Page 32 of Shiver
He waves me off. “There are worse things you could have been doing on my ice.” He pauses, the snickers not going unnoticed. “Yes, I just heard the words.”
The team steps onto the ice, moving across it in smooth glides. The first push off is quiet. That initial feeling of being out on the ice again. Where all is right in the world. The feeling of home and belonging.
“Five puck,” Coach says. “Let’s go.”
We line up in two lines of four at the blue lines. Hart and our backup goalie, Lindy, corral the pucks back to the sides out of the way, leaving five out. When our goalies are out of the way, Coach blows the whistle again and the first line across from us heads toward us and one on my line moves toward them. Pucks fly as players move around each other, trying to get to an open teammate without getting in the way of another.
I catch Jipson’s shot and move forward, sending it hard towards Valenti and skating around Haines as he moves in my direction with his own puck.
It’s a game of Red Rover, Tag, and Catch on skates. Nothing strenuous, but it’s about communication, avoiding obstacles, and connection more than skill with the puck.
Then we move into a 3 vs. 1 keep away. Coach splits the ice in two, sets up some cones in a circle and makes three-man teams, leaving one in the center. And then we play monkey in the middle. This is probably one of my favorite drills. It’s fast paced and filled with good natured taunts. Laughter. Competition without getting rough.
Every time I play keep away, regardless of whether I was in the middle or on the team, it reminds me why I started playing hockey to begin with. It’s just fun. Your teammates are a brotherhood and when you’re surrounded by a good bunch, that friendship can be everything.
I feel better when practice is over. I strip out of my gear and pick up a towel for the showers. As usual, I stand under the water and let it run over me. The water takes my sweat down the drain, burning into my skin, and prickling my worn muscles, my stomach growling as I wash. Maybe I can convince Rake to order us dinner.
I could go to the cafeteria and grab some food so he doesn’t always feel forced to feed me. Though, he doesn’t act like he minds. Maybe he feels bad for me, knowing I’m on full scholarship, which means my money is about zilch. Board is included in my scholarship, which is why I’m able to eat at all. It’s not like I have time for a job on top of everything else.
This internal debate follows me as I head back to my cubby, drying off on my way. Tossing my towel onto the bench, I step into my boxer briefs, pulling them up over my junk, and pause at the quiet murmurs behind me when I catch what very much sounds like ‘he’s fucking gay.’
Brotherhood. Right.
I turn, my hard gaze landing on where the words came from. By the way they’re expecting me to face them, the words were intentionally said for my reaction. Loud enough for me to hear.
Stomping across the locker room, I shove one of the third-line wingmen hard. He stumbles, barely catching himself before he lands on his ass. “Were you one of the assholes Temca was fucking behind my back, Willy? Only a pussy-whipped dick would believe her bullshit.”
He pulls himself up, pissed. “What are you—?”
“She’s a poor sport about being turned down so naturally, anyone that tells her no must be gay,” I say. “A warning to you. But by all means, take her to bed.”
I turn, ignoring him as he sputters about not touching Temca. He’s careful with what he says, cutting himself off several times so he’s not outright offending me. I dress in jerky movements while the rest of the room is quiet.
No one looks at me as I gather my bag and leave. Fuck them.
I’m irrationally pissed as I storm down the sidewalk toward Rake’s apartment, food momentarily forgotten. There’s no reason for how offended I am. For how hot and angry my blood pumps in my veins. There really isn’t. So what if they want to support rumors? It’s their repeating them that pisses me off.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Rumors can hurt a person. True or not, they can do damage. Socially, academically, and mentally. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve watched it from a distance, but I’ve also seen its damage up close in high school.
It’s fucked up immaturity that we’re supposed to have fucking outgrown. And I won’t allow it. Not about Rakesh.
Because he’s mine.
TWELVE
RAKESH
There aremany reasons I should begin setting some boundaries for myself around Egon. While I enjoy winning the challenge of seducing straight men and fucking with the heteronormative expectations society has us all living in, I don’t actually aim to hurt them. There’s not even a fine line where I’m crossing into emotional versus physical attraction when I choose my targets.
I’ve mastered the art of seduction that keeps expectations clear. I’m going to fuck with them physically and mentally. But not emotionally. I don’t want to break them in that way. I want to corrupt the world, one straight man at a time, and show them that sexuality isn’t just black and white. There’s a whole fucking gray area that’s far larger than either side.
Sexuality is a spectrum. So many people aren’t solidly on one side or the other. They fall somewhere in the middle, even if that middle is farther to one side than the other. They just don't realize it.
Sure, I’m a bit of a walking hypocrite. I’m in absolutely no way attracted to women. If there was a negative on this scale, I’d be there. But it’s not on principle or even expectation. It’s simply how I’m built.
I’ve tried many times since I figured out I was gay to look at women objectively. I knew since I was a kid that I much preferred boys. When you’re young and say girls have cooties, that is a very literal feeling for me. Their touch makes me cringe. The thought of anything sexual with them is repulsive.
However, I know this is amething. And I am respectful in never letting those feelings show.
