Page 43 of Shiver
The cold air on my face makes me blink several times as I look around the empty arena. It’s still far too early for people to be coming in yet. I love that our team is good enough to nearly fill the stands most game nights.
I continue to skate around for a while until I hear the doors open a few times and know that fans are starting to arrive. As I make my way to the chute, I can’t help but wonder if they’d be less supportive of me iftheyknew I like a man. Would my fans turn on me? Would ticket sales drop if they knew that the Eastern State Coyotes has a gay defensemen? These cold thoughts only solidify my decision not to go pro.
I’m not gay. There’s no mistaking that I like girls. But I have a feeling that that’s not what anyone would focus on. If I had a boyfriend, everything else would cease to matter. All the many women I fucked would now just be beards.
Scowling, I head into the locker room, listening to the excitement as I get closer. When I stand in the door and stare at my teammates, I’m tempted to tell them I’m sleeping with a guy. Just to see what would happen. Because I want their reactions. I want their assurance that they don’t care. I need to know whether I have their support or not.
But I don’t say anything. Not right before a game. And not when it’s a lie. Yes, I’ve been sleeping in his bed, but besides earlier this week, he hasn’t touched me. Even when I try to get him to.
I remain there, waiting. My teammates eye me. Coach Adak comes out and gives a nice pep talk about how we’ve beaten Michigan in the past and we can do it again. Then our captain gives a similar one, telling us to keep our heads in the game and focus.
When I’m standing in the chute and looking at the crowd, my gaze flits across the many faces, searching for one. I hold my breath and bite my lip, knowing that the likelihood of me actually spotting him in approximately 4,000 faces is very slim. I try anyway.
And I am rewarded when I see him. He’s at the boards, standing with his hands loosely clasped in front of him, wearing an Eastern State Coyotes hoodie and beanie hat. A scarf wrapped around his neck.
Our eyes meet, and he smiles. Just for me.
FIFTEEN
RAKESH
I don’t pushEgon to talk, though I suspect he really needs to let out his thoughts before they turn toxic in his mind. Keeping all the confusion inside isn’t healthy. I suspect it’s far worse for him because he’s not used to keeping anything in. Normally, Egon Wolf is an open book.
At least until he’s faced with something that turns his entire world upside down.
While I’m thrilled that he’s still coming to my apartment every night where we study, I feed him, and then hold him while he sleeps against me, I’ve kept everything fairly platonic. Aside from the cuddling, of course.
There’s been no repeats.
I’d like to say that’s because I’m giving him space to figure out his shit, but really, I’m giving myself space to build back up my fucking walls that had apparently been made of glass. There needs to be boundaries. For both of us.
That didn’t stop me from running to him when he called me. The panic that rose in me when I heard the strain in his voice had me seeing red. It was so consuming that it took me a solid minute to remember I didn’t need him to tell me where he was. I have his schedule. I know his life.
Going to him hadn’t been a choice. He needed me there, so I went without question. Dropped everything I was fucking doing to get to this man who I was supposed to walk away from in two months. Iwillwalk away from him. There’s no ‘supposed to’ about it. It will happen. Because that’s who I am.
I can’t do any of this. Everything that I’ve promised him is a lie. I’m no better than anyone else.
I’m far worse.
Have I been reasoning with myself that it’s not just because this is everything I don’t want, but also that we’re in different places in our lives? Yes. It feels like… if I put solid disputes as to why this isn’t going to work in the long run against the weird fucking need in me that wants to take care of him until my last breath, that I am finally able to get a grip on my life again.
Apparently, that all falls apart when he calls me in the middle of a meltdown.
I have half a mind not to go to his game tonight. In an effort to fortify the wall I’m rebuilding (for like the sixth time) between us, it seems like staying in is the wiser idea. But disappointing him is not something I can handle. I can very clearly imagine the hurt expression he’d give me when I told him I couldn’t make it after I told him I’d be there.
There’s no way in hell I can stand having that directed at me for something I did to him. And fuck, I can’t do that. I promised not to hurt him!
“I’m so fucking screwed,” I mutter as I pull the beanie down over my ears and push open the arena door. With a sigh of frustration, I push my way to the seats right beside the box. Uncle Adak always saves a handful of seats for family when they want to attend a game. And it’s always close to the box so he can smile at them in appreciation.
He’s so proud of his team. I think about this as I wait for the stands to fill and the time ticks closer to 6:30. Then he’s there. Uncle Adak standing just at the end of the chute. His pride makes me relax as I see him come out.
But my gaze is on Egon as he scans the crowd. From as far away as I am, I swear I can see the way his brows knit together. He’s looking for me.
I remain still, listening to the loud cheering all around. Hands slap the plexiglass boards, trying to get no one and everyone’s attention. I watch Egon and see the minute he spots me. His beaming smile lights up his entire face. And when my uncle releases them onto the ice, Egon skates toward me.
There’s no dimming my smile. I tell myself that it’s the cold of the rink that has my heart rate picking up. Not the beautiful man making his way to me. He pauses, does a little circle as he continues to grin at me, and then skates off.
I’d like to say that the game that follows was good. But honestly, I don’t see much of it. When Egon’s on the ice, he’s on fire. A wall that blocks a dozen attempts on goal. He’s quick as shit, stealing the puck and slapping it along to meet a teammate’s stick.
