Break Away

by Van Barrett

  I couldn't stay mad at Lane. It wasn't his fault – I'd put him in an impossible situation. What did I think would happen? Of course he'd be afraid to come out to me.

  I brought my stick down with the force of my weight and strength, powered through the motion, and let loose on the puck.

  Clap!

  The shot was high again. The goalie, freaked out, ducked his head out of the way. But this time, the puck hit the bar and ricocheted down and into the net.

  The goalie gave me a death stare. He knew that one was on him, that he should've stayed with it. He wasn't happy about it, either.

  “Yeah ya got lucky on that one, Brame!” he shouted.

  I grinned and skated off.

  ***

  After practice, the sound of equipment being torn off in a rush and lively banter filled the dressing room as always. Everyone was still tickled by Jono's change in demeanor. They'd been letting him have it all day.

  “Hey lover boy!” JT Cooper shouted at him. “What'd you do this weekend?”

  “Does it matter?” Ocho yelled back. “Jono can't do anything anymore without first getting permission from you-know-who.” He snapped an imaginary whip – the universal sign language, of course, for 'pussy whipped.' “Whippah! Whippah!”

  “Fuck you guys, man.” Jono grinned. “You're all jealous. Every last one of you! Just jealous as fuck. 'Cause you've all seen her. I know, I know. It must hurt. Must really hurt you guys to see me with her, huh? Doesn't it?”

  “Yeah,” Elliott agreed with a shit-eating grin. “Hurts to think of the damage you could do to the gene pool, alright! You two are like Beauty and the Beas--”

  Jono rushed over and grabbed Elliott in a head lock. The two jostled about the room as the boys hooted and cheered them on.

  Coach J walked in and ended the play-fight with two stern words: “Alright. Enough.”

  The room fell silent and everybody tuned in to Coach J.

  “We look a little distracted today, boys. A little outta sorts. Need to get it out of our systems. ”

  Everybody nodded. We knew what he meant. It's not just me and Jono. Well, maybe it is just us – but it's effecting the whole team.

  Coach stood at the head of the room and talked. “One more game to end the season, boys. We need to finish strong. We wanna start the tournament on the upswing. Big game Saturday night. Boston College, boys. I don't have to tell you how big this is gonna be.”

  The game was going to be big: it was a college showcase to be played at Madison Square Garden in New York City. A couple of our freshmen, hailing from the North East, looked a little spooked. They haven't yet played a game at MSG – the same ice where they watched all their favorites, and hated rivals, take the ice. The thought can be a little intimidating.

  “We'll meet up for our flight here on Friday. Seven o'clock, boys. Don't be late.”

  Coach slapped his palm twice on the cinder block wall, like he always does, and left the room.

  “Hey boys. Don't worry about MSG,” I said, addressing our younger players. “Once the puck drops, you're just skating on another sheet of ice.”

  “Yeah,” they agreed and swallowed down their nerves.

  “Hey Riv!” I've attracted Jono's attention.

  “Sup Jono.”

  “How'd your interview go Friday night?”

  I shrugged. “S'alright, I guess.”

  “How come we never see this guy? Are you guys working on some kind of hit piece about us? He's not even real, is he?” Jono asked.

  “Yeah!” some of the others, stirred up by Jono's paranoia, agreed. “What's really going on, River?”

  I smacked my forehead. “I told you …”

  Just a second later, Coach came back in. “Hey River.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You got your press guy out here askin' for you. Want me to send him in? Tell him to get lost?”

  Lane. My heart-beat quickened with sticky, anxious thumps.

  “Speak of the devil,” Jono grinned. “So he's actually real? Send him in, River! We wanna grill this guy!”

  I stood up. “I'll meet with him in the hall.”

  The boys booed.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled as I made my way to the door.

  ***

  Lane waited for me in the hall. He looked guilty, kinda. His eyes were big and sad. A subtle frown on his lips.

  Walking on my skates, I stood next to him and folded my arms.

  “Hey.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Hi River.”

  “What's up?”

