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“Yo,” Ryan calls.
Scot turns around. “Hey, Ryan!”
Technically, Ryan doesn’t go to this school anymore. He’s spent the last year playing hockey in Oshawa and going to whatever kind of school they have for major junior hockey players there. His season ended two weeks ago, so he’s home for the summer. Today’s the last day of school for Scot and the rest of the kids here, and apparently Ryan decided to come crash it.
“Oh, hi, Ryan,” Joey says. “Did you bring—”
“Shh,” Ryan interrupts harshly. “Shut up.” He beckons Scot and Joey closer. Scot glances at Joey, seeing his own apprehension written all over Joey’s face.
Ryan’s getting them fake IDs. They’re all 17, but you have to be 19 to get into any bars here, and that’s what Scot wants to do. When he and Joey met up with Ryan in his garage last week, Scot had been sighing about being single. According to Joey and Carla and Hank and Katie and Piper, this is something Scot does a lot.
He thinks he only does it a suitable amount, thank you very much.
But he is single. And he does sigh over it. As far as Scot knows, there are only two other out gay kids in their school. One’s a lesbian, so that doesn’t help Scot. Scot already tried to date the other boy by virtue of being the only two. They had nothing else in common besides being gay, and that wasn’t enough to sustain more than two awkward make-outs in Lance’s basement.
Thus the sighing and the fake IDs. Scot needs a wider pool of gay guys to meet. Where better to find them than a gay bar? Sure, they’ll be older than him, but that’s okay. Scot’s mature for his age. Everyone’s said so since he was about 10.
“I got the IDs,” Ryan says. He’s not being very quiet, so Scot doesn’t get why he told them to shut up. “They’re at home. You can come get them tonight.”
“Wow,” Scot breathes. This is getting real. Before, when Ryan said he could get Scot a fake ID so he could go to a gay bar and get a dick in his mouth to shut him up, it was abstract. And distracting because of the mental image Ryan was painting. Scot wasn’t sure he believed Ryan could really do it. But now Ryan did.
“Scot, are you sure this is a good idea?” Joey asks worriedly.
“Quit being such a pussy, Morita,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. “Everyone has fake IDs. How do you think I know the guy who made them?”
“Because you’re basically a juvenile criminal,” Joey says. Scot can’t help but cringe. It’s not very nice, but it’s also not very untrue. He’s getting less sure of this decision by the minute.
“It’s not a big deal, you freaks,” Ryan says with a groan. “It’s just a bar. They don’t even make us use fake IDs when I go out with my team. They let us in wherever we want.”
“Well, someone should report that to the liquor commission,” Joey says. He might, if Ryan pisses him off enough.
Scot holds up a hand. “Joey, I’m probably not going to drink anything.” He ignores Ryan’s scoff. “I just need...” He shrugs. “I need to be around other gay guys, okay?”
“You live with other gay guys,” Ryan points out.
Scot puts his hands on his hips. “They’re my parents.” He shakes his head. “You guys don’t get it because you’re straight.”
Joey sighs. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll go with you.”
“Hey,” Carla says, walking up to them. She narrows her eyes. “Why do you guys all look guilty?”
“Not me,” Ryan says.
“You look a little guilty,” Carla says. Scot’s pretty sure it’s less about Ryan feeling guilt for the fake IDs and more that he knows Carla won’t be happy about it. There’s a reason they’re not telling her. Ryan normally doesn’t care about people not liking his actions, but Carla has a very effective glare.
“Who were you talking to?” Ryan asks, craning his neck to see the group of girls Carla split off from. “Hannah Carlson? Ooh.”
Carla elbows him. “Stop. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“How would you know?” Ryan asks.
“Because I said you were coming home for the summer and she said ew, I hope he doesn’t hit on me,” Carla says flatly.
“No way,” Ryan says. “She asked me to hook up at the pool party last summer.”
“No, you asked her to hook up at the pool party last summer and she said no,” Carla corrects. “I was there.”
Ryan rolls his eyes and makes a jerk-off gesture with his hand. “Whatever.”
“Can’t believe she doesn’t find you charming,” Carla says, rolling her eyes right back.
Scot goes back to cleaning out his locker and ignores them. Carla and Ryan argue non-stop when they’re in the same room, now that Carla doesn’t throw up at confrontation anymore, but neither of them ever refuse to see the other.
“Tonight,” Ryan says under his breath to Scot and Joey when they’re walking out of the school. “Come over.”
“7:00?” Scot asks. “Do we need to bring a gift to say thank you to the guy who made them?”
Ryan gives him a look like he’s being weird. Scot wishes he didn’t know that look so well. “No, that’s what the money's for, you fucking idiot.”
“Okay,” Scot says, holding up his hands. “Excuse me for being polite.”
Joey and Carla peel off to go toward their neighborhood and Scot and Ryan head home. Ryan looks around with his hands in his pockets. “Weird that nothing’s changed,” he says.
