If it was anyone else staying in Jake’s apartment, sharing meals and showers and a bed, Jake probably would have told his family weeks ago. They wouldn’t have minded. But instead it’s David Jake’s stuck with. Or not stuck with. In a matter of days they’ll be leaving, and it’ll be like Toronto never existed, like they never existed, especially because Jake won’t tell anyone, and David can’t tell anyone. It’ll be like it never happened at all.

“David,” Jake says, drawn out, like it’s not the first time he’s said it.

“Hm?” David says.

“You know you have to actually put the food in your mouth, right?” Jake says with a grin. “You can’t get energy just by glaring at it.”

“I’m not glaring at it,” David says, but finally takes a bite of his spring roll. It’s gone lukewarm, slightly greasy. He chews slowly, puts it down.

“If you want,” David says, finds himself stalling before he’s even really started. It’s harder, with Jake’s eyes on him now.

“If I want?” Jake prompts.

“If you want to tell your family—” David says. “About us,” he continues, when Jake doesn’t prompt him again. “I would be—”

Not okay with that. Okay isn’t the word. It’s not even close to the word.

“You can tell your family,” he says.

Jake nearly knocks over the container of rice in his rush to hug David, mumbling, “Thank you,” into his neck, and it's almost enough to make the coiled tight feeling in David's stomach disappear.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

David was half-expecting Jake to tell his parents the moment David allowed it, but he waits a day. David wonders if that means he’s nervous, if, deep down, he knows it’s a bad idea. He disappears into his room after they return from training, and David flips through channels, the TV muted in case he hears — what, raised voices? It’s not like he can do anything even if he does hear yelling.

It’s not that David wants Jake to be disappointed, or hurt, he just — he doesn’t expect it to go well. Maybe they are fine with the fact Jake likes guys, as Jake insists, but David can’t see that extending to Jake being involved with another hockey player, let alone a rival.

Jake’s gone a long time. When David hears the bedroom door open he turns the volume back on, trying not to look like he was waiting, though it’s undermined by how anxiously “How was it?” comes out of his mouth.

“Good,” Jake says.

“Really?” David asks.

“I mean, they were a little surprised, obviously,” Jake says. “But then my mom was like ‘that explains a lot’.”

“What does that mean?” David asks.