Break Away

by Van Barrett

  “Yeah,” I grinned. “Jono played great.”

  “So did River!”

  “Yeah …”

  I knew River had played well since he got all those assists, but I have to admit … I was a little disappointed that he hadn't scored any goals! He hadn't any of those heroic, electrifying moments like he had in that game last week!

  I pulled out my phone on the sly and texted River:

  'Hey. Good game. I bet it's a party in there, huh? So what's the plan?'

  I was, ahem, keenly aware that Devon was staring at me the whole time I tapped out that text.

  “You're texting River, aren't you?” she said when I put my phone back in my pocket.

  “Stop it,” I laughed. “So what if I am? We made plans for another interview.”

  “Ah yes. Another 'interview.' To discuss your 'research.'”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, Dev. You're the guy boning a hockey player, not me.”

  She bit her lip, looking like I'd just triggered some pleasant memories for her. “… So are you gonna take me down there or what? To see the dressing room?”

  “Now?” I blurted out a laugh. “Yeah right!”

  “C'mon! You've got that press pass. You can get us in there, easy.”

  I shook my head. “I can, but I imagine they're all going nuts over the game! Remember when you said that thing about the 'masculine energy' being too much for you? Trust me, you were right about that. If we go in there now we'll stand out like sore thumbs.”

  “Or maybe, we'll just blend in,” she suggested devilishly.

  I thought about it for a sec, but it still didn't seem like a good idea. “Nah, sorry. Last time I was there, it was trouble.”

  Her eyes lit up with excitement. “Tell me again.”

  “You mean about all the naked hot guys?”

  She nodded frantically. “Yes! Exactly!”

  I played along. “Well. First. The air is hot and humid from all those showers running at once. The steam clenches at your throat until you can't breathe. All these guys are milling around … these thick-bodied, rippling guys … perfect asses, all of 'em … their manly cocks flopping from one thigh to the other as they strut around like the alpha stud athletes they are.”

  Devon panted, moaned, and started to fake an orgasm like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally.

  “See.” I slapped my forehead. “You took it too far. And that, that right there, is why neither of us should go down there.”

  “Yeeah, I know.” She trailed off with a sigh.

  And then – Bzzt! Bzzt! – my phone vibrated in my pocket. I hastily fetched it and opened a text from River:

  'Yeah, LOL, party is right. Glad you got to see it. How 'bout Toasted Frog @ 7 PM?'

  “Toasted Frog.” I put my phone away with a grin. “He wants to meet at Toasted Frog.” I cleared my throat. “Uh, for the interview.”

  “Toasted Frog!” Devon cackled with glee. “I was just giving you shit earlier, but an interview at a restaurant, huh? See, even you're starting to realize that something's up.”

  “Bullshit,” I hissed. “You're just getting my hopes up, Dev! And I wish you'd stop!”

  I shook my head. Damn, she was filling my head with crazy ideas – I didn't even like River! What was I even talking about? 'Getting my hopes up?' For what?

  Because, again, say it with me for the billionth time.

  River. Is. Straight.

  And I don't do straight guys.

  Well. I would. Ha ha. But – yeah. You know what I mean. I don't get my hopes up over straight guys anymore.

  Yeah. That's it. Thaaat's it.

  I took a look around. Besides me and Devon, the only people left in the arena were the workers who swept up all the trash left behind.

  “You ready to go yet or what? We're the only two creepers here.”

  “If you're really not gonna take me to the dressing room …”

  “I'm most certainly not taking you down there.”

  Devon ceded defeat. “Then yeah, let's go.”

  13

  Toasted Frog

  – Lane –

  After killing a bit of time by myself downtown, I headed over to the Toasted Frog and let myself in. The hostess, a girl about my age, asked if I had a reservation.

  “I'm actually not sure. I'm meeting somebody here at 7:00.”

  “What's the name, I can look it up?”

  “Um. Try Lane. Lane Matthews.” I squeezed my eyes shut. I'd doubted if River had made a reservation under my name. But I didn't want to name-drop him, since, I dunno, he gets all weird about being secret and no one seeing him and stuff? And maybe he didn't have to make a reservation at all, since he's such a local celebrity?

