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Avery nods, crossing his arms and looking appeased. I do see him shoot a few daggers Anthony’s direction, though, when he looks over. I’m unsure of what it says about me that I care more about finding out if Anthony is okay and why he isn’t sleeping, than I do about soothing my assistant coach’s pride. Probably, that I need to get my priorities in line. The shooting pain in my temples slowly morphs into a steady throb, like a headache that’s politely knocking at my door.
Naturally, since I would prefer the time to pass quicker, it seems to slow down. The last half hour of practice is fraughtwith tension; Carter Morgan isn’t the only one with a sour face today. I consider sending them all home early several times, but discard that thought. It’s born from a desire to be at home with Anthony, and that’s a desire I’m trying not to look too closely at.
“Alright, we’re done for the day.” By the time I call an end to practice, my head is pounding and my vision has started to blur. “Good job today. No, I mean it. All of you have been putting in the work, and it shows. Get some rest tonight, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow.”
The boys nod, but it’s a painfully dejected crew that stamps off toward the locker rooms. Avery is nowhere in sight, and I wonder if he cleared out before practice fully ended. I wonder if I care.
“You good?” Anthony’s sandpaper voice has me turning to the left. I’ve noticed that he only advances on my left side, when he approaches me now. I know he’s trying to give me the best chance at seeing him, and the knowledge makes me feel a little dizzy. It’s a remarkably thoughtful thing to do, and something that most people wouldn’t have considered.
“I’m good.” A lie—at best, I’m fine. At worst, I’m about to spend the night sick with a migraine.
“You don’t have a headache?” He asks, and then shrugs when I give him a questioning look. “You’ve been squinting more than normal, and I saw you shield your eyes a couple times like the lights were bothering you.
He points toward the ceiling, helpfully.
“Oh. Well, yes, now that you mention it, I do have a headache. But it’s fine.”
“I’ll get you some soup,” is all Anthony says to that, before sitting down on the bench to remove his skates. I’m not sure how soup is supposed to solve this particular problem, but now that he’s mentioned it, it does sound good.
When we get to my house, there is an undoubtedly despondent set to Anthony’s shoulders as he holds open my door for me, waving me in before him. He looks like he could also benefit from a painkiller. In the spirit of that, I fish my prescription out of my bag and go to get a glass of water in the kitchen. I don’t need to tell him to make himself at home—he’s been here enough times that it’s implied at this point.
Somewhere between the end of practice and here, Anthony must have ordered food. While I’m standing in the unlit kitchen, gulping down a couple glasses of water, there’s a knock at my front door and muffled conversation. I wait, and eventually he appears around the corner and holds up a pair of large paper bags in explanation.
“Chicken noodle soup,” he tells me, grabbing two of my bowls and placing them on the counter. When I reach for the bags to help him, he places gentle hands on my hips and steers me away. “Sit. I’ll do it.”
I don’t tell him that I don’t need him to take care of me because, frankly, it feels nice.It feels like something a boyfriend might do for you, an inner voice whispers. I ignore it, and sit down. Closing my eyes, I listen to the soft sounds of Anthony serving up the soup and preparing tea. It’s not lost on me that I didn’t even have to ask him to do that—he just knew that’s what I would want.
“Here you go,” he murmurs, prompting me to open my eyes as he slides a bowl in front of me. He adds a small plate with a large baguette on it, setting everything down gently as though trying to minimize the noise.
“Thank you. It smells good.” It smells amazing, actually. And my slightly nauseous stomach perks up. Soup was apparently a good idea. I eat a spoonful. “This is great.”
He nods, staring down at his own food and eating in silence. I decide, right then, that I’m not going to worry about what happened with Avery until tomorrow.
“I texted Cor,” Anthony says, breaking the quiet, “about coming to help at camp one day. He said he’d be happy to come, whenever you want him.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it. I’ll work with his schedule.”
“Do you…” He pauses, flipping his spoon around in his fingers uncertainly, “do you want Troy as well? When I told them I was doing this over the summer, both of them offered to help.”
“Absolutely. The boys will be ecstatic.” I smile at him, and I watch his eyes track down to my lips before meeting my eyes once more. “You’ve been spoiling them, this summer.”
He smiles back, one half of his mouth tugging upward in a mischievous grin. “I’m trying to buy their love. I want them to like me more than they like you.”
“Tall order,” I say, sarcastically. Not a single member of the team prefers me to Anthony.
“Can we talk about something?” He drops his spoon into his bowl, the sound startingly unexpected in the mostly-silent room.
“Oh, okay.” Unsure, I stop eating as well and give him my full attention. Nerves begin multiplying in my stomach.Can we talkhas never foretold a comfortable conversation. “Of course.”
“Can you explain to me why you’re so opposed to dating? Actual dating, not what we’re doing.” He inhales deep, black eyes holding mine. “Is it me?”
He must see something in my facial expression because he rushes to continue before I can answer his question. “I just want to understand. I’m not trying to give you a hard time.”
“I know.” Buying a few seconds of time, I tear off a chunk of bread and dip it into my bowl. Chewing slow, I think about how to answer that question. “No, it’s not you…not really.Truthfully, I’ve not had a great track record with picking the correct people to trust. I’m still trying to figure out what my life looks like now, and I just started this job. It shouldn’t matter who I date, but that’s not the world we live in—I don’t want my sexuality to become a weapon that can be used against me here. I just want to win hockey games and not have anyone question whether I should be allowed in the locker room with their son.”
“But…” Anthony chews on his lower lip, and I have the unfortunately timed urge to lean over the table and do the same. “We wouldn’t have to tell anyone. We could be in a relationship.”
“How would it be any different than now? Other than the label you’d put on it.”
