by V. L. Locey
I sat by myself in the dressing room, running my failure around in my head. I had to pull it together. The question was how? How was I to get around it all? This trouble with Mario was leaving a gaping hole in the center of my chest. Just how much time was a person supposed to give another person? Was there a limit? When would he see the light? Or would he just refuse to give an inch? That seemed to be the way it would roll, because Mario was as stubborn as a Highland mule, to quote the rock-headed bastard.
The ride back to Cayuga was depressing. Seeing Sal waiting for me when we rolled in at eight p.m. the day after losing the quarter finals was the only uplifting thing about that road trip. I walked over to my boyfriend waiting beside my car. His arms surrounded me. Eyes closed, nose tight to the warm spot under his ear, I clung to him tightly.
“Sorry, Aug,” he said as his palms moved over my back, up to the nape of my neck and then back to my spine. “I know how bad you wanted this. You played great, though, baby. That goal—that was totally a freak thing. No way you could have blocked it.”
I pulled back so I could see his face. His beautiful, compassionate face. “Have I ever said how much I love you?”
He tipped his head as if he were now deeply contemplating my question. “Not today, no.” There was a spark of gentle humor.
I captured his mouth, dove deep, and didn’t release him until I was lightheaded.
“Take me home and tell me while I help you forget,” he said.
For a sweaty, sweet hour, I did forget how I’d lost my team the chance to advance. The dirty details haunted my dreams that night, though. The lowlights reel just kept running on an endless loop. Right around four a.m., I dropped off again. Sal’s cell phone alarm going off at six pulled me from a rocky sleep. The alarm ended as sharply as it had started.
“You’re the most beautiful man in the world,” I whispered, then buried my face in his neck. “Did you sleep okay?”
He wiggled around some, until he was on his side facing me, one arm resting on my hip, one long leg between mine, his other arm bent and serving as his pillow.
“Yeah. You?” He ran his hand over my side.
“Not really. My head’s a mess. I need to get straightened out.”
“Don’t get too straight,” he murmured, then kissed me softly. When the kiss ended, I pulled him so close it was hard to tell where he began and I ended. “I have to get ready for work, okay?”
“Okay.”
I dozed off and slept for eight hours. Eight. Hours. Straight. My bladder woke me up. After a piss and some water to the face, I slogged out to the kitchen. The coffee pot had cold coffee in it, so I poured a mug and heated it in the microwave. Sipping on the now bitter brew, I padded out to the living room in just my briefs and turned on the TV. The local station was on. Sal had probably watched the news while he got ready for work. The sofa caught me, and I fell back into the comfy cushions. Coffee sluiced up over the edge of my mug. I wiped my wet fingers on my underwear and watched two soap operas followed by a talk show. Then the news at five came on. I turned the TV off after the weather to avoid the local sports. I didn’t need to see them showing how we’d fucked ourselves in the ass. My dreams had been replay enough, thanks.
Sal coming through the door jarred me from another depressing dream. He gave me a long, sour look while chucking his keys, wallet, and hospital ID badge onto the TV stand.
“You look terrible.” His nose wrinkled as he got closer. “Did you even shower today?”
“Not yet.” I scratched my balls and yawned. “You look hot in your scrubs.”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk me. Wash your nuts. I’ll make dinner. Go—I’m not sitting down to eat with a man who smells as bad as you do.” He pointed at the bathroom door.
My stomach sounded off loudly at the thought of dinner. I guessed the cup of coffee four hours ago hadn’t filled me up. I scrubbed while he cooked. When I joined him at the table, I was dressed, more or less, in lounge pants and a tank top. Sal put a platter of haddock fillets broiled in lemon and butter on the table and sat down across from me. I gave the big tossed salad a bored look.
“I like the scruffy look on you,” he said. His sultry eyes met mine over the healthy meal he’d prepared. “You feeling any better?”
