by Amy Aislin
“No, you’re not,” Mitch said from somewhere off to his right.
“No,” Cody said on a sigh. “I’m not.” He turned his head on the pillow to pout at Mitch. “Because I’m apparently a sucker for punishment.”
“Nah.” Mitch removed an empty water bottle from his duffel and threw it into the recycling bin under the sink. “You just know a good thing when you see it. I mean . . .” He gestured at himself.
Man, it felt good to laugh. Better, it felt good to laugh with Mitch.
“Who is this Kas, anyway?” Mitch asked.
“Kasper Kowalski. Most recent NHL trade, from Vancouver to the Vermont Trailblazers.”
“Oh yeah. I heard about that on the news yesterday.”
“I looked him up,” Cody said, flipping onto his back. “And then I looked Roman up. They played for the same major junior team in Ottawa.”
“Not friends, I take it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe if you asked Roman. I mean, he did shut the door on both of us. But the look on Kowalski’s face . . .” Cody thought back and tried to describe it. “He looked . . . devastated.”
Cody had stood, staring at Roman’s door inches from his nose for an endless minute, expecting it to open again. Even when it hadn’t, he’d struggled to go from that jittery nerves first kiss feeling to your night’s over as quickly as Roman apparently could. It was like being unexpectedly pushed into a swimming pool while wearing all of your clothes, your watch, and holding your cell phone. That holy-fuck feeling where it took a moment to parse through a) what was happening, and b) that it was actually happening in the first place.
Finally, he’d knocked on Roman’s door, both to find out if he was okay and for an explanation. Only once, though, because Kowalski was still there behind him and Cody didn’t want to appear like a desperate loser in front of him, although his neck had been screaming red just from having the door slammed in his face like he was a salesman hawking used condoms. When Roman hadn’t reappeared, Cody’s stomach had curdled, chest hollowing, and he’d taken a step back, only to bump into Kowalski, who’d moved forward at some point and hovered right behind Cody. Kowalski had also been staring at Roman’s door with an expression Cody had labeled as hopeful kicked puppy. Until Cody had bumped into him, that is, and he’d mumbled an apology, unlocked the door to the apartment to the right of Roman’s, and disappeared inside.
And Cody had left, tail between his legs, sneaking furtive glances over his shoulder on the short walk to the staircase in the event that Roman reappeared.
He did not.
In the kitchen, Mitch finished building himself a sandwich with cold cuts, lettuce, and cheese, then sat on the coffee table by Cody’s head. “Question.” He took a bite of his meal and chewed thoughtfully. “How come you didn’t tell me about this when it happened?”
Cody took his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose, avoiding Mitch’s peering eyes. “You were with Alex. I didn’t want to interrupt. You get so little time with him as it is.”
“Just because I’m with Alex,” Mitch said gently, “doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you. I spent all weekend texting you random pictures of potential houses and you never once mentioned this.”
Cody shrugged awkwardly, love for his best friend making his insides squishy. Why couldn’t they have just fallen for each other? It would’ve been so much easier than navigating dating life. “I didn’t want to be the rain on your parade.”
Rolling his eyes, Mitch set aside his plate and climbed on top of Cody.
“Oh, Jesus, oh my god, why?” Cody groaned as two hundred and however many pounds of muscled hockey player unceremoniously dumped himself on top of him. “Ow. Get off me. You weigh as much as a truck.”
“You can take me.” Propped on an elbow, Mitch poked Cody in the upper arm. “Years of yoga and Pilates gave you a yoga bod.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Listen.” Mitch steadied Cody’s face in both hands and forced their gazes to meet. “I don’t care if I’m on my honeymoon or riding the high of winning the Frozen Four. If something’s wrong, I wanna know about it, okay? No ‘rain on your parade’ bullshit.”
“Speaking of honeymoon,” Cody said, just to change the subject. “Did you guys set a date yet?”
Mitch’s grin was all teeth and happiness. “Yup! Did that this weekend. Mark your calendars for June 4.”
