Chapter Text
“I-where did you get that?” He says, heartbeat rocketing in his chest.
“Answer the question, Connor,” His dad says, ignoring his question.
“It’s not what it looks like. It’s nothing. Nothing, just a joke,” Connor says, practically pleading with them.
“Don’t lie to your mother, Connor.” His dad says.
“Not what it looks like?” His mother says faintly. “A joke? ‘There’s no boy for you to bring’, ‘You’ll like him’. What else could it possibly mean? Are you gay, Connor?”
Connor bites his lip. He’s so sick of lying. But lying is going to be the only way to get out of this. He must take too long trying to think of an answer because his dad scoffs at him.
“How could you even think of doing this to us? To our family?” His dad asks him. “Head up. Look at me.”
“It’s not-I’m- please let me explain, you don’t understand,” Connor says, any attempt at formulating a carefully worded escape gone.
“No,” His dad shakes his head, taking Trevor’s note from his mom’s hand and crumpling it. “No you don’t understand, Connor. No son of ours will be gay. Not now, not ever.”
“But-”
“No buts,” His dad cuts him off.
“Please-” He chokes out, curling his fists tightly by his sides. This is not how he imagined this conversation going. In reality he had never imagined this conversation going at all. He’s not sure this could be any worse.
Connor blinks tears from his eyes, and keeps his head up. He hopes, prays, that having to look at him will make them cave somehow. That they’ll recognize that they’re hurting him and come to their senses. But they’ve never made exceptions for him. Why would they start now?
“Whoever Jamie and Trevor are, you will not be going to their…wedding,” His dad pauses before spitting out the word like it offends him. Like the celebration of two men getting married isn’t worthy of the word.
“I’m fucking 20 years old, if I want to go to my freind’s wedding, I’m going to his fucking wedding.”
“Language,” his mother snaps as his dad laughs at him.
“You will not be doing that,” His dad says. “They’ve obviously done something to you. Enough is enough.”
“They didn’t do anything, dad please,” Connor pleads. “This is who I am, Trevor didn’t do anything.”
“You’re not gay, Connor.” His dad says.
“I’m still me. Mom,” Connor says, turning to her. “Please.”
His mom closes her eyes and takes a deep, sharp breath. She wipes her eyes and stares him down. “You’re grounded. The rest of the summer.”
“Please don’t do this,” He pleads, any sense of hope he had shattering as she talks over him. “I’m still me.”
“You go nowhere unless it's the rink without my or your dad’s permission. Until you head back to Chicago.”
“I’m 20,” Connor says. “ You can’t ground me.”
“We can. And you’ve done more than enough damage. Being like this,” His dad says. “ Go up to your room.”
When Connor doesn’t budge he says it again. “Go. Now.”
Reluctantly he turns from where he was standing in the living room and turns to the stairs. He goes slowly, waiting for any hint that his parents might call him back. They don’t.
He curls up, still fully dressed, in bed. When he tries to open his phone to text someone, anyone, he finds it dead. He throws it down onto his bed with a sob.
“Fuck,” he says to himself. It’s painful.
He cries loud and ugly and long. His face is a mess of tears and snot and through it all he feels like everything is falling apart. It’s officially the worst birthday he’s ever had. There is a creak on the stairs outside his door and then footsteps. They stop in front of his door.
One of his parents stands just outside the door, listening to him cry like the world is ending. Because it is. Because his world, his everything is ending. A reality where he could believe that his parents might be okay with him being gay is ending.
He’s reached a point where nothing he can say or do will make things go back to the way they were.
The floorboards creak as whoever had been at his door heads back down the stairs. Fuck. It takes him a long time to stop crying, every time he thinks that he might be done a wave of upset crests over him and drags him back down. By the time he manages to escape the cycle he’s exhausted, eyes burning and body feeling like a sack of bricks.
Connor falls asleep quickly, only to wake up sharply with a gasp. He rockets into a sitting position and looks around his room. It’s still dark out and when he plugs his still dead phone in it reads a grim 3:45 AM.
He sits still for a while, looking out his open window. Connor knows what he has to do. He throws his blankets off and heads straight to his closet. He wrenches open its doors and digs out his suitcase. Connor packs in a whirlwind, throwing everything that he thinks he might need into it.
