Chapter 10
Title: Chapter 10
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Beginnings story cont'd
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters of course
Link to all chapters unavez18.livejournal.com/2044.html
{C}{C}{C}{C}
{C}{C}
The cast, bane of Eric’s existence, finally came off, but it wasn’t the relief he had hoped it would be. The doctors had told him from the beginning that the healed shoulder break would leave the joint feeling frozen in place, but the fact that his arm still seemed fairly useless now several months after the injury was nevertheless a jarring blow. What lay ahead of him now was a long, unpleasant road of physical therapy.
It had depressed him at first, as it was just one more indication to him that he would never really be whole again; never be the person he was before. But Sam had been by his side, encouraging him, giving him gentle massages to ease the tension brought on by the strenuous PT, and, of course, providing him with enough physical pleasure to help him forget all about the bodily pain. So he’d adjusted to this new phase of his existence with considerably less stress than he had to the last, albeit much more dramatic, transition from professional hockey player to broken down has-been.
He’d been offered a job as a radio sports commentator, but he’d decided not to accept it. He didn’t need the money yet and felt it would be a little too close to the ice for the comfort; too close to what he’d lost. But there was another thing holding him back as well. The thought had occurred to him that the less of a ‘life’ he had, the more he could be with Sam, which, for the most part made him happier than he had ever been in ‘life.’ And he didn’t think there was a way to combine Sam with a public existence, especially not if he went back to the world of sports.
But he was growing tired of Sam’s insinuations that it was his depression that was keeping him from getting back into the swing of things, so he came up with an ingenious plan to take the focus off of his issues-he decided to move. It was more than just an easy distraction, though. He wanted to go somewhere where no one knew him, where he could fade peacefully into the background until he was ready to make a new name for himself. While he’d loved playing hockey, and in turn had loved playing for the Leafs, he’d never been a huge fan of the limelight that came with the job. And he was tired of the looks neighbors gave when they saw him; he was tired of the hushed whispers and the smiles of pity. The idea of being somewhere quiet where he could just concentrate on himself, somewhere where he wouldn’t give a second thought to where Sam’s car was parked outside, was extremely appealing.
And Sam seemed excited about the prospect as well. He took it upon himself to become Eric’s unofficial real-estate agent, attacking the search for property with a zest that was almost frightening. Since Eric wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, other than someplace different, he decided to let Sam have his fun and to follow his house-hunting whims willingly.
*
“I don’t know,” Eric said as he glanced about the unfurnished house. It was the fourth one they’d seen in a short span of time, and despite his decision to let Sam have control of the search he was already growing tired of the process. But Sam’s eyes were glowing with excitement and he had that ridiculous kid-in-a-candy-store smile on his face that Eric found irresistibly adorable. He could tell from that expression Sam was particularly fond of this find, so he tried his best to give it a fair evaluation. “It’s nice, but it seems kind of big for just me. And I’m not really sure if it’s my style.”
“I didn’t know you had a style,” Sam teased, latching onto the front of Eric’s jacket and scratching at his chest playfully.
Eric grinned back for a second until he recalled his surroundings; the agent who was showing them the property was standing several feet away but was still watching them intently. He gave Sam a pointed glare meant to remind him of that fact.
Sam dropped his hand and continued more sedately. “But the price is good, and as a long-term investment I think it’ll really pay off. It’s been on the market for a while, so you could probably move on it right away. The neighborhood is great, it’s quiet . . .”
Eric had walked away from him and was now in the kitchen, eyeing the dilapidated cabinets with concern. “This stuff is kind of old, and ugly,” he remarked.
Sam followed him and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right, it needs some work. But all of this can be fixed. New cabinetry, new appliances, maybe replace some of the windows . . . I’d get a new banister for the stairs . . . fresh coat of paint . . .” he trailed off when he saw Eric regarding him skeptically.
“Maybe you should buy the place. I’m not sure I want to get into all of that,” Eric said.
“Well you don’t do it all at once, silly. Just a little at a time. So what do you think? It’s pretty great, right?” He smiled brightly.
