That made for a pretty quiet drive back to the apartment.
Which was clean enough, thankfully, because they didn’t have very much stuff. Lane showed her around, and he sounded defensive when he said, “And that’s the bedroom, through there. We only have one.” His chain was raised a notch, like he was expecting a fight.
His mother gave him the same exact stubborn and humorless look in return. “You mean you’re not waiting until marriage?”
Even Lane laughed at that. “You could show your mom the porch,” Jared told Lane, trying to get them together to have whatever important talk they needed to have in private.
He should have known better than to try that with Lane. “But it’s cold out, J.”
“I appreciate that, but I would like the two of you to hear what I have to say.” Michelle looked very much like her son a moment before, drawing herself up to her full height, which was nearly five foot ten, making Jared wonder if she’d been a hockey player herself. “Lane, I’m very sorry that it took me this long to come see you play, and to meet Jared. I understand if you’re angry, but I wanted to explain.”
“You’re going to come to another one. Right?” Lane asked so hopefully that Jared might start yelling if she said no, despite how much he liked Michelle Courtnall. He moved toward Lane and put his arm around him, and Lane turned and put his face against Jared’s shoulder.
“Of course.” She looked sad. “I’m not perfect, Lane. I’m a person with faults, just like any other.”
Lane straightened, but he stayed close to Jared. “But Dad…? I guess he’s still mad.”
Michelle blinked. “Oh no. He had to work. He’ll be at the next one.”
That might have been a good thing to say about two hours earlier, but Jared kept that to himself. He felt weird being there, but if she wanted him to hear it, then fine. And she didn’t look thrown at all at how Jared and Lane were touching each other. Certainly nothing about how she was acting suggested she had a problem with it.
“Oh.” Lane put his face against Jared’s shoulder and tried to move away, but Jared hauled him back and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Lane settled against him, relaxing a bit. “He’s not mad, though?”
Michelle Courtnall’s eyes filled with tears. Jared almost wanted to hug her when she said, “No, sweetie. No one is mad at you about anything.”
Lane nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “Okay. But why didn’t you guys come here before now?”
Michelle blinked a lot, and Jared said, “Hey. Why don’t we… go sit down,” because they were standing awkwardly in the hallway. He practically walked Lane to the couch and pushed him into it, then went to the kitchen and came back with three beers. Mostly so Michelle could sit by her son, which she did. She gave him a grateful look when he handed her the bottle.
“Because—Lane, I want you to know—” Michelle stopped and took a drink. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at these things. I wish your father were here. He’s better when it comes to talking about feelings.”
Jared sipped his drink, wondering if Lane knew how he was just like his mother. Wow. It made him think about his dad suddenly, and how he’d been so vehemently anti-sports while working at a college that was crazy about them. Okay. Fine. Lane wasn’t the only one who missed things like obvious parental similarities.
“I don’t like talking about them either,” Lane told his mother. “Maybe we don’t have to. You’re here, and… you’re here.” His smile was sweet. “Thanks, Mom. I’m really… I don’t even care that we lost. That much,” he added, putting an arm around her.
She leaned in against him. “I care that you still won’t listen to me about drop passes, after all this time. And now you have a boyfriend who’s a coach saying the same thing? Lane. Stop being stubborn.” Michelle gave her a son a questioning look. “Should I call him your life partner?”
“No,” Lane and Jared both said at the same time. Michelle looked a little relieved.
“I’m sorry, Lane. I’m sorry that I didn’t know what to say when you told me about Jared, and I’m sorry it took me so long to come here and say this to you.” Michelle reached out and brushed her fingers through Lane’s hair. “Your father wanted us to come here and say this together, but I couldn’t wait. It was breaking my heart not to be here, sweetheart. Not only because I know how hard you’ve worked for this, but because you had someone important in your life that you wanted us to meet.”
“It’s all right,” Lane mumbled, staring at the floor. “It was kind of… I sort of sprung it on you.”
There was a soft noise that sounded like a laugh from Lane’s mother, though it was obvious she was crying. “Honey? Your father and I…. Lane, we’ve both known you were gay since you were twelve years old.”
Jared wasn’t surprised to hear that, but Lane clearly was.
“What? But… when you found me with Derek… you just closed the door.”