“June . . . Are you kidding? That’s three and a half months away. How are you going to plan everything by then?”
“You’ll be my best man, right?”
Cody’s eyes widened in horror. “How am I going to plan everything by then?”
“I don’t need you to do anything. It’s already done.”
“Huh?” He elbowed Mitch in the ribs. “Seriously, get off me. Your breath smells like ham.”
Mitch lifted himself onto his knees but stayed on Cody’s legs. “Alex and I already did everything. One of his mom’s friends said he’d marry us for a bottle of good whiskey, so we’re going to do it in his mom’s backyard with just us and our families, and then we’re taking a European cruise for our honeymoon.”
Cody put his glasses back on and blinked at him. “Did you manage to find a house between all this wedding planning?”
“Nope. But that’s okay. Not like the housing market is going anywhere.” He picked his plate off the table and handed Cody the untouched half of his sandwich.
“So what’s included in best-man duties?”
“Just stand by my side at the wedding, dummy. I don’t need anything else.”
Nothing else, huh? No bachelor party? Well, that wouldn’t do. Something to think about once he’d saved the library and survived final exams.
Biting into the sandwich, Cody grimaced. “Dude. This is the driest thing I’ve ever had. There isn’t even any mayo or mustard on it.”
“I was too hungry to bother,” Mitch said with his mouth full. “So? What are you going to do about Roman?”
Cody’s muscles tightened. “I’m wondering if I should do anything at all at this point. Not because of the hot-and-cold thing,” he explained at Mitch’s questioning eyebrow raise. “But . . . grad school. If I get in, and if anything does happen between Roman and me . . . I don’t know.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Is there any point, knowing we might be living in different states in a few months?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” Mitch said. “Alex and I got together knowing we’d be separated as soon as his arm healed and he went back to Tampa. Actually.” He tilted his head, limp sandwich in one hand held aloft over Cody’s torso. “Technically, we got together after he went back to Tampa.” He toasted Cody with his sandwich. “Didn’t let that stop us. Don’t let a maybe stop you from going after what you want.”
“Your neck is stiff.”
Lying face down on the table, Roman grunted an affirmative under the hands of the team’s chiropractor.
“Look to the right.”
He turned his head right and let Dr. Tan adjust his neck.
“Okay.” Doc patted him on the back. “You’re all set.” He turned away to type into his computer and Roman caught the words over the doctor’s shoulder as he stood.
Stiff. Carries tension in shoulders.
No fucking shit.
Roman had been tiptoeing through life the past three days, hoping to avoid Kas. Better yet, hoping Kas would forget he even existed. Any second now he expected Kas to out him to the entire team, just like he’d done before. Roman had avoided any sudden movements or doing anything that would draw attention to himself, as if Kas was an apex predator he needed to avoid.
What were the chances that the guy who’d caused him so much emotional pain would be traded to his team? The universe was laughing at him, that was for damn sure, scolding him for thinking he could try to be happy, to have something wonderful with Cody.
He left Sport U Arena’s medical center, heading for the workout room to expend some energy, absolutely
dreading what he might find there. Had Kas outed him yet? Were the guys already talking about him behind his back?
Roman had been the only one not to greet Kas when Coach Donovan had introduced him at their morning skate yesterday. Everyone else had been all Hey, welcome and Don’t worry, we don’t haze here and Looking forward to playing with you. Roman, stomach full of bricks, had finished tying his skates and walked out of the locker room. He could fucking feel the silence he’d left in his wake.
He’d expected Kas to out him right then and there. That he hadn’t sat like lead on Roman’s shoulders; he expected the other shoe to fuck him over any second. What was Kas waiting for? Just get it over with! Roman wanted to yell at him. The stress was making him nauseated to the point where he was tempted to out himself just to be done with the waiting.
But he couldn’t say Kas wasn’t a good addition to the team. Friendly, open-minded, a great hockey player. He filled in a gap in their defense they desperately needed.
