Page 67 of The Boyfriend Zone

For a moment, I thought Nate might refuse. Then his carefully maintained anger crumpled, revealing the hurt beneath.

"We had plans," he said, his voice smaller than I'd ever heard it. "Nothing fancy, just watching the Bruins game at his place. The third time this week he's invited me over, which seemed like... I don't know, progress? But then he canceled. Again. Last minute, with some vague excuse about ateam thing."

"There wasn't a team event tonight," I frowned. "At least, not one I knew about."

"Exactly," Nate jabbed a finger in my direction. "Which means he lied. Again. Just like the last two times he canceled on me."

Lucas leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Did you ask him why?"

"Of course I did," Nate scoffed. "That's when it all blew up. I asked if he was embarrassed to be seen with me around his teammates, and he got all defensive, claiming that wasn't it at all. But he couldn't actually explain why he keeps our... whatever this is... separate from his precious hockey life."

I found myself in the strange position of understanding both sides—Nate's sense of rejection, and Zach's likely internal struggle.

"It's not about embarrassment," I said quietly. "At least, probably not how you think."

Nate's gaze shifted to me, wary but listening.

"Athletes compartmentalize," I explained, searching for the right words. "We divide our lives into neat boxes—hockey, school, family, social—and we work really hard to keep them separate. It's a control thing, I think. A way to manage the pressure."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" Nate challenged, though with less heat than before. "That he's fine spending time with me as long as it's hidden away in the 'not hockey' box?"

"No," I admitted. "It doesn't make it better. But it might help explain it." I hesitated, then decided honesty was worth the risk of exposing my own vulnerabilities. "It was the same for me with Lucas at first. Not because I was ashamed, but because merging those parts of my life felt dangerous. Like if one area went wrong, everything would collapse."

Lucas's hand found mine, a silent acknowledgment of how far we'd come.

"It took me weeks to let Lucas into my hockey world," I continued. "Even though I cared about him, even though the team was obviously going to be fine with it. The fear wasn't rational, but it was real."

Nate seemed to be absorbing this, his anger gradually giving way to thoughtfulness. "So you're saying it's not about me, it's about him?"

"I'm saying it's probably about him struggling with something new and scary," I clarified. "Which doesn't excuse him hurting you, but might help you understand where he's coming from."

Lucas nodded, picking up the thread. "And you know, your immediate retreat to sarcasm when he upsets you is its own kind of defense mechanism. Just as strong as his compartmentalization."

"Excuse me?" Nate looked affronted. "I don't retreat to sarcasm."

"You absolutely do," Lucas countered gently. "The minute anything gets emotionally risky, out come the jokes and the cutting remarks. It's your shield, just like Zach's strict separation of his worlds is his."

"That's completely different," Nate protested, though with less conviction. "Making jokes is not the same as consistently canceling plans and lying about why."

"No, it's not," I agreed. "What Zach did was worse, and he owes you an apology. I'm just saying, maybe understanding why he's struggling might make it easier to have that conversation."

Nate was quiet for a long moment, fidgeting with the frayed edge of his sweater. "It's not like we're even dating," he said finally, his voice smaller. "We're just hanging out. Being friends, or whatever. It shouldn't be this complicated."

Lucas and I exchanged knowing glances. The "or whatever" was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

"Maybe that's part of the problem," Lucas suggested carefully. "Maybe the ambiguity is making it harder for both of you to know where the boundaries are, what expectations are reasonable."

"There's nothing ambiguous about expecting basic courtesy," Nate muttered, though he looked less certain now. "And anyway, defining things would just make it weirder."

"Why?" I asked simply.

"Because!" Nate threw up his hands in exasperation. "Because we spent weeks hating each other, and then suddenly we're texting all day and watching games together and he's remembering what kind of coffee I like, and it's confusing and messy and I don't know what any of it means."

"Sounds like something worth talking about," Lucas observed.

"With Zach? Mr. 'I Have The Emotional Intelligence Of A Hockey Puck'? No thank you." Nate stood abruptly. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for the amateur psychology session, but I think I'll stick with my original plan of righteous indignation and eventually getting over it."

As he disappeared into his room, Lucas sighed, leaning against my shoulder. "They're so stubborn."

---