Break Away

by Van Barrett

  “No!” I laughed the question off, but not very persuasively. “Gay? Me? Yeah, right!”

  River rubbed his lips. Like he wasn't convinced. And I couldn't blame him.

  “Really. You're not?”

  “No!”

  “Two-way street, Lane.” He mimicked the 'two-way street' hand gesture I'd used against him twice tonight.

  My heart raced. Short of breath, I panted – just like Deke, the devious and knowing dog, watching all this go down on the couch with a gleeful look in his eye. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

  “I have to tell you something I saw, Lane.”

  OH NO OH NO OH NO.

  I wanted to run and jump and go crashing through his window to escape before he had the chance to tell me – but, knowing I might not survive the jump from the third floor, I chickened out. (I guess I could've used the front door like a normal person. But that seemed too cowardly and not nearly dramatic enough.)

  “Oh, 'kay?” I croaked.

  “When you left Joe Black's. I saw your boyfriend come up and greet you. I saw him kiss you and heard him asking you who I was. Then you two ran off in a hurry.”

  My eyes widened. Wait, what? So he doesn't know about the dildo?

  River shrugged. “I mean, you guys looked pretty close, Lane. And like I said, I don't care if you are gay. I just thought, if we were gonna be open and honest with each other, then I should get that off my chest. Because it's been on my mind.” River paused. “So, just to be clear. He's not your boyfriend?”

  “That's not my boyfriend, River.”

  … At least I could say that and not feel totally dishonest.

  River shrugged it off. “Okay.”

  We stared across the room at each other. My heart shriveled, compressing into a hard, aching knot. Like a guitar string winding, the tension growing impossibly tighter until suddenly – snap! – the steel string breaks and lashes out.

  And so the pressure mounted in my chest, worsening with each passing second that I didn't come clean. I was seconds away from having that string snap on me, and the truth come spilling out.

  But instead of a snap, there was another noise.

  Honk honk!

  I let out a big sigh – part relief, and part guilt. “That's my car, River.”

  He nodded forlornly. “Sounds like it.”

  “Had a good time.”

  “Me too.”

  River stuck out his hand. We shook to end the night, just like we'd started it. And I made my way to the door.

  “Hey Lane.” River said softly, stopping me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Practice on Wednesday. You gonna be there? We could do this again after.”

  Do this again, hopefully minus a few lewd acts, I thought to myself.

  “I uh …” I raised my palms. “I don't see why not?”

  “Good. See ya then.”

  “Right. Later.”

  17

  Perpetrator

  – Lane –

  I rode home in the back of that cab, my face pressed up against the cold glass. I watched the city lights, the trails of headlights and brake-lights, pass by once again. It wasn't nearly as mesmerizing as it had been on the way over here, on the back of River's bike.

  So I'd 'gotten away' with measuring myself against his dildo. And, er, I'd played with his dildo, too. Hurrah. But instead of feeling good about not getting caught, all that was left was this horrible, sour sinking in my stomach.

  Some two-way street of open, honest communication, huh.

  The part that killed me was that River said he wouldn't care if I was gay. He just wanted to know, as a matter of fact or curiosity. Obviously, if he had a problem with me being into dudes, he would've thrown his hands up and made a big stink about it the very first time he saw my face in that training room.

  But he hadn't.

  In fact, he hadn't even asked me about being gay until I harped on him endlessly about this 'two-way street' thing. A concept that apparently only applied to him, and not me.

  What's that say about him? That he didn't care if a gay reporter was going to follow him around for weeks on end? I guess he's even nicer and more tolerant than I thought.

  And what's that say about me, that I'd do something so depraved, and lie to his face …

  But no crime goes unpunished, and karma bit me in the ass after I lied. Because, when I thought River was going to put me on the spot about jerking off with his dildo? Life threw me a curveball. River hadn't known about the dildo. He only knew about Paulo.

  But I'd already dug myself a trench. I'd already said I wasn't gay. And now I had to stick with my lie.