  “Well, … I'm here! I saw your practice.” He chuckled nervously. “Not sure why you want me to come to these things, honestly, but …”

  “Hey, like I've said, if you don't wanna do thi--”

  “No, no. I'm not saying that. Jeez, River.” He rolled his eyes at me, like I was being too touchy. “Sorry. I didn't mean that I don't wanna be here. I just don't know what I'm supposed to 'get' from watching your practice. That's all.”

  I wet my lips, not sure what to say. Or maybe not knowing how to say it.

  “Goddamn, River.”

  “What?”

  “You're even taller with those ice skates on. You're kind of … intimidating when you're that tall.”

  “Sorry.” I laughed softly. I bent my knees to take a few inches off. “How's that?”

  “You don't have to do that.” He grinned. “But better.”

  Suddenly I felt I had the strength and willpower to say what I wanted.

  “Look, Lane. The reason I asked you to come to practices is just so you can get an idea of me and the team. You know. How things really are in that room.” I paused. “And right this very second, they're coming up with whacked out theories that you don't actually exist.”

  His eyes bugged. “They know who I am?”

  “Not really. Just that I've been meeting with you.”

  “Oh. Well, uh, what are you suggesting?”

  “Just come on in and meet the boys. It'll only take a second.”

  I put my hand on his back and tried to lead him to the room, but Lane didn't budge. He dug his heels in and resisted.

  “… I should tell you something first, River.”

  “What?”

  Before he could say, the dressing room door swung open. Jono's head peered out. And then the others, too, until the doorway was stacked, top to bottom like a totem pole, with the boys' heads.

  “For God's sake,” I laughed.

  “He's real!” Jono gasped.

  “C'mon, Lane,” I said. This time, Lane didn't fight. He reluctantly walked with me and we went into the room and shut the door behind us.

  I addressed the room. “Alright boys. This here is Lane Matthews. He's a journalist at the Dakota Student, and, yeah, he's been following me around to write a piece about the whole Carolina draft situation. It's gonna be published the day they hand out the Hobey Baker Award, so Lane will be around for a couple more weeks still. Say hi to everybody, Lane.”

  Lane cleared his throat. “Uh, hey there, guys. How's everybody doing?”

  He was met with grumbled greetings and stony stares from all over the room.

  “So now ya know. Lane is real, he exists, so you can all chill out now, alright? Okay Lane, thanks for coming in.” I opened the door for Lane to leave.

  “Waaaait, wait wait wait,” Jono jumped up and shut the door. “Don't go just yet Lane.”

  Lane stopped in his tracks and gave me a look that screamed, help!

  Powerless, I shrugged.

  “I've seen a lot of sports writers in my four years at UND, but I've never seen you around here before.”

  Lane glanced at me before he answered. “Oh – well – I'm not a sports writer.”

  Ocho had a paper in hand. He leafed through it. “What'd you say your name was? Lane what?”

  “Lane Matthews.”

  Ocho shrugged and flipped through the paper some more. “Hm. Nope, I don't
see anything by a Lane Matthews in here, guys.”

  “What is it you write, Lane?” Jono asked.

  “Uh, um …” Lane stammered.

  I stepped in. “He writes op-ed pieces.”

  Jono looked at Ocho while Ocho hurriedly flipped through to the editorial page. “Still nothin'.”

  “Nothin'.” Jono grinned.

  “Well – I'm – actually a psychology major. I, uh …” Lane needed help. Badly. Guy was stuttering all over the place.

  “Psychology!” someone else panted. “The plot thickens!”

  “C'mon, what's this about,” I grumbled impatiently. “The guy writes an editorial column once in a blue moon. Who cares if he's not a muck-raking journalist? That's the whole point, boys, I asked the paper to gimme somebody who could be trusted. Somebody who wasn't gonna leak anything he saw or heard to the national press – like the UND sports writers have been doing all year.”

  “Oh.” “Well, yeah.” “Okay Riv.” “Makes sense.”

  That shut 'em up. They finally understood.

  “Anyway.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to Lane. “I'll walk you out.”