Whenever they happened to occupy the same space, Kas would shoot him side-eyed glances Roman couldn’t interpret. Could mean anything from How’d I get saddled with this guy again? to I like his tie. Roman ignored him and would continue ignoring him until the end of time. It was unrealistic given they were on the same team, but Roman was nothing if not determined. It was totally doable.
Oh good. He rolled his eyes at himself as he made a left at the end of the hallway. Totally doable. Now he was starting to sound like Cody.
Speaking of, he owed the guy an explanation, or at least a sorry, not interested. Of course, he was interested, and he wanted to make the drive to Glen Hill just to play Mario Kart with Cody, but Kas showing up in his life again right when things were starting to get intimate between them was clearly a sign from the universe.
This one’s not for you.
Fine.
Okay, not fine. He wanted Cody to be just for him and he wanted to be just for Cody. Somehow, through his megawatt smiles and determination not to let anything get him down and insecurity around his father and bad habit of hearing yes when Roman meant no, he’d become more than a friend; he’d become someone Roman wanted to have more with, to see where they went as a couple. And Roman hadn’t considered “more” since . . . well, ever.
He had four texts from Cody, one for each day starting Friday, all of which Roman hadn’t responded to. The texts could be summed up as Are you okay? and served to demonstrate Cody’s character; he really should’ve been blasting Roman for being an asshole; instead, he was worried about his mental state.
Reaching the workout room, he paused outside the door to the tune of clanks and grunts and friendly conversation. With game time less than two hours away, workouts would be light and short, a way to release tension. Roman needed that release more than ever, but based on the noise, there was clearly at least a handful of his teammates in the room already and he couldn’t do it. A handful was more than he could deal with right now. The thought of walking in there and having them all sneer at him because Kas outed him froze his lungs. History repeating itself, and he’d rather prolong the inevitable as much as he could.
He turned, aiming for the locker room to listen to some music and veg, and who stood behind him but Kasper fucking Kowalski, all tall and blond and insipidly sweet.
“Hey,” Kas said as if they were regular ol’ chummy teammates.
Gritting his teeth, Roman shouldered past him, satisfaction uncurling when Kas grunted.
“Wait—”
“Fuck off, Kas.”
He rounded a corner and ended up nose to banana.
“Hey, man,” Zanetti said from behind the banana, mouth full. “When d’you think I’ll get my veggie lasagna?”
Never. Roman was done trying to make nice. It wasn’t worth the eventual pain. “You can fuck off too, Zanetti.”
“What’d I do?” Zanetti muttered behind him as Roman slammed into the locker room.
Empty.
At least something was going right. Sitting on the bench in front of his cubby, he pulled out his phone, plugged in his earbuds, cued up the soundtrack to 10 Ten Things I Hate About You, and tapped the icon for Cut the Rope, settling in for an hour of not thinking about anything except getting the candy into Om Nom’s mouth.
Half an hour before game time, when they were due on the ice for the pregame warmup, he’d successfully managed to loosen his shoulders from where they’d been hanging out near his ears. He kept to himself, didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, ignored the chatter and the ribbing around him, gave Ritz and Honeybun the finger when they tried to talk to him, and finished lacing up his skates before he followed the team onto the ice.
What was it Coach had said a few weeks ago? That he wanted the men on his team to treat each other like brothers? Well, fuck that. What he needed to do was prove that he could help his team win.
Which he did in the final minutes of the third period. They were tied against Colorado, 2-2. The scent of ice and sweat filled Roman’s nostrils. Win win win played on repeat in his head. His shoulder twinged from when he’d been body checked into the boards in the second period, spurring him to do better, to be better, to play harder.
The puck came his way and he spun around a rival in white and maroon, the cheers of the crowd chasing him down the ice. He passed to Zanetti. Zanetti passed to Jacoba. Back to Zanetti. To Roman.
Who saw an opening, shot . . .
And scored!
