Break Away

by Van Barrett

  Hands grew feistier. Mine snuck up River's shirt, stole a handful of muscle, dug claws into his chiseled abs. His hands went up my shirt too, and he glided his fingers over my smooth belly.

  “Oh God,” I panted, wilting as his lips sucked on my neck.

  Our kisses went deeper and deeper until they stirred something else up entirely – a raw longing for each other. A desire to be even closer. It was inevitable; we got hard. I felt his length extending and thickening under my ass, and when he saw my bulge, he rubbed it through my jeans.

  But these weren't erections of pure, frustrated, and pent-up lust. No, they were something else. Something more profound.

  I stood up, never breaking eye contact with River. I held out my hand, hoisted him to his feet, and led him to my bedroom.

  When I got River into my bedroom, we both stripped nude. He laid on my mattress, flat on his back, an arm propped behind his head. I sucked him. And when I couldn't wait any longer, I slid a condom over him. When I was ready, I pushed myself back on him.

  I rode him the whole time. Could have been thirty minutes, could have been an hour, I'm not exactly sure. He held my hips and I listened to all his soft, sexy moans while we fucked.

  But no – that's not quite right. Because this didn't feel like a 'fuck.' This wasn't so heavy, so lusty, so animalistic and meaningless. It was slower. Sweeter. It was mournful. But somehow joyful, too. Maybe sacred was the right word.

  It was deep, above all else, like we were bonding at the level of our souls.

  And so I rode River just like that – long into the night. We both came more than once. Fuck it, I'm dancing around the subject, but I'm gonna say it. We didn't fuck, we made the L-word. That's what it was. After we both came, we talked. We cried again. And then we made the L-word some more. It got later. Or maybe you'd say it got earlier, since we'd long been on this-side of midnight.

  ***

  We both lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. The break-up sex was nice, and maybe it was even needed. But I also knew it was a distraction at best. And baring that part of ourselves to each other seemed like such a great idea in the moment – but once the storm of emotions passes, and the sky clears, and you find yourself exactly where you were before … only more emotionally vulnerable than before.

  It was like one big metaphor for our whole affair in the first place.

  Suddenly, you're not sure the sex was such a great idea. You feel like strangers lying next to each other in bed. Sure, you're both sweaty, and you're both sticky with each other's juices. But it doesn't change the fact that something huge is between you. You might as well be complete and total strangers sharing a bed.

  After a long silence in which the somberness set in again, River thrashed his fist into the mattress.

  “I wish it didn't have to be this way,” River said.

  “What?”

  “Me and you. Or me and hockey. I wish I could have both – you and hockey.”

  He could, of course, but it certainly wouldn't be easy. And I knew he wouldn't agree with me.

  “I do too, River. But I guess you can't have both.”

  He took my hand into his and stared into my eyes. “It sucks so bad. I've never felt this way about anybody before. And now, it's like, it's getting snatched away from me. And there's nothing I can do about it but stand and watch it happen.” He shook his head, his eyes imploring me. I felt like he wanted me to agree with him that there was nothing he could do.

  “Lane,” he said, his voice fragile. “Lane. I want you to know. I really do like you. I more than like you, actually. I …”

  Uh oh, I thought, steeling myself.

  “Lane, I lo--”

  How dare he. I put my finger to his lips and stopped him before he made a grievous and unforced error.

  “Don't you dare say that, River Brame. It's too soon. Too laughably soon, and you're just gonna fuck me up worse.”

  “But … I--”

  “No. Don't. Please. I've been down this road enough times. I know where it leads.”

  His body went limp like he'd been cruelly injured. But I was ready to move on. If that meant throwing myself on the grenade to save River's career, fine, so be it. I'd do it. I didn't have a career of my own to destroy yet, anyway.

  “So do you want me to make a statement on that article, River? I can take the blame for it. I'll say I never told you what I write. That you had no idea.”

  He thought it over. “Maybe. You might have to do that.”

  I dutifully bobbed my head. “Yeah. Well. I would. If it meant saving your career.”