He has a feeling that he won’t be back for a while, if ever. Once his suitcase is packed and some of his other random stuff is shoved in his backpack he pulls out his laptop. The earliest flight from Vancouver to Chicago is at 6:15. He books a one way ticket without hesitation.
Connor moves quietly down the stairs. While his dad can sleep through just about anything, the same can’t be said about his mom. In just the way he’d been hoping to avoid, his mom is waiting for him.
She’s leaning against the living room doorway, blue bathrobe and matching slippers on.
“Where are you going?” She asks him quietly.
Connor swallows sharply. “ Home.”
Something like hurt flashes across her face. She comes up to him and wraps him up in a hug.
“You don’t have to do this to yourself,” She says.
“What?” He whispers, pulling back to look down at her.
“It’s better if you aren't gay. It’s easier. For you,” For us.
Connor shakes her off. “I need to go.”
She trails behind him, watching as he pulls on his shoes.
“When are you coming back?” She asks. “ Going back to Chicago, coming back and then turning right around. It’s impractical.”
He closes his eyes and swallows back the tears. “I’m not. I’m not coming back.”
Connor doesn’t look back at her. He can’t stand to see her face.
“Don’t do this to yourself. It’s a terrible life. Hiding from everyone. Lying to everyone. This can’t ever come out. Is that really what you want for yourself?”
The last two years run through his mind. The tears, the heartbreak, all the pain. She’s not wrong. Pretending that he’s not gay has been excruciating. Keeping it secret feels like an open wound and the never ending reminders that it needs to stay that way are like blunt, uncaring fingers digging into its edges. Keeping it open and aching.
But then the laughter, the joy. His friendship with Kev. Making a rainbow cake together their rookie year. Secret jokes shared on the ice. His friendship with Z. Karaoke and wedding plans. What little time he had with Zach, how good he had felt during those two months. It hadn’t made the hurt go away, nothing would. But it made it worth it.
It wasn’t exactly how we wanted to live his life. But he knew that he’d be even more miserable keeping it all locked up.
“I just want you to be happy. And I know you won’t be happy this way.”
“Goodbye, mom,” Connor says in response. He kisses her on the cheek before pulling his backpack on and gathering his luggage up. The Lyft he had called earlier is waiting for him.
She stands in the doorway as he piles everything into the Lyft. Once he’s inside the car and she can’t see him through the tinted windows, Connor looks back at her. He watches his childhood home recede, his mother a tiny, stationary figure in the doorway. He watches until he can’t anymore, the car turning a corner and the familiar street slipping away.
He rests his hands on the back of the passenger seat and ducks his head between his arms. Things had gone bad quickly. The ride is short so Connor doesn't have a lot of time to compose himself.
The airport is nearly empty when he makes it inside, only a few people insane enough to book 6 AM flights milling around. The line for security is nearly non-existent and he’s through it in what feels like the blink of an eye. His gate is empty and it is at that point that Connor collapses into one of the seats and pulls out his phone. It’s early, maybe too early for the call he is going to make but he really needs to talk to Madi.
He calls her and it rings and rings and rings and he’s terrified that she won’t pick up. When she finally does he feels like he might break down crying.
“Con, it's not even 5. This better be good,” She says drowsily.
“I-” He cuts himself off as a choking sob catches in his throat. “Madi.”
“Shit. Hey, what’s wrong?” Instantly she sounds awake. And worried. “ What happened?”
“Mom and Dad found out,” He says. The gate is empty but it's still no place to break down crying. “They found a letter from Trevor. And they weren’t happy.”
“Oh god. Where are you?”
“Airport. I’m going back to Chicago.”
“Okay, okay. What did they say? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.”
“It wasn’t!” He says. “They said I couldn’t be gay. They were going to ground me.”
“Ground you? You’re 20 years old.”
“That’s not the important part, Madi,” Connor hisses.
“You’re right. Dad didn’t kick you out though, right?”
“No. I decided to leave. I can’t, I can’t stay there. You know- I couldn't handle that,” He presses a hand over his mouth.
“Alright. Okay. It’s going to be okay. Do you want me to fly to Chicago? I can come in tonight.”
