The Understatement of the Year

by Sarina Bowen

  “She’s not going to tell anyone,” I said as I shoved my feet into my shoes.

  He just sighed, the weight of the world in it.

  I put one knee on the bed, and a hand on his chest. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s pretty pissed.”

  “You know why, right?” Because she loves you.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I guess. I’m such an asshole.”

  “No, you’re not. Just kind of stupid.” I patted him on the hip and then stood up. “You’re not going to freak out, are you?”

  Another sigh. “Probably not.”

  “Good. Because your very fine ass needs to be on the bus in half an hour.” I shoved my stuff into my duffel at warp speed. “Can you grab my toiletries when you leave? I don’t have time.”

  Bella wasn’t hard to catch. When I got to the elevators, she wasn’t there. But a quick scan of the lobby revealed a defeated-looking figure on a lonesome bench between two ficus trees. She sat there, staring at her shoes, her face blotchy.

  She didn’t look up when I sat down beside her. But she didn’t order me to leave. So that was something. “Would it be really obnoxious of me to ask right now if one of those coffees was supposed to be for me?”

  Bella practically growled. “I kind of hate you right now.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  She took one of the cups out of the tray and handed it to me. Then she took a big slug of another one. “What the fuck, Rikker. How could I be such an idiot?”

  “You’re not.”

  She made a face. “I… It’s hard to wrap my head around.” She raked her hands over her forehead. “I mean… I never thought that Graham…” I watched the emotions duke it out on her face. “You went to the same high school for a while. He said he didn’t remember you.” She looked up at me for the first time. “That wasn’t true, was it?”

  I cleared my throat. “He would have to have a pretty impressive case of amnesia.”

  Bella groaned in frustration. “I’m so pissed at him. It’s like… we had so many conversations about relationships. And sex. And our pasts, you know? We talked all the time.” She dropped her voice. “Graham is gay.” These last words came slowly, as if she were trying them on.

  And I’d still never heard Graham say it out loud.

  “…So then he lied to me for years,” she went on. “Even last night, I asked who he was texting… I’m offended, okay? Because I would have been cool with the truth, you know? I’m not like that.”

  I just put my arm around her, and let her get it all out.

  “I knew he didn’t love me.”

  “He does love you.”

  She flapped a hand, making the universal sign for enough already. “I don’t usually fall for people. And whenever I do, it’s a huge disaster.”

  “We have that in common, then.” I moved closer to her on the bench. “Come here, would you?”

  She hesitated. Then she leaned in, letting me wrap my arms around her. “I definitely hate you right now,” she said in a small voice.

  “I know.”

  “I hate Graham more.”

  “He’s kind of an idiot,” I said. She giggled, her face in my neck. But a few tears came along for the ride, too. “Bella, for what it’s worth, I don’t think he ever knew how you felt about him.” This was weird, really. Comforting my friend because she couldn’t have my lover. But whatever.

  “I never told him. Because I knew it wouldn’t help. He didn’t love me. I just didn’t know why. But everything makes so much more sense now. Graham likes guys. That’s why he would only have sex drunk. And that’s why I always had to work so hard to…”

  “…That’s T.M.I.” Thankfully, she didn’t finish that thought. I didn’t want to hear anything about the sex they had. Partly I was jealous. But also, I felt protective of poor Graham. For a few minutes I just held her. And then, at the risk of setting her off, I said what I had to say. “Bella, please don’t tell anyone.”

  She jerked away from me, her expression fierce. “Is that why you’re being nice to me? So I’ll keep his little secret?”

  I pulled her to me again. “No. And you know it. You’re my friend. Pretty much my only one.”

  She made an irritated sound, but didn’t pull away. “Why does it have to be such a big secret, anyway?”

  “Seriously? Do you think I make this look fun?”

  She put her chin on my shoulder. “If everybody came out at once, it wouldn’t be a thing anymore.”

  “Dream on. I’ve been comfy in the closet before. Christian school, and all.”