The goal horn screamed, Roman’s favorite sound in the world, and in his excitement, he did a little hop on the ice. In short order, he found himself with an armful of his teammates—Zanetti too, even though Roman had snapped at him.
This. This was how he proved himself. Not by making friends, not by demonstrating team spirit, but by winning games. Nothing mattered except hockey.
FEBRUARY 2011
It took Cody an embarrassingly long time to figure out what he was doing wrong. He was branching out too widely, searching too high up the food chain by asking famous motivational speakers and bestselling authors and experts in the DISC personality system to give talks at his library—for free.
No wonder he was getting laughed at.
He needed to look locally.
“How do you feel about doing a talk on library services?”
Eileen, little, round glasses perched on her nose, hummed from behind the desk in her office, eyes trained on the computer. “What’s that, dear?”
“A talk. About the library’s services.”
“Everyone already knows what the library offers.”
Cody leaned against the doorjamb. “Not true. A lot of people come in here just for the books. But do they know about interlibrary loans? Holds? Printing services? The resume writing workshops Kate offers? The meeting rooms on the second floor available for rent?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask them.”
“I wasn’t . . . That’s not . . .” He straightened, a mental image of Eileen conducting a verbal survey in his head. Cody didn’t need a survey; he was sure he was right. “If I can find enough attendees, will you do it?”
Eileen kept typing. “Sure.”
“Sweet,” Cody whispered to himself, turning back into the main administration area. Who else did he know in Glen Hill who might help?
His psychology professors? One of them was doing research on the stigma around mental illness that might interest the general public. Someone in the admissions office could talk to high school juniors about what colleges look for in an application. The owner of Glen Hill’s General Store was a retired nurse; he could talk about . . . something nurse-like.
And then there was Mitch, of course, who knew weird stuff about random topics. He could probably spend half an hour talking about seahorses without prepping any material. More realistically, he was a kinesiology major and a student athlete, so there was bound to be something in his arsenal he could talk about.
Who else? Ooh, maybe if Mitch’s brother was coming back this way soon he could do
a demonstration of how he builds his sun catchers.
And of course, there was Alex, who’d published a book a year and a half ago on what he called the dark side of professional sports.
Cody sat in Kate’s empty chair at her desk and pulled out his phone.
Are you coming to Glen Hill in the next four weeks or so? Four weeks was exactly Eileen’s timeline to submit the budget and to prove that the library had value.
Alex: Yeah. Why?
Cody: Did Mitch mention that the Glen Hill library might shut down?!?! I’m trying to prove that it’s a valuable resource to the community by planning a series of talks. Can you come in and talk about your book . . . or something to do with writing? Or publishing.
Alex: Your people need to talk to my people : )
Cody: -_-
Alex: What is that? Is that an angry face? Of course I’ll do a talk. But you’ll have to be more specific than talk about your book or writing or publishing.
Cody: Dude, I don’t know. Something the public will find interesting.
Alex: Sometimes it takes me 5 hours to write 500 words; other times it takes me 20 minutes. Do you think they’ll find that interesting?
Cody: 5 HOURS?? What are you doing with your life?
Cody: Seriously though. Thank you!!!
Alex: I could talk about the book and do a Q&A? And maybe a signing?
Cody: YES! That’s genius!
Cody: Holy shit! You just gave me another idea. I should have some of the Trailblazers come in and do a panel, let the audience ask questions.
Alex: That has the potential to go sideways. You might want to vet the questions beforehand.
Cody: Right. Thanks for the tip. And the idea!
Alex: You’re welcome? Honestly, I have no idea how you came up with that idea from what I said.
Cody: Just take the credit.
With a plan in place—or, at least, the idea for a plan—he sunk into the chair back and blew out a breath. How was he supposed to get a handful of the Trailblazers to come do a panel? Talk to their community engagement people? No doubt he’d be laughed at again. But perhaps not if Roman vouched for him or helped him set it up. If Roman deemed to talk to him, that was. This morning’s unanswered text swayed Cody’s opinion on the side of no.