“Well, that’s not true,” Scot says. “The bubble tea place is gone and now it’s a froyo shop.”
“Don’t say froyo,” Ryan says. “It makes you sound so fucking gay.”
“I am so fucking gay,” Scot says. This is a familiar argument without heat, more of an inside joke at this point. Ryan has honored Scot’s sexuality—and Sam and Eric’s—by dropping one word out of his vocabulary.
Scot wouldn’t put money on that holding true when he’s around other hockey players. But he doesn’t say it around them, at least, and Scot knows he doesn’t bully any other openly gay people he might run into anymore, so he counts it as a win for the bonds of junior high friendship.
When Scot gets home, he dumps his backpack by the stairs and goes to the kitchen for a snack. He should have enough time to grab that backpack and clean up after himself before Sam gets home. Sam has relaxed a lot in the five years Scot’s been living here, but he can’t stand when Scot walks right past his backpack or shoes without taking them upstairs with him.
Eric’s home and in the kitchen already when Scot walks in. “There he is,” Eric says. “Our soon-to-be year 12.”
Scot snorts. Eric says it like that’s an accomplishment and not just a fact of finishing another year. “Yay me,” Scot deadpans, making Eric laugh.
“Where are you going on your first night of freedom?” Eric asks, handing Scot the peanut butter.
“I’m going over to Joey’s with Ryan,” Scot says innocently. “Since he’s home now.”
“Oh, yeah, Ryan’s home,” Eric says. “Hey, you guys can’t mess around too much, alright? He’s got to stick to a training plan even for the summer. He’s almost to his draft year, you know. If he wants to get drafted and not end up grinding in the minors, he has to prove he’s got what it takes.” He glances toward the window like Ryan will be standing there. “Maybe I should make him a training schedule.”
“Eric, you’re being very intense,” Scot informs him. That’s a lot rarer than it used to be, especially since Scot gave up hockey, but when it happens now Scot can tell Eric and Eric will back off.
Eric blinks a few times. “Oh, sorry, wrong mode,” he says. “Sure, go have fun. Stay up late and...” He winces and shakes his head. “No, still don’t mess around too much.” He shrugs. “I’m your dad, I’m not telling you to go get into trouble.”
Scot laughs, panic bubbling up in his stomach at the thought of those fake IDs burning a hole in Ryan’s bedroom floor. They’re undoubtedly on the floor. “Trouble? Me?”
Eric laughs, too. “Yeah, I know.” That’s not helping the panic or guilt. They hear the front door open. “Ooh, Sam,” Eric says, grinning and perking up.
“Uh oh,” Scot says, because he didn’t have time to move his backpack after all.
Sure enough, they can hear Sam sigh from the door. “Scot?”
“I’m going to get it after I eat a snack!” Scot yells defensively. “You weren’t supposed to come home early!”
“Yes, you were,” Eric corrects as Sam walks in. “You’re always supposed to come early.”
Sam laughs and goes to Eric for a kiss. “We settled right outside arbitration,” he says by way of explanation. “So I had the rest of the day blocked off anyway. I figured I might as well come home.”
“You figured great,” Eric says. “You’re so smart, Sam.”
“How was the last day, Scot?” Sam asks.
“Fine,” Scot says. “Ryan came to the school and walked home with me. Me and Joey are going to his house tonight.”
“Don’t let him talk you into doing anything stupid, please,” Sam requests. Scot swallows hard. Sam looks over at Eric and says, “You have a game tonight, right?”
“Yes,” Eric says. “Yep. Hockey game. Pickup hockey. I’m playing hockey.”
They’re doing that thing where they talk to each other without saying words and it makes Scot want to roll his eyes or start crying. He wants someone. He wants someone to look at and have a silent conversation with and say stupid, cheesy things. Being single around these two is torture.
They don’t grill him about his plans. Why would they? Hanging out at Ryan’s with Joey and Carla and sometimes other friends has been Scot’s main summer activity since he was 12. He’s starting to get that wriggly guilty feeling in his stomach. They’re not suspicious, because he’s never given them any reason to be suspicious. Scot never lies to them.
But he steels himself. He’s practically an adult, so this isn’t a big deal. It’s not his fault Ontario has a ridiculous drinking age.
And like he told Joey and Ryan, it’s not even about the drinking. He just wants to meet someone. Make eye contact with a newly-19-year-old out for his first legal drink. Smile and duck his head coyly until the guy comes over. Start the summer with a boyfriend. Is that so much to ask?
He feels like he’s going to throw up as he walks down the street to Ryan’s house, knees trembling. Having to take the bus slightly undercuts Scot’s earlier feelings about being an adult, but he can’t focus on that. His palms are sweating.
“Hey, uh, should we just go home?” Scot asks when they’re standing outside the bar. No harm, no foul if they leave now.
