Page 60 of Tempting the Teammate
Jen’s brow crinkled with concern, but I could see the glint of interest in her eyes. Sure, the team she led was called out right before the cameras, ruining much of the discussion of the topic, but this, too, was drama.
I could see her play a part to fuel it when she leaned in with a challenge on her face. To her credit, she was better at this game, and Phoenix walked into the trap, growing more annoyed instead of holding his ground.
“I know the television programs need to be tense to hold attention, but let’s not forget that before the Steel Saints had a few players who were privately out of the closet,thisteam wore rainbow flags on our shoulders. This team organized prideevents on campus. This team offered protection to the gay youth centers that collaborated with the university. So let’s stop wearing out that tired old trope, huh? Because being gay on this team has never been difficult. Not for a moment. I’d suggest you go out and buy the rights to a few archive photos for this, but here they are. Riley, Cameron, Sawyer, Caden, Beckett, Avery, Jordan, Asher, Nate, Carter, Tyler, and Sebastian. And me. Learn our history. Or I’ll no longer play along.”
He took off his microphone and stood up, fingers trembling only slightly.
Damon got up, too. “Throw me in with this guy,” he said, taking off the microphone, too.
Nothing could be milked for TV drama as interview walkouts, and I could see that Jen Harding knew as much.
“Oh, captain, my captain,” Mason said, doing the same.
Griffin and I nodded to each other and did the same, though it shamed me that we were the only teammates here who were actually together and hadn’t spoken up. We were the last to walk out, giving Jen golden moments for a future episode, and making something like a stand.
My heart thundered as we stepped out of the team house, following Phoenix to the Thinker as his cheeks burned bright with emotions and his eyes scanned the space for all four of us. “You’re freaking unbelievable, guys,” he said, laughing. “Why the hell was I scared of this?”
I look at Griffin. Why werewescared? But even as I thought of it, I knew I wouldn’t ask that question aloud.
TWENTY-ONE
Griffin
The final gamebefore the holiday break approached sooner than any of us were truly ready. In the moments Andrei and I had spent together, in these flickers of happiness that we both cherished, a sadness had emerged as predictably as if I had written it down at the start of the story of my life.
It would be cruel to say I didn’t know where the sadness was coming from. One moment after another was growing a little more tender, like a reluctant goodbye, and I could see him slipping out of my reach, even when he made every effort not to.
And there were efforts.
We dedicated our evenings to one another, no longer minding the questions from the teammates, no longer giving in to their insistence to join them. We didn’t want to lounge in the basement when I could kneel on the floor and examine every line of his beautiful face.
One after another, the nights slipped by in heat and lust and a warmth that had nothing to do with sex. The pain I felt upon stepping into the room where he was felt nothing like the pain of a few months ago, when he was impossible to me. This aching in my heart was almost like an unimaginable need to rush ahead, torush to the rest of our lives together, to speed by the hard parts and just be. Be together. Be alive. Be forever.
I would look at him when the morning light made his bright eyes glimmer, and I would want to be an old man holding his wrinkled hand in mine, looking back at these hard decisions as if they were nothing to us. I wanted to laugh in the faces of our youth and mock us for being stupid and scared.
But then I would see the way he smiled, and the corners of his lips wouldn’t rise quite as high.
What we thought we would have was just a little better than what I could give. And I knew where the entirety of our problems was. It was in me.
I delayed and slowed it down. I pulled myself back from the thought that I would have to step into the person that I pretended to be. And I was that person in all but the courage it took to admit it. Not even because I feared them knowing I was gay, that I loved a man, that I had been living a lie my whole life. I feared the size of the task. I feared the costs of failure that loving him entailed. Because if I messed it up, I would never be able to live with myself.
I swore to myself that I would never let a misunderstanding come between us. Never let someone else separate us. Yet it was I who stood in the path of our happiness. My damned reluctance to love him the way he deserved because I didn’t think I knew how.
And I could see him wilting around me, only to think that the task ahead was now greater than ever.
There were days, weeks perhaps, left to us if I didn’t do something.
I watched the crowds swell in the rink, masses gathering outside from Detroit, Chicago, Minneapolis, from all the places where we played, queueing in hopes of getting to see the Arctic Titans in person.
Throngs grew in the back entrances to any rink we played. Cars began to drive us to and from our games, arriving hours before the people showed up, and even then, they waited and screamed and shouted our names.
Fame had arrived unnoticed.
Hiding from camera flashes became a game, the team keeping a score of headlines featuring our photos, and Andrei and I were losing the game by miles, with the highest count of public sightings. It was like sitting at a war table, counting losses.
Phoenix storming out of the interview with us trailing him only boosted his profile. There seemed to be nothing we could do to calm the storm, nothing to speed up these fifteen minutes of fame.
Blades of Northwoodhad captured something feral in people, something curious, something hungry for novelty. It wasn’t, after all, a typical, trashy reality program. Yet what it was that created the magic was beyond my grasp.
