by Sarina Bowen
Passing through the front room, I didn’t see any hockey players. As I made it toward the back, I realized that Capri’s was kind of a rabbit warren. There were two other rooms veering away from the service counter. But I could call off the search. Because Graham and the curly-haired manager chick had just lifted a couple of pizzas from the counter. Even though his face was in profile, I’d know it anywhere.
Once upon a time, I’d touched every inch of that face.
The girl raised her free hand in a wave, saying something over her shoulder to Graham. And I swear to God, his body locked up when he heard her. His eyes flicked in my direction for a split second. And then his back was to me. He relieved Bella of her pizza and made a bee-line into another of the cave-like rooms.
My first thought was: fuck, I shouldn’t have come.
But screw that. Because if I shouldn’t have come to Capri’s, then I shouldn’t have come to Harkness. I could just spend my life hiding under the bed. God knows there were people in the world who wished I would. I didn’t come here to stake a claim, or make a point. I came here to play hockey and to live my goddamn life. So that’s what I should do. And Michael Graham could just fuck off if he didn’t like it.
As I finished this thought, Bella came closer, a big grin on her face. “You came! We’re in there…” she nodded toward the left. Then she grabbed some paper plates and napkins off a table. Leaning over the service counter, she called out. “Hey, Tony! A glass for my new friend please.” She reached up and patted my chest possessively.
Tony flipped us a plastic glass, which I caught it before it slid off the counter. “Have a good night,” he said. And then he actually winked at me as I turned to follow her.
Bella grabbed the front pocket of my Vermont sweatshirt and actually pulled me through the din of the most crowded room, toward a table where Graham sat in a booth, across from Hartley.
Ugh. I had no idea this would be so cozy. In fact, there was nowhere for me to sit. For a second there I felt like it was seventh grade all over again, and I didn’t know where to sit in class.
That’s how I met Graham — seventh grade Spanish. We were the two runts in the back row with terrible gringo accents and no friends. The teacher always made the class pair up to practice dialogue. Graham and I were partners.
Hola, Graham.
Hola, Rikker.
Te gusta el futbol?
Sí, me gusta el futbol.
The early days of middle school had been awkward. But this? So much more awkward than that.
“I’ll sit on Graham’s lap,” Bella suggested, grabbing a slice of pizza off the tray.
“Naw, let me find a chair,” I said, turning quickly into the crowd. And lo, by the grace of God, I found one in front of an ancient pay phone. Setting the chair at the end of their booth gave me some much needed distance. Bella sat on the end, boxing Graham into the corner. Bella’s hand found its way onto my knee about two seconds after I sat down.
Someone filled my glass. “Have a slice?” Hartley offered.
“Thanks, I already ate,” I said quickly. But I sucked back some of the beer. It was pretty wimpy stuff, but I’ll bet the price was right.
“Tell us about your transfer,” Bella prompted while the others dug in. “You said you’d tell it over beers.”
Right. Too soon. “Well,” I hedged. The thing was, I’d told people I was gay many, many times. I was actually pretty good at it. But you don’t say it when you’re all trapped at a table. You have to drop the bomb when your victims are free to walk away from you. Because even the people who are going to turn right back around sixty seconds later and be there for you often need a minute to digest the idea.
And the fact that Graham was sitting three feet away, staring at his slice of pizza as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe, made this a particularly bad time. I didn’t want to look vulnerable in front of him. I’d tried that before in my life, and it ended badly. Very badly.
“Thing is, I haven’t had enough beer yet to tell it.”
“There you go with the buildup again,” Bella said, nibbling on a slice.
“Yeah? Well my stories don’t usually disappoint.” That was a bit of pointless bravado. But it was probably true.
I happened to glance toward Graham then. And even in the low light of the pizza place, I saw him freeze. And I realized just how far a little smack talk about stories I might tell would freak him out. I hadn’t meant it like that. But the effect on him was instant and powerful. His jaw went hard and his fist clenched on the table.
Easy, boy. “Tell me about the practice schedule,” I said to change the topic.
Hartley obliged, explaining the afternoon routine, including weight room, dry land training and ice time.
In the corner, Graham drained his glass and then emptied the pitcher into it.
I pulled a twenty dollar bill out of my back pocket and put it on the table. “I’ll buy the next round round.”
“I’ll go get it,” Bella said, sliding out of the booth.
“No,” Graham said quickly. “I will.” It was the first time I’d heard his voice in five years. Without a glance at either one of us, he slid that muscular body out of the booth, stepped around Bella and my chair, and headed for the counter.
He left my twenty on the table.
“So you’re a sophomore,” Bella said, her fingers sliding into my hair.
This was three beers later. I’d been occupying myself at a different table for awhile, chatting with the goalies. But Bella had found me, and she was stepping up her game. I needed a strategy for discouraging her. And fast.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, shifting in my chair to buy myself a little more space. But that didn’t stop her. Because she just leaned in closer. “I should be a junior. But I took a post-grad year to play on the US development team.”
“Sweet,” one of the goalies said.
“Sweet,” Bella whispered, her fingers wandering down my ribcage.