“Oh, give me a break,” Ryan says. “You’re not dragging me here and then chickening out.”
“We didn’t drag you here,” Joey says. “You came with us.”
“Shut up and go inside,” Ryan snaps.
There’s no bouncer outside the door checking IDs like Scot’s seen on TV. No one looks up when they come in. They find a booth off to the side and sit down, trying to look around without being obvious. Can adults tell they’re kids?
Scot shakes his head. He is not a kid. He’s almost 18. Okay, he just turned 17 four months ago, but still. He looks around at the other men in the bar, searching for a newly-19-year-old to share a spark with. Everyone looks a lot older than newly-19.
“Do you think they have onion rings?” Joey asks.
“We can’t get onion rings,” Scot protests. “Then we’ll stink! I can’t stink when I’m trying to get a boyfriend!”
“Well, I’m not trying to get a boyfriend,” Joey points out huffily.
“Is that McNally?” Ryan asks with a laugh. “Classic. Gay dude at a gay bar.”
“Ryan, I’m a gay dude at a gay bar,” Scot points out witheringly. “You guys are the weird straight guys at the gay bar.”
“Hey,” Joey says, offended. “We’re being supportive.”
“Okay, thanks,” Scot says. “But no, Eric wouldn’t be here. He’s—” He stops short, because he looked where Ryan’s looking and that is, in fact, Eric walking in the door of the bar.
But Eric’s supposed to be playing hockey. He’s supposed to be on the ice, cackling while he strips the puck off some poor guy who hasn’t played in a decade. He is not supposed to be dressed up in tight jeans, grabbing a stool at the bar.
Scot ducks down in his seat, heart pounding. What’s going on? Why did Eric lie? If he didn’t tell Sam where he would be...and he’s dressed up like he dresses up when he and Sam go out...what does that mean? Scot can see the distance between these facts, but his brain doesn’t want to connect the dots.
That’s when Scot hears Eric’s voice over the chatter of the bar. “Meeting someone new,” he says clearly, and now Scot’s breath is shaking and his mouth is dry but his hands are balling into fists. There’s no denying what Eric’s doing. But Scot caught him. He’s not going to sit here and let Eric do this.
Scot pushes through the crowd, already tearing up. He can’t believe Eric would do this. He talks so much about loyalty and honesty, and look at him now. Plus, this is so out of left field. Eric and Sam are completely obsessed with each other. They’re always glancing at each other and finishing each other’s sentences and grabbing each other’s arms. Eric looks up every time Sam walks in the room and watches him, even if Sam just got up to get a glass of water or something.
“How could you!” Scot yells as soon as he’s close to Eric. Eric jumps and spins around on his stool, his surprise and lack of guilt making Scot’s breath hitch. “H-he’s probably at home o-organizing your underwear drawer or s-something.”
“Scot—?”
“How could you do this to Sam?” Scot wails. Sam doesn’t deserve this. He loves Eric so much. He never smiles as big at anyone else as he does at Eric. He watches hockey for Eric. And now they’re going to break up, and Scot knows it’s selfish, but he can’t help but worry about what that means for his own life.
He’s had a few friends over the years whose parents got divorced. He knows what’s going to happen. Eric will move out, go live in a condo somewhere with one bedroom. Scot will visit him sometimes but there won’t be anywhere to sleep. And eventually Eric will fade out of his life like Billy did. Like he promised he never would.
“Do what to Sam?” Scot hears behind him. In Sam’s confused voice.
Scot gasps and turns to look at Sam. He’s standing there, also dressed up in date clothes. He’s in his leather jacket. Scot shudders and swipes at the tears on his cheeks. “Sam?”
“What’s going on here?” the bartender asks. He gives Scot a once-over. “Hey, how old are you?”
“We—” Eric clears his throat and jumps off his stool. He throws some money on the bar and holds up his hand. “We’re leaving.”
He spots Joey, leaning away to hide his face, and Ryan, who isn’t trying to hide at all, and he groans. He waves a hand at them and they obediently get up to follow them out. “Seriously?” Sam mutters.
“Get in the car,” Eric says, shooing them in. The three boys sit in the backseat, eyes trained on their knees. Scot’s not crying anymore, but he thinks he’ll probably start back up. He put absolutely no thought into what would happen if he got caught.
They drop Joey off first. “Bye,” he says, shamefaced.
“We’ll see about telling your parents,” Sam says.
“Oh, man,” Joey says under his breath as he closes the door.
“You don’t need to tell my mom,” Ryan says when they pull up to his house. “She already knows I go to bars.”
“Hey,” Eric says. “You ever want to go further than juniors, you better get serious about your hockey.”
“I am serious,” Ryan says defensively. Eric just gives him a look and Ryan scoffs. Scot knows he’s restraining himself from flipping them off as they drive away.