  The hostess frowned at her monitor. “No, sorry, I'm not seeing a Lane Matthews here.”

  A voice came from behind, strong but gentle, right over my shoulder. “It's under 'Brame.'”

  I whipped around with surprise – there he was! Mr. UND Hockey himself. With a winsome smile, he stuck out his hand. I gave him mine and we shook.

  “Good to see ya, Lane.”

  I secretly loved how his hand just swallowed mine up.

  “Thanks River.”

  He looked fashionably chic with a pristine, eggshell-white cashmere sweater. Or maybe it was merino. I wouldn't know without touching it first, and I'm not about to lay my hands on him … yet. Ha ha! (Get outta my head, Dev.)

  His slate trousers, a satisfyingly slim fit, contoured over every hard inch of his muscled thighs. A brown leather belt and matching shoes completed the look.

  An athlete with a sense of style, I thought to myself, my throat tightening. How rare. And how nice.

  “Oh! It's River!” the pretty blonde hostess exclaimed, snapping me out of my frozen-in-time trance. I resisted the urge to cast her a jealous stare over her excessive temerity …

  “Hi, how are you tonight?” River asked her politely.

  Hostess girl didn't even reply to his question. “You were so good today, River!”

  Her eyes stayed locked on his while she fumbled with a pair of menus. I could see it in her eyes: the star-struck lust. I knew she wanted him. River probably couldn't go anywhere in this small town without having his pick of the girls. I bet he just plowed through 'em, too. Men are dogs, I knew that – so why wouldn't he take advantage of his mini-celebrity?

  It was kind of a gross thought. The kind of thought that makes me stew a little bit on the inside. But at the same time, it's good to have that reality check. Because holy crap have I been letting myself get carried away.

  River humbly deflected her praise. “Hey, thanks for watching.”

  “Come. Right this way.” Hostess led us to our table.

  “Whew,” I sighed as we settled into our booth. I waited until the hostess had walked off. “I bet you get hit on everywhere you go in Grand Forks, huh?”

  “What? You mean – her?” River looked over his shoulder towards the hostess, acting genuinely shocked. He was probably just trying to check out her butt some more as she walked off.

  I laughed. “Yes, her!”

  River stared until she was out of view.

  Yup. I knew it. Just trying to check out her ass.

  Slowly, he turned back at me. “I don't think so? Maybe, who knows.” He wiped his hands in the air to reset the conversation. “Anyway. What's up, man? How are you?”

  “I'm good,” I grinned. “Starving. Excited for dinner. And, um, the interview.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” He flipped his menu open and looked it up and down. “I get so hungry after a game. Feels like I could eat a horse.”

  “God, I bet.” I laughed.

  There was a quiet between us while we looked our menus over. An innocent quiet, maybe, since we were ostensibly just trying to pick our entrees. But was it? Really? Or was it a different kind of quiet, because we were both realizing how awkward and date-like this 'interview dinner' truly was?

  Slowly, a wave of anxiety b
egan to build, until it crested and threatened to crash over me. What was I even doing here?

  Thankfully, River extinguished that wave just in time.

  “Burger,” he said, nodding at me with a grin. “I think I'll go with the burger and fries. God, I'm boring.”

  “Boring? Why?” I chuckled, pushing all those frantic thoughts right the fuck outta my head space.

  “Every restaurant I go to, I end up getting the same thing. Burger and fries. Ever since I was a kid.”

  “Are you a picky eater?” I asked.

  “No. Not at all. Thing is, so many things on this menu look awesome. Fish tacos … short ribs … lobster tail.” He shook his head at the open menu, almost as if he was frustrated with himself for not having the courage to order something else.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “I guess I don't see the problem? It sounds to me like you wanna branch out. Try something new.”

  “Okay, yeah, maybe.” He shrugged. “But, see, anytime I've gone outside my comfort zone and order something new, I end up getting disappointed and think, 'dammit! I shoulda got the burger and fries!' But burger and fries never let me down – even when they're not very good, it's still burger and fries, ya know?”