Michelle wiped at her cheeks, sniffling, but her smile was surprisingly impish. “I would hope you’d do the same, if you walked in on your father and me.”
“No.” Lane jumped off the couch, springing up to his feet. “Wait. Yes, I would, but…. You were disappointed. Don’t lie to me and say it was okay all along, Mom. It wasn’t. I saw the look on your face.”
Michelle stood up, but she put her arms around herself just like Lane did when he was feeling vulnerable. “Oh, Lane. Honey. I’m—I wish I could explain this to you. But sweetheart, it
is
okay. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, or that it’s a sin. Neither does your father.”
“But—” Lane shook his head, his expression troubled. “Mom, why were you so happy about Zoe? In Jacksonville. You were. You thought we were dating. You were happier about that than you were about my playing well.”
Jared wondered if his situation with his own parents was as obvious to an outsider as Lane’s was to him.
“When you were eleven, your hockey coach called your father and me to a meeting and told us, point blank, that you had a very good chance of being drafted. You were always… different from other boys on your team. And no. Not because you’re gay. Because you’re you.”
Lane muttered something Jared couldn’t hear beneath his breath.
“But you never seemed that way on the ice, when you were playing. Not ever. You looked so happy. Free. And I told myself that the second you told me you were done, that hockey was something you would always love but wouldn’t be the center of your life…. I told myself, ‘All right. Then you’ll tell him you know he’s gay, and that it’s all right.’ But you never did. And you kept playing. And Lane, do you know that all your father and I want is for you to be happy? Nothing ever made you as happy as playing hockey, so we did all we could to make sure you could keep playing.”
Lane was staring at his mother like he’d never seen her before. “Why couldn’t it be both, Mom? Why couldn’t—” he stopped, and turned briefly toward Jared. Then he squared shoulders and stood up straight, voice evening out. “Why couldn’t I be happy playing hockey, and be gay too? Why did it have to be one or the other?”
“Because we thought it did,” Michelle said softly. “Lane, I’m your
mother
. I carried you beneath my heart for nine months, and I would do
anything
for you. My son was happy playing hockey, my son was
good
at hockey, and I—your father and I—we just… wanted to help you have this thing that made you
glow
. We wanted to protect you.”
“Mom, I’m bigger than you are,” Lane told her very seriously. “You don’t have to protect me.”
She reached out and gently touched his face. “I’m still your mother, no matter how tall you are or who you play hockey for. And your father and I… we wanted you to have what you worked so hard for, this dream of yours that was actually in reach… when it wasn’t for so many kids who had the same one. And I promise you, your father and I were thrilled you were playing well in Jacksonville. But sweetheart, we never thought you’d play any other way, because you always played well. Our concern with your career was never that you couldn’t
play
.”
“Just that I liked boys? You were so happy about Zoe. You can’t—you can’t tell me you weren’t.” Lane was also wrapping his arms around himself, and Jared went over and put his arm around him again. “You didn’t look so fucking—sorry—you didn’t look so disappointed in me. Because you thought I had a girlfriend and wasn’t gay.”
Jared could see the logical flaw there, but he wasn’t sure that Lane could.
Luckily his mother explained it. “I thought you had a girlfriend. Yes. But that doesn’t mean I thought you weren’t interested in men.”
“But you thought it was better for me. Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Michelle said a little loudly. “Yes, Lane, I did. I won’t lie to you and say that I didn’t think that. Because it
is
easier. No parent wants their child’s life to be hard, sweetheart, and that’s all your father and I could think about. How hard you’d worked for this thing that you were so, so close to having, and how the stupid prejudices of others might take it all away from you.”
“I don’t care about them,” Lane whispered. “I just care about you and Dad.”
“I know that. We were wrong, Lane. And I told myself so many times that it would be okay if you were gay and you weren’t playing hockey, that I convinced myself it had to be either-or. I know that it doesn’t and that it wasn’t the right thing to do.
“And I’m here to tell you I’m sorry. I didn’t understand that, in my desire to protect you, I’d…. Lane, honey, it breaks my heart to think you would ever, ever feel you were a disappointment to me or your father because of someone you loved.”