Sam and Eric stay quiet as they loop back around the neighborhood. They don’t talk as they walk inside. Mildred’s looking out her window and Scot waves at her sadly. She’ll hear the whole story by tomorrow, he’s sure. At least she’ll find some way to be on his side.
They sit him down on the couch. Scot had no idea, years ago during that first hierarchy of affectionate gestures talk, that this couch was going to be the setting of so many uncomfortable discussions. He’s scarred for life from when they taught him about pregnancy just in case. He’s pretty sure they’re both scarred, too. Neither of them had seen a video of a baby being born, apparently, and all three of them were horrified.
“Alright, Scot, now’s the time to lay out the excuses,” Eric says.
“Explain yourself,” Sam corrects.
“What were you doing there?” Scot asks instead of finding excuses or explanations. He winces at himself. Bad decision. He should be groveling. He doesn’t get in trouble very often. He doesn’t have the practice.
“What were you doing there?” Eric demands, because Scot walked right into that one. “How’d you get in? What were you going to do when they carded you?”
“I...” Scot swallows hard. “Um...”
“Do you have a fake ID?” Sam asks incredulously.
“Why did you lie and say you were going to hockey and then you told the bartender you were meeting someone new?” Scot throws back at Eric. He glances apologetically at Sam, though he’s still confused about why Sam was apparently doing the same thing. Is this one of those situations like that weird piña colada song?
Sam and Eric share a look, and Scot knows instantly they’re united. This is not a piña colada situation. “I was meeting Sam there,” Eric says exasperatedly.
“But you said you were meeting someone new,” Scot accuses questioningly.
“It was...” Eric looks at Sam again and suddenly it clicks in Scot’s head. “We were—because—fun—ten years—”
“Ew,” Scot says faintly. They were doing a kind of role play thing. Pretending to be strangers meeting at a bar. Oh, God, he interrupted his parents during some weird sex thing. Foreplay. He shakes his head, nose wrinkled at the thought.
“Oh, okay, Scot, you think you’re old enough to be in a bar but not old enough to hear that?” Sam says, eyebrows raised.
“Good one, Sam, you got him,” Eric praises, tapping Sam’s shoulder. Scot knows this is a serious situation, but he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He can’t believe he thought for even a second Eric would cheat on Sam.
“So I wouldn’t be passing judgment at the moment,” Sam adds, but he’s looking a little red around the ears. Nothing compared to Eric, who looks like he’s contemplating jumping out the window. Scot will join him.
“Why do you have a fake ID?” Eric says.
“Um...” Scot glances between them. “To vote early and affect change in our local government?” he tries.
He gets a united dirty look from both faces. “Scot, that is so—we trust you,” Eric says. “And you’re—here you are—but you just—” This isn’t his awkward babbling. He’s so mad he can’t talk.
Scot’s never made him this mad. The only time he’s seen Eric like this was the time Billy thought it would be funny to show up unannounced and “prank” Sam by saying he had cancer. Scot does not want to be in the same boat as Billy in Eric’s mind. It didn’t take long to figure out that Eric saying I like Billy as Scot was packing his things was a big, fat lie.
“Don’t move,” Sam admonishes Scot, grabbing Eric by the elbow and pulling him away. They duck into the kitchen. “This isn’t the end of the world,” Sam says. Scot’s pretty sure they don’t know he can hear them.
“Not the end of the world?” Eric hisses. “Sam, he got a fake ID and went to a bar!”
“You did the same thing at his age,” Sam says, sounding like he’s rolling his eyes.
“Terrible example!” Eric shoots back. “I was doing bad things with my fake ID!”
“I had a fake ID,” Sam says. “You know how he’s feeling, Eric, and so do I. At that age you feel like you’re going to die if you don’t meet someone. I went to gay bars with my fake ID, too.”
“Yeah, Sam, how’d that go?” Eric says, voice quieter now.
Scot can’t hear anything else and he can’t see them. He strains his ears past the clock ticking and hears the distinct sound of kissing. Ugh, disgusting. He does not want to think about them kissing with the knowledge of their role play burned into his mind.
The part of him that isn’t internally barfing is realizing something bad must’ve happened to Sam. His stomach lurches. It didn’t really occur to him that something bad could happen other than getting caught or arrested or something. And he knows Sam couldn’t have gotten arrested or he wouldn’t be a lawyer. Would he? Scot has no idea how that works.
Sam and Eric come back from the kitchen, Eric’s hand on Sam’s shoulder. They sit on the other couch, across from Scot. “Scot, listen,” Eric says. “This was stupid.”
Sam makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “We want you to be safe,” he says. He raises his eyebrows at Eric, one of those silent communication looks again.
Scot looks between them again. “Were you...not safe? When you had a fake ID and went to gay bars at my age?”