“I-” Connor cuts himself off. It’s not fair for her to uproot her whole weekend to come see him in Chicago because their parents can’t deal with having a gay son. “If it’s not too much trouble?”
“It’s not. I’ll get a flight right after work.”
“Let me pay? Please?”
There is a pause and then a soft exhale. “ Of course. Text me when you land.”
He nods before realizing she can’t see him. “Yeah.”
“I love you. And I’m sorry.”
“Love you too,” He hands up the phone and drops his head.
This can’t be happening. It has to be a bad dream.
The four hour flight back is all turbulence and he spends the flight white knuckling the armrest. He’s never been a bad flyer, but this one is different. When he finally lands in O’Hare he barely feels human. Connor disembarks with the realization that he has no plan. There is no Kev waiting to pick him up. No one waiting in the Cell Lot for him.
Connor picks at his lip as he goes through customs and then as he waits by the baggage claim. He’s pulled from the spiral as his phone dings. It’s a text from Mack.
Mack Attack ⭐🦈:
Hey I know that was kinda a convo
But are we still on for skating tomorrow?
Fuck. And of course Connor hadn’t even thought about skating with Mack. Why would he?
The One The Only CB:
i cant
I went back 2 Chicago
There Rn
His phone rings immediately. It’s Mack. He picks up.
“I really can’t believe you, dude. I thought you were better than being a homophobic asshole,” Mack says. He’s angry but he also sounds nasally. Like he’s been crying.
“No, I’m-”
Mack talks right over him. “ Look, I get that hockey is you know, but like. Dude. Leaving Vancouver? That’s insane. You’re insane.”
“It’s not because of you, and I’m not homophobic. Something happened,” Connor hisses quietly because he’s in the fucking airport and this conversation is not one to be had in public.
“Yeah, right,” Mack snorts. “Leaving right after I tell you I’m dating Will, real subtle.”
“I’m not- I can’t, I’m-” Connor cuts himself off. He absolutely cannot admit he’s gay to Macklin Celebrini in the middle of a very busy international airport.
“You’re what?” Macklin demands. “Spit it out, asshole.”
“I can’t have this discussion with you right now,” The headache that has been brewing behind Connor’s eyes throb sharply and he winces. First his parents and now Mack. He doesn’t have it in him to deal with both right now.
“Sure you can’t. Just forget my number, dude. And you better keep your mouth shut,” Mack spits out. “Don’t know why I thought you'd understand.”
Before Connor can respond Mack hangs up. Then Connor is alone, phone still held up to his ear. Suddenly the baggage claim area is too bright and too loud and too much. The chatter and flow of people and the lights all overlap and he feels breathless. He needs to- he doesn't even know what he needs to do.
With shaking hands he scrolls through his contacts until he finds one of the only people who can really help him right now.
“Hey Connor. The kids are here, say hi, kids,” Nick’s cheery answer is followed by a chorus of ‘hi’s from his kids.“ What’s up?”
Connor feels like his life is ending and it’s just another day for him.
“Nick,” Connor says, voice wavering. “I need you to pick me up. Please.”
He sounds pathetic even to his own ears but he can’t help it.
“Oh,” Nick says, voice falling. “Yes, of course. Where are you?”
“O’Hare. 3H. Please, as soon as you can?”
“Are you okay?” Nick says and there is the sound of a door slamming.
“How long is it going to take you?” Connor asks, ignoring his question.
“I’m leaving right now. Give me 20 minutes. I’ll be right there. Just breathe,”Nick says soothingly.
That’s part of the problem. Connor can’t seem to do anything but breathe. He watches the baggage carousel move in an endless circle, everything else fading away. Suitcase. Duffle Bag. Suitcase. Suitcase. Duffle Bag. Box.
“Connor? Connor? Are you still there?” Nick asks him.
“Yeah,” Connor says.
“I’m almost there. Do you have your bags?”
Connor realizes that one of the suitcases he has been watching go round and round in an endless circle is his.
“I’m getting it now,” Connor says as he goes up and grabs his bag.
He waits outside for Nick. The weather is warm but not so hot as to be unbearable. When Nick pulls up he parks haphazardly, half of his car blocking one of the lanes and the other in the handicap spot.
The driver side door swings open and Nick is hurrying around the car. He looks frazzled.