  I looked at my cell phone. I wanted to text River and let him know. Something like, 'Hey. You're right. That wasn't my boyfriend, but I am gay. Sorry I lied.'

  But I couldn't. I just couldn't. And so the cab took me home. I paid, went inside, and climbed into bed.

  I spent the rest of the weekend to myself, content to keep a low-profile. I guess, after almost getting caught by River, I needed to lay low for a while and let the miserable cloud of shame slowly pass me by.

  And it wasn't hard to stay in and binge on Netflix all weekend:

  Devon spent her entire weekend with Jono …

  Paulo, the last guy I'd gotten all worked up about, was a definite bust …

  And my other friends were too hungover to do anything during the day. They only came to life in the late evening, just in time to get ready to hit the bars. So they could do the whole cycle over again.

  Nah. No thanks, not what I needed after my turbulent Friday night.

  So I stayed in until the weekend was over.

  ***

  Me and Devon met in the computer lab on Monday so we could get an early start on our weekly column. But we didn't get much work done.

  Devon was so excited to tell me about her weekend with Jono. They hadn't parted ways until Monday morning. Not once. After the hockey game, he'd taken her out to eat, and then they went out for a nice dinner … and then they rushed back to his place.

  Where, apparently, they made love for, oh, the better part of 48 hours. Just fuckin' and cuddlin', and only getting out of bed to order food. Which was really just fuel for more fuckin'. And then Jono would whisk her off her feet, rush her back to his bedroom, and make love to her all over again.

  “Sounds like a dreamy time, Dev,” I said with a sigh. “I'm happy for you.”

  And I was happy for her. But maybe a little jealous, too. In a healthy way. If healthy jealousy could possibly exist.

  “Yeah. He's so sweet and caring. It's kinda crazy, though, how it's all happening so fast …” she trailed off. “I uh, I think he wants to officially be boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Well hey!” I said, sounding congratulatory but also a bit cautious, because I wasn't sure if that was good news or bad news. “That's good, right?”

  “I think? Maybe?” She snickered uncertainly. “I mean it's cute that he's so crazy about me. But you know me, Lane. I prefer to screen all candidates thoroughly before investing any real emotions in them.”

  I nodded. “So uh, does Jono talk about River at all?”

  She cast me a skeptical glance. “Like what?”

  “I dunno, like anything? I'm just curious what the other guys say about him.”

  “I've asked him about River a few times, but he doesn't really say much. I get the feeling Jono probably gets asked about him a lot, you know?”

  “Mm. Yeah.” I nodded sympathetically, remembering the picture of River and Jono in their prep school days.

  Devon shrugged. “But hey, speaking of River, you never told me how your weekend went.”

  I let out a pained sigh. “Yeah. There's actually a reason for that.”

  “Shit, what happened?” she asked gravely.

  I took a deep breath. “It's … pretty embarrassing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You have to promise not to tell. I mean you can't tell anybody, Devon.”


  “I promise!”

  “You can't tell Jono. You definitely can't tell Jono.”

  “Oh my God!” Her big eyes grew bigger and wilder. “You guys hooked up, didn't you?”

  I groaned. “Not exactly …”

  And so I told Devon everything. Every last detail. From meeting at Toasted Frog; to what exactly we talked about during dinner and what we ordered; how I was a bozo who drank an entire pitcher of Tank 7; to riding back to River's on his motorcycle; to getting a glimpse at his heart-wrenchingly empty apartment; to, yes … of course …

  “You mean you actually held River Brame's erect cock in your hands!?” she squealed, and way too loudly at that.

  My finger immediately went to my lips. “Shhh! Dev! Keep it down!”

  “Oops. Sorry. Um. But yeah.” She leaned over and whispered this time. “You touched his dick, dude. Whoa.”

  “I did more than that, sadly.” I shook my head, filled with shame.

  “Uh. Wait. You mean to say …?” She looked disturbed and couldn't finish her question. Understandably so.

