“For what?” Eli asks.

“Being with me.”

He feels like maybe that isn’t specific enough. Maybe Eli won’t understand he doesn’t just mean this morning.

But Eli’s eyes go wide and serious, and he says, “Of course,” in a way that feels distressingly close to always.

“But seriously.” Eli tugs a little at Alex’s grip. “I do need to pee.”