in an emergency or if I wanted to chat.” He bit into a sandwich. Chewed thoughtfully, frown lines marring his forehead. “Things have been better the last four or five years, but before that, they didn’t want anything to do with me, so it kind of created this . . . I don’t know . . . a divide between us. I was always chasing after them when I was little, trying to tell them a story or about my day or show them something I’d drawn. It was always ‘Not now, kid’ or ‘Go bug Mom and Dad, kid’ or ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone, kid?’”
Dakota’s heart stopped. Broke. Fell to his knees. Everything made so much more sense now. Of course, Tay avoided certain topics. They were ones that had to do with him, with who he was at the core, the reasons behind certain—maybe every?—decision he’d made. If his own sisters didn’t want to hear about it, why would anyone else?
Had Tay made that connection? Probably not. No wonder he didn’t like talking about himself.
Dakota wrapped his fingers around Tay’s ankle, hoping to ground him. Not that Tay needed any grounding—he’d spoken matter-of-factly while taking occasional nibbles of his food. “You said things are better now?” Not that it mattered. Childhood scars didn’t magically go away.
“Yeah. They don’t tell me to go away anymore.”
And that was better? Wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. Although, it was clear that to Tay, it was.
“They were very interested in you.”
Dakota’s heart wove itself back together. His fingers tightened on Tay’s ankle. “You told them about me?”
“Mm-hmm.” Smirking, Tay set aside his empty plate and licked his thumb, tongue swirling around the digit in a way that had Dakota imagining it as something else. Something further south. Tay shucked his suit jacket, tossing it somewhere behind him, and crawled up Dakota’s body.
His kiss was playful and fun, and he tasted like . . .
“Mm.” Dakota smacked his lips together. “Peanut butter.”
“And you—” With one last kiss, Tay dropped onto Dakota’s chest and tucked his face in his neck. “—sadly don’t taste like scotch.”
A puff of laugher escaped. “Sorry. Already brushed my teeth.” Dakota wrapped his arms around Tay. It wasn’t ideal, two six-foot-plus guys on a narrow couch. Their feet hung over the other end, and Tay clutched him with a death grip so he didn’t roll off.
Dakota pet the back of his hand. “I won’t let you fall.”
The response was immediate—Tay’s grasp slackened and he sank more fully onto Dakota, trusting him with his weight.
A lump lodging in the back of his throat, Dakota blurted, “I’m going to tell Andy about us.”
Tay tilted his head up. “You don’t have to. We’re on your timeline, remember?”
“I know. My timeline is now.” Except . . . “Shit, maybe I shouldn’t.”
Planting an elbow on the cushion, Tay propped his head in his hands to look down at him, a scrunch to his brow. “How come?” Not upset, merely curious.
“Because he’ll tell his friends at preschool and those friends will tell their parents. And all of a sudden, they’ll all know that Andy’s dad’s boyfriend is a hockey player named Tay. People aren’t stupid; they’ll connect the dots.” What he didn’t add was that someone might out Tay, accidentally or on purpose, but Tay wasn’t stupid either; he’d seen where Dakota was going. “And I can’t ask Andy to keep it a secret either.”
“No, of course not. That’d be like admitting there’s something wrong with our relationship.”
Thank God he understood without Dakota having to explain it. Andy had already been exposed to diverse relationships: his Uncle Owen had been in a relationship with Kas for as long as Andy had been alive, and a cousin of Dakota’s in Halifax was in a triad. To ask Andy to keep his relationship with Tay a secret would confuse him. It was the wrong move; Dakota could feel it in his gut.
Tay’s finger drew figure eights on Dakota’s chest, and he looked away, thinking deep thoughts. Then he shrugged. “Let him tell his friends. I’ll give my agent the heads-up that I might be outed, but I don’t think I will be. Outside of my team and my family, nobody knows me as Tay.”
“Are you sure? Because I can wait until the off-season to tell him. Not that there’ll be less risk, but at least you won’t be in the spotlight.”
Folding his arms on Dakota’s chest, Tay rested his chin on his hands. “If we win