“Meh.” I scooped up two fish fillets and put them on my plate. Sal poured us two tall glasses of spring water. “I feel like I let everyone down. I should have had that goal. It keeps replaying inside my head,” I explained while grabbing a huge handful of salad and dropping it into the bowl by my water glass. “If I’d been just a second faster, I could have gotten my shoulder up higher and knocked the puck down to my chest.”
“You need to stop beating yourself up over it, Aug. You didn’t lose that series singlehandedly. Where were the guys who’re supposed to score? Where were the guys who get paid to protect you and block shots? Teams win and lose as a whole, right?”
“Yeah, I know. Still…”
“Still nothing,” he said around a mouthful of lettuce, cucumber and tiny tomato.
I took a bite and chewed, the fish flaking off on my tongue. I made a yummy sound, then stabbed a massive amount of iceberg with my fork.
“I put in for two weeks off starting Monday. I thought we could do the “meet the parents” trip. Elmira to Martens Bay and back in two weeks.”
I chewed quickly, my surprised gaze locked with his. Sal smiled sweetly and took another bite of his salad.
“We’ll probably have breakdown day Monday or Tuesday.” I put my glass back beside my plate and shoved more fish into my mouth.
“Then we’ll leave the day after.”
“You’re pretty bossy,” I grumbled, then wiped at my mouth with a napkin. “Do you think they’ll like me? Your parents?”
His sisters, I wasn’t too worried about. They were young and probably pretty cool. The twins had been surprises to the Castenadas, who’d thought they’d only have the one son, according to Sal. Imagine having your first kid at eighteen and sixteen, then going twenty-one years with nothing more in the baby department, only to find yourself expecting twins when your first child was an adult. Sal has said that his baby sisters were the apple of his—and his parents’—eye, and kept them all young.
“How could they not? Just look at you. You’re a beautiful, humble young man who loves their son passionately.”
“Yeah, I do love you a lot.”
He looked at me tenderly. “Oh, and check your phone. I tried to call you earlier to tell you about the vacation idea, but all I got was dead air. I bet your parents are trying to get in touch with you. And probably half the team.”
“When we get to Manitoba, will you make love to me out in the woods?”
“Gladly, August, gladly.” His brown eyes glowed sensually. Suddenly, going home without the Calder Cup seemed like an almost okay thing. Not really, but maybe a little less terrible.
Breakdown day is always tough. Everyone is down and disappointed. Cleaning out your cubicle is tough. Talking to the press even rougher. Saying goodbye to teammates the worst. We all know, deep down, that we might never see certain people again. We could be traded, or other players shipped off. Some may retire.
Working to shove a couple of Cougars parkas into a duffel bag, I shot a look in Mario’s direction. He seemed uncharacteristically subdued. He must have sensed my gaze resting on his broad back, because he looked right at me. I glanced back at the jacket I was shoving into my bag. I had no time in my life for anyone who thought I shouldn’t be with Sal.
I left the Rader twenty minutes later, feeling like someone had just run over my cat. I drove home listening to Imagine Dragons. Sal, worried about his tiny place being buried in hockey gear, started cramming my stuff into his bedroom closet.
“When are we leaving?” I handed him three composite sticks.
He took them, popped out a hip, and studied the closet intently. “There is no way these are going to fit in here.”
“I can store them at my
place.” I sat on the edge of the bed.
Sal shook his head and mumbled under his breath. “Why do you even keep that place?” He took one stick and wiggled it in behind some boxes and two sets of leg pads. “You’re always here.”
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
His attention moved from the overflowing closet to me. A nice breeze tickled the drapes. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Sal continued studying the closet.
“We’ve only known each other for something like two months. Don’t you think that’s rushing things?”
He glanced over at me. His smile was nothing short of amazing. “You sound like Mario.”
“Ouch,” I mumbled, and leaned back on the bed, arms locked behind me. “He didn’t say a word to me today.”
“Did you say anything to him?” Sal enquired, then turned his thoughts back to hockey stick placement.
“No, and I’m not going to.”
I let my arms slide out to the sides. My head bounced off the mattress. I could hear Sal muttering under his breath about what he’d like to do with all the hockey gear. That made me snicker.