  I chuckled. “I guess.”

  He quieted his voice a touch. “What does that say about me? You should know, with your psychology background and stuff. Am I just afraid to try new things?”

  “Could be.” I pursed my lips. “Or it could be how you view risk versus reward. For you, the reward of even a sub-par burger and fries, is far more appreciable than the risk of being disappointed by that lobster tail.”

  River stared at me. “Uh. Wait. Wha'?”

  I chuckled. “Sorry. I just geeked out on you, didn't I?”

  “I think if I read what you just said, it might make more sense to me. Hearing it, though, … my brain just kinda overloaded.”

  “Here, let's have a re-do. To put it more simply, River: you'd rather settle for what you know, rather than take a risk on something that might disappoint you.”

  River squinted at me skeptically. “… So … what you're saying is, I am afraid to try new things?”

  I grinned. “I was trying to say that in nicer terms, but sure.”

  River laughed. “Thanks. I appreciate the effort.”

  The waiter came by and asked us if we wanted any drinks.

  “Have you had Boulevard Tank 7?” I asked River.

  He shook his head uncertainly. “No, I--”

  “We'd like a pitcher of Tank 7,” I told the waiter.

  “Certainly.” The waiter gave a slight bow and took off.

  “It's a micro-brew from Kansas City,” I told River. “It's really fantastic. One of my favorites.”

  And, at 8.5% ABV, it's also stupidly powerful. Not that I'm trying to get River drunk. I just figure, a guy that size, probably needs a strong brew to get a good buzz goin'.

  “Oh. Okay.” River smiled. “So what'd you think of the game?”

  “Well, it was a 6-1 victory. Certainly well played by you guys. At least from my rookie perspective.”

  River chuckled.

  “And you played well. Five assists.” I bit my lip. “Wished I could've seen you score another crazy goal like last time, though.”

  River looked like he'd just taken a bite of something sour.

  “Seriously?” he groaned.

  “Uh – yeah!” I laughed. “Who doesn't like goals?”

  We both put the conversation on hold as the waiter returned with our pitcher of Tank 7. He put down two pints and filled 'em both up. Then he took our orders. I went for the chicken pesto melt. River went for, surprise, surprise, the burger and fries.

  “Old habits die hard, huh?” I teased River when the waiter left us alone again.

  “Yup.”

  I held up my pint. “Hey. Cheers.” River held his up, too.

  But he set it back down before drinking. “Well, that's a bummer, dude. I thought you didn't like goals.” He leaned in to let me in on a secret. “You got me in trouble with the coach, y'know.”

  My face scrunched up. “Wait, what? Trouble with the coach?”

  “Well … I'm just kidding. But uh, yeah.” He shrugged.

  “I don't follow.” I took a gulp of my beer.

  “See, Coach is always telling me I need to shoot more. Until these past couple years, I've never been the go-to guy, I've never been the sole goal scorer for a team. My job had always been to make other guys look good – pass them the puck so they can score. I didn't mind, I love passing.”

  “What changed?”

  “Well, I had that growth spurt, and I kept working hard to get better, and … Coach J came along and told me I could be one of the best if I just had more of a killer instinct and drove the net with the puck more often. Let the others bang home the rebounds if I miss.”

  I blinked. “Okay, and so today … you ignored your coach's instruction? Why?”

  “It's nothing that serious.” He laughed off the charge. “But he did talk with me after the game and wanted to make sure I wasn't going back to my old ways.”

  I still didn't get it. “And so, you said this is my fault?”

  River chuckled. “Hey, I was just kidding.”

  “Tell me what you meant, though.”

  “Well.” He sipped his water. Not his beer. “You said I was a jackass who should play more like a gentleman. I just wanted to show you that I wasn't this selfish player.”

  “Uh.” My eyes narrowed. The fuck? Is he serious? “I uh. I didn't know that actually bothered you? I'm sorry I said that?”

  “Ah, don't be.” River laughed it off. “It's no big deal.”

