He's just a young boy looking for a way to find love
It isn't easy, nothing you can say will help him, find love
He's got to do it for himself
And it can take so long
He's just a young boy looking for a way to find love.
He doesn't need another helping hand from someone
But don't you think he doesn't understand what he wants, someone
Though independence means a lot
He's still got to be strong
He's just a young boy looking for a way to find love.
Find love, a perfect combination.
Find love, whatever you do.
Find love, a cause for celebration
And it might come looking
Come looking for you.
Find love, in any situation
Find love, whatever you do
Find love, a cause for celebration
Then it might come looking
Come looking for you
He's just a young boy looking for a way to find love
It isn't easy, nothing you can say will help him, find love
He's got to do it for himself
And it can take so long
He's just a young boy looking for a way to find love
Find love, a time for meditation
Find love, a source of inspiration
Find love, instead of confrontation
Find love
And love will come looking for you
~Paul McCartney, "Young Boy"

"Fishy."

"What is it Max?" I looked up, lost in my own reverie, to find you standing by my side, in the hotel lobby in LA. You put out your hand to me, beckoning for me to come closer.

I hadn't thought that was such a good idea.

"We are roomies," you said, haltingly, in that heavy accent, allowing a small smile. "We will have fun, no?"

I nodded. "I'll make sure we have fun, Max."

"Yes, we will have fun," you said, an imperceptible smile playing with the corners of your lips. "We will have fun."

===

You dropped your stuff in front of the bed closest to the door, tugging at your tie. "Must take off tie and go swim in pool," you said, over your shoulder.

I nodded. "I'll go with you then, Maxie."

You scowled. "Don't call me Maxie," you pouted. "Name is Max."

"Sorry," I said, my cheeks flaming. "I didn't mean to offend you."

You smiled at me, your chocolate brown eyes brightening. "Only kidding."

I let out a nervous laugh, shoulders shaking. "You really had me there, Max."

I watched as you began to undo the buttons of your dress shirt, your long fingers deftly flying over the plastic pearlescent buttons. In minutes you were shirtless, and you tossed the shirt ove the back of a chair. I watched, soundlessly, losing myself in the perfection of your body, the lines of your curves.

Your cheeks reddened when you realised I was studying your form. "What you look at, Fishy?" you asked, your cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

I blinked once, twice. "Oh, uh, nothing, Max."

You smirked. "I not nothing, Fishy," you countered, softly, as you unbuckled your belt and dropped it over the back of the chair.

I turned my head in shame, the palms of my hands clammy.

I'd known for a very long time that I was a homosexual. I'd realised it even before I seriously considered hockey as a profession that could make me money. I'd had several little relationships, in both Detroit and Cincinnati.

If you wanted to be a gay athlete, you had to be very careful. We became quite adept at concealing our relationship, but by the time I'd made it to Detroit, it was all ready over. We remained friends, and when he was called up, there were no longer any hard feelings between us.

"Why you so nervous, Fishy?" you asked, walking over to me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

I tried to avoid looking at you, standing in front of me in your underwear. You gave me a little shake. "Nothing, Max."

"You seem queasy," you pressed on, giving me another shake. "You tell me what is wrong, no? I am friend, Fishy. You can trust me." You tapped yourself on the chest with your index finger.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "M-Max, it's nothing."

"Not nothing, Fishy," you pressed on, squeezing my shoulder.

I pushed your hand off of my shoulder, my tongue feeling as thick as beef jerky and as dry as sandpaper. "Stop it, Max."

You smiled. "You tell me? You tell me what wrong?"

I sighed, standing up, chest to chest with you, folding my arms across my chest. "Nothing is wrong, Max. Just leave it at that."

You wouldn't let it go, and grabbed onto my wrist, pulling me even closer. "I am friend, Fishy, no? You trust me."

I coughed, clearing my throat, wondering if I actually COULD trust you. I decided I could. "All right," I said, softly. "But you going to have to sit down for this."

You smiled, a confused little half smirk, but did as I asked, flopping onto your bed. "Okay Fishy, you tell now."

I cleared my throat, standing in front of you, pushing my feelings down inside of me. "Max... I'm not like everyone else."

"I know," you said, still confused. "You are special."

"I'm gay." There, I'd said it. I waited for the fireworks, for SOMETHING. I waited for you to lash out, hit me, yell at me, tell me I was disgusting. Storm out. Anything.

You coughed, ran your hand through your hair. After an awkward silence, you finally said, "You love other men?"

I nodded, grimly. "I do."

"Do you ever wish you love women?" you asked.

I nodded. "All the time. I wish I was normal, like everyone else."

You sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. "Maybe it is you who is normal and everyone else who is not?"

I shrugged my shoulders, smiling slightly at your attempt to lift my spirits. "Thanks, Max."

"Is okay, Fishy," you said, softly, touching my knee. "You not need to feel ashame."

"It's all right, Max, thanks," I said, quietly.

"You ever have love with teammate?" you asked, out of the blue, as I grabbed my bathing suit and a towel.

"What?" I asked, not sure I heard you correctly.

"You ever have love with teammate?" you asked.

"In Cincy," I said, barely above a whisper. "I do not want to talk about it."

"That okay," you said, smiling kindly. "Is okay, Fishy. We go to pool now. You put on suit. I be waiting for you in lobby, no?"

I nodded, feeling slightly better, now that I'd talked with you. "Thanks, Max. Thanks for this." I waved my hand. "This talk."

"No problem, Fishy. I your friend, I here for you." You padded down the hall, barefoot, and I raced into the bathroom to undress.

Part 1 | Part 3