  “The other option is the safer one.”

  “And what's that?”

  “… I sign with Carolina after all.” He laughed cynically. “After all that. Man.”

  “Ugh.” My stomach roiled. “That's disgusting. What they're doing to you is extortion.”

  “Yeah. It is. But what choice do I have? If they have something more, it's over for me.” He thought about this option some more. “And it's not like it'd be the end of the world. I'd still be in the NHL. How many people would kill to get there?”

  “But the whole reason you wanted to wait for free agency in the first place … is 'cause you felt they weren't respecting your choice to go to school. And that they were pressuring you to sign, which only turned you off more. And now …” I trailed off.

  “Yeah. And now I really feel pressured to sign. To the point where I might actually do it.”

  A long, hopeless pause came between us. I decided to say fuck it and throw all my chips in.

  “There is a third option, River.”

  “What's that.”

  I put my hand in his and we locked fingers. “You lay low for the time being. You wait and see what happens. And if worse comes to worst, you tell the truth.”

  With a great laugh, he stole his hand back. He laughed like he'd just heard the funniest thing in the world. “Yeah, right!”

  It'd be an understatement to say that hurt. Especially after he'd tried to sneak the L-word in on me. He was willing to say that, but he wasn't willing to be open and honest about us? Didn't sound like L-word to me.

  I started to sour. Again. “Okay. Well. Then only you know what to do with your future, River. Sign with Carolina or take a gamble on what information they're holding. Up to you. I can't help you with that decision.”

  “Fuck.” He ironed the creases in his forehead with his palm. And maybe he picked up on the fact that I had soured – could he feel it in the air? – because he looked at his watch and muttered a curse word. “Damn, it's late. I need to head back to my place and let Deke out.”

  River sat up on the bed and looked at me. Did he want me to invite myself along? 'Cause it wasn't gonna happen. I made that clear by slithering under the bed sheets and pulling them up to my eyeballs.

  “Well. Alright. Guess you should go then,” I mumbled from under the sheets.

  “Yeah,” River agreed.

  He stood up and dressed himself and I watched.

  For the last time, I thought to myself as he pulled his jeans up his long, built and thick legs.

  River leaned over the bed and kissed my forehead. For the last time.

  “Can you still watch Deke Friday and Saturday?” River asked, sounding flat and dead inside.

  “Um.” I grumbled. “Sure?”

  Add me to the list of ex's turned dog-caretakers. Wonderful.

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck with your hockey game,” I said after he'd already walked out of the room.

  And then I was alone.

  38

  A Good Man

  – River –

  I'd hoped I might see Lane one last time before the team flew out to Ohio for the semi-finals. Why? I don't know. I hated that we ended it already. Sure, our lives were fucking blowing up all around us. But we still had time. As long as we did things carefully, secretly … we were safe to see each other for a little while longer.

  That meant, yes, we
'd have to be more careful. Renting motel rooms with aliases rather than meeting at each other's apartments. Maybe even using burner phones to talk to each other.

  In the long run, I knew damned well I'd have to give Lane up. Whether that was because the media found out about us, or in a few months when I join the NHL and we're always apart.

  But to give Lane up at the first sign of trouble? It didn't quite seem right. But that was a hard conversation to have. A conversation that should be had face-to-face. Because things were delicate. Emotions were hard. Hard to process and hard to talk about. Hell, I couldn't talk about them at all. I wasn't like Lane – I didn't know how to talk so openly or with such good words.

  But we couldn't have that talk. Because when I left my place at 6:30 to head with the team to the airport, Lane still hadn't shown up to take care of Deke.

  It wasn't a big deal since he already had a key to my place. I texted him and reminded him to take care of Deke, and he replied to let me know he wouldn't forget.

  I guess he's avoiding me, I thought. I know we'd decided it'd be best if we didn't see each other anymore … but I kinda hoped we could drag it out for at least a little while longer.