  “No, I didn't do that. I just, uh – compared us. And I might have used him as, uh, an aide. But not to completion, okay!”

  “Ha!” Devon gulped. “So? Is he packin'?”

  “Ugh. Is he ever, Dev.”

  “Figures.” She grinned. “Well, I don't see why you're so upset about it. This is huge, Lane. Huge.”

  “A huge cluster-fuck, maybe,” I said cynically.

  “No, you're not thinking about this rationally. This is a win-win for you, really. Either River's straight, and he took that Clone-A-Cock mold of his own dick. Which would mean, yes, that was as close as you'll ever get to seducing him. But to be fair, holding a replica of his erect penis, well, that's pretty darn close, Lane. And when he's a millionaire athlete on TV, you can grin smugly to yourself and fondly remember that time you jerked it to the replica of his manhood.”

  “Oh, lord.” I rolled my eyes.

  “The other scenario is, that dildo wasn't a mold of River's cock. Which would have to mean that he's not straight, right? Because if he was a straight guy, why the fuck would he have a big, homemade mold of someone else's pecker? Clearly, it'd have to be some ex-boy-toy from his very own, and very gay!, past.”

  “You've made so many leaps in logic, I don't even know where to begin. And I still haven't even told you what happened after he came out of the shower.”

  “There's more?!” Devon squealed.

  “Oh, there's more, alright.”

  I finished the rest of my story. How River came out of the shower and nearly caught me. How he asked me on the spot if I was gay and I cowardly lied my ass off.

  “When he asked me that, he looked like a detective, Dev. And I felt like his #1 suspect. And he brought me in to sweat under the heat of his 200-watt light bulb in the interrogation room. And I lied, because I'm a perp, and that's what us perps do – we lie, because something inside us stops us from ever telling the truth. And the detective just sits there and nods, with this cold, doubting, but somewhat amused look in his eye. He knows he's getting fed a load of bull, but he doesn't even care. Because he's already built this bullet-proof case. And all this interrogation is really just a mind game. The cop just wants to let the perp know: you're fucked, pal.”

  Devon looked at me and blinked. Until she broke into a fit of laughter.

  “You're crazy, Lane.” More giggles. “So River's a detective grilling you under his heat lamp, huh?”

  “It's a metaphor.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Okay, you lied, and that's fucked up. But you lied because you thought he was gonna ask if you were playing with his dildo, Lane! Of course you were freaked out and lied about it. The important thing is, River doesn't even care that you're gay! Don't you see? Don't you see what that's what the whole night was about? If you hadn't chickened out, I bet there would've been fireworks.”

  “Bullshit,” I hissed. “No way.”

  “He knew, or 'thought' you were gay. And yet, he still rode you back to his place on the back of his motorcycle. While you groped his muscular chest from behind. What's that tell you?”

  “But did he know I was feeling him up? I dunno, Dev. There's too many what-ifs. I feel like I don't even know what's real and what's not real anymore.”

  She clapped her hands together. “And that's why you need an unbiased source – AKA, me – to tell you what's up!”

  “Ugh. I just can't let myself believe it.”

  “Hey, I could be wrong. Somehow. But I doubt it! Anyway, believe what you want. That's just how I see it.”

  “So, what do you think I should do now?” I asked her.

  She looked at me with a smile in her eyes. “Tell the truth. Duh.”

  “About the dildo?!”

  “No! For God's sake. Not that. Don't ever tell him about that unless you want him to think you're a sicko.”

  “Hey! Moment of weakness, okay! Alcohol was involved!”

  “Right.” Devon giggled. “Anyway, no, I meant you should tell him that you're gay and that you're sorry you lied.”

  The mere suggestion that I come out to River made me feel hot all over and gasping for breath. “Ugh. I feel sick.”

  The door suddenly opened. Stan, the student newspaper editor, walked in to check up on us.

  “Hey guys.”

  “Hi Stan,” Devon said while I panted for air.

  He shut the door, leaned against it, and jingled the keys and coins in his pockets. “What's up.”