Eric huffs. “Guess we’re not as quiet as we thought.” He looks at Sam. “No, Sam, you don’t have to tell—” He turns back to Scot. “Listen, Scot, the point is you’re too young for this.”
Sam puts his hand on Eric’s back. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. To Scot, he says, “I wasn’t unsafe. But I put myself in some bad situations. And I dated some guys who were way too old for me who should’ve known better.” Scot can feel his eyes going big. Sam smiles at him reassuringly. “Nothing as bad as you’re imagining,” he promises. “But it could’ve been. And now that I’m older I know that wasn’t the way to do things, and I don’t want you doing it.”
“But—” Scot cuts himself off. All his arguments boil down to but I want to. That’s not exactly logical, let alone in the face of Sam’s experience.
“Okay, Scot, we get it,” Eric says uncomfortably, tugging at his collar. “You’re—I mean, at your age—with all the, uh, well, puberty and…um…” This is his awkward babbling this time. Scot’s relieved by the return to normalcy.
“I just wanted to meet someone,” Scot mumbles, confirming what he knows they’ve already guessed.
“We know,” Sam says. “And that’s normal to want. It’s okay that you want it. But that wasn’t the way to do it. Even if you did meet someone, you would’ve been starting things off with a lie.”
“Oh, yeah,” Scot says, frowning as he realizes Sam’s right. He didn’t think of that. It’s becoming obvious he didn’t think nearly enough about any of this before he did it. That’s a little embarrassing. He’s usually a lot smarter. This must be the raging hormones thing every adult mentions when they talk about teenagers.
“You can’t walk outside without tripping over a gay guy around here,” Eric says, waving a hand and making Sam roll his eyes. “Can’t you find one your age?”
“There’s only one other out one at my school!” Scot says. He holds up a hand. “Don’t ask. I already tried. We are not compatible.” He was a bad kisser, too, but Scot’s not going to tell them that.
“There are definitely more at your school,” Sam soothes. “They’re just not out yet.”
“Oh, right,” Eric says. “So go hang out by the gym and some closeted basketball player will break.” He shakes his head before anyone can say anything. “Nope. Bad advice. Terrible advice. Don’t do that, Scot.”
“I might do that,” Scot mutters. He’s desperate at this point, and a few of the guys on the school basketball team are very good-looking. He’s been praying for at least one of them to be curious since junior high.
Sam shrugs. “Worked out for me.” He and Eric exchange a very annoying little smile, but then Sam gets more serious. “No, Scot, that probably isn’t the best idea for you. You want a real boyfriend, don’t you? You want someone who’s going to hold your hand, not ignore you in the hall.”
“Yeah,” Scot admits. His stomach hurts. He wants that so badly. He sees couples in the halls and he wants to cry. Why is it so easy for them to find each other and he has to be alone?
“They can go to dances together now, can’t they?” Eric asks Sam.
“Well, if the school tries to stop them they’ll have to go through me,” Sam says.
Eric grins at him. “We don’t care about making him popular anymore, huh? Big-shot lawyer Sam’s going to get him what he wants.”
“He’s sitting right here,” Scot grumbles. They’re being so gross tonight. He’s never interrupting secret date night again. Though that’s hard with the secret part.
Sam and Eric both school their cheesy smiles and turn back to him. At least he stopped them before they kissed. “Sorry,” Eric offers. He shrugs. “I don’t really have any advice here. This is not so much my wheelhouse. The whole...teenage dating thing. I was trying harder to get out of dates at your age.”
“I promise I won’t do it again,” Scot says. Maybe since they’re all horned up they’ll be okay with skipping to the end of this discussion and let him take his punishment and go.
“You sure won’t,” Sam agrees.
Eric makes a grabby motion. “Hand it over.” Scot doesn’t argue. He gets his wallet out of his purse and pulls out the fake ID. Eric looks at it and snorts. “You guys should probably ask for your money back,” he says, handing the fake ID to Sam.
Sam laughs but presses his lips together. “Um, did you look at this, Scot?”
“Not really,” Scot admits. The picture matched, so he didn’t pay much attention.
“This has my birthday on it,” Eric says. “Year and everything.”
“What?” Scot shrieks. “Oh, my God, that never would’ve worked!” He has an extensive skincare routine, but no moisturizer could explain that away.
“We could maybe let you try beer,” Eric offers, glancing at Sam to gauge his reaction.
“I don’t think he’ll like beer,” Sam says. “Though it wouldn’t be the worst idea to get used to the taste before you go to university if you want to be popular.” He and Eric wince together. “I don’t want you to be that kind of popular.”
“I wasn’t planning to drink, anyway,” Scot says.
“You weren’t?” Eric asks. “Wow, lame.” He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “God, I am really screwing up tonight. No, Scot, that’s good. Very pure of heart.”
Sam covers his face with his hands. “You haven’t gotten in trouble enough for us to know what to do,” he says with a laugh.