  When the team gathered prior to the flight, all the boys were stunned about the news. They kept asking me if it was true. If I knew.

  I acted stunned. I fielded all their bewildered questions. Some jokes, some serious, some which I couldn't-quite-tell.

  “No. I had no idea.”

  “Yeah, I talked to him since the news came out. He said he's sorry.”

  “No, he never tried anything on me. That's ridiculous. Get real.”

  The only person who hadn't acted surprised, or curious to hear any details, was Jono. He sat by himself, away from everybody else, with ear-buds stuck between his ears.

  Meanwhile, my agent was waiting to hear back from me. He told me he'd received a fax with Carolina's latest contract offer. They'd offered the maximum term with generous bonuses. But they wanted a verbal agreement before the championship game next week. Or else.

  That last part wasn't written in the contract terms – but it might as well have been.

  ***

  In Ohio, we were set to face off against Denver on Saturday. We got to the hotel Friday night and Coach J called the leadership meeting in his hotel room. Coach had us take a seat at the small dining table. He sat at the foot of his bed, with his hands on his knees. He looked stern but solemn. As always.

  “We need to make a decision here, boys.”

  He didn't have to say about what. We all knew: about whether Jono should play or Lettuce should take his place.

  Coach listened quietly while the three of us put forth our arguments for playing Jono or benching him. Actually, it was just Ocho and Ells who talked. I stayed silent.

  “Jono's been off for weeks. We've all tried to help him talk about whatever's eating him up. He just won't have it,” Ocho said. “His game's gone to hell and we're suffering as a result. Even on the fourth line, he's a liability. I hate to say it but it's true.”

  “But he's been a huge part of the team. For the last four years. Taking him out now? We could kill team morale,” Ells replied.

  “That's true … but at the same time, his mood is bringing down morale. We might get a boost without him sulking.”

  They debated the pros and cons, back and forth, of letting Jono sit. Both players agreed Lettuce was a better hockey option. The only question was whether it'd be too damaging to morale to take Jono out after he'd been with us this far.

  After all the arguments had been made, the eyes in the room settled on me.

  “River, you've been awfully quiet,” Coach said. “What's your take?”

  I couldn't tell them what was going on behind the scenes. That I had reason to believe Jono was the guy leaking information to Carolina. That I'd been threatened with more gossip by both Jono and Carolina.

  I opened my mouth and the words started coming out. “From a hockey perspective, there's no question Lettuce would be an upgrade.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “But … we can't take Jono out now, boys.” I felt like I was stabbing my own team in the back – to save myself. “He's been too important. Us four seniors have been here since day 1. Now we're gonna kick one of our own to the curb? In the semi-finals? Boys, we gotta think of the message that sends to everybody else.”

  I shook my head, full of shame. Only I was ashamed at myself for not having the balls to do what's best for the team. Some leader I was.

  Ocho and Ells were both stunned, to put it mildly. “But you've worked so hard with Lettuce all year just in case something like this happened,” Ells said with an expression of disbelief.

  “Yeah, well, things change, I guess.”

  They were speechless.

  Coach stood. “Let's have a show of hands then. First, all those in favor of keeping Jono in the lineup.”

  My hand shot right up. I looked at Ocho and Ells, silently urging them to raise their hands. They wrestled with the decision, they struggled against the weight of my peer pressure, but I could tell they just couldn't do it. Too much was at stake for them – winning the tournament. Rightfully so.

  “And hands to sit Jono, and insert Lettuce into the lineup instead.”

  Ocho and Ells both sheepishly raised their hands.

  “Sorry Riv,” Ells said.

  “Sorry captain,” Ocho said.

  “It's alright,” I grumbled. “Don't worry, boys. I don't blame you.”

  They didn't know, after all. If I was brave enough to tell 'em the threat I was facing, they might help me out. Then again, if I was brave enough to tell people, maybe this wouldn't be a problem in the first place.

  “Well, that's two votes to one,” Coach said. “Barring some unforeseen miracle, I'll tell Jono after the morning skate he's sitting.”