  She looked up at me. “Jesus saves. Unless you’re gay?”

  I gave her a squeeze. “That’s exactly right.”

  “Graham went there for four years?” she asked.

  “Six, because we did the middle school first. Fire and brimstone, and reading, writing and arithmetic.”

  “God, what a mess.” She sighed, her head dropping onto my shoulder again. “I just can’t even…” Her sentences kept stopping and starting. But shock will do that to a person. After a while, though, she seemed to calm down. “What happened between you two, before?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. It’s not my story to tell.”

  “Sure it is.” When I shook my head again, her brow furrowed. “It must have been something bad. And that’s why you didn’t want me to put you in that other hotel room together.” She clapped a hand onto her forehead.

  “That turned out okay,” I said quickly.

  “For you.” Her laugh was dark. “The night we met, I told you that I was afraid you’d cut in on my action.”

  “When I said that it would never happen, I really believed it.”

  Bella let out a big groan. “Fuck. I loved Graham in spite of his dark corners. I thought someday he’d realize he felt the same way about me.” She was quiet for a moment, her hands over her eyes. “Saying it out loud sounds so pathetic.”

  I took a big slug of my rapidly cooling coffee, and then offered her a hand. “You aren’t pathetic.”

  “I am, though,” she insisted. “It’s just that usually I can get through the day without being reminded of it. Fucking Graham. Why didn’t he just tell me?”

  Because he couldn’t even tell himself. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  We sat there in silence a little longer. “You and Graham,” Bella said under her breath. “Damn. I don’t suppose you’d let me watch? That would be pretty hot.”

  I choked on my last swallow of coffee.

  “Didn’t think so,” Bella mumbled.

  — March —

  Brain Bucket (or simply Bucket): the helmet.

  — Graham

  The regular season ended with Harkness ranked number one on the Eastern seaboard. Sports Illustrated wanted to interview Hartley and Orson, so the press office was setting it up. But Hartley wasn’t wild about giving an interview. “Anyone else want to be captain?” Hartley asked in the locker room before practice. “I’m taking applications.”

  “Whiner,” Rikker teased him. “You get to talk about your game stats, not your sex life. How tough could that be?”

  “Eh. They want to ask me a bunch of questions about what it’s like to represent an Ivy League school. They’re going to photograph the dining hall during Sunday dinner. How do I talk about Harkness without coming off as an elitist jackass? I’m just a poor kid from a shitty part of Connecticut.”

  “Then just say that,” I suggested. “Tell the truth.”

  “What would you know about that?” Bella mumbled, walking by with a stack of practice jerseys. She tossed one at me without meeting my eyes.

  Bella was still pissed at me, and though she kept her reasons to herself, every guy in the locker room knew it.

  “What on Earth did you do?” they all asked me during the first week of Bella’s freeze-out.

  “More like… who did you do?” Trevi asked.

  I didn’t know what was worse — the
fact that the whole world (except me) had already known that Bella had a thing for me. Or that my love life was up for discussion. It sure didn’t help my raging case of chronic paranoia.

  Also, I missed her. Our relationship had never been simple. Or even honest. But there had been happy nights together, with the two of us tucked into a booth at Capri’s telling jokes into the wee hours. It sucked knowing that I’d blown up our friendship.

  For the Eastern Conference quarterfinals, we were matched up against Central Mass. It was a three game series. During the first game, we cut through their defense like a hot knife through butter, winning 3-0. Coach warned us that they’d come out swinging for the second game, and that we’d better be ready.

  He was right.

  Game two was fast and brutal. I got sent to the sin bin before the first period was over. But their side had even more fouls. There was one player in particular, a giant of a guy with a nasty attitude. His jersey actually said TRODER on the back. What kind of a name was that? He had a way of sweeping my teammates’ skates out from under them when the refs weren’t looking.

  He was egregious, and I was sick of it. Before the game was over, I was sure I could teach him a lesson. I just needed to bide my time, watching for an opening.