“Does that mean I’m not in trouble?” Scot ventures hopefully.
“Nice try,” Eric says. “We’re keeping the ID, and...” He looks at Sam and shrugs. Sam shrugs back. They obviously don’t know what kind of punishment to give him.
“Am I grounded?” Scot prompts, deciding to help them out.
“...Yes,” Sam decides. Then the three of them stare at each other, because Scot’s never been grounded. He doesn’t know what that entails.
“Can I get some ground rules for that, or...?”
“We’re thinking,” Eric says. He scratches the side of his face. “Um...no going over to Ryan’s for...” He looks at Sam.
“Three days,” Sam says.
Scot fights a laugh. “You guys haven’t watched a lot of teen movies, huh?” In movies everyone gets grounded for weeks or months or sometimes until you’re 30.
“Are we doing a bad job?” Eric asks so earnestly Scot feels bad about wanting to laugh. He knows Sam and Eric weren’t planning on ever having kids until he popped up out of nowhere, one more responsibility Billy did everything in his power to shirk.
But in Scot’s opinion, they’ve done a great job. He has a healthy self-esteem, if he does say so himself, and he gets good grades. He tells them things and never gets worried they’ll be mad at him. In five years, this is the first time he’s done something actually bad, not just getting in trouble at school for wearing makeup or trying to greet people in a cosmopolitan French way or staging a protest over the science classes dissecting those poor dead pigs.
Scot swallows hard, trying to push down the lump that sprang into his throat. He didn’t realize they’d be worried about not doing a good job. He has watched a lot of teen movies, so he’s heard parents say that kind of thing, but he didn’t think Sam and Eric would be insecure. They haven’t shown it.
“No,” Scot says softly. “I think you’re doing a good job.”
Sam smiles at him and rubs Eric’s knee. “Thanks, Scot.”
“So maybe no grounding?” Scot asks.
“Oh, come on, Scot, we have to do something,” Eric points out. “We can’t be the no-consequences parents. They’ll kick us out of the secret parents meetings where we all get together and talk about how to embarrass you.”
Scot rolls his eyes while Sam laughs at Eric’s dumb joke. Scot’s not going to tell them he’s relieved they were meeting each other and a little part of him likes that they’re so obsessed with each other. That would be weird to say. But he does like when they laugh at each other’s jokes and finish each other’s sentences. It makes him think someday he can find someone like that, too.
“And for the record, I’ve never organized Eric’s underwear drawer,” Sam says dryly, making Scot flush as he remembers sobbing that out in the bar. “When I get the house to myself without you two, I mostly just listen to jazz.”
Eric and Scot share a shudder. Eric doesn’t like jazz because he says it lasts too long and just sounds like noise, though Scot's heard his musical preferences and doesn't think he has room to judge. Scot doesn’t like jazz because he can’t belt along. Even the ones that have words are too hard for him to sing along to.
Scot takes his three-day sentence and goes upstairs to his room. He texts Ryan and Joey about it. 3 fucking days? Ryan sends. They never give you shit. You could kill someone and they wouldn’t care. Scot’s not going to tell Sam and Eric they have a reputation as the no-consequences parents after all.
I told my mom, Joey confesses. I got two weeks. Would’ve been longer but we didn’t actually drink.
Scot huffs. He’s not surprised Joey told his mom. They are a goody-two-shoes friend group, aside from Ryan. Eric calls them the Nerd Patrol sometimes when he thinks Scot can’t hear, but Scot doesn’t mind because he knows Eric doesn’t mean it as an insult. Sam’s pretty nerdy, too, and Eric loves him.
Scot tiptoes back downstairs after midnight, searching for a little snack, and jumps when he sees Sam in the kitchen. Sam usually goes to bed early, and Scot is not letting himself consider why Sam would be up later than usual after the whole thing at the bar. Well, the whole thing that was supposed to happen at the bar if Scot hadn’t interrupted.
“Oh, hi,” Sam whispers. “You okay?”
“I just came for my crackers,” Scot says.
Sam’s getting a glass of water. He toasts Scot with it and says, “Don’t stay up too late. I don’t care if it is summer.” He turns to leave and Scot’s suddenly bursting with a question.
“Sam?” Scot stops him, scared to ask. “What...happened to those older guys who should’ve known better? The ones you...knew when you were my age?” He doesn’t want to bring up bad memories for Sam if that’s what they are, but they’ve always told him he can ask them anything.
Sam blows out a breath. “Um, I don’t know. I didn’t stay in touch when I left for university. I know one of them died.”
“Did Eric kill him?” Scot asks, hushed. He could see Eric doing that. Tracking down some old guy who treated Sam badly.
Normally, Eric’s a pretty easy-going guy, but Scot’s seen tapes of his old hockey days and he thinks Eric would bring back that anger for anyone who hurt Sam. Killing him would be harder to believe, but maybe the guy was really old and frail and Eric beat him up so badly he died.
