by V. L. Locey
Sal’s parents arrived five minutes after we got him into a semi-private room on the fourth floor. Mario stayed at my side all day, just like I stayed by Sal’s. Night came. I slept in the chair beside him, telling his parents to use the bed at Sal’s and warning them it would need changed. Phone calls to my parents were frequent. As were visits from the Cougars and that included the exhausted Kalinski-Arou’s. Mario, the big doofus, slept out in the lounge, covered up with warm blankets by kind nurses. This went on for three days. On the fourth day, after a conversation with Sal’s doctor, Mario pulled me from the Sal’s room into the bathroom he shared with another patient.
“I got to go back inside to make sure he only takes a sip of water with his HIV meds,” I told the man in the kilt.
He spun me around to face him. “Heather will make sure he only sips the water, or his mother will. What you need to do is go home, shower, and sleep for a day or so.”
I shook my head strongly and pushed him to the side. When I stepped back into the room, three pairs of eyes locked in on me. Heather’s, who was holding the straw for Sal, Mrs. Castenada’s, who was tucking a blue blanket around Sal’s legs, and Sal’s, who was swallowing what looked to be a huge pill.
“Aug, Mario’s right,” Sal said after Heather lowered the straw from his lips. He still looked too pale, too weak, too close to death. “Get out of here for a few hours. You’re going to get sick.”
“What if you need something?”
As soon as it rolled out of me I knew it was lame. Every nurse and doctor in the place loved Sal. His mother and father were now taking shifts so someone would be with him all day long. He hadn’t wanted for one thing during his whole stay, aside from just wanting to feel better and eat something solid.
“I’m not going home until you do,” I insisted.
Sal muttered in Spanish. Heather smiled. Mrs. Castenada came over to hug me tightly, also speaking in Spanish.
“Aug, please, baby. I love you. I can’t deal with this and worry about you.” Sal implored, and I buckled just a bit. “Go with Mario. Do something fun. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
“How about a little break, then?” Mario interjected into the muttering, pleading, stubborn expressions, and lovey-dovey looks from Nurse Heather. “Come on. Let’s go do something.”
After a tender kiss goodbye, I fought all the way down to the parking garage. Mario shoved me into his car and we peeled away from Cayuga General before I could leap out of the Highlander. When we pulled up in front of the Rader, I gave him the single meanest look I could muster.
“We’re playing us a shinny game. Come on.”
“I don’t have my gear.” I sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, glaring at the arena.
“Yes, you do. It’s in the back. Now get out and get geared up.”
I threw a look behind me. There, in the back seat, was all my equipment, right down to my Augie Doggy and Daddy Doggy mask.
“Sal’s father and I found it and tossed it in there this morning.”
“Nice. People are now plotting behind my back.” I was madder than I’d ever been about anything. Or maybe I was just so fucking exhausted it felt that way. Whatever. I threw myself out of the big, black gas-guzzler and pounded into the arena, secretly hoping that there wouldn’t be any ice.
“Good thing they had some pee-wee tournament in here the past few days, huh?” Mario asked as we geared up in the empty dressing room. Tom Wilson, a security guard, passed by and gave us a wave.
“Yeah, it’s great.” I yanked on the straps to keep my leg pads in place. “We’re only doing this for like ten minutes, and then you’re taking me back to Sal. What if he gets sicker when I’m gone?”
Mario didn’t reply. I didn’t even wait for him to leave the dressing room. I trudged out onto the ice, stopped, and let hockey seep into my soul. What was it about the ice and the net, the boards and the chill in the air?
Skating to the home net was almost a religious experience, or how I imagined a religious experience felt. I ran a hand over the pipe, enjoying the feel of the twine as my fingers bumped over it. I heard McGarrity at center ice dumping frozen pucks out of a bucket. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the freezing-cold red pipe and held on, eyes closed, lungs filling and then emptying as I tried to let go of all the bad that had been my life the past four or five days. I took a long drink from my water bottle.
“You about done with your goalie voodoo-hoodoo ritual?”
I glanced to the right to find McGarrity wearing a half-baked smile.
“Yeah, I’m done.” I tossed my bottle on top of the net, slid my mask on, and dropped into a crouch to stretch a little. “You planning on trying to shoot a puck at me, or just standing around thinking about your AARP benefits?”
Mario threw back his head and laughed hard and long. That made me smile just a little inside my mask.
“And to think you used to be this shy little kid who wouldn’t say shit if he had a mouthful.”
Mario skated behind my net and out to the blue line, where a mound of pucks had been dumped. He picked out a puck, flung it into the air with his stick, then swung like he was Mickey Mantle. The puck flew at me. I jumped up and caught it in my catcher’s mitt. Another puck came in low, rolling across the ice. I managed to kick that one aside then dive to the left to slap another one away. Then the shots began coming at me faster and faster. It was like facing a tennis ball machine, only this machine was rocketing slap shots at me while wearing a maniacal smile. Puck after puck flew at me, bouncing off my chest, shoulders, and stick.
