Page 3 of Taming Tyler Hayes

They’d also traveled to Minnesota to visit Ryan’s family for about two weeks, during which Ryan’s mom absolutely fell in love with Hayes. They then made it to Oshawa for a few days to visit with Hayes’s mom, who absolutely fell in love with Ryan. Though Hayes loved her, a few days of his own mom was about all he could mentally handle. During both trips, the boys introduced each other to where they grew up, where they used to play, and all sorts of other nostalgic landmarks, some pleasant and others not so much.

Ryan had driven Hayes through the intersection where his father had been killed and taken him to the cemetery to visit his grave.

“I know it’s bullshit, but I like to think he can hear me when I talk to him here. And I really wanted him…needed him to meet you.”

“That’s not bullshit, Rook. I bet he’d have fuckin’ loved me, eh? What’s not to love?”

Hayes had shown Ryan the mobile home park he’d grown up in, including the run-down trailer where he’d watched his alcoholic mother get the shit beat out of her by various men for most of his childhood.

“The cops were here every other goddamn day, Rook. They’d arrest whoever it was and two days later, he’d show up again. Lather, rinse, fuckin’ repeat.”

“How come no one ever got you outta there, got you somewhere safe?”

Hayes had laughed bitterly, reminded of how naive his boyfriend was. “You think they gave a fuck about some trailer trash alkie’s kid, Rook? It’d be one less lowlife piece of shit for them to deal with.”

Ryan had watched Hayes’s eyes narrow and his body language change as he stared at what used to be his childhood home. He could see from the look on his face that he was struggling, and not knowing what to say, he reached for his hand and squeezed it instead.

“Know what finally put an end to it all?” Hayes had said quietly, following a lengthy silence.

“What’s that?”

“I was comin’ in from practice one day when I was 14. Had just finished layin’ all my gear outside to air out and I could hear them arguin’. I’d had enough, man. I grabbed my stick and got inside just as he smashed her across the face. I gripped that bitch like a baseball bat and teed off on that motherfucker until he begged me to stop. Told him if I ever caught him around here again, I’d fuckin’ kill him. Never saw him after that either.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. We, uh…we come from two very different worlds, Rook,” Hayes had said with a long sigh. “Entirely different worlds.”

And it was the truth.

Ryan Baylor had grown up in literal suburbia in a four-bedroom colonial with a wood burning stove, a white picket fence, a chocolate lab, and two parents who’d made more than enough money to pay for all his hockey expenses without financial burden.

Hayes did his best not to resent his boyfriend for that, but it wasn’t easy, as the journey had been so much more difficult for him. The only reason he’d been able to play hockey at all was because his family’s low-income status qualified him for grants and special programs, all of which he’d sought out on his own, seeing as his mother had been completely wasted for most of his youth.

Tyler Hayes had always paved his own way, even as a kid. And as soon as he’d learned he’d been scouted by the OJHL for junior A and that there was a billet family ready to take him in, he’d left home without so much as a second thought.

However, that experience had come with its own set of issues.

His phone buzzed, snapping him back to the present. He took it out and checked the message.

R: Bridgeport? Anaheim? Three-hour difference. It’s 3:30 a.m. here, dummy.

H: Shit. Forgot. Sorry. You guys win?

R: Yes. But are you OK?

H: Yeah.

R: Are you with him?

H: Yeah. But it’s fine.

R: Are you fucked up, Hayes?

H: Nah. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you.

R: Love you too. Please don’t get too fucked up with him.

“Too late for that,” he said aloud, shoving his phone back into his pocket and stumbling a bit, as he grabbed onto the door handle of one of the bedrooms. Whatever TK had given him was apparently starting to do its thing, and he was hopeful a quick line or two might even him out.