Sam laughs. “No, he died a long time before I ever met Eric. But Eric will like that you asked that.” His face gets more serious. “I was your age at a pretty scary time for us, Scot.”
“Oh,” Scot breathes. He knows immediately what Sam means. He’s seen the movies about AIDS. They go visit the AIDS quilt every summer during Pride. Carla spent a few months in grade 9 printing out articles about gay history that she made them all read. “But you’re not...” Sick, he doesn’t say. Dead.
“No,” Sam confirms. “Like I said, it could’ve been a lot worse. So we want you to be safe. And careful. Not just medically. Dating older guys can be bad for you in other ways.”
“Okay,” Scot says, shrinking back from pushing on that. He doesn’t want Sam to talk about anything he doesn’t want to. “I’m really sorry for lying to you guys, Sam.”
“I know you are, Scot,” Sam says. He pulls Scot in for a hug. “We were worried more than we were mad.” He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You know getting mad is always easier for Eric than any other emotion.”
Scot laughs. “Yeah, but at least he doesn’t stay mad for very long.”
“Well, watch out,” Sam advises dryly. “He can hold a grudge when he wants to. Not against you, though. More like tell any guys you meet to watch out.”
“Oh, God, maybe I can’t meet anyone,” Scot realizes, horrified. “He’s going to be so excited to do a weird overprotective dad thing, huh?”
Sam laughs again. “He can’t wait.”
Scot can definitely wait for that embarrassment. But part of him likes the idea, too. Scot went from thinking nobody cared about him or wanted him to considering the display Eric’s going to put on of caring about him. It’s a nice feeling.
The three days pass quickly; Sam and Eric said Scot couldn’t go over to Ryan’s, not that he couldn’t see Ryan at all. Ryan comes over to their house and either Sam and Eric forgot they grounded Scot or they don’t mind this arrangement.
“Are you staying for dinner, Ryan?” Sam asks.
“Sure,” Ryan says.
“Yeah, then we can go over film from your playoffs,” Eric says. “Why the hell would you go for the hook that late in the game? Play the puck, Ryan, you know that.”
Scot doesn’t think being grounded is all that painful. Disappointing Sam and Eric was by far the worst part. He doesn’t like lying to them, so he doesn’t plan to do it again.
After about a week, Eric comes home early from work and finds Scot on the couch watching TV. Eric doesn’t have to work as much in the summer, though sometimes Greg pulls him over to do puff pieces on other sports.
“Flying solo?” Eric asks.
“Ryan’s at the rink and Joey’s still grounded,” Scot reports. “And Carla and Hank already left for camp.” They’ve been camp counselors at the same camp for a few years now.
“Wow, Joey’s parents grounded him for a long time,” Eric says. “Or did they? Scot, how long do kids usually get grounded for?”
“I don’t know,” Scot says. “This was the first time I’ve ever been grounded.”
“I never got grounded,” Eric says with a shrug. “I didn’t have time to get in any trouble when I was still living at home.”
“You mean you never tried sneaking into a gay bar or something when you were my age?” Scot asks.
Before Eric answers, Scot already knows it was a stupid question. Of course Eric didn’t. He wasn’t at home with his parents at Scot’s age. He was with a billet family by then, no one really keeping track of or caring what he was doing. Scot realizes, right now, that might not have felt like freedom. It might've felt like nobody cared enough about him to punish him.
At any rate, he was absolutely not going to gay bars with his fake ID. He was playing juniors, hiding from himself as much as he was hiding from anyone else. Sometimes it’s easy to forget Eric lived like that, because he’s been out for so long now.
“Nope, not gay bars,” Eric says, just as Scot knew he would. “I couldn’t, you know.” He shrugs. “I was too—I couldn’t.”
“Right,” Scot says. “Hockey.”
“Hockey,” Eric agrees with another shrug. Scot knows it wasn’t just hockey, but hockey was a big part of why Eric stayed in the closet so long. “I’m glad—don’t get me wrong, Scot, I’m not glad you did it. But I’m glad things are different for you. I’m glad—because when I was—well.”
“I get it,” Scot promises softly, chest aching a bit for Eric.
It’s weird to think that, to look at Eric and think of him as a teenager like Scot, scared every day of what he realized about himself. Scot has trouble remembering Eric being like that when Scot first came to live here. He has no idea what Eric would’ve been like back then, without Sam.
“And I get why you wanted to go to the bar,” Eric says. “I know you think—you think you’re alone and you’re—well, hormones and all that, and—”
“Please don’t talk about hormones,” Scot begs.
Eric laughs. “Okay, fine,” he says. “I’m just saying, I get it.”