Eric was starting to wonder if there was anything Sam and his smile couldn't talk him into.
*
Soon Eric’s life was a mass of boxes; boxes which Sam had painstakingly labeled. Every time he attempted to pack his belongings it seemed Sam was behind him, repacking more neatly or sorting more sensibly. As it turned out, Eric didn’t have all that much to his name. He sealed up all of his hockey paraphernalia in boxes with two layers of tape, but couldn’t bring himself to throw a single thing out. He still hoped he’d be able to open them up again some day, if only to relive some of the memories happily, but right now it was too raw for him to face.
Within a month he was already unraveling everything in a new home. He still had to rely heavily on Sam to help him with the unpacking process, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. He was entirely in his element, organizing things neatly and patiently dragging Eric around to show him “where things went” so he’d be able to find and replace them easily in the future. Eric was beginning to realize they were spending more time together out of the bedroom than in, but surprisingly, that fact wasn’t panicking him anymore. He could admit now-at least to himself-that Sam had become his best friend.
**********
Sam could not have been happier about the move. It gave him the opportunity to get even closer to Eric, although he felt he was already getting pretty damn close. He hated to see Eric sad, or in pain, but at the same time, when he did it meant Eric needed him, and Sam was more than willing to be his support. He liked to take care of Eric; he liked holding him after his long sessions of physical therapy, liked shopping for him, liked cooking for him, and he especially liked setting up his new house. He could also tell the move had put Eric at ease in many ways, as he no longer seemed to care about what neighbors would say or think about him, even if he still made no attempt to get to know anyone.
It was that sense of isolation, though, that was putting a damper on Sam’s otherwise satisfied spirits. Eric had turned down a job offer and now spent his days either at physical therapy appointments or alone in the house, and though he seemed fairly content, Sam wasn’t sure it was healthy for him. And another aspect of the isolation was that there was no impetus for Eric to change the status of their relationship; as close as Sam felt they were becoming, he was still a “secret,” still a hidden part of Eric’s life. And despite how deep his emotions were running for the man, Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to live like that forever.
Eleanor wasn’t helping matters, either. She pestered him constantly for updates on their “status”, and it seemed there was no end to the stream of discreet but glib comments she’d let slip, sometimes even in mixed company, about his puppy love for an emotionally unavailable man. The teasing unnerved him to the point where he’d nearly exploded in anger one day, but he’d managed to stop himself as he realized her mocking was only getting to him because it was close enough to to the truth to hit a raw nerve. He finally told her he had called it off, just so he could maintain some self-respect in her eyes.
*
They were still knee-deep in boxes the day Eleanor decided to show up. She’d been to see Eric a few times, but he mostly chose to meet up with her at various coffee shops after informing Sam that one lawyer poking his nose around the house was bad enough.
For some reason, though, she picked that day to arrive at his front door, which was wide open because Sam had been tossing broken-down boxes out onto the front porch. Eric passed by before he saw her and placed an arm around Sam, giving his side a light squeeze. He’d been gone for several hours at a physical therapy appointment while Sam had stayed behind to work on the house, and it was clear from the look in his eye that he was ready for some time together in the bedroom.
“Hello!” Eleanor’s annoyingly chipper voice intruded. “Didn’t mean to interrupt but I was in the neighborhood and had a question.”
Eric withdrew his hand like he had touched hot coals. “El-Eleanor, hi,” he stuttered.
Sam took a step back and froze, poised for the awkwardness that surely about to ensue.
“Place looks great,” Eleanor continued without missing a beat.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eric ran his hand over his hair. “Uh, Sam’s been . . . uh . . . helping . . . uh . . . he’s been helping me . . . unpack . . . you know, with my arm and all . . ." he gestured to the sling he still wore at times. "Yeah, Sam’s . . .uh . . . ” he continued floundering as he reached out and gave Sam a punch in the shoulder. It was probably meant to be a friendly jab, but ended up so forceful Sam lost his footing and smacked against the hallway wall.