“Connor!” He calls out, rushing over to him. “Jesus, are you okay?”
Connor nods as Nick tentatively puts his hands on Connor’s shoulders and looks him up and down. He looks at him like he’d been expecting an injury and relief flashes across his face when he finds none.
“Yeah, I- actually no. Fuck,” He bites his lip and looks down. “ Can we go to your house? For a bit?”
“Of course, of course. Let me get your bag,” Nick grabs his suitcase and practically throws it into the trunk.
One of the traffic facilitators is giving them a disapproving look, Nick’s parking job obviously not meeting his standards. Nick just raises a hand at him as they both get into the car. Nick pulls out of the pickup area and they head onto the highway.
Nick doesn’t ask him any questions, just shoots him worried looks every few minutes. Connor rests his head against the window, the cool glass soothing his headache. He lets his mind drift as they hit traffic on the Kennedy.
He lets himself think about Mack and Smith. About what Mack might say to Smith. Maybe it goes something like this.
Maybe they are sitting together on Mack’s couch, a baseball game on(Connor knows Smith likes the Yankees, courtesy of Mack), curled around each other. Mack has been crying, it had sounded like it earlier. He’s upset. Upset about Connor. And worried. Worried about Connor. And afraid. Afraid of Connor.
“ I really thought he’d be okay with it,” Mack says quietly. “He’s my friend.”
Smith runs a hand through Mack’s hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t clock him as an asshole either.”
“He didn't really seem like one,” Mack plays with the hair on Smith’s arm. “I thought I’d gotten pretty good at figuring out who’d been okay with it. And also pretty used to people being okay with it. It’s been going so well.”
“Hey, hey. Don’t let Connor Bedard make you think people aren't okay with it. He’s just jealous that you scored more points and have an awesome boyfriend,” Smith says.
Mack smiles a little bit. “ I don’t think he’s jealous about the boyfriend part. And I know. I know. Just worried, you know?”
“What’s the worry?”
“That he’ll tell everyone. I like how things are right now, you, me, friends, our families. And I’m not ready for that to be everyone,” Mack says. “ And I don’t want to force you into anything.”
Smith ruffles Mack’s hair which gets him a smack on the shoulder. “ I do what I want. And if he tells everyone, which he won’t, I’d do it for you. Because I want to.”
“How are you sure that Con-Bedard won’t tell?”
“Well, he obviously doesn't want to talk about it with you. If he was the one to out you, us, he’d have to do a whole lot of talking,” Smith says.
“You’re right,” Mack sighs and relaxes back.
Connor can’t help but cringe at imaginary Mack. Imaginary Mack that is so terrified of him. So terrified of what he could do, not knowing that it’s something he would never do. It makes him nauseous. Makes him want to cry, Makes him want to scream. Makes him want to be as brave as real Mack is.
It’s a terrifying feeling. And it’s not one Connor can afford to have. Not after his parents. Just like imaginary Mack, he’s gotten too used to people being okay with him being gay. Kev, Madi, Nick, Bert, Janelle, the Foligno Kids, Z, Kane, Draisital, even Zach. He needs to remember Brad. He needs to remember the world.
Connor has been living in a bubble. And one that’s just been rudely burst. Or maybe it’s not a bubble. Bubbles are bright and airy, consistently colorful in a way that his experience with being gay hasn’t been.
It’s more like a boil. One that he hadn’t realized had been there or recognized as being harmful. It’s like something cancerous that's been growing and spreading unrestrained, that’s been unknowingly changing him. And now he’s finally noticed it.
Now it’s been burst and now it’s burning and clawing at him for attention. This was never something that would be gentle. Never something that wouldn’t hurt him. It was stupid of him to ever think otherwise.
You couldn’t be gay and a hockey player. Or at the very least, he couldn’t. He’s been indulgent in the dream that he could be all these things. And it’s going to have to stay a dream.
He wipes a stray tear from his eye. He’s not sure where the right place to cry over this is but it probably isn’t Nick Foligno’s car in Chicago two months before training camp.
It’s another 20 minutes of silence before Nick pulls up in front of his house.
“Should I bring your suitcase in?” Nick asks him as they get out of the car.
