by Van Barrett
“He's not taking it so well, Dougie.”
He frowns. “Perfect fucking timing, huh? Right before Game 7?”
“Yeah. It sucks.”
“Just what we need. He was doing so well, too.” Doug pounds his fist on the table. “Maybe I should've kept Fresno after all. You know? At least with him, we knew what we had – a soft, streaky scorer. With Jonesy ... I hate to say it. But as good as he's been? I'm always worried he's gonna slip up and burn us again.”
I stay silent. It's not for me to comment on.
“So?” he asks.
“So what?”
“Is it true? Is he gay? I mean, you room with him. Hell, you practically live with him at that hotel, too. I guess you might know if he brought a guy back to his room or something.”
“He's never done anything like that. But if he's gay or not, I don't know,” I lie. “If I did, it really wouldn't be my place to say, Dougie.”
“Yeah.”
“If he was, though – hypothetically. Would it be a problem for you?”
I study Doug's face. He takes a long drink from his coffee cup.
“Not for me,” he says at last. And he's telling the truth. “Now that kind of thing is obviously not my cup of tea, but I don't fuckin' care what you guys do in your free time.”
I nod.
“... But what about the boys?” he asks.
“Yeah. That's the big question.”
“If they didn't wanna play with him, what choice would I have?”
“Yeah.” I purse my lips. “Yeah. I get ya.”
We sit silently for a bit. Then I remember why I came.
“Anyway – like I said. He's in bad place right now, doesn't know how to handle all this. I think I can help him out, Dougie, but I gotta bend the rules a bit.”
“Uh oh. Like what?”
“Curfew. Might be a bit late tonight.”
He sips his coffee and shakes his head. I know he'd prefer not to know about it at all, but I'd hate to betray his trust.
“Just don't let anyone else see you coming in late,” he says.
“Alright.”
“And for the love of God, don't show up half-hungover, half-wasted for Game 7, alright?”
“I'd never, Dougie. You know how much it means to me.”
35.
Secret Getaway
Callan
When I hear Vance put his key-card in the hotel door, I scramble to hide my cell phone under my pillow and do my best to fake a smile when he comes in.
A smile that says, hey, I took your advice after all! I calmed down! Now I feel great!
Even though I've been in here the whole time, still panicking and looking at all the rumors and gossip and nonsense drama swirling around my name. I'm sure he knows it, too. But the least I can do is fake it.
Vance walks in, takes one look at me, and sees right through my bullshit smile.
“Oh, for god's sake,” he laughs.
“What? What?” I pretend like I don't know what he means, refusing to give up my fraudulent smile.
“You're a terrible liar, bud. You look like hell.”
“Yeah ...” With a shrug, I lift my ass off the bed and pull my cell phone out from under me. The screen is still glowing white, my browser stuck on a sports rumor site. “You got me.”
“Ha ha, I fuckin' knew it, Cal!” Vance rushes over and sits on the bed next to me. He grabs my phone and powers it off. “Such a bad liar.”
“Hey!” I slap his back in protest. “Who said you could turn that off?”
“I did it for your own good. Now c'mon, get up, Cal. I'm getting you out of here already.”
“And where are we gonna go?”
“It's a surprise.”
“I really don't wanna go out to dinner with the others ...”
“I'm not taking you anywhere near them.”
“Then where?”
He pulls me by my arm and drags me out of bed.
“Put your goddamn shoes on and come with. I'm not gonna tell you. I've already rented a car and everything.”
“What the hell, Vance?” I gasp. He's practically trying to drag me kicking and screaming out of the hotel room. I reach for my cell phone, but he swats my hand away.
“No gadgets. I told you to relax and you wouldn't. So now I'm gonna make you.”
“This is crazy!” I yell as he pushes me out the door. “What if someone needs to call me?”
“I'll have my phone with me. But you're not allowed to use it.”
Once he gets me into the elevator, I'm a little more cooperative. I still wanna know what the hell he's got in mind, but he's not telling me. He walks me out to the parking lot and I see he wasn't joking. He really did rent a car. A sporty little red coupe.
We climb in and buckle up. He drives off without saying a word. I sit with my arms folded, waiting for an explanation.
“Well?” I ask, running out of patience.
“Well what?”
“You gonna tell me where you're taking me?”
He peeks over at me and chuckles.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh, you're such a tease.”
At last he volunteers some information. “My ex grew up in Santa Cruz. Anytime I had a road trip in California, she made it a point to come with. I got to know the place pretty well.”
“Okay ...” I trail off, hoping he'll tell more. But again he goes quiet. “And so, uh, what parts is it that you'd like to show me?”
But Vance pulls the car over into a parking lot of a sports mega-store. “I need to run in and grab some things. You mind waiting in the car?”
“Mind? I'd prefer to. I don't wanna be seen right now,” I say with a sigh.
“Thanks bud.”
Vance heads out for the store, but he makes the mistake of leaving the key in the ignition. I turn the key and switch the radio on and find the sports station.
The host is talking about the playoff series. “The Sharks will face off against the Hawks tomorrow for Game 7 ... Rumors are flying about Hawks' forward Callan Jones, who one internet personality claims he had a gay affair with, and ...”