  I shut the door behind us and I walked Lane through the hall. We were alone.

  “My heart's pounding, River.”

  “Why?” I chuckled.

  “I … I don't like being put on the spot like that.”

  “Sorry.” I grimaced. I knew I'd done the same thing to him when I asked him if he was gay.

  “It's okay.”

  “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “I, uh--” Lane's gaze darted to the side. “I forgot.”

  I knew he was lying, but I couldn't blame him.

  “Oh. Well. Hey.” I slapped his shoulder. “You left your notebook at my place on Friday.”

  “Yeah, I realized that.”

  “I'll be home around 7 if you wanna stop by and grab it.”

  Lane sucked air like he was breathing through a straw. He closed as his eyes as he thought it over.

  “… Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Cool. See ya then, bud.”

  19

  Cassandra Complex

  – Lane –

  Imagine my fear, nearly being outed in a room full of grisly, butt-scratching, half-nude hockey players.

  Of course, they wouldn't know that I write for Bitch and Moan. That's one of the perks to writing under a pseudonym. But still. I'm a terrible liar. Truly one of the world's worst. When I lie, my palms immediately become sweaty, my face goes pale, and my eyes glaze over like a zombie's. And if any of these guys had spent more than five minutes with me, they'd recognize any one of those tell-tale signs. And they'd know I was hiding something from them.

  Something huge and terrible.

  And, you know, I'd prefer it if that never, ever happened! So, outside of River's place at the Gallery Apartments, I sat in my tiny, beat-up, early 90's Mazda Miata and repeated to myself:

  I can do this. I can tell River the truth. He won't blame me for it.

  If he's understanding? He won't put me in situations like that again.

  If he's not understanding? He won't want anything to do with me anymore, and that'll be that.

  Cool.

  I accepted my fate and rolled up to River's door.

  Whew. I'm really gonna do this, I thought as I pulled my fist back and banged it into River's apartment door.

  Knock knock.

  Hell, I was so ready to tell River the truth, I figured I might tell him the second he opened this door. As soon that door opens, I'll shout, “RIVER! I lied earlier! Truth is, I'm gay! Now you know!”

  I heard the dead-bolt unlock.

  I readied myself. If I didn't do it now, I might not ever have the strength …

  I took a final breath as the door opened, and –

  “RIV-- … who're you?” I blurted out in a sad, breathy, dying gasp as my determination left me in a single instant.

  Standing before me was a brunette girl. Tall, lean, but sculpted and toned. And I'm not being bitchy when I say she looked 'fake.' She just had an overly made-up quality about her. I dunno. But it made sense. She looked like the kind of stay-at-home, Pilates guru, trophy wife that sports guys married all the time.

  “I'm Cass. Who are you?” She gave an expression like she'd just taken a bite out a lemon.

  Oh. Cass. The ex.

  I didn't like her already. It didn't help that Deke jealously weaved in and out of her legs and gave me a scowl. Oh, of course you two are besties.

  “I'm uh, I'm Lane.”

  She shrugged and turned over her shoulder. “River? There's a Lane here for you.”

  “Let him in!” came the voice from down the hall.

  Without another word, Cass stepped away from the door and let me in. She disappeared into River's room, came back a few seconds later, grabbed her purse and made for the door.

  “Nice meeting you,” she said. And she punctuated it with a fake smile to assure me of her genuineness.

  “You too.” I returned the sentiment just as half-heartedly.

  So River's still banging the ex, huh. Ha. Figures. And to think I was getting my hopes up. Yeah, right. I can't wait to tell Devon about this and give her a huge thanks for helping to get my hopes up.

  I waited around, arms folded and feet tapping, for River to emerge. I stared at my notebook, sitting on River's counter.

  This is stupid. I could just grab it and go.

  But something stopped me.

  At last River emerged from his bedroom. If I wasn't so mad, I might remark at length on how annoyingly sexy he looked in his bedtime outfit.

  … Ah fuck it, I'll do it anyway.