He quickly recovered his physical balance, but his annoyance had reached a tipping point. Eleanor’s pink lips were pursed and she was regarding him with a look of disappointment in her eyes-a look that clearly said she expected better of him. He was furious with her for the ambush, but even more so he was furious with himself. And there was Eric, blabbering on like an idiot because he was apparently humiliated Sam was even at his place, in broad daylight, doing something regular people did all the time.
“Eric,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, he was just about to . . . to head out . . . He, uh . . .”
“Eric!” he interrupted more forcefully.
Eric stopped searching for words and turned to him with a frightened don’t-you-dare look in his eyes.
Sam slumped his shoulders. “Eric, she already knows.”
Now Eric’s eyes flashed in outrage. “What?”
“I said, she already knows.”
Eric glanced back at Eleanor, who was smiling, then again at Sam before swinging around and marching up the stairs, two at a time. They heard the bedroom door open and close, and then there was silence.
Eleanor reached out to squeeze Sam’s hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“So am I,” Sam replied.
*
Eleanor departed immediately, and Sam was at the locked door in a matter of seconds. “Eric,” he called out. “Please open the door.”
He heard a creaking noise from inside but then nothing.
“Eric, please. Let’s talk about this. I swear I didn’t tell her, she just figured it out. Eric, she’s not going to say anything to anyone. Can you please open the door? Can we please talk?”
Sam received only silence in return, and he eventually sank down and curled up against the wall. He thrust his hands into his hair and pulled at it, but the momentary pain was not enough to distract him from the ridiculousness of the situation. He was spending all his free time with a man who would just as soon deny his existence and couldn’t even appear natural in presenting him as a friend. There didn’t seem to be much hope for a future in this, and he knew he’d been fooling himself to ever think otherwise.
He sat outside for an indeterminable amount of time, letting his mind cycle through the resentment that had always been boiling under the surface. Finally, without warning, he erupted.
“Well then at least let me in so I can get all of my stuff and leave!” He surprised himself with the ferocity of his voice as it came out after the prolonged quiet.
Evidently, he’d had it.
**********
Next Chapter 11
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Beginnings story cont'd
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters of course
Link to all chapters unavez18.livejournal.com/2044.html
{C}{C}{C}{C}
{C}{C}
The cast, bane of Eric’s existence, finally came off, but it wasn’t the relief he had hoped it would be. The doctors had told him from the beginning that the healed shoulder break would leave the joint feeling frozen in place, but the fact that his arm still seemed fairly useless now several months after the injury was nevertheless a jarring blow. What lay ahead of him now was a long, unpleasant road of physical therapy.
It had depressed him at first, as it was just one more indication to him that he would never really be whole again; never be the person he was before. But Sam had been by his side, encouraging him, giving him gentle massages to ease the tension brought on by the strenuous PT, and, of course, providing him with enough physical pleasure to help him forget all about the bodily pain. So he’d adjusted to this new phase of his existence with considerably less stress than he had to the last, albeit much more dramatic, transition from professional hockey player to broken down has-been.
He’d been offered a job as a radio sports commentator, but he’d decided not to accept it. He didn’t need the money yet and felt it would be a little too close to the ice for the comfort; too close to what he’d lost. But there was another thing holding him back as well. The thought had occurred to him that the less of a ‘life’ he had, the more he could be with Sam, which, for the most part made him happier than he had ever been in ‘life.’ And he didn’t think there was a way to combine Sam with a public existence, especially not if he went back to the world of sports.
But he was growing tired of Sam’s insinuations that it was his depression that was keeping him from getting back into the swing of things, so he came up with an ingenious plan to take the focus off of his issues-he decided to move. It was more than just an easy distraction, though. He wanted to go somewhere where no one knew him, where he could fade peacefully into the background until he was ready to make a new name for himself. While he’d loved playing hockey, and in turn had loved playing for the Leafs, he’d never been a huge fan of the limelight that came with the job. And he was tired of the looks neighbors gave when they saw him; he was tired of the hushed whispers and the smiles of pity. The idea of being somewhere quiet where he could just concentrate on himself, somewhere where he wouldn’t give a second thought to where Sam’s car was parked outside, was extremely appealing.
