Page 12 of Flagrant Foul
The way he says it makes my stomach churn. Sev can be loud and brash and a bit of a mess, but he hates upsetting people. Hates it. I don’t think he’d marry the wrong person simply to stop her from being upset, but I’m also not one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t.
“D-did you do what Nate said? Did you think about what you want? Because if it’s not Nadia, you don’t have to marry her. You don’t have to, Sev. No one can make you.”
Before he has time to reply, Lockie Eastwood joins us. “Hey, T-Dog,” he says in a sing-song voice, turning his phone screen to me to show me his ticket. “Looks like we’re sitting together. Cool, huh?”
Lockie is a rookie this season. Nice guy. Tries a little too hard, but nice enough. He has that whole neat-featured face thing going on in such a big way that it makes you wonder how he got this far in his career without taking a few hard knocks. He’s well-liked for being so new to the team. For some reason—most likely related to being a gay man with an accurate gaydar—he’s decided we should be friends. It’s fine. I don’t mind him.
Sev reaches for Lockie’s phone and checks his seat number. “Change of plan. You’re in F2 now, kid. You’re switching seats with me.”
Lockie’s face falls, but he quickly corrects. “Sure. No prob, Sev. It’s all good.” He turns to me, blinding me with a dazzling smile. “I’ll catch you on the bus, Tee. Or in the lobby. Or the bar.”
There’s a low rumble beside me.
“Hey, Rook,” Sev growls as Lockie takes his leave. “It’sMisterDog to you.”
Every part of me reacts. Every single part. Big parts, small parts. Parts in my chest. In my head. In my pants.
They all slow and start to swell.
Now, believe me, I know how ridiculous my response is. I’ve spent countless hours in therapists’ offices over the years, and they’ve pored over my childhood, my relationship with my parents, my sexuality, and they’ve broken my attachment style down in detail. Sev’s too. I know all too well that Sev only does this kind of thing because of some sort of personality flaw or crossed wire. Something that happened years ago, when, for whatever reason, Sev caught Nate’s protectiveness of me. He caught it cold. Like a virus. More like man-flu, really, because it’s a serious ailment and he can’t seem to shake it.
“What did you do that for?” I whisper angrily.
Sev glares at me like I’m an idiot. “Um, that guy is a little prick. I saved you. You should be thanking me,” he waves in my direction, “not…whatever this is.”
I glare at him. “I don’t need you saving me from a damn thing, Sev, and I especially don’t need you saving me from getting dick.”
His eyes darken to pitch black and he scowls at Lockie.
I love it.
Even though more than one therapist has assured me that Sev’s possessiveness of me is a flaw, I love it. I know it’s problematic, and it’s not a compliment or aspirational in any way.
I know it’s a red flag.
Too bad I eat that shit up.
I literally cannot get enough of Sev’s red flags. I could eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still want more. Swallow them all down and run back for seconds. Shove them in my mouth and suck on them until I gag.
Hmm, wait a minute.
I seem to have gone off course.
Oh yes. That’s it. Sev’s possessive behavior isn’t good. It’s controlling, and I shouldn’t encourage it or read anything into it.
I definitely shouldn’t masturbate to it as soon I get to my hotel room in Edmonton.
7
Teddy “T-Dog” O’Reilly
Then
Bythetimetheninth grade got underway, being fourteen had taken a turn. Other than hockey and being home with Nathan and Sev, life was the worst. My parents, who’d I’d always thought were pretty great, had become incredibly annoying. They didn’t understand anything and were always convinced they did. Especially my mom. I loved playing hockey, but I was a weedy kid, and I was positive I was one bad practice away from being dropped from the team. Being dropped was my worst nightmare. I worried about it all the time. I loved being part of a team. I more than loved it. I needed it.
I had a thing about being included, or more accurately, excluded. My mom said I was oversensitive to it. She said I perceived rejections, whether or not they actually happened, and when they did, I made them into a way bigger deal than they needed to be. She was always saying shit like that. It was one of those things she didn’t understand at all but thought she did.
She thought she knew everything about me, but what she didn’t know was that the penny had finally dropped, and I’d realized I was never going to like girls the way Sev and Nate did.