  He wore a stupid little muscle t-shirt that was idiotically small and tight. His pecs, his abs, blah blah blah, all his big dumb muscles showed right through the thin cotton fabric. His white sweatpants, low-slung and hugging his waist, left an obnoxious, mouth-watering sliver of bare skin and hips to feast my eyes upon.

  You know. That sliver of skin just above the pubic hair? Flat and hard and with those god-damned 'V' lines etched into his abs? Yeah, that one. That's what he left hanging out for me to see.

  “Hey Lane,” River grinned.

  “Hey. River.” I was really not too impressed with him at the moment.

  “What's up bud?”

  “Not much.”

  I could tell he'd just showered. Small beads of water sparkled at the end of his long eyelashes, like morning dew on grass. On top of his short hair, too.

  Great. He just fucked his ex, worked himself up into a hot, sweaty, sex-fluid mess, and had to hose himself off before he met me. Blah.

  “I came for my notebook,” I said, matter-of-factly.

  River gave me an odd, but tickled, look. “Well yeah, I remember.”

  My eyes darted down. The white sweatpants weren't just tight on the mounds of River's brawny muscles. They were also see-through. Thanks, in part, to River's poor job at toweling himself off after his shower.

  And that's how I knew that River's Clone-A-Cock was indeed his.

  Yup. Because even at half-mast, I immediately recognized that big, thick dick as the same one I'd held in my very own hands. I tried not to stare, but it was almost hypnotic watching that log inch down his left thigh. Was he fucking growing?

  He's probably still thinking about how hard he gave it to 'Cass,' I reassured myself cynically.

  “What's up, man?” River asked, this time sounding a bit concerned. “You seem weird. Or out of it or something.”

  I sighed. “Nothing. I should get going, though.”

  “Aw, really?” River pouted and his shoulders sloped. “I was hoping we might catch a game on TV?”

  I sighed.

  “C'mon, man!” River slapped my back again and again. “C'mon!”

  Try as I might to stay grouchy, he had a way of making me change my mind. “Okay. Fine. Only for a little, though.”

  “Hell yeah, Lane! Can I get you so
mething? Water? Protein shake?”

  I glared at him coyly. “You're always pushing that protein shake, aren't you? I'll take a water.”

  “You got it.”

  I took a seat on his couch with a sigh.

  What am I getting myself into this time?

  ***

  River turned the game on. We sat at opposite ends of the couch.

  “So how's your night going, River?”

  He let out a big sigh. “Good. Fine. Got my homework done earlier and it's time to relax.”

  “Oh. Huh.” I nodded. Was he going to leave out the part about his ex? Was he just going to pretend that never happened? Was I going to stay quiet about it, too?

  A silence fell between us while River put the game on: Blues vs. Avalanche.

  “Go Blues!” River cheered. He turned to me with a scowl and a grumble. “I can't stand the Avalanche. Hey, you can add that to your piece, alright? The one team I definitely won't be signing with is the Colorado Avalanche.”

  He punched my shoulder, hoping to get a rise out of me. But I didn't laugh.

  “Just kidding. You shouldn't actually write that. It'd probably get me in a lot of trouble, actually.” He paused. “Hey, what's wrong?”

  Fuck it. Here goes.

  I pointed at the door with my thumb. “So that was your ex, right?”

  “Oh – Cass? Yeah.” River swallowed. “Why? She say something to you?”

  “No, not really. Just thought I'd ask.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah. That's her.”

  “You guys still …?”

  “What?”

  “C'mon, River. Don't make me say it.”

  “Do we still have sex? Are you asking if I still fuck my ex, Lane?” He smiled like it was a hilarious joke.

  “Yeah, that's what I'm asking.”

  “No, dude, we don't fuck.” River laughed heartily.

  “So you're still friends?”

  “Friends!” River's chest shook with laughter. “That's even funnier!”

  “So you don't fuck and you're not friends.” I shrugged. “What was she doing here?”

  River pointed at the dog. “Deke. She acts like he's her human baby. I offered to let her have him on the weekends, but she says she can't. Her roommates are allergic or something. So, every now and then, she comes over to spend time with him.”