There wasn’t time for banter, chirps, or stressing about Sal’s health. Mario kept shooting and moving, slowly getting his accuracy honed in. For an old man, he was wicked hot with upper left hand shots. What he lacked in diminishing speed, he more than made up for with grit and brutal snap shots.
At first tracking all those pucks was hard, but the longer we were out there, the easier it became. My instincts overrode the quagmire inside my head, and I could focus and lock in on him.
He picked up a puck at center ice, the black tape on his stick trying to obscure the chunk of vulcanized rubber. His skates turned sharply, suggesting he was going to head to the left. Instead he rolled around the net, making me dance from one side to the other to put my skate tight against the pipe. He jabbed and shoved the puck at my leg, making sounds like a pit bull while I stabbed at the puck with my stick.
“Tough little pup, ain’t you?” Mario growled as we went shoulder to shoulder, the puck slipping and sliding around my feet.
“Got to be to play with the old dogs,” I grunted, sweat burning my eyes.
I dove at the puck as it slithered forward, and slapped my catching mitt to the ice. Mario rocked me to the side, his hip finding purchase and his stick slipping under my glove. The Italian-Scot fell on me, bowing my back until I was flopping around on the ice. He hooked my glove up off the ice. By this time, if it had been a real game, he’d have been sitting on the bench for goaltender interference, but since it was only him and me, he scrabbled and clawed for possession of that puck.
When he was seated on my lower back, his skates up by my head, I bucked up and tossed his ass to the ice. Then I stood up, took off my blocker, picked up the puck, and threw it over the glass. It bounced back to the ice. I ripped off my mask and threw that as well. Then I chucked my stick at the netting behind my crease. When I spun to glower at McGarrity, he was lying on his side, head resting on his hand, smiling like a monkey with a candy bar. Or was it a bird with a French fry? Whatever. It was some silly saying Mario always tossed around. I picked up my stick and beat it to splinters on the pipes. When there was nothing but a shard of shattered paddle left in my hand, I looked at Mario as I tried to catch my breath.
“You, Augie, my son, my son, are a fucking warrior, as Kalinski would say.”
I sat down about a foot in front of him, soaking wet and panting like a work horse. He shook off a glove to wipe at his sweaty brow. I pu
shed my fingers through my wet hair.
“Some warrior,” I said after the anger began to fade. “I’m scared shitless.”
“So’s Dracula.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Sometimes the things he came up with were really off the wall.
Mario fell onto his back, his head resting on his discarded glove. “Even undead blood-suckers are afraid of something. We all have fears, Augie. What’s important is how we act when we’re faced with them. And you, my boy, have met every fucking challenge like a true warrior.”
I pondered that for a couple of minutes as my breathing slowed. “Life can quit with the challenges any time now. I’m worn out from warrioring.”
“Yeah, I hear you, son. You up for another round?”
“The question is, are you, old man?”
Mario gave me a saucy wink, then slowly got to his skates. “Put that damn mask on and we’ll see, pup.”
Once we’d grabbed a spare stick from the back of Mario’s car, we spent another hour there, just the two of us. Mario never scored.
Sal was napping when I returned to his room. Tiptoeing up to his bed, I paused to look down at him in rest. His color was better—not great, but the yellow tint was gone. He was still pasty. His eyes slowly opened and his lips curled into a smile. I bent over to press my mouth to his. I felt his sigh whisper over my face.
“You look better,” he said as I sat beside him on the bed, taking his hand carefully between mine.
“I was going to say the same thing to you.” His eyes still lacked the fire they usually had, but considering how gravely sick he had been…
“Were you and Mario playing hockey?”
I tipped my head and looked at him questioningly.
“I can always tell. Your eyes glow after you’ve been on the ice. I think I should be jealous of hockey.”
I blushed just a little, then placed a kiss on the back of his bruised hand. “You’re number one, always.”
“I’m willing to share, but just with hockey.” He tried to sit up higher on the bed. We took a moment to get him settled with a few extra pillows behind him. “My doctor was here. He’s releasing me in a couple days. He said they’re going to tweak my meds a little too, maybe. Got to see how my count is.”
“I was here, remember?” I smiled and tugged his blanket up higher on his chest.
“Oh yeah. You know what the first thing I’m going to do when I get out of here is?”
I sat back down, my hip resting against his. “What?”
“I’m going to take you to our bed and make love to you, then I’m going to stuff myself right full of my mother’s cooking while she’s still around.” He looked like he had envisioned heaven.
“Uh, no, sorry.” I patted the cover warming his thigh. “You’re going to rest and slowly work back to eating solid foods. I heard what he said before I left. And work is not happening until you have a follow-up with him, so don’t even think about that. I’ll cover the rent. We’ll both be living there, so I’m happy to do it.”
“You’re pretty damn bossy,” he grumbled with no real anger.