Connor sniffs and shakes his head. “Madi is coming in tonight. I’ll need to go back to my apartment.”
Nick looks at him and Connor can see that he wants to ask why the hell Connor showed up two months early on the verge of tears with his sister close behind him.
Nick nods. “Do you need me to pick her up too?”
“No, it’s fine. This is enough.”
He nods and Connor follows him into the house. The kids are in the living room, Hudson and Landon with coloring pages and Milana reading a book that’s bigger than her head.
“Hi Connor,” They all say cheerily.
He gives them a little wave as he drops his backpack by the door. The kids seem unbothered by his lackluster response and resume their activities.
“We had pizza for lunch,” Nick says, gesturing towards the kitchen. “There’s some left over.”
Connor belatedly realizes that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, probably what’s contributing to the headache and the vaguely faint feeling he’s had since the plane landed.
“Sure,” Connor says, following Nick into the kitchen.
He sits down heavily and Nick sets a plate with four pieces of pizza on it. He sits down at the kitchen table across from him.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re suddenly back in Chicago?” Nick asks seriously. “ You don’t have to if-”
“My parents found out,” Connor says before Nick can finish his sentence. “ And it went badly.”
He looks down at his clasped hands and swallows the lump lingering in his throat. He doesn't want to start crying. He doesn't know if he could stop.
“Oh,” Nick says softly. “ Oh, I’m so sorry. What do you need from me?”
What a useless question. Connor doesn’t know what he needs. Not from Nick. Not from anyone.
“I don’t know,” Connor admits.
“That’s okay,” Nick says. “You don’t need to figure out anything today. Or tomorrow.”
Connor nods, thankful for Nick’s lack of pushing. Nick lets him eat the pizza in silence before herding him into the living room to watch the Cubs game. It’s a slow game but they win 4-1. When he gets a text from Madi that she’s boarding her plane he asks Nick to drive him home.
Traffic is atrocious(as is characteristic of Chicago) and it takes them an hour to get downtown. Nick drops him off with a wave and makes him promise to call tomorrow.
His apartment is a little stale when he unlocks the door and there’s a thin film of dust coating every surface. Connor sighs heavily and opens the balcony doors to let the warm Chicago air flood in. The sun is starting to set, sitting heavily on the skyline and setting the forest of glass skyscrapers ablaze.
He doesn't bother to try to clean anything yet. The day is starting to catch up with him, the adrenaline from earlier draining from his body, leaving him feeling like he’d been run over by a zamboni. The couch is clean enough so he grabs one of the cushions and lays down on it.
He tries to sleep but just ends up staring blankly at the fake fireplace, the framed photos of his family staring down at him. Eventually it becomes too much and Connor rolls off the couch to set the pictures facedown. Without his parent’s judgmental eyes glaring down at him, he manages to fall asleep.
When Connor wakes up it’s to a dark sky, chilly air and frantic knocking on his door. He almost falls off the couch, barely catching himself on the edge of the coffee table and stopping himself from braining himself on it.
He already knows who’s at the door so he doesn't bother turning on any of the lights on his way over to the door. When Connor opens the door Madi, as expected, is standing outside it. It’s not the worst he’s ever seen her look(that was after she had lost a gymnastics tournament and been broken up with on the same day. They’d sat together on the couch, eating strawberry ice cream and watching shitty romcoms, even though Connor didn’t like either) but it’s certainly not the best.
She lets Connor usher her into his apartment before she drops her suitcase and purse and grabs him. She holds him so, so tightly, arms wrapped around him like she’s trying to shield him from the world.
“Fuck,” He says into the side of her head, hugging her back. The grey fabric of her sweater twists under his fingers. “It’s so bad Madi.”
It’s starting to hit him that he might never be able to go home. Might never see or speak to his parents ever again. He’s lost so much in so little time. He lets himself cry for the first time that day.
It’s not the chest heaving, breath stealing sobbing from last night. It’s a quiet kind of sorrow. Where his breathing is a little too deep and slow and his eyes seem to leak endlessly. It’s a long while before he realizes that the tears dripping onto the collar of his shirt aren't just his own.
“I’m sorry Connor,” Madi says, voice choking. “You don’t deserve this.”
