Page 45 of Shots on Net

Doing my best to ignore the way that makes me feel, I lock my phone and tuck it back into my pocket. I do need to try and get some sleep, as uncomfortable as it is to do so on the bus. Beside me, Vas is already dozing mouth open, and chest rising slow and even. He has the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere, like a cat. It’s unnerving and a little bit annoying.

Leaning to the side, I settle my shoulder against the window. Despite telling Zeke that I don’t need him to wait up for me I’m glad to hear that he is. I know I don’t have to worry about him trying to talk to me about the game and make me feel better about how I played. He’ll just be there, offering silent support and distraction through random animal facts. Somehow, this is exactly what I need.

Zeke

“Cassidy, you dog!”

Jolting, I lift my head and look around. When I see the smiling face of Justin Brandt coming toward me, I cringe. Only Justin would call out that loudly in a library—he plays some sort of position on the football team that he feels affords him the ability to act however he pleases. I spent an entire semester last year tutoring him in math and hating every second. He walks toward me, completely unconcerned with the students he’s disturbed. I wait until he reaches my table and pulls out the chair across from me before I speak.

“Hey, Justin,” I greet him barely above a whisper. He grins at me, rakishly.

“So, hockey players, huh? I’m a little offended, man. We spent all that time together last year, and you never hit on me once!” He laughs at his own joke, barely able to get the words out before he starts chuckling. I give a halfhearted laugh of my own, heat climbing up the collar of my shirt and diffusing across my face.

“Oh, right,” I say, nonsensically. Glancing down at my phone, I twist my fingers together in my lap to keep from reaching for it. Carter spent Christmas at his family’s house and is driving back right now. I’d told him I was going to be working in the library until the late afternoon before meeting him back home to grab dinner. I wish he was here right now.

Justin grins at me, leans forward with his elbows on the table. He’s smiling like I’m the butt end of a joke that he’s telling. His eyes flick over my shoulder and the smile widens. He holds both arms out like he’s welcoming someone in for a hug.

“Speak of the devil,” he calls, too loud.

I turn to see who he’s talking to and my mouth drops open in shock. Carter is striding toward us; he’s wearing grey sweatpants, a fitted black, long-sleeved shirt, and a scowl. My stomach performs a series of gymnastics when his eyes meet mine. It seems incredible that I was just wishing for him and here he is.

“Hi,” he says, stopping next to me and brushing the lightest of touches across the top of my shoulder. He pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.

“Hi,” I reply, staring at him.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Justin interrupts, reminding me of his presence. I look over to see him holding his fist out to Carter who waits long enough to return the gesture that I wonder if he’ll do it at all. When he does repay the fist bump, he barely touches his knuckles to Justin’s before pulling his hand away.

“Hey,” Carter deadpans, before looking back at me. “How are you?”

Good, except I missed you and I’m so glad you’re back. “Fine, how was your drive?”

Carter opens his mouth to answer, but Justin cuts across him. “So, you two are a thing, huh? You guys are taking over hockey, you know that?”

Again, he laughs, but neither Carter nor I join in. Carter’s eyes leave mine and track over to Justin slowly. I can’t believe he’s still laughing; I sure as hell wouldn’t be laughing if Carter was looking at me like that.

“You guys?” He repeats.

“Yeah, you know, the gays,” Jason says, grinning. I close my eyes, briefly, at these words. Beside me, Carter is reclined back in his seat with his hands resting nonchalantly on his abdomen. Even so, the tension radiating off of him is noxious.

“The gays,” he says, slowly, as though he’s turning the words over in his mouth to see how they taste. “What do you mean, we’re taking over hockey?”

I wonder if it would be strange if I just stood up and left. This conversation has the makings of a fight written all over it, and I’m about as nonconfrontational as a person can be.

“Yeah, what is it—five now, in the NHL? And two on the same team—what are the odds?” Justin shakes his head in disbelief.

“Mm,” Carter hums. “So…five is too many gays to have in the entire league, and two on the same team defies the odds. What’s the appropriate amount, I wonder? What’s the appropriate number of straight people? Is there a believable number, for you?”

These questions are all asked in a steady, monotone voice that nonetheless gives the strong impression that the answer will determine whether Justin leaves with his nose on straight. Sensing this, his smile slips a bit and he looks over at me. I try to convey you’re on your own, buddy, as best I can. He’s bigger than Carter by a couple inches, but there is an unmistakable air of barely contained violence around Carter that gives him an edge. I would never bet against him, in any fight.

“Go on,” Carter says, when Justin takes too long to answer. “What’s the correct number of gay hockey players? I’m dying to know.”

“Dude, chill,” Justin says, laughing nervously. I close my eyes again. I doubt telling Carter to chill will have the desired effect. “I was just fucking around.”

“Well, how about now you fuck off?” Carter suggests, pleasantly. He hasn’t once raised his voice or unfolded from his lazy sprawl.

Justin stands, shaking his head and looks at us disdainfully. There is a hateful look in his eyes as they dance between Carter and I, and he opens his mouth once more before snapping it closed with another shake of the head. He shoves his chair in so hard, the table slides across the carpet. I can hear him mutter something under his breath as he walks away. I unclench my fingers in case I need to grab Carter and hold him back.

He watches until Justin is out of sight before looking at me. His usual scowl lessens a few degrees when his eyes meet mine. “Hi.”

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