It’s not like she was the first girl to ever hit on me. But I had to tread carefully, because I was going to see a lot of Bella this season. And she was a great girl. Smart, fun, and obviously a huge hockey fan. She had all the right stuff. She just didn’t have all the right stuff for me.
I took Bella’s hand and stood up. “Can you come with me for a minute? I could use your help with something.”
One of the goalies gave an amused snort as I led her away, toward the dark little alcove where the old pay phone was. She came with me, chin up, a happy look on her face. I got the feeling that Bella never did anything for the benefit of the way it looked to others. She gave off a vibe of being one hundred percent genuine, all the time. I could think of a few people who could stand to take lessons from her. Like maybe Graham.
The second we stepped into the relative privacy of the little space, she put her hands on my waist. “What did you need?” she asked, a grin playing at her lips.
I caught her prowling fingers in mine, bringing them up to my lips. One at a time, I kissed her hands, which made her beam. “Listen, Bella. There’s something I need to tell you, and probably the team, too. Somehow. Because it’s going to get out.” Her face took on a more serious expression, but she didn’t look away. The calm look in her blue eyes gave me the courage to keep talking. “The truth is that I like dick just as much as you do. Maybe even more.”
Now, I’d had a certain amount of practice at delivering this news to people. It never got easy. Yet by this point, I’d seen every possible reaction to it. Bella looked momentarily confused, as people often do. But then I could almost see the synapses firing behind her eyes. Then her lips twitched. And finally, she tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh my God. You’re serious aren’t you?”
I was still holding her hands, and I gave them both a squeeze. “Would I lie about a thing like that?”
Bella took her hands back, but only to reach up to cup my face. “You are adorable. And honestly, I don’t know why this hasn’t happened so
oner.”
“Sorry?”
“Rikker, hockey players are hot. The hottest. And it’s weird that other hockey players never noticed that before. Now I have to worry that you’re going to cut in on my action.”
I let out a bark of surprised laughter. “Somehow I think you’ll be okay.”
“Also, this is going to mess up a near perfect streak for me.”
“Whenever you streak, I’m sure it’s perfect,” I quipped.
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to throw me compliments. I’m a big girl.” She stood back, folding her arms. “Does this have anything to do with leaving Saint B's?”
“Hell yes. When word about me got, um, out, Coach lost his shit and threw me off the team.”
Her eyes went wide. “Why? That’s against the ACAA rules.”
“Ding ding ding! That’s how I got here. My uncle is a lawyer. He wanted to sue Saint B's, but I asked him to tackle the transfer rules instead.”
She blinked up at me. “You’d rather play more hockey than stand in a courtroom.”
“Exactly.”
Bella gave my arm a little punch. “I knew I liked you. And Coach James knows this story?”
“Of course. When my uncle started calling other teams for me, he told them right off why I’d been kicked off Saint B's. And today I dropped this little bomb on Hartley, too.”
“Let me think…” she looked up at the ceiling. “Coach isn’t a judgmental guy. He likes to win, and he likes single malt scotch. In that order. So I can see him taking you on. And Hartley likes everybody, so that’s easy. So how can I help?”
See? I knew this girl was awesome. “All I need is advice. I used to think that I could keep my private life private. But that blew up in my face last year. There’s probably somebody on the Harkness team that’s pals with someone at Saint B's, right?”
Bella nodded. “So this will get out.”
“So to speak.”
“Right. And maybe you’d rather that the team heard it from you, and not the rumor mill.”
“It’s a good idea in principal. But I don’t have a strategy.”
She made another thoughtful face. “If you made a big announcement, that would imply that this is a big deal. And you don’t want it to be a big deal.”
I wasn’t sure I had a choice in the matter. But even after a few beers, Bella was proving herself to be very perceptive. “That’s exactly right.”
“Telling people one at a time would be more casual.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Except these aren’t people I’ve ever met.” Except for one. And he already knows.
She chewed her lip. “Yeah, in the movies, the athlete wins the big game, right? And then he cries at the press conference and reveals to the world that he’s gay.” She put a hand over her heart. “And the team is, like, ‘we love you just the way you are!’”
“I’m pretty sure that movie hasn’t been made yet.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m just pointing out that being the new guy makes this harder.”
“You think?”
She gave me another playful punch. But then her face became serious. “Maybe it’s something that ought to come from their manager.”
That was a generous offer, with one major flaw. When you’re the queer guy in the locker room, it’s a bad idea to ever show fear. “I can’t make it to look like I was too afraid to tell them myself.”
“It wouldn’t. Because the message they need to hear isn’t that Rikker likes dudes. The message they need to hear is that, by the way, Rikker was forced to leave the Saint B's team because he is gay. But at Harkness, that’s no concern of ours.”
Well, damn. That did sound smart.
“…And, if anybody has a problem with that, feel free to talk to Coach. Or play a different sport.’”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Manager, you are a genius. And a total babe.”
“New Guy, I know that already,” she said. “Both things.” And then she moved closer to me, stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed me. And it wasn’t just a peck. She took her time, molding her lips to mine, drawing it out. She nibbled my bottom lip. And I kissed her back, at least up to a point. Because just standing there like a statue seemed like an asshole thing to do.