  My shoulders slumped. I buried my head in my hands.

  Ells and Ocho both got up to leave, but not before giving me a friendly rub on the shoulders.

  “Hey, Riv, don't take it so hard, man. I know you guys are close and this ain't easy on you.”

  “You're a good man, captain. A better man than me.”

  “Yeah, Riv, we'll take the blame if you want.”

  Their words were like daggers in my heart. I wasn't good at all. I was selfish and cowardly. I'd screw the team just to save my own hide. And worse, everyone mistook those failures for good qualities.

  “No,” I croaked hoarsely. “Trust me. I'm not good.”

  I got up and left. The three of us went to our separate hotel rooms. I went back to my room, which I shared with Lettuce, and told him congrats.

  “For what?” Lettuce asked with a chipper laugh.

  “Nothin' really. You've just worked so hard all year, man. I'm really proud of you.”

  “Ha, hey, thanks River. You too, dude. You've been a great captain to learn from.”

  Oh, God. My lips curled with disgust and I crawled under the sheets. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

  I hit the sack early.

  39

  Cult of Personality

  – Lane –

  Another day meant another twenty-four hours of non-stop Facebook friend requests and messages from complete and utter psychos. Here's a sampling of some of the messages I've received from Facebook's finest, with typos intact, so you understand the level of intelligence we're dealing with here:

  “You motehrfucker you beter not done any gay SHIT to river brahms! GROSS”

  “omg lol wtf who even are you? Some kind of undercover gay guy, trying to turn all sports athletes into homos? Nice try, not happenin tho”

  “good job, you thought river wouldnt find out your true identity didnt you! Haha I geuss u r wrong! homo”

  “Dear Lame 'Moan' Matthews, I have a sexy question I was hoping you could help me with? My favorite hockey player is currently being stalked by an obsessed gay man. How do I get him to stop??? Please advise. Ta ta for n
ow.”

  For your and my peace of mind, I've left out the messages that have more of a, y'know, death threat vibe to them. (But don't worry, there's plenty of those.)

  Sigh.

  Needless to say, my phone has been effectively out of commission since the news broke. I don't need the constant buzzing reminder of my misdeeds. Because, yes world, I know: I'm in a very fucked up situation with your beloved hockey player. I'm sorry. Really, I am. Because I didn't plan on this happening. I didn't plan on falling for the guy, and I couldn't have planned for anything happening between us, and goddamnit I never would've planned for any of this to come out and be something you read about in your trashy sports gossip blogs, you catty fucks.

  Obviously, sometimes, life is just fucked up. And fucked up things happen.

  And, you know, the reason this is all extra fucking crummy is because … I was loving UND. Really! I was. It was a chance to reinvent myself. To leave behind all my old baggage. Was I perfect a person yet? No, hell no, far from it. Did I still make mistakes? Absolutely. But I was learning. Learning to be a better person and stuff. Learning to accept myself for who I am and not be deterred by what other people think.

  And then River came along. And River, with all his aloof charm and stupid sizzling muscles, woos me. Whether he meant to or not, god damn it, the point remains that he did. And then somehow, River set me back. Somehow, with his big, tasty dick, he convinced me that I should shut the fuck up about who I'm seeing and keep everything in my life a big, dirty secret.

  So I did. I tried things his way. Even though I knew damned well how that story ends.

  And so where did it get me? Shock! Surprise! The same fucking place it did back in high school. It's almost exactly the same situation with Buzz all over again. Only this time, there's no sex tape – which is good and a lot less embarrassing. But back in high school, when there was a sex tape, the only thing that happened was people laughed at me.

  Now, it's like the whole college-hockey-watching community knows my name and knows I'm gay. They're also obsessively rooting through every last Bitch and Moan article I've written to post all the 'spicy' bits that, out of context, will look extra embarrassing and shameful. 'Oh, har har, here's a list of a thousand things he's said about sucking cock and swallowing cum and getting cocks up his ass.' Blah, blah, blah. Hi-larious.