I roll my eyes and listen. The local station went and interviewed some of the Sharks players: how do they feel about playing against an opponent who is rumored to be gay?
The Sharks players try not to say anything that would land them in a scandal of their own – but I can hear the sneers they're hiding behind their 'politically correct' answers.
“Well, it's not for me to really comment on, but, heh heh, a guy like that, who has so much to say to everybody else on the ice – it's interesting, that's all I can say.”
I listen to all the comments. Seems like everybody has something to say. I only snap out of my trance when Vance comes back and opens the door, surprising me.
“Oh!” I gasp, and I hurry to shut the radio off even though he's already caught me.
“Really Cal?” Vance chuckles. “Guess I shouldn't be surprised.”
He's got a shopping cart full of plastic bags and boxes, full of whatever he just bought. “The hell did you buy in there, anyway?” I ask.
“Nothin'.” He pops the trunk and dumps the boxes and bags back there.
He climbs back into the driver's seat, tosses his wadded up receipt into the center console, and starts the car.
Vance turns onto the freeway and off we go. To wherever. With him distracted, I pick up the crinkled receipt and straighten it. But Tyler snatches it from me before I can see what he's bought – although I do manage to see the total amount he spent: it's a figure just short of $2,000.
“You just dropped two grand in there?!” I blurt out. “Two grand in a sports store? What the hell did you buy, Vance?”
“You shouldn't snoop, man,” he grins. “Haven't you learned that lesson yet? Snooping is the ultimate trust killer.”
“Yeah. Sure. Says the guy who doesn't trust me enough to tell me where we're even going.” I pause, hoping he'll tell me now – but still he stays quiet. “Wa
s it a gun and a shovel you just bought? I know I've been a distraction, but shit. You're not planning to get rid of me and bury the evidence, are you?”
He turns his head slowly, a grave, serious look on his dour face. He hits a button and the door locks bolt down ominously. “That's exactly what I'm planning, Callan.”
“Ha ha,” I laugh. “But uh, seriously. ... Is it?”
“Oh, eff off, Cal. You really think I'm capable of something like that?”
“I dunno ... if you put your mind to it, why not? ...”
He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. But whatever this trip is for, he's still not saying.
“Well, if nothing else, I'm definitely intrigued ...” I say as I stare out the window.
And it's a beautiful scene. Rolling mountains burst upward out of craggy, golden bedrock. The mountains are softened by the lush green trees that stretch impressively toward the sky. We're driving toward the coast and I can see the blue of the ocean on the horizon.
At least I can say this – Vance chose a relaxing drive to put my mind at ease.
AFTER AN HOUR IN THE car, Tyler takes an exit off the freeway. I can see the ocean waves lapping at the beach and now I'm starting to get excited. But I still don't know what he's planned.
“Are we close?” I ask. And I feel freakin' powerless. I might as well be asking are we there yet? over and over until he finally snaps.
“Almost,” he says with a coy smile. “Just a couple more miles.”
So I sit quietly, patiently, and wait. Vance drives us down a road that moves us closer to the coast, but further into the foliage and under the shade of some tall, regal trees. We pass a sign that says New Brighton State Park Beach.
“Here we are,” Tyler grins as he parks the car.
“Seriously?” I ask excitedly. “A state park? What are we doing here?”
“Not just a park, but a beach, too. And we're relaxing, obviously. I told you that you should relax but you wouldn't listen. Now I'm forcing you to.”
“Aw, Ty,” I say, trying not to gush. “That's really thoughtful of you, man. I love the beach.”
“I know. I figured that out when you skipped your first game and high-tailed it for the beach.”
“Ha. Thanks for the reminder. But if you would've told me that we were coming here, I would've brought a change of clothes.”
“Ah. So now you see what the shopping spree was for.” Tyler hits and button the trunk pops open. “Stay here.”
He runs around to the back of the car, circles back, and tosses a new pair of swimming trunks and sandals into my lap. He bought pairs for himself, too.
“We can change in here,” he says.
I look side to side. I don't see anyone around. I unbuckle my belt and wiggle out of my jeans, then my boxers, too. Even after what I've been through with Vance – and I don't just mean the roof-top, but all the showers and nudity in the dressing room and stuff too – it's still weird as hell to have my cock out in front of him in a small two-seat rental car.
But if Vance thinks it's weird, you wouldn't know it. 'Cause he's totally comfortable stripping right next to me. In a moment of weakness, I steal a glance out of the corner of my eye. His manly cock flops against his muscular thighs as he fights to pull his trunks up in the small car.
Vance takes his shirt off next. I follow his lead and take mine off, too. He tosses a bottle to me. “Here. Sunscreen.”
We get out of the car and I put the sunscreen on my shoulders and chest. I get as much as my back as I can before Vance steps forward and volunteers to help.
“I got ya, dude.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly while he rubs the lotion into my back. “So uh. You used to come here with your ex?”
“No,” he trails off and gives my back a little slap to tell me he's done. I slink behind him and squirt the lotion into my palms and rub it into his wide, muscular back. “This is one place I always wanted to come see but we never got to. Stuff always came up and got in the way.”