“It feels like everyone else is dating but me,” Scot says, picking at a stray thread on one of the throw pillows. “I’ll be single forever.” He sighs. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”
Eric snorts at Scot’s dramatics. “Look, you got plenty of time, kid,” he says. “I didn’t meet Sam until I was almost 33.” Scot knows his face must go desperate, because Eric laughs at him again. “I know that sounds old to you.”
“It just sounds really far away,” Scot says. It’s almost as many years away as he’s already been alive. He can’t wait another lifetime to meet someone. He’s lonely now. Among other feelings. Speaking of the hormones he didn’t want Eric to bring up.
“Yeah,” Eric says. “It is. Because you need to grow up first.” He shakes his head before Scot can protest. “You’re mature, Scot, you always have been. I promised to notice you grow, and you have. You’ve grown up a lot since you first got here. But you’re still a kid. And that’s a good thing, okay? Don’t rush. Be a kid.” His smile is almost sad. “Give us a few more years before you grow up and run off on us.”
“Just because I grow up doesn’t mean I have to leave,” Scot says softly. He doesn’t want to leave Sam and Eric. When he lost his mom, when his whole life changed, his world came crashing down, Sam and Eric were there for him. They gave him a bedroom and a home and a family.
“Hey, come here,” Eric says, pulling Scot up from the couch to give him a hug. “I didn’t mean leave forever. But, you know, not living with us anymore. You’ll still come visit every week, right?” He pauses. “Every night, if you want.”
Scot laughs, eyes stinging. “Maybe not every night,” he says. Assuming he ever does meet someone. Something crinkles in Eric’s chest pocket and Scot pulls back.
“Oh,” Eric says, and Scot remembers standing on the stairs at 12 years old, heart pounding while he waited to hear his fate. Eric pulls a flyer out of his pocket. “Thought you might like this.”
It’s a flyer for a youth community theater program running through the summer. “I don’t know about acting,” Scot says. He’s done school plays, but he’s not sure that’s where his future lies.
“This says they need people to do costumes, too,” Eric says, waving a hand toward the flyer. “You know, maybe you’ll meet someone there. Your age.” He raises his eyebrows teasingly. “No fake ID necessary.”
It’s a good idea. It’s a great idea, actually, and Scot’s throat is tight again at the prospect of Eric seeing this and thinking of Scot, thinking about what Scot wants and how to help him. Scot throws his arms around Eric again. “Thank you, Eric.”
“Wow, okay, you’re welcome,” Eric says. “I didn’t realize you’d like making costumes so much.” He tuts. “Wait, of course you would.”
Scot laughs, blinking hard. He doesn’t want to get weird and emotional right now. “Just thanks for being a good dad,” he says, which isn’t going to help the not getting weird and emotional thing. “You and Sam are great.”
“What the hell?” Eric mutters, and Scot looks up to see his eyes going shiny. “Why would you make me cry in the middle of the afternoon?” He gives Scot a little shake, but he squeezes him. “Thanks, Scot. You—I mean, we didn’t know—I wasn’t—” He blows out a breath. “You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do,” Scot promises. Eric means they didn’t know they ever wanted a kid, and Eric wasn’t great at it at first, but now they love him and can’t live without him. Sam’s translated this same string of halted half-sentences for Scot plenty of times over the years.
Eric releases him and leaves him with the flyer. Scot reads it through twice and nods happily. There are bound to be some gay kids there, especially doing the costumes. And Scot’s sure to have at least a few things in common with a gay kid into theater.
He and Eric tell Sam about this plan when he gets home from work. “Oh, that sounds perfect,” Sam says. He smiles over at Eric. “Although I’ve always thought opposites attract.”
Eric shoots him a look. “You’re killing my big idea, here, Sam.”
“Sorry,” Sam says, reaching out and rubbing Eric’s arm. “It’s a great idea. And it’s very thoughtful that you looked into it.”
“And you two will have plenty of time alone,” Scot adds. “While I’m at rehearsal and hanging out with new friends and everything. So you won’t have to go pretend to be strangers doing the piña colada song.”
They both blink at him for a second. “I do like piña coladas,” Sam muses.
“But you do not like being caught in the rain,” Eric says. He flicks a few water droplets at Scot. “Don’t try to Parent Trap us. We don’t need it. We’re batting a thousand here in our own bedroom.”
Sam gasps a surprised laugh. “Eric.”
“Well, sorry,” Scot huffs. “I didn’t know you’re the only one allowed to be thoughtful around here.”
He knows some of his friends could never dream of joking around with their parents like this. Most of his friends would never want to. But Scot loves it. He knows Sam and Eric feel bad sometimes that they’ve been feeling out parenthood, making things up as they go along, but Scot thinks it worked for the three of them. Their family that they built all together, because they wanted to.
He can breathe a little easier, that lonely knot in his chest loosening. He wants to meet someone. And he hopes he will. But like Eric said, he’s got time. And he knows what love should feel like when he finds it.