  Dev cheerfully piped up. “Lane was just telling me about his weekend with River Brame.”

  Stan's head titled with interest. “Oh yeah? How's that going, Lane?”

  Devon cut in before I could answer. “He's really getting to know River intimately. In fact, Lane has his hands all over River's likeness--”

  “Oh my God, Dev!” I grabbed her office chair by the armrest, gave a mighty heave, and Devon went wheeling and spinning across the room.

  “Weeeeeeee!”

  “Uh.” Stan chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. You two and your inside jokes.”

  “To answer your question, it's going fine, Stan. I haven't written anything yet. It's still early. He really wants me to get to know him first.”

  “And oh, is he ever!” Devon teased as she scooted her way back.

  I shot her a don't you even dare! stare.

  Stan looked like he'd already had his fill of us for the day. “… Right on. Well. Keep up the good work, I guess. See ya guys.”

  “Bye Stan!” we said at the same time.

  When Stan shut the door behind him, I cast Devon a leer.

  “You.”

  “What?” she giggled. “No one's gonna know what we're talking about.”

  “Don't even joke about it, Dev! I'm serious, no one can know … promise me you're not gonna tell anybody? Please?”

  “I promise I won't tell anyone! Sheesh.”

  “Alright.” I let out a sigh. “Let's get to work already.”

  “'Kay.” Devon turned to her computer. But she quickly got distracted. “Hey, don't you recommend Clone-A-Cocks in Bitch and Moan all the time?”

  “All the time?” I laughed. “Hardly. Once or twice maybe. Why?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe he got one on your recommendation.”

  “Yeah right …”

  18

  He Writes Editorials

  – River –

  I've had some time to think about it. And, I have to say, I'm pretty torn up right now. Not the happiest guy around.

  Clap! I blasted the puck for another slap shot from just inside the blue-line.

  Missed. Too high. Over the net and over the goalie's head, too. He didn't just duck – he threw himself to the ice to get the hell out of the way of that howitzer. The puck slammed into the thick glass with a noisy, echoing glass gong.

  Our goalie stood up and gave me one hell of a nasty look. Even from this far away and through the wir
e of his face mask, I could see the huge whites of his eyes.

  “Fuck.” I swore at myself. “C'mon, River.”

  I wound up for another slap shot. Clap!

  GO~NG!

  “Again?!” the goalie screamed. “You wanna keep that fucking puck down or are ya trying to kill me, Brame?!”

  I dropped my shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Some players, when they're pissed, play better.

  … I'm not one of them.

  No, when I'm in a foul mood, my game goes to shit. The effort is there, but nothing else is. My timing's off. My accuracy. My feel for the game. It's all shit.

  Lettuce skated up and gave my ass a double-tap with the blade of his stick. “You doin' alright, captain?”

  “Yeah. Thanks Lettuce. I'm just – I dunno. Got some shit on my mind.”

  “Take it easy, captain. Don't beat yourself up. You'll be fine.”

  “I know. Thanks, Lettuce.”

  “No prob.”

  Elliott sent me a cross-ice pass. I snatched the wobbling puck out of the air, settled it down, put it in my wheelhouse, and teed up.

  … The thing that's killing me, the thing I can't stop thinking about, is that I know what I saw. The night at Joe Black's, with Lane and whoever that guy was. So why would he lie to me? It sucks.

  Sure. Maybe it's not my business. But it sucks that I know he's lying. Because now I can't really trust him. And, the whole point of this interview, is that I need someone I can trust. Because I can't just open myself up to someone who doesn't have my back.

  I was starting to like Lane. I thought he might be that person – the one I could trust. But now I'm having serious doubts about this thing going forward.

  In fact? I know when he left my apartment, I told him we could do another interview today. But since I've had more than a few days to stew over it … I'm really not sure about that anymore.

  Then again, this is all my fault. I put him on the spot. I put him on the spot and asked him a really personal question when he was getting ready to leave my place.

  But maybe I didn't want him to leave just yet.