  “No, but …” I trailed off, at a loss for words.

  But it was kind of a big deal, wasn't it? Damn. I wouldn't have guessed River would be so … sensitive? If that's even what he is?

  “And Jono definitely didn't mind. He knew your friend was gonna be there and he wanted to impress her.” River smiled. “Think it worked?”

  “Well uh, yeah,” I croaked out. “Definitely. She was thrilled over that hat trick.”

  River took another drink from his water. His beer still sat untouched.

  I pointed at his pint glass. “You're not drinking?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I should've spoke up sooner, but you ordered so fast. I don't drink, Lane.”

  “Oh. Oh.” I smacked my forehead. “The club soda at Joe Black's suddenly makes a lot more sense.”

  River chuckled. “Yeah. It's kind of embarrassing – being this age, and not drinking. Everyone always looks at me funny and I'm always the odd man out. You know?”

  I didn't know. But I had to nod my head and pretend like I did. While I nursed my 8.5% beer.

  “Oh, er, should I not–” I pushed my pint glass away, “–in front of you?”

  River laughed. “Help yourself dude. I don't mind. I don't have any desire to drink the stuff. I've never touched it, actually.”

  “Then can I ask …?”

  “Sure. My Dad. Big time alcoholic. After seeing what that stuff can do … nah. I'm just kinda turned off by it. I've never had the desire to try it, really.”

  I swallowed. Welp. I suddenly felt like an asshole.

  “Yeahh,” I sighed. What could I even say? “That'd be a pretty formative experience I guess.”

  “Hey, enough of the heavy shit!” River reset the conversation once more. “Look. The boys drink all the time, Lane. I'm around it constantly. I don't want you to think I'm this guy who's silently judging you because you like to drink it. It's just a lifestyle choice I've made for me personally. Nothing more to it than that.”

  Whew.

  “Thanks, River,” I said with a small sigh of relief. “Honestly, I don't think it's that weird though. That you don't drink, I mean. I think it's pretty admirable of you, really. It's like everyone our age drinks. Everyone. And that's all we do for fun. And it makes things so fucking difficult! So many dumb, drunken mistakes, and f
ights, and hangovers, and just bad decisions. I dunno.”

  River nodded with empathy. “Yeah, I hear ya, bud. Seems like everyone's always complaining about it in some way. But at the same time, everyone loves it, too. I guess that's the problem with it, eh?”

  “Tch. Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. Never had a sip of alcohol in his life and he'd nailed it perfectly. “Well, whatever. I guess we should start the interview?”

  River leaned his chair back, balancing on its back legs, and smiled. “Sure.”

  14

  Interview, Pt. 2

  – Lane –

  Between bites, I tossed River questions, and he fielded answers.

  “So, I have to admit, I did a little research on you, River.”

  “Uh oh.” River smiled with a touch of discomfort. “And what'd you find out?”

  “Dude. The fans are really hot and cold on you, aren't they?”

  He snickered. “Told you. Loved in Grand Forks. Hated everywhere else.”

  “Nah, I wouldn't say everywhere else. Not from the research I've done. Although I'd say it's true the Carolina fans are a little more – uh, critical, I should say.”

  “For sure. They're mad I'm not gonna suit up for them, and I kinda can't blame them. To go from hearing about how well your NCAA prospect is doing, to, well, hearing about how he's not gonna sign with you. Yeah, that's gotta suck as a fan.”

  I held up my finger. “On the other hand. Other fans around the NHL are like, totally obsessed with where you're going to sign. Everyone is so sure that their team is gonna be the one to sign you! It's kind of hilarious, reading these message boards.”

  “Oh God. Don't tell me you've been reading the hockey message boards.” River looked concerned with his bug-eyed stare.

  “Indeed I have. I find forums are a fantastic resource for gathering street-level opinions.”

  “And so, what do you think?”

  “… I think their obsessions border on being delusional and fanatical.”

  “Well, that is where 'fans' get their name.” River nodded sagely.

  A light bulb went off in my head. “Oh! God. You're right! I never even realized that. Fan, fanatic. Duh.”