He doesn’t know what to say so he doesn't say anything. Just grips her tighter. It’s not just for him anymore.
“I’m so scared for you,” She says. “Because I know that the world is mean to you and our parents are too. And I’m sorry that I can’t protect you anymore. I'm sorry the world grew bigger and crueler and I didn’t grow with it and I’m not big enough to keep it all away from you anymore.”
If Connor wasn’t already crying he thinks he would start now. Because that’s how it’s always been. When it was obvious that he was better than the kids at hockey camp and they became jealous of him she would snap at them to back off. When the sleepovers started to get unbearable and his mom wouldn’t pick him up, Madi would. When Connor was scared to go to Sweden alone, she had gone with him.
She's been there every step of the way, even after everything he’s done. After he’d bitten her at 4 years old for stealing his tiny hockey stick hard enough to scar. After the time he’d put hair dye in her shampoo in retaliation for the talcum powder she had put in all of his hockey gear. Even after he screamed at the top of his lungs that he hated her after she teased him about losing a tournament. Madi’s always been in his corner. Really, she is his corner.
“And I’m sorry that nothing I can do is going to make it better. That nothing I do will change their minds,” Madi sobs. “ But you’re so fucking wonderful and you being gay doesn’t change that. And the fact that they can’t see that is terrible. And I wish I could make them understand. Even if you weren’t a generational hockey player, even if you were a worm or a rat or some stupid crazy animal with seven eyes from the Amazon they would be lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Connor chokes out. Laughing hurts.
Madi takes a shuddering, gasping breath. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Connor says quietly. It’s not even close to what she’d just said to him, but he isn’t quite sure he can put into words how much she means to him.
Connor’s never been able to do quite as much for her as she’s done for him, but he’d tried. He’d tried so hard. Went to every gymnastic show that didn’t line up with his games, as sparse as those had been. Connor’s first fight had been against her creepy ex who had three years, 40 pounds and several inches on him. It had left him with split knuckles and a stern talking to from his parents. The only things he could confidently cook were their favorite pasta dish and chicken soup, the result of Madi being sick for a week while their parents were on vacation.
The first thing he had bought with his first endorsement deal was her favorite fancy chocolate. And the first thing he purchased with his NHL signing bonus was the handbag she’d wanted for two years.
Madi’s given so much to him. And Connor’s given as much as he can back. She’s always been his number one fan. And he’s always been hers in turn.
“Thank you for coming,” Connor says. It’s another thing she’s given him, her time. “I know it’s inconvenient.”
Madi smacks the side of his head. “Be quiet.”
When Connor finally loosens his grip on her sweater Madi drops her arms. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Do you have any food?” She asks abruptly.
Connor blinks at her. “Why would I have food?”
“This is your house. Houses have food,” Madi says, abandoning Connor to riffle through his cupboards.
“You know I don’t keep snacks,” Connor says, leaning heavily against the island.
“All you have is dried fruit and nuts. This is sad. Order me Chinese food,” Madi demands.
“What is even open at,”Connor checks his phone. “11pm?”
“You have shitty excuses,” Madi says, sitting down next to him. “ I’m leaving a review to let everyone know that Hotel Bedard has bad service and rude staff.”
Connor laughs despite everything weighing him down. “Tomorrow. I promise.”
“Promise for real or promise to get me to shut up?”
“Promise for real,” Connor says.
“Deal,” Madi extends her hand and Connor shakes it. “I’m exhausted.”
Connor nods in agreement. They part, Connor going to his room and Madi to the guest bedroom. He brushes his teeth, changes into sweats and a t-shirt and then gets into bed. He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling for a while before making his decision.
He climbs out of bed and goes to the guest bedroom. Madi is a shapeless lump under the thin, summertime blankets.
“Madi,” Connor whispers. This is so stupid. “Are you awake?”
“Well, now I am,” Madi says sleepily. “You okay?”
“Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight?” He asks tentatively.
“Get over here,” She shuffles over and Connor crawls under the blanket.
They lay back to back, the same way they did when they were kids. He’s struck again with childhood memories. First the fear of monsters under the bed and then nightmares of broken bones and career ending injuries driving him down the hall and under her lilac duvet.
Connor falls asleep almost immediately, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing lulling him to sleep.