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I’ve been playing hockey since I was five. I love the game. But I need to get off this team. For two years, I’ve dealt with this, and it’s steadily gotten worse. I can’t do it anymore. If I can’t switch teams, I’ll have to quit playing. The thought makes me sob. I don’t want to give up hockey. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs and cry. In the shadow of the ice rink where they encourage us to play injured and to suck it up, I’m weak.
A while later, Mom pulls up to the curb, and I make my way to the car. After dropping my bag in the back, I sink in the front seat and force an air of excitement I don’t feel. I don’t know if she can smellhimon me or not, but the need to shower again and brush my teeth is so heavy on my shoulders. I’m exhausted, and I’m sure my eyes are red from crying, but she’s too distracted by driving to notice.
“How was the game?” she asks as she gets us turned toward home.
“We won.” I smile and start talking about the game. I tell her about the shots our goalie blocked and the times we managed to hit the net.
“Sounds like you guys played a great game. I’m sorry I had to miss it.” She pats my knee as she pulls into the driveway, and I jump out of the car, galloping toward the house like I’m riding a horse or something. She laughs behind me, and I dance on the porch as I wait for her. I’m exhausted and want to crawl into bed, but if I’m making her laugh, maybe she won’t look too closely and see how broken I am. I can’t let her down. She’s a good mom, and I don’t want her to be ashamed of me.
“What do you want to eat?” She unlocks the door, and I bow.
“Ladies first.” I extend my hand, and she heads inside. I’m not at all hungry. The idea of eating turns my stomach again.
“I’m good, Momma. I’m gonna change and take a nap.” I kiss her cheek quickly and bound up the stairs to the bathroom. Once the door is closed behind me, I lean against it and let the mask fall. Since I showered at practice, my mom will probably inquire if I take another one, so I grab a washcloth and scrub my face, neck, and hands, then brush my teeth until my gums bleed and I can’t taste him lingering anymore.
My shoulders sag once I’m cleanish, and my eyes close as I suck in a deep breath. Slowly, I make my way to my room and pull off my suit. I hate that thing. Nothing good ever comes from wearing it.
Lying down on my messy bed, I pull the blanket over my head, curl into a ball, and cry until I pass out.
January – Present
Paul
Being in love with one of your best friends fucking sucks. I tried to avoid it. Most of the time I can ignore the fact that I’m a sap for him. At this point, I’m faking it through every day of my life. Even I don’t know who I am anymore.
It was hard knowing that he was fooling around with our other best friend. They didn’t rub it in my face or anything, but I knew. They would disappear for twenty minutes, then come back flushed and relaxed. Jealousy definitely reared its ugly head more than once.
I’ve known they’ve been fooling around since it started when we were still in Michigan, playing for the Lumberjacks, not long after Jeremy joined our team.
I’m a year older than them, so I moved out here to Darby University last year to play hockey while they stayed in Muskegon, but I’m really glad they’re here. I hoped the time away would give me a chance to get the hell over the redhead I pined over, but the second he showed up as my roommate, I knew I was fucked. All those feelings came rushing back, and I hate myself for it.
I spent a damn year trying to fuck around when time allowed, but every time I tried, it felt off. Like something was missing. I couldn’t get Brendon out of my head, so I never went past kissing. That definitely didn’t help me get over him. I’ve always been weird about hookups. Sure, getting off is great and all, but without a connection to your partner, what’s the point?
I love having Jeremy and Brendon here, though. Last year was boring without them, and I never gelled as well with the other guys as I do with them on the ice. We’re perfect together.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I’m up to my armpits in biology homework when I’m startled by Brendon yelling instead of the lyrics from Tarzan he was just singing.
“Why am I so fucking stupid?” He throws his pencil across the room and drops his head into his hands.
“What have I told you about that?” I give him a stern look to match my tone. I’ve worked hard to make him stop with the negative self-talk.
“It’s true. Fuck off!” he snaps and shoves his chair back from the desk, heading toward the door.
I fling the book aside and stalk after him. When he reaches the door, I grab his shoulder and flip him around. He startles a little, and the anger fades from his face before he waggles his eyebrows at me.
“Oh Daddy.” Brendon bites his lip and winks at me. “You gonna spank me?”
I try not to react to him. It only encourages him to act like a brat. When I cross my arms and give him an unamused look, he drops the smart-ass act, and a softer side of him comes out.
Fuck, I love the way he melts for me. He’s such a big personality normally, loud and joking around, while I’m in the background, but here, like this, he’s quiet and reserved. Does he like it as much as I do? The big personality is a front, at least part of the time.
“You are not dumb. The next time I hear you say something like that, I’ll make sure you’re up at four to work out with Preston.”
His expression morphs to scandalized, complete with the hand to his chest.
“For a week,” I tell him.
He crosses his arms and glares at me. “That’s just cruel.”
