Page 117 of Over the Line

Garrett.

And wouldn’t you know, we all ended up at the same table.

Fucking hell. How was I going to maintain my dignity? Or professionalism? Or this increasingly uncomfortable façade as a man who wasn’t completely stupid for Garrett Kane?

As we settled in and started perusing the menu, I stole a glance at Chris, and I gnawed the inside of my cheek.

Would you understand if we told you the truth?

Would you be angry at us? Would it be too much on top of hockey and the baby?

I shifted my gaze to Garrett. Right then, he looked up from his menu, and we locked eyes across the table. With my dad and his son and a couple of other teammates and dads around us, we stole a silent moment of connection. There was apprehension in his eyes, but also heat. Hunger.

He dropped his gaze back to his menu, and the spell was broken. So was my concentration. I had to catch my breath, which I somehow managed to do without anyone noticing. I didn’t even think it was just the secrecy driving me nuts right then. I wanted to be close to Garrett. Openly affectionate. I wanted to be able to smile at him without worrying someone would pick up on the chemistry crackling between us.

I wanted people to know what my heart did every time I looked at him.

Trying not to fidget in the plush chair, I slid my gaze toward Chris, who was laughing at something Barns said while they looked at their menus.

My chest ached.

Would you understand if you knew how hard I’m falling for your dad?

“So.” Dad eased himself onto the couch in our suite. “When are you going to tell your teammate you’re seeing his father?”

“When—what?” I froze, irrationally certain he’d felt my blood run cold. With a laugh that didn’t sound convincing at all, I asked, “What do you mean?”

Dad cocked a brow. Then he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Liam, I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”

I stared at him.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes again. “I saw you two at the family skate on Christmas, and I saw you two today.” He pointed emphatically at himself. “Do I look stupid to you?”

“I…” Okay. Fine. Fine. He’d always been able to read me like a book, so there wasn’t much point in trying to talk him out of this. Sinking onto the couch, I sighed. “What gave us away?”

He chuckled and joined me, reaching over to clap my knee. “You know there’s a reason your mother and I figured out you were gay years before you came out, right?”

I swallowed. Seventeen-year-old me had been so relieved that my parents had accepted me, I hadn’t thought to question why they said they weren’t surprised.

Something, something, gift horse, mouth…

“I, uh… I kind of always wondered about that, to be honest.”

Dad smiled as he sat back against the couch cushions and pulled his foot up onto his knee. “You’ve never been subtle, son. Never.” His laugh sounded fond. “I’ll never forget being at one of your games when you were in U14, and your mom said, ‘He’s got a crush on that goalie.’”

My stomach dropped. “Wait, you guys knew I was into him?”

“Like I said—not subtle.”

“Oh. What gave it away?”

He pointed at his own face. “You get a look about you. One that’s about as inconspicuous as a sign on the Jumbotron that says”—he gestured as if he were indicating an invisible sign—“Liam St. Clair’s got a crush!”

My face had to be brighter than the goal light. “Shit. Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

I swallowed again, which took some effort. “Did that… Was it weird? Realizing I had a crush on a boy?”