Page 90 of Playing His Game

Adam blinked furiously once again but was less successful with keeping the tears in.

“Did you want to talk about whatever happened at Christmas?” she tried.

She wouldn’t stop until Adam asked her to or gave her something. He didn’t want to tell her to butt out. But he didn’t want to tell her any version of the truth either: not that Mo broke up with him, not that it was fake, nothing. Both of those facts would make her sad, and the lesser of two evils, the breakup, sounded more hellish. The thought of her offering sympathy when Adam didn’t know how to label or process his own feelings… impossible.

But maybe he could give her—and himself—something.

“Christmas was hard on him. Harder than either of us anticipated.”

She hummed encouragingly.

“Did Dad tell you about his parents?”

“That they’d rather swan off to Europe and abandon their only baby at Christmas than be with him?” She sounded like Adam had suggested they talk about a dead mouse found in the basement.

“Yeah. That. The Du Ponts suck. And I guess knowing about your family’s dysfunction in theory is different from experiencing a functional one.”

“Hm, I noticed he tended to get squirrelly right before you suddenly thought of a reason to drag him away for some one-on-one time.”

“Yeah.” Adam sighed with relief. He should have known she’d figure it out.

“But?”

“But Christmas is hard. I couldn’t—” Adam’s voice broke.Fuck.“—I just want to make him happy and I can’t—”Because he doesn’t want me. Because he thinks my feelings are fake. Because he thinks I’m only good for sex. Because I love him but he wants to break up.

“Honey, you can’t undo a lifetime of hurt with a couple of months and one Christmas together.”

“I know.”

“Oh my big-hearted boy. Don’t let your brain forget to remind your heart of that, okay?”

“Mum.” He was glad there was no video so she couldn’t see his red cheeks.

“Helping him heal will take time.”

“Right.” Time he didn’t have.

“Just remember the good times during the hard. You’re obviously good for each other. He makes you happy, and you clearly get him. He looked happy too.”

“Mum…” Fuck. Adam could barely speak. Getting bodied by his mom over the phone. He loved her too much to think he was pathetic for it, but did she have to hit so hard? “I hope he was,” he finally said, because he couldn’t say any of the other million things he wanted to.

“Just hold on to that as you go through this rough patch.”

“Okay.” What else could he say?

“Good. And no more stupid penalties, dear. Your father can’t take the stress.”

Adam groaned and covered his eyes with a shaking hand. “Jorts has already told me off.”

“I knew that boy was my favorite adopted hockey son.”

“Don’t tell him that; it’ll go to his head.”

“No promises!”

January slipped away in a grind of play, practice, fuck, smile like everything is fucking perfect, dodge questions about Mo’s absence from the SaPs box, and repeat.

Adam got his head in the game, channeling his feelings into playing better rather than punching his opponents.