  It never came.

  In the meantime, I saw Rikker and Hartley score one of the most exciting goals I’d ever seen in any hockey game, ever. The second period was almost over, and Rikker took a shot on goal that missed. Quick as lightning, he skated behind the net to retrieve the puck. But instead of skating it back around, Rikker popped the puck off the ice and over the net.

  Hartley couldn’t see much of what Rikker was doing, though, with the goalie in the way. Working on sheer instinct, Hartley raised his stick at precisely the right nanosecond. Tipping the blade, he smacked the puck back toward the net.

  Four thousand jaws dropped as it ricocheted off his stick, flying into the goal.

  It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and Hartley stood there looking stunned even as the scoreboard lit up with his goal.

  We were all a little stunned, actually. And that proved dangerous for me. When I wasn’t watching, that asshole Troder got me. One minute I was shipping the puck around behind the net, passing to Big-D. And the next moment I was sailing head-first toward the ice.

  Shit!

  That simple sentiment was all I could manage as the bright surface raced toward my eyes. Then everything went black.

  — Rikker

  I didn’t actually see Graham take the hit.

  Instead, I heard Trevi say, “oh fuck,” in a sort of awed voice that made me turn to look. And when I saw one of our players spread out on the ice, I just knew it was him.

  I just knew.

  Later, I’d realize that this was the minute the whole thing fell apart. You can tell each other that your relationship is private. That nobody else needs to know. But that sort of thinking requires that everything go exactly right. It doesn’t account for the dark minute when your lover is being carried off the ice on a stretcher, while you try: A) not to puke from worry and B) not to even look interested.

  This wasn’t soccer, where they ran onto the field every five minutes to cart somebody off. A hockey player gets up and skates off, even if he’s bleeding all over the place. Even if he has a broken limb. But Graham wasn’t moving. The sight of his limp hand dangling off the side of the stretcher made me forget to breathe.

  As his unconscious body disappeared down the chute, a chill slid down my spine, from my neck to the small of my back.

  Bella and Coach followed on the medics’ heels.

  The game resumed, but I couldn’t concentrate long enough to keep track of my own shifts. In fact, I don’t even remember the third period of that game, even though we clinched it.

  Coach reappeared at some point to resume calling the shots. But Bella did not come back. I sneaked looks down the chute every chance I got. But neither she nor Graham emerged to put me out of my misery.

  “Wake up, Rikker!” Hartley elbowed me.

  I stood up and vaulted over the wall, jumping into the fray for what would prove to be my last shift of the game.

  But even the final buzzer didn’t offer any relief, since the team took for-fucking-ever to shower and pack up. Coach spent a fair bit of time staring at his phone, while I tried to guess from his face whether or not he’d learned anything.

  Naturally, I texted Bella about a dozen times. But she didn’t answer me, which was terrifying. I felt like vomiting just from the stress of not knowing what was going on.

  Finally, Coach told everyone to get on the bus. “We’re going to stop at the emergency room so I can check on Graham.”

  By the time the bus pulled up outside the little hospital, I was sweating through my clean shirt. I needed to go inside and see Graham. But at the same time, I knew he wouldn’t want me hovering in there. Too obvious, right?

  Fuck!

  But when Coach got off the bus, a handful of players followed him. So I got up too, and a couple more guys followed me. A minute later, there were probably a dozen guys in hockey jackets standing under the fluorescent waiting room lights, looking around for someone to tell us where Graham was. Coach approached the desk, but the lady manning it was on the phone.

  And then, from somewhere behind the desk, I heard my name.

  “Rikker?” It was Graham’s voice.

  At first, I was just flooded with relief. If Graham was saying my name, then he was okay, right? I took a big breath, as if I’d been deprived of oxygen for hours.

  “Rikker?” He called again, sounding agitated. Someone answered him in a low voice. But then Graham spoke again. “Where am I? What happened to Rikker?”