“Oh,” I laugh. “Good. 'Cause if you brought me to a place that you came to with your ex, I'd be a little freaked out.”
“She kinda hated the outdoors!” Tyler says with a laugh. “If a place didn't have A/C, she didn't wanna go. She didn't leave the hotel much, really.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. Especially for a guy like me who grew up always outside.”
Tyler's skin has already absorbed the lotion a minute ago, but I've still been rubbing him just for good measure. I don't wanna get creepy though. “Okay, you're good.”
“Sweet. C'mon.”
I follow Tyler. He leads us down a trail that runs through the heart of the park and leads to the coast. Tall grass surrounds us, and above us, soaring oak and pine trees shade us from the Sun and hide the ocean from our view. But even though we can't see it, we can hear it – and it gets louder as we near. The exhale of the waves as they crash onto the shore; the long, soothing inhale as the water is sucked back out to sea. Every step brings us closer and I get more and more excited.
“Damn, I can't wait!” I say with a hop in my step. Eager to reach the beach already, I wanna run further ahead. But instead I circle back, urging Tyler to walk faster. He laughs.
Soon, the trees part, and the rocky cove before us stretches for miles, as far as we can see. Steep wooden stairs trail down the bluffs overlooking the ocean. I pause to take the view in.
“Damn. It's beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “Let's go!”
We hurry down the stairs and reach the beach. I kick my sandals off and run through the soft sand. I wade through the ocean until the water comes up to my hips. I hear Tyler chasing after me. He catches up and we both dive under and swim, holding our breaths, to see who can swim the furthest before coming back up for air.
And all I can think is ...
Damn. What an awesome guy. He really cares. He really wants to help.
And I'm really gonna miss him when all is said and done.
36.
Tastes Like the Outdoors
Tyler
After we've swam enough races, and splashed each other for far too long, we head back to the beach. I brought some beach towels that I picked up at the store and I lay 'em out for us both. We lay down and soak up the late Spring afternoon Sun.
And lemme tell ya, it feels great. Like it's charging up the batteries that get depleted over the course of a long, grueling season that is far too physically taxing ... not to mention all the team and media BS that saps you mentally.
“You really thought of everything, didn't you?” Cal asks, turning over so his back gets some Sun, too. I follow his lead.
I shrug. “I kinda thought it up last minute, actually.”
“That's even more thoughtful then ... hey. Listen, I appreciate it. I really do. You kinda saved me from myself. I think I'd still be in there with my phone, obsessing over – well, you know. I shouldn't even bring it up. I should relax instead.”
He scoops up a handful of sand and lets it sift and spill through the cracks of his fingers.
“Yeah, just give your mind a break. You need it.”
He agrees.
“But I know what it's like – what you're going through. Not the same, but I had my own experience.”
“Really? What?” Callan asks.
“Well, you remember when my team made it to the Cup Finals ... game 7, double overtime, I hit the post, Westbrook scores for the Kings and we lose.”
“Yeah, of course. I watched it on TV.”
“And then the league trots out the playoff MVP trophy and gives it to me of all people. Even though our team lost.”
“Yeah, well, you deserved it more than anyone. You were unreal that year and in those playoffs! No one else even came close to your point total.”
“But I wish they would've given it to somebody else – somebody from the winning team. And I don't mean because I didn't want the trophy or appreciate the reward. I didn't want it,
because I was so upset ... I was too weak to even pick it up. Hell, I could barely skate. I was afraid that if I picked the trophy up, I might drop it. So, instead, I didn't pick it up. First guy in history to not pick that trophy up after winning it. I just skated away from it.”
Callan chuckles. “I remember that.”
“Do you remember what the media said afterward about it?”
“A little, but probably not as much as you do,” he admits, his brow arching. “I know they were dicks but I can't remember why.”
“I got ripped apart by every media outlet that whole off-season, Cal. Everyone was talking about what a shitty leader I was. 'A real leader would pick that trophy up!' They said I didn't respect the trophy. That I was a cry-baby throwing a tantrum because I didn't get what I wanted. Hawks fans were saying this shit, too – actually, they were some of the loudest. They said it was a mistake that the team made me a captain in the first place. I was too young, too inexperienced, too selfish, too quiet, they said. We would've won that game if Emerson was our captain, if Fresno was our captain. Etc., etc., etc. Our fans were done with me, Cal, and it was all centered around the smallest of things – the fact that I didn't pick up that trophy.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. And you know what I did? I did just what you were doing today. I read every comment, every blog, every article ... I listened to every podcast and all the analysis. It sure felt like no one had my back. Everyone was ready to throw me to the dogs because that shot didn't go in and I didn't pick the trophy up.”
“Fuck.”
“Uh huh. And so I had myself a terrible off-season. And then, a few months later, the next season started. And I played like shit. Because they'd damn near ruined hockey for me – the fans, the media, the pundits. They didn't know a thing about my situation and nobody cared to interview me about it. It felt like I was watching my own execution take place publicly and I couldn't do a thing to plead my case or stop it. The whole thing was Kafka-esque.”
“I dunno what that means.” His eyes dart away. “Remember, 10th grade education over here.”