Finally, she stood back. “That,” she said, “was because I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Gotcha.”
“I will take care of this. After I run it by Coach.” She squeezed my arm and walked away, smiling as she went.
And that was my cue to go home to the little dorm room I’d been assigned, and call it a night. There’s only so much drama a guy can take in one day.
-Graham-
I drank my sixth, seventh and eighth beers while Bella and Rikker were having their private little chat. My stories don’t disappoint, he’d said. God only knows what he was telling Bella — which version of events he’d give her. Was it the version where we used to be more than friends? Or was it the blow-by-blow of the day we stopped being friends?
At least if he told her that story, it would be a short story: there was an alley. Four rednecks gave chase, while yelling “get the faggots!” I ran away, and Rikker spent the next week in a hospital. I didn’t visit him, and I never even called. Then he left the state.
The end.
You know that cliché about time healing all wounds? Time had scabbed this one over pretty well. But Rikker showing up had ripped that sucker right off. And I felt sure that anyone looking at me right now would be able to see the bleeding.
Before tonight, I didn’t know that you could be both drunk and literally twitching with anxiety at the same time.
Bella and Rikker were in there a long time, hidden just from my view except for her elbow, for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually she rose up to hug him. Or maybe kiss him. (Because we’re talking about Bella, here.) Then she came back into view, a cheery smile on her face.
And Rikker went the other direction, leaving the bar.
And I drank yet another beer, feeling nothing but dread.
Bella didn’t come back to sit by me for quite a while after that. At least I think it took awhile. The details began to get pretty fuzzy.
“Graham.”
I opened my eyes, and Bella was shaking me. “What?” Somehow I was still sitting in a booth at Capri’s.
“Wake up, Sweetie. Are you okay?”
“‘Course,” I tried to say, although my throat was thick.
Bella laughed. “How did you get so wasted on Capri’s pitchers? You’d have to drink a whole barrel of this swill.”
“You have to really want it,” I mumbled.
“Come on. Let’s get you home.” She led me out the back door and down College Street toward Beaumont House.
“Wait a second.” It came out “shecond.” We were passing one of the secret societies’ crypts. I ducked behind the elegantly pruned shrubberies and unzipped. Secret societies were a bunch of elitists who probably wanted nothing to do with me. So whenever I needed to take a piss on the way home from the bar, I favored their walls with my business.
I heard a deep sigh from Bella where she waited on the sidewalk. “We lead a glamorous life, you know?”
“Yeah, baby.”
I followed Bella to my entryway door. “I can make it from here,” I slurred.
“Don’t argue. I haven’t seen your room yet, anyway.”
“S’good to have a single,” I said, trying to hold up my end of the conversation.
When we climbed the stairs to my room, I fumbled with the key for so long that Bella grabbed it out of my hand and unlocked the door herself. Inside, she gave a low whistle. “Nice. Where did you get a second bed?”
Instead of one regulation twin, I had two of them hitched up next to each other. “You know Donovan?”
“The tight end?” Bella kicked off her shoes.
“Yeah. He bought a water bed, so I took his.”
She giggled. “Seriously? How did he fill it
up?”
“Not my problem,” I said, yanking down the comforter on my giant bed. “I had to buy king sized stuff, so I hope he doesn’t change his mind.” I dropped my jeans and fumbled my shirt over my head. That brought me down to just boxers. I climbed all the way into the bed, making room for Bella.
I closed my eyes, as if I didn’t really care whether she sat down next to me or not. But the truth was, I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to know where my mind would take me tonight if I was left to myself. Nowhere good.
After a few moments’ hesitation, I felt Bella sink down onto the bed. She flopped back onto my second pillow, her arms folded behind her head. “It was a strange evening,” she said.
Tell me about it.
“I’m going to like working for the hockey team. Even if people are going to give me shit for it.”
“What kind of shit?” I mumbled.
“The same kind I always get. They’ll say I might as well ride the bus. Because I’m already riding the players.”
I laughed, although being very drunk made that difficult. I rolled onto my side, which made my head swim. Bella was right there. So I pulled her closer to me and gave her what was probably a pretty sloppy kiss. She went with it, though, wrapping her arms around me. And when I dove into her soft mouth, she met me stroke for stroke. I hadn’t planned to do this tonight. But suddenly it seemed like a great way to keep my head on straight. Losing myself in Bella.
But then she pulled back. “You’re so drunk,” she whispered. There was accusation in her voice.
“I’m always drunk,” I argued. “Never stopped you before.”
Now her voice had an edge to it. “You stopped me before,” she said. “You said that we weren’t going to do this anymore.”
“I changed my mind.”
As drunk as I was, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. And Bella confirmed that by giving my chest a rough shove. “Don’t treat me like a slut, Graham.”
Shit. With great effort, I propped myself up on an elbow to squint down into her pissed-off face. “I would never call you a slut, Bells. I don’t think like that.” It wasn’t an eloquent apology, but it was true. Bella was the greatest. She never apologized for what she wanted. She just owned it.