  A chill snaked its way up my spine again. And one by one, my teammates, who had been talking to one another, went quiet.

  “RIKKER,” came Graham’s hoarse voice again. Then my teammates were looking at me, confusion on their faces. Coach turned, his bushy eyebrows raised in my direction.

  An older nurse wearing pink scrubs came out from the back just then. “Is someone here named Rikker?”

  For a moment I just stood there, rooted to the linoleum, unsure what to do. Graham was going to burst a vessel when he found out that the team was standing out here listening to him call my name.

  That woke me up. Lifting a shoulder in the world’s least-convincing casual shrug, I followed the nurse, with Coach on my heels.

  Walking into that hospital room was like having an out-of-body experience.

  Graham was lying on a bed in a hospital Johnnie, looking sweaty and confused. Bella stood next to him, holding his hand. And the look on her face was 100 percent freaked out. At that second, my heart went across the room to put my hands on Graham. I really just needed to touch him.

  But my feet stayed locked at the foot of the bed, my body rigid with indecision. Don’t do it, I reminded myself. Graham wouldn’t want me touching him in front of other people.

  His eyes locked onto me the second I entered the room. “Where am I?” he croaked.

  The question took me aback. “Um, at the hospital?”

  “Why?”

  Shit! Wasn’t it obvious? I opened my mouth, but no answer came out. No wonder Bella looked so scared.

  The nurse bailed me out. “You got hit on the head during your hockey game,” she said calmly. “You have a concussion, but you’re going to be fine.”

  “Okay,” Graham said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

  The nurse lifted her chin to me. “He’s been asking for you. He thought you might have gotten hurt, too.”

  “I’m fine,” I said slowly. There was something in Graham’s expression that wasn’t quite right. He had a pained squint, and his gaze wobbled.

  “Son, how are you feeling?” Coach asked. “That was quite a hit.”

  “Head hurts,” Graham said, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Where am I?” he asked.

  What the fuck? Hadn’t we just been over that?
>
  “West Regional Hospital,” the nurse said, her voice patient. “You got hit on the head during your hockey game. You have a concussion, but you’re going to be fine.”

  Graham squinted at her. “Okay.”

  “Why is he…?” I looked to the nurse for help.

  But it was Coach who answered my question. “It’s called retrograde amnesia. When you get hit that hard, for a little while the brain can’t make new memories. You don’t remember the game, do you, big guy?” Graham looked up at him, confused. Coach moved closer to him, giving him the same gentle punch on the arm that you’d give a toddler. “Hang in there, kid.”

  “How are we doing?” a heavyset female doctor asked, stomping into the room. She had a voice like a chainsaw.

  “What happened?” Graham asked.

  “You took a hit on the head,” the doctor said, jotting something on the chart she was holding. Then she looked up at Coach and me. “I sure hope one of you is Rikker. We’re getting tired of making excuses for you.”

  “Um…” I started.

  “Did they get you too?” Graham asked, looking me up and down.

  “I’m fine,” I said again. “I didn’t take a hit.”

  He squinted at me. “What are we doing at the hospital?”

  “Jesus, Graham!” Bella put a hand to her heart. She looked like she might even pass out. So I moved around the crowded little room and put my hands on her shoulders.

  The doctor approached Graham with a little penlight in her hand. “You’re at the hospital because you have a concussion. We need to watch you for a few hours just to make sure everything is going well for you.”

  “Can I take him home tonight?” Coach asked. “It’s a two-hour drive. We could have him checked out at our own hospital by midnight.”

  The doctor frowned. “I’m sure you know your way around a concussion. But I can’t advise that. These next couple of hours are the ones that matter the most. We need to be sure he doesn’t have an even more serious head injury.”

  Coach held his hands up. “Okay. It was just a suggestion. I want him to have whatever he needs.” He nodded to Bella and me and then tipped his head toward the door. “Let’s go figure out what we’re going to do. The rest of the team needs to get back.”