“You two are never going to get over this if neither of you is willing to talk,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, well, then that’s just how it will roll. So, are you asking me to move in with you?” My gaze lingered on the ceiling, but my ears were finely tuned to Sal. “I mean you are storing my gear in your closet.”
“We could spend three days with each of our families, then come back to move you in,” he suggested from across the room. I pushed up to rest on my elbows. His gaze rested on me. “If you want.”
“Yeah, I definitely want.”
Sal’s expression grew sultry. He tossed the sticks to the floor and strutted over to the bed. I shuddered as he crawled over me, his weight pushing my shoulders back onto the bed.
“You just made me the happiest man in this whole building.” He lowered his head, his lips playing over mine until I swiped deeply into his mouth.
I thought about arguing that there were two equally happy men in the building, but then he rubbed his hard dick against mine, and squabbling over who was happiest seemed unimportant.
Sal was up at the buttcrack of dawn, pulling me out of bed, hustling me into the shower, and pushing me to hurry and eat a toaster pastry. I stood beside my car, sipping his tasty coffee, smiling at him insisting on being the only one who could pack the car properly. When he jogged out with a water pistol big enough to down a rogue rhinoceros, I arched an eyebrow at him.
“Trust me, it will be needed.”
“I totally trust you,” I replied with a smile.
He yanked my coffee cup from my hand. “My family is looking forward to meeting you. I might have been bragging about my hot new boyfriend.” He pressed a tender kiss to my neck.
“I like being called that.” I pushed my nose into his sideburn and breathed in happy and calm. How was it possible for one human being to bring such serenity to another?
Ten minutes later, we were on the road to Elmira, New York. It was a short trip—just a little over ninety minutes. Sal wheedled me into letting him drive my Mustang. You know you adore a dude when you let him get behind the wheel of your most prized possession.
The Castenada family lived in a nice middle- to upper-class section of Elmira in a white two story house with a decent-sized yard. The house was big and painted eggshell white with blue shutters. As we pulled our bags and stuff out of the trunk, a low-flying plane moved overhead.
“There’s an airport close by,” Sal explained, then slammed the trunk closed.
Hand shielding my eyes, I watched the jet gain altitude until the arrival of Sal’s sisters pulled my attention from the sky. Two pretty girls in jeans and light jackets bounced around the side of the house. One had long hair and the other short. That was the only physical difference I could spot in the sixteen-year-old twins. They smiled sweetly, pulled out a couple of massive squirt guns from behind their backs, and opened fire.
Sal ducked behind me with a shout. I stood in the driveway and took the blast full force. The girls lowered their guns and began apologizing. Sal peeked over my damp shoulder. Water dripped off my lashes and nose.
“Sorry,” Sal said over my shoulder. “My sisters have no manners.” He sounded angry. I thought it was kind of funny, although meeting his parents in a soaking wet shirt hadn’t been on my agenda at all. “You two should be ashamed.” The girls dropped their heads. “For letting me get the upper hand.”
That RPG-sized water cannon came to rest on my shoulder. Sal soaked the girls before they could react with another barrage. The war was over when all the water in all the weaponry was gone. The four of us were standing in the Castenada front yard, soaked to the skin, laughing, when a large white SUV bearing magnetic signs on the doors that read “Castenada Cleaning” pulled in and parked beside my Mustang.
“Shit,” mumbled Valeria, the twin with the short hair. Victoria, the twin with the long black hair, threw her gun at my feet as her parents exited their vehicle. Mr Castenada was a tall, whip-thin man with graying ebony hair and a warm smile just like his son’s. Mrs Castenada was small, kind of round, and rolling her eyes to the crystal-blue sky.
“This is how you greet your brother’s new boyfriend?” Mrs Castenada chided her daughters.
“It’s okay, really,” I said as water trickled down my neck. “Sal warned me about the traditional greeting. I’m fine with being wet. It was fun.”