And Sam seemed excited about the prospect as well. He took it upon himself to become Eric’s unofficial real-estate agent, attacking the search for property with a zest that was almost frightening. Since Eric wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, other than someplace different, he decided to let Sam have his fun and to follow his house-hunting whims willingly.
*
“I don’t know,” Eric said as he glanced about the unfurnished house. It was the fourth one they’d seen in a short span of time, and despite his decision to let Sam have control of the search he was already growing tired of the process. But Sam’s eyes were glowing with excitement and he had that ridiculous kid-in-a-candy-store smile on his face that Eric found irresistibly adorable. He could tell from that expression Sam was particularly fond of this find, so he tried his best to give it a fair evaluation. “It’s nice, but it seems kind of big for just me. And I’m not really sure if it’s my style.”
“I didn’t know you had a style,” Sam teased, latching onto the front of Eric’s jacket and scratching at his chest playfully.
Eric grinned back for a second until he recalled his surroundings; the agent who was showing them the property was standing several feet away but was still watching them intently. He gave Sam a pointed glare meant to remind him of that fact.
Sam dropped his hand and continued more sedately. “But the price is good, and as a long-term investment I think it’ll really pay off. It’s been on the market for a while, so you could probably move on it right away. The neighborhood is great, it’s quiet . . .”
Eric had walked away from him and was now in the kitchen, eyeing the dilapidated cabinets with concern. “This stuff is kind of old, and ugly,” he remarked.
Sam followed him and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right, it needs some work. But all of this can be fixed. New cabinetry, new appliances, maybe replace some of the windows . . . I’d get a new banister for the stairs . . . fresh coat of paint . . .” he trailed off when he saw Eric regarding him skeptically.
“Maybe you should buy the place. I’m not sure I want to get into all of that,” Eric said.
“Well you don’t do it all at once, silly. Just a little at a time. So what do you think? It’s pretty great, right?” He smiled brightly.
Eric was starting to wonder if there was anything Sam and his smile couldn't talk him into.
*
Soon Eric’s life was a mass of boxes; boxes which Sam had painstakingly labeled. Every time he attempted to pack his belongings it seemed Sam was behind him, repacking more neatly or sorting more sensibly. As it turned out, Eric didn’t have all that much to his name. He sealed up all of his hockey paraphernalia in boxes with two layers of tape, but couldn’t bring himself to throw a single thing out. He still hoped he’d be able to open them up again some day, if only to relive some of the memories happily, but right now it was too raw for him to face.
Within a month he was already unraveling everything in a new home. He still had to rely heavily on Sam to help him with the unpacking process, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. He was entirely in his element, organizing things neatly and patiently dragging Eric around to show him “where things went” so he’d be able to find and replace them easily in the future. Eric was beginning to realize they were spending more time together out of the bedroom than in, but surprisingly, that fact wasn’t panicking him anymore. He could admit now-at least to himself-that Sam had become his best friend.
**********
Sam could not have been happier about the move. It gave him the opportunity to get even closer to Eric, although he felt he was already getting pretty damn close. He hated to see Eric sad, or in pain, but at the same time, when he did it meant Eric needed him, and Sam was more than willing to be his support. He liked to take care of Eric; he liked holding him after his long sessions of physical therapy, liked shopping for him, liked cooking for him, and he especially liked setting up his new house. He could also tell the move had put Eric at ease in many ways, as he no longer seemed to care about what neighbors would say or think about him, even if he still made no attempt to get to know anyone.
It was that sense of isolation, though, that was putting a damper on Sam’s otherwise satisfied spirits. Eric had turned down a job offer and now spent his days either at physical therapy appointments or alone in the house, and though he seemed fairly content, Sam wasn’t sure it was healthy for him. And another aspect of the isolation was that there was no impetus for Eric to change the status of their relationship; as close as Sam felt they were becoming, he was still a “secret,” still a hidden part of Eric’s life. And despite how deep his emotions were running for the man, Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to live like that forever.