“Yep.”
Totally just saved my warrior title.
September
“August, can you fill us in on how this new HIV awareness campaign you’re setting up with Cougars GM Chet Rader is going to work?”
One of about ten invited LGBT-friendly reporters from the Cayuga area media shouted the question in my face. She had to shout. The music bouncing off the walls of Vespers was so incredibly loud, shouting was the only way to communicate. I smiled down at the petite brunette as a purple strobe light rolled over us. Even up here on the second floor, the wild and rotating lights touched every sweaty and deep-pocketed person packed into the club. Sal and I were eternally indebted to the club owners for donating us the use of the place for the night.
“What we’re planning to do is set up speakers with medical backgrounds to visit every school campus in the greater Cayuga area,” I yelled in reply, bending down to speak as close to the mic as I could.
The cameraman gave me a thumbs up. Did that mean he could hear me, or just to keep talking? I didn’t know, so I just kept talking and hoping that this segment on the six o’clock news tomorrow wouldn’t terrify the people out there who still lived in fear of anyone with HIV.
“We’re starting with elementary schools, because this knowledge needs to be passed along at a young age. Each visit will be age-appropriate in terms of content. We’re hoping that if we can secure enough private donations, we can branch out to college campuses as well. We have several LGBT centers signed up.”
“And you’re personally involved in this endeavor because your boyfriend is HIV positive, correct?”
She stumbled into me. I righted her. The lesbian couple that had knocked the reporter aside apologized profusely as they danced past, arms in the air, hips shaking, heads bobbing.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
I looked around the upper tier, searching for Sal. When our eyes met, he smiled, held up a bottle of water with a lime slice, then returned to talking to a mob of media folks with cell phones. He didn’t drink much at all since that pancreatitis attack a few months before. A few reporters were scribbling down words on paper because the music made speaking difficult.
“We’re both strongly behind educating not just children but adults as well about HIV truths. You’d be amazed how little many people, gay and straight, know about HIV. I was pretty ignorant until I met and fell in love with my boyfriend.”
“Mind if I cut in?” Mario slid in beside me, flashed the reporter a wicked grin, kissed me on the cheek, then pulled me away from the reporter.
“Um, in case you forgot, we’re supposed to be here talking up the awareness campaign,” I shouted beside his ear as he pulled me down the silver steps to the dance floor.
“I am aware,” he yelled over his shoulder, his grip on my wrist tight. “You also need to take some time off from this to focus on the important things in life.”
A green light touched on us then flew up to the ceiling. The crush of bodies tightened around me as we stepped off the stairs.
“I know, training camp starts in a week. I’m totally there this year.” I tapped my temple, then smiled at the mayor and his wife twerking. It was a sight that I prayed I would never see again.
“I’m not talking about hockey.” Mario led me to the center of the crowd, nudging Victor and Dan out of the way with his elbows. Dan patted my back as we passed. Victor mouthed “Fucking warrior” over Dan’s dark head. “I’m talking about the really important thing in your life.”
He spun me around. There at Heather’s side stood Sal, looking as sexy as hell in a white dress shirt, black vest, and nice tight black jeans. I bet Heather had pulled him down from the top tier just as Mario had me. Heather bounced over, pecked my cheek, then placed my hand in Sal’s. She danced her way over to Victor and Dan, her shiny blue dress perfect for a night on the dance floor. Pity Brooks had to miss out, but someone had to stay home with Jack, and since Heather was one of the awareness campaign’s medical consultants, she was needed here. Also, she was super pretty, and the straight older men handed her money just for smiling at them.
The thumping tune by Icona Pop stopped dead. The lights all rotated to shine on Sal and me, hand in hand, among close to five hundred supporters of our new program, the management and players of the Cougars, and so much media it made my head spin.
“I don’t feel the least bit conspicuous,” I said.
Sal laughed. I could feel the heat rising up my neck. Maybe I was a crusader or a fighter now—other people’s words, not mine—but I was still a bashful one at times. Like now. I saw Mike and Yvonne Buttonwood at the bar. Mrs. Buttonwood waved as Mike chatted up someone beside him. I waved back. She had volunteered countless hours helping to set up this fundraiser. Sal and I thought it was her way of making amends for her reaction that night at dinner. Not that she’d had to, but perhap
s she’d felt she should. Whatever her reasons, she was a whiz at organizing things.
“Got a slot on your dance card for me?” Sal yelled as a dance remix of Carly Rae Jepsen’s song “Call Me Maybe” began playing.
My eyes widened. I glanced to the right to see Mario cuddling with Lila, Langley bouncing up and down like a pogo stick beside his parents. McGarrity gave me a small nod.
“Every dance is yours.”
Victor “The Venomous Pole” Kalinski returns to star in a new book, Coach’s Challenge - Cayuga Cougars #3
Coming 1/10/18
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V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee (not necessarily in that order). She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and two steers.
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