Ramsey’s hand was warm and a little damp in his as they watched the Canucks play the Wild.
“What’s particularly special about this matchup?” Nate finally asked, during a break in the action. He didn’t want to confess that after meeting Ramsey for the second time, he’d started watching more hockey. First out of a perverse need to prove it was stupid, much stupider than football, and then second because it was the only way he could figure out how to be close to Ramsey when he’d never felt further away.
“The Canucks versus the Wild? Nothing particular. It’s just on. And the Wolves are playing the Canucks next week.” Ramsey paused. “Part of their Canadian trip.”
“Ah.” Nate wanted to ask why he was bothering watching this game if he wasn’t going to be playing in the game next week, or even going on the road trip. But that was something that he’d realized over the last few months—Ramsey would share, fairly easily, that he was a hockey player and that he was on long-term injured reserve, but anytime anyone asked anything specific, or wanted him to talk about it, he’d perform evasive maneuvers.
Nate couldn’t blame him. If he was stuck, injured, away from football, with no end in sight and not any clear idea when that would change, he’d be going crazy.
He definitely would not want to discuss it.
“You can ask, you know,” Ramsey said, making a face, his voice much edgier than usual. “I can tell you want to.”
“I didn’t thinkyouwanted to talk about it.”
Ramsey didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “I don’t,” he said flatly.
“Then why would you tell me I can ask about it?” Just when Nate thought he understood everything about Ramsey’s prickliness, something new cropped up and surprised him.
“You want to, I can feel it, and it just sucks waiting for it. Wondering when you’re gonna ask. Trying to figure out what I’m going to say.”
“You figure it out yet?”
Ramsey looked over at him, and now he looked surprised. A hint of an unexpected smile on his face. “Not really.”
“Then I’m good. How about this? When you figure it out, you come tell me, okay?”
“You’re weird.” Ramsey was chuckling now, though, and that black cloud that had threatened to descend was already clearing up. Nate patted himself on the back.
“And you’re normal?”
Ramsey squawked. “I put up a very good front, fuck you very much.”
“Yeah, sure, for everyone else.”
Sighing, Ramsey relaxed back onto the couch, his shoulder actually brushing Nate’s now.
Another few minutes ticked off the clock, and they sat in silence, watching the game. Still holding hands. The longer it went on, the more comfortable it felt. The more familiar.
The more Nate wasn’t sure he could learn to live without it when this whole charade finally ended.
Then Ramsey said, “You were surprised I suggested this.”
“Watching hockey? Holding hands? Having sushi at my place?”
“Doing this at all,” Ramsey clarified. “But that’s why. It’s . . .it sucks sometimes.”
“What? Being a victim of your own act?”
Ramsey shot him a hot glare.
“What?” Nate retorted. “You are, kinda.”
“What’s annoying is how perceptive you are.”
“But if I wasn’t perceptive, I wouldn’t be here.Youwouldn’t be here.” Of course, Nate knew that he bought every second of Ramsey’s time and attention with that inherent understanding. Didn’t mean helikedit, though.
Was it so wrong to want Ramsey to want to spend time with him not because he felt seen by Nate, but because he just plain fuckinglikedhim?