Eleanor wasn’t helping matters, either. She pestered him constantly for updates on their “status”, and it seemed there was no end to the stream of discreet but glib comments she’d let slip, sometimes even in mixed company, about his puppy love for an emotionally unavailable man. The teasing unnerved him to the point where he’d nearly exploded in anger one day, but he’d managed to stop himself as he realized her mocking was only getting to him because it was close enough to to the truth to hit a raw nerve. He finally told her he had called it off, just so he could maintain some self-respect in her eyes.
*
They were still knee-deep in boxes the day Eleanor decided to show up. She’d been to see Eric a few times, but he mostly chose to meet up with her at various coffee shops after informing Sam that one lawyer poking his nose around the house was bad enough.
For some reason, though, she picked that day to arrive at his front door, which was wide open because Sam had been tossing broken-down boxes out onto the front porch. Eric passed by before he saw her and placed an arm around Sam, giving his side a light squeeze. He’d been gone for several hours at a physical therapy appointment while Sam had stayed behind to work on the house, and it was clear from the look in his eye that he was ready for some time together in the bedroom.
“Hello!” Eleanor’s annoyingly chipper voice intruded. “Didn’t mean to interrupt but I was in the neighborhood and had a question.”
Eric withdrew his hand like he had touched hot coals. “El-Eleanor, hi,” he stuttered.
Sam took a step back and froze, poised for the awkwardness that surely about to ensue.
“Place looks great,” Eleanor continued without missing a beat.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eric ran his hand over his hair. “Uh, Sam’s been . . . uh . . . helping . . . uh . . . he’s been helping me . . . unpack . . . you know, with my arm and all . . ." he gestured to the sling he still wore at times. "Yeah, Sam’s . . .uh . . . ” he continued floundering as he reached out and gave Sam a punch in the shoulder. It was probably meant to be a friendly jab, but ended up so forceful Sam lost his footing and smacked against the hallway wall.
He quickly recovered his physical balance, but his annoyance had reached a tipping point. Eleanor’s pink lips were pursed and she was regarding him with a look of disappointment in her eyes-a look that clearly said she expected better of him. He was furious with her for the ambush, but even more so he was furious with himself. And there was Eric, blabbering on like an idiot because he was apparently humiliated Sam was even at his place, in broad daylight, doing something regular people did all the time.
“Eric,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, he was just about to . . . to head out . . . He, uh . . .”
“Eric!” he interrupted more forcefully.
Eric stopped searching for words and turned to him with a frightened don’t-you-dare look in his eyes.
Sam slumped his shoulders. “Eric, she already knows.”
Now Eric’s eyes flashed in outrage. “What?”
“I said, she already knows.”
Eric glanced back at Eleanor, who was smiling, then again at Sam before swinging around and marching up the stairs, two at a time. They heard the bedroom door open and close, and then there was silence.
Eleanor reached out to squeeze Sam’s hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“So am I,” Sam replied.
*
Eleanor departed immediately, and Sam was at the locked door in a matter of seconds. “Eric,” he called out. “Please open the door.”
He heard a creaking noise from inside but then nothing.
“Eric, please. Let’s talk about this. I swear I didn’t tell her, she just figured it out. Eric, she’s not going to say anything to anyone. Can you please open the door? Can we please talk?”
Sam received only silence in return, and he eventually sank down and curled up against the wall. He thrust his hands into his hair and pulled at it, but the momentary pain was not enough to distract him from the ridiculousness of the situation. He was spending all his free time with a man who would just as soon deny his existence and couldn’t even appear natural in presenting him as a friend. There didn’t seem to be much hope for a future in this, and he knew he’d been fooling himself to ever think otherwise.
He sat outside for an indeterminable amount of time, letting his mind cycle through the resentment that had always been boiling under the surface. Finally, without warning, he erupted.
“Well then at least let me in so I can get all of my stuff and leave!” He surprised himself with the ferocity of his voice as it came out after the prolonged quiet.
Evidently, he’d had it.
**********
Next Chapter 11