tournament against Notre Dame was fun. I got some ice time with Brendon and Paul and it was like old times. We won three to one and Coach was happy. Preston has been avoiding me in our down time, but that’s changing tonight. If that means I stay up all damn night waiting for him, that’s what I’ll do.
Brendon is also not happy with me after witnessing the bruises and scratches on my chest but we haven’t had a minute of privacy to talk about it. Partly because I avoided him last night. Carpenter, our team captain, laughed and told me to chill out on fucking ‘wild cats’ the night before a game.
Today’s game though? Not a chance. Maine is kicking our asses like we’ve never played the game before. It’s an embarrassment.
Carmichael has been sent to the sin bin twice and we’re in the second period. I think all of our D men have been, actually. It’s a shit show. Our first line is beaten up and tired, our goalie is the only thing saving us. He’s only let through two goals but has blocked fourteen attempts. Meanwhile, we’ve made seven attempts on goal.
My knee bounces while I wait for a line change, watching the game and hating not being on the ice. A fight almost breaks out after one of Maine’s players runs into our goalie. Carmichael takes it as a personal attack and shoves the player, getting in his face. I can’t hear what he says, obviously, but I can almost guarantee it was inventive and slightly terrifying.
Willis, the other second line D man, separates the two and the game continues. Back and forth across the ice, the puck flies from player to player. Coach yells for a line change on the fly, the first line coming off as my line shoots off the bench. As soon as my skates hit the ice, I’m racing toward the puck, trying to steal it from Maine’s left winger, but I can’t get to him before he shoots at the net. Our goalie blocks it and I snag it off the ice, trying to get a break away back into our attack zone.
Oiler gets to the blue line before me and I fling the puck to him. Johnson and Oiler pass it back and forth before Oiler tries for a goal. It’s blocked, hits Johnson’s skate and he kicks it, Oiler snagging the puck and shooting it toward goalie, this time it barely grazes the goalie’s glove and the lamp lights up.
Fuck yes!
We cheer and slap each other on the back. Finally, we’re on the board. We can make a comeback again.
Coach yells for another line change, putting us back on the bench. I drop down in an empty spot next to Carmichael and grab a water bottle.
My heart is pounding and I’ve got a smile on my face as our fourth line faces off.
I knock my knee into Preston’s. “What did you say to that player?”
“If he didn’t stay off my goalie, I would make tea out of the teeth I was going to knock out of his face.” His tone is so deadpan I turn to look at him. All I can do is blink for a second while my brain processes what he just said.
“What the actual fuck, man?” I don’t know whether to be horrified by that mental image or impressed.
He shrugs and continues to watch the game. “I don’t even drink tea.”
The game keeps on the way it’s been going and we don’t get any more goals. It’s disheartening. Our first loss as a team is always hard. We all know it’s part of the game, but we never go into a game thinking we’ll lose. We always think we’ll win. Always.
When it’s proven to us that we aren’t the best, it’s a hard hit. It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve experienced it.
It takes a while to get showered and changed, deal with after-game interviews and the pep talk from the coaches.
By the time we’re leaving the rink, I’m once again wearing Preston’s suit pants and I stop short when I see Preston and his father talking to our head coach. Brendon walks right into the back of me at my abrupt stop.
“What the fuck, bro?” Brendon says, but I don’t respond.
I can’t take my eyes off Preston’s back. It’s steel straight, his shoulders tense, and I’m pretty sure the hand holding onto his gym bag is white at the knuckles. This isn’t a good sign. Why didn’t he tell me his dad was coming tonight? Was he here last night too? How long will Preston have to deal with him being here?
“Hello? Earth to Jeremy?” Paul waves a hand in my face and I turn to look at him.
“What?”
“Beers at Rocky’s. Come on!” He motions toward the doors for me to follow but I’m rooted in place. I have to know if Preston is okay first.
But I’m wearing his clothes again. Should I butt in or stay away?
Before I can make a decision, Doctor Carmichael smiles at Coach, shakes his hand, and walks away with Preston following along behind him. Where the hell is he going?
I’m following too, I have to know where he’s going. He’s not going with his dad, is he?
My heart starts racing at the thought. He was terrified of going to dinner with his dad and there were thirty of us to run interference.
There’s a town car sitting next to the curb that Doctor Carmichael is heading toward, Preston on his heels, tense and shut down.
“Preston,” I say loud enough he should hear me. He doesn’t even flick a glance my way. What the fuck?
I shove my bag at Brendon and break into a jog.
“Preston!” I’m about even with him, even if ten feet or so separates us. He glances at me, a second of fear breaking through the ice mask before he’s hidden again.
A driver opens the door for them, both Preston and his father get into the car and the door is closed. There’s nothing I can do but watch as he stares straight ahead out the front window. The car pulls away and he’s gone. I’m left standing on the sidewalk outside the rink, watching the guy I care way too much about, leaving with his sketchy ass father. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
I run a hand through my hair and pull on the strands in frustration.
“What’s going on?” Paul asks as he and Brendon catch up to me.
“Seriously, what’s your deal with Carmichael? Are you guys a thing?” Brendon demands.
“Jesus, dude. Drop it already,” Paul snaps. “If he wanted to be with you, he would be. Move on.”
Wait.
Shit.
I can’t deal with Brendon’s hurt feelings right now.
“Let’s go get changed and meet the team at Rocky’s,” Paul says, trying to move past what he just said.
I take my bag back from Brendon and we head back to the dorms. None of us want to spend more time in these suits than we have to.
In my dorm room, I hang up the borrowed clothes and slide into a pair of jeans and a Darby University Ram’s t-shirt. I’m sitting on my bed, pulling on my old Vans, when my door opens and Brendon steps in, closing it behind him.
God damn it.
He leans against the door with his arms crossed.
“I’m sorry.” I clasp my hands between my knees, staring at the floor instead of my best friend. I hate that I’ve fucked this up.
“We had a deal.” His words are full of hurt. “If we met someone, we would let the other know.”
Guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders. He’s right. That was the agreement we made.
“I know.” My words are quiet in the tension of the space between us. “I don’t know what’s going on with me and Preston. We hooked up the night before last but that’s the first time.”
Liar.
When he doesn’t say anything, I turn and look at Brendon. He hasn’t moved from the door.
“I honestly don’t know what will happen from here. He’s…” I struggle to find a way to explain his hang ups without giving him away. I don’t really know what his hang ups are, just the consequences of them. Like no touching.
Brendon scoffs, shaking his head. “He left a clear fucking message on your body. He wanted me to see it.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I think that’s just the way he is. I didn’t have much to do with it.”
He huffs a laugh before turning serious again. “But you liked it.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admit, gripping the back of my neck with both hands.
“The truth.”
I sigh and scrub my face in my hands. “I don’t know what’s going on between Preston and me.” I grip the back of my neck with both hands and squeeze. “But one thing I do know is, what you and I were doing is done.”