Mrs Castenada clicked her tongue, then tried to dry my face with a tissue. Her kids were all talking at once.
“This is not working,” she huffed, then tried to pluck tiny bits of wet tissue from my new whiskers. “My children know better behavior. Come inside and get into dry clothes.”
“Pleasure to meet you, August. Sal has talked about nothing else since he met you.” Mr. Castenada offered me his hand, and I quickly took it. Both of Sal’s parents had strong Spanish accents.
Mrs Castenada hustled us four wet ones into the house, then sent Sal and me to the laundry room to change while the twins were told to go upstairs but not drip on the new carpeting.
“Your family seems nice,” I told Sal as we peeled off our sodden clothes. “Watery, but nice.”
He chuckled, then reached out to caress my upper arm. I enjoyed how warm my skin grew under his palm.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Sure,” I readily agreed, then leaned in. His mouth was warm, sensual, and held a trace of the orange soda he’d drunk on the trip. Sal’s hand stayed on my biceps as we tasted each other. A shiver ran over me. He pulled back and opened his eyes.
“You okay?” he asked. I nodded, then glanced down at my wet underwear hanging off me unflatteringly. Goosebumps were sprouting up all over.
“Yeah, I’m okay but cold.”
“If I had a few more minutes, I could probably warm you up.” He winked, which made me laugh and blush.
“I’m tempted to see if you can or not,” I whispered. Desire flamed up in his eyes. Then Mrs Castenada shouted for us from somewhere in the house.
“Right, well, let’s get our asses into dry clothes.”
That sounded good. We hurried and dressed, and then Sal tossed our wet stuff into the dryer. I got a quick tour of the big house. There were four bedrooms and three baths, one just for Sal and me. His bedroom was large and airy with a huge bed, all kinds of funky pictures, and a flat-screen TV on the wall. We dropped our bags, then hurried downstairs. Sal and I were instructed to set the table for dinner, which would be ready shortly, according to Mrs. Castenada. The twins were doing homework, and Sal hustled into the kitchen to help his mother after we had the dishes and silverware placed on the big, dark table.
I stood like a lost sheep in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.
Sal looked at me while tying an apron around his waist. “You want to help make some sloppy joes or toss a salad?” he asked.
His mother glanced at me dawdling
in the doorway. She waved me in with a spoon. I inched into the shiny kitchen, feeling big and awkward while Sal and his mother moved around with familiar grace. The corner was looking good, but Sal, probably seeing me eying a place to hide, steered me to the stove with a couple of bumps of his hip.
“I would have made a better meal, but the business is good and busy,” Mrs. Castenada said while peppering the holy heck out of the browning ground beef in the skillet. “Sal tells me you like things hot, but I think a boy from Canada would not like hot things aside from my son.” She gave her son a playful wink. He danced around me, kissed his mother, then pulled me gently to a huge island to help construct a bowl of salad. “Tomorrow I make you something good. You need food—both of you are too skinny.”
Sal handed me a head of lettuce. “Welcome to Casa Castenada, where no matter how fat you are, you’re always too skinny.”
His mother replied in Spanish and with a slap of her spoon to Sal’s denim-covered backside.
“You’re not fat at all,” I told him as I ripped lettuce and tossed it into a big glass bowl. Sal was expertly slicing radishes and carrots. “I think you’re just right.”
He leaned over to put his lips to mine. Mrs. Castenada hugged us both from behind, then went back to stirring what smelled like a lot of chili powder into the meat. My nose tickled, there was so much chili powder in the air.
That was how things went until we put the food on the table. I sat down next to Sal. The twins sat across from us, and the two adults on either end. Everyone bowed their heads. Mr. Castenada said grace. I peeked at the people at the table while they prayed. I liked being here, at the table, with these people. After the blessing the entire family talked at once. Food was passed around, buns and salad, chips and olives for a side, milk was poured, and still everyone talked. Well, everyone but me. I just sat there, munching on a sloppy joe that was so zippy and so good my eyes watered slightly, listening to what a big family sounded like.