Jared finished his beer in one long drink, He was going to be having a similar conversation in a few months with his own parents. Lane hugged his mother for a very, very long time, and then he pulled back and said, in classic Lane fashion, “Well, if I’d fallen in love with someone with no manners, maybe that would be disappointing. But you met Jared, and see? He’s great.”
“Yes. I hope that you will forgive me, honey. And that your father and I can get to know Jared too. I’m not going to lie. We’re both thrilled someone is willing to emigrate to another
country
to put up with you.” Michelle kissed Lane on his forehead. “We made a mistake. Like you and that drop pass. Let’s not do that anymore. All right?”
Lane made a noise and hugged her again. “It was a good fucking drop pass, Mom.”
“Language,” his mother said, smacking him on the arm. “And that isn’t the point, Lane. My intentions were just as good as yours, you know.”
“You weren’t trying to win a game,” Lane informed her.
“You weren’t trying to raise a child,” she said pertly. “Don’t backtalk to me. I’m not perfect, but I’m still your mother. Good lord. I need to get home. Your father will be worried sick.”
“You can stay here,” Lane told her. “We can sleep out here. And we’ll just sleep. Promise.”
“Lane,” Jared spoke up finally before Lane embarrassed the hell out of him. “Please stop talking.”
Michelle decided to stay and went to call Lane’s father. Lane ended up talking to his dad on the porch, and Jared hastily searched their room to see if there was shit he needed to hide before Lane’s mom slept in there. God, they hadn’t washed the sheets since…. Oh, lord. Had they ever washed the sheets? What was wrong with them?
“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” Michelle said, when he came back out to casually see if she wouldn’t mind sleeping on top of the comforter. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed, Jared. Besides, when was the last time you washed the sheets?” At Jared’s horrified look, she laughed. “I just need a blanket.”
He found one, a fuzzy, old Avalanche blanket that he had stowed away in a box somewhere. “You know, I remember watching Roy’s last game in Montreal. Me and Lane’s father were in a bar, here in Toronto. I’ll have to see if I can remember which one. Lane was three, and he was staying with my mother. The entire bar was cheering every time he let in a goal. I think they gave us a shot for every goal he let in.” She shook her head. “I hate the Habs. If Lane gets traded there, I will watch his games, but I will never, ever cheer out loud for anyone but him. And even then, it might be pushing it. Maybe I’d clap. Quietly.”
“Please adopt me,” Jared said very seriously. “I think we might be closer in age than you might be comfortable with, but I don’t care. My parents don’t even know who Patrick Roy
is
.”
Michelle patted him on the arm. “Be nice to them, Jared. I don’t know what kind of reason they had for not wanting to watch their son play hockey. But whatever it was, I bet it made sense to them, and it was only because they loved you.”
Right. Moms were good at the whole guilt thing. Even if they weren’t yours. Jared felt sheepish. “I know. I realize that. This is the same conversation I’ll be having with my dad over the holidays.”
“People think parents are perfect. Like we’re saints, or something. But you know, just like Saint Patrick, we all let in a few goals.” Her smile was remarkably like Lane’s. “Not as many as Patrick Roy, though, because fuck the Habs. Don’t tell my son I used vulgar language. Please.”
“Cross my heart,” Jared promised. “Thanks for coming to the game, Michelle.”
She surprised him by stepping in and hugging him. “Thank you for putting up with my son. It won’t be easy. Ask Lane’s father, because Lane and I are exactly alike.”
“I noticed,” Jared said wryly. “Maybe he’ll give me some pointers.”
“Yes. Only not embarrassing ones. I won’t let him.” Michelle nodded. “Now you tell me when your team plays their games, Jared. I expect a schedule that I can hang up next to Lane’s. If you’re my son-in-law, then I’ll be going to your games too.”
Jared didn’t know what to say, so he nodded, mumbled something, and ran away to the bedroom before he did something dumb. He fell asleep waiting for Lane—on top of the bed and still fully dressed.
“Your mom wants to come to my team’s games,” Jared murmured, sleepily, kissing Lane and yawning at the same time. “Now I better make sure we win.”
“My dad wanted your e-mail address, because apparently he wants to tell you about his thoughts for defensive systems and ask if you need some coaching advice.” Lane smiled against Jared’s neck. “I’m so happy, J.”