Page 53 of Puck'n Bully
“They’ll never be different,” I tell myself as a painful lump chokes my throat. The urge to cry is so strong, that I have to clutch my hair and bite my lip hard.
Rejecting Hayden was the hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever had to do. The hurt look in his eyes still haunts me. I know he cares about me and telling him to leave me felt like I was ripping a piece of my own heart.
I didn’t have a choice, though.
It’d taken a mammoth amount of soul-searching and agonizing to come to a point where I could open up to my grams and my closest friends. I can’t go back to feeling like I’m some kind of a dirty freak for liking men.
Hayden isn’t ready to come out yet and I’m not willing to live my life in the shadows.
Over the years, I’ve seen way too many athletes in professional leagues keeping their personal lives under lock and key, afraid to come out due to the fear of being judged. Only a few have dared to stray from the beaten path and encouraged other queer kids to pursue their passions.
Hayden is deeply passionate about hockey. He’s aiming to play in the NHL over the coming years.
Even if I’d accepted Hayden for now, the future wouldn’t look any different for us. He’d still hide me from the world, touching me and kissing me in the dark shadows of our bedroom. He’d always be scared of someone finding out about our relationship and in the end, he’ll choose to walk away from me on his own.
It’s better to break my heart now. At least, this way, I wouldn’t spend years of my life wishing and hoping Hayden would change.
I refuse to do this myself.
A sob escapes me as my heart clenches. It’s so damn painful to tell myself Hayden isn’t mine, that we don’t belong together.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Letting out a shaky breath, I reach for it and take a look at the notification.
It’s a text from a fellow master’s student, telling me that our next class has been canceled. Wiping my bleary eyes, I get to my feet.
If there’s no class, I can use the next hour to work on some of my upcoming assignments. There’s no point in feeling sorry for myself. Nothing’s going to change for me and Hayden.
I have to do what I came here to do, I tell myself, dismantling the setup on the optical table. I just wish I didn’t have to see Hayden again because even though I’ve accepted our reality, my heart has yet to catch up.
18
Hayden
A charged atmosphere welcomes me when I enter the ice skating rink for the game against Silverlake U. Thousands of fans pack the stands, the air thrumming with their anticipation. Banners of royal blue and gold wave high, suffusing me with power and adrenaline.
I spot flags of green and silver among the mass of blue supporters, realizing the Silver Bears brought their own army to the rink too. The sight ignites a fire in my chest, turning my desire to win into an inferno.
The rivalry between the Silver Bears and the Thunder Knights has always been bloodthirsty.
I have no idea how or when it started but our games have always been brutal. Every season, our playoffs bring maximum fans to the stadium. Front-row tickets sell for hundreds of dollars but that doesn’t deter them from filling every seat out there.
I might be unlucky in love but I will not lose a hockey game. This is the only place in the world where I thrive unconditionally. I’m determined to unleash all my pent-up frustration into destroying the Bears tonight.
Closing my eyes momentarily, I breathe in deeply and then, exhale.
Even though my performance during practices over the past week has been choppy, I’m determined to give my best to win this game. I won’t let anything interfere with my focus this evening, not even when my gaze keeps searching for a familiar face in the cheering crowd.
Liam is not here, I tell myself, tightening my grip on my stick.He’ll never come to my games and he’ll never be mine.
Exhaling out another breath, I let go of all the emotions that make me weak and skate to center ice. A figure in green hurtles toward me, stopping only when he’s mere inches away from me.
Dylan Larson, the Silver Bears’ center, locks his gaze with me. A cocky smirk lifts the corners of his lips, like he’s already won the game against us.
I smirk right back, silently telling him to keep dreaming.
Mitchikov, along with our left and right wingers fan out behind me, taking their positions.
This is it, I tell myself, putting all my focus on the ref as he gets ready to drop the puck.
