Chapter 16
16
GERARD
W hoever said three heads were better than two wasn’t kidding. With Elliot here, Alex and I have managed to carve nearly all the pumpkins before dinner.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, we have one hour left before the hockey team barrels in here, demanding food. We can do this. I have faith in us.
I study the remaining pumpkins, trying to decide which one to tackle next. They’re all huge and orange, like a bunch of mutant basketballs. I pick up one that’s especially gnarly and grab a carving knife.
Maybe I should draw the face first. I imagine what it would look like with a big, goofy grin and trace it in my mind when the knife slips from my grasp and nicks my finger.
“Fiddlesticks!” I suck on the digit, tasting the sharp tang of iron.
Elliot peers up from his pumpkin with a raised eyebrow. “Fiddlesticks?”
“Gerard never curses,” Alex chimes in.
“Wait, really?” Elliot sounds more curious than skeptical.
I shrug. “I don’t see the need for it. Other words work fine.”
Elliot smirks. “Like…fiddlesticks? ”
“Sure, or gosh, or jeepers. Why use bad words when there are so many fun ones?”
Elliot shakes his head, but I can see he’s fighting a smile. This guy is a riddle wrapped in an enigma stuffed inside a tiny, grumpy package. Not that I’m complaining about his size—I kind of like how compact he is.
I grab a paper towel and wrap it around my finger. The cut isn’t bad, but it’ll probably sting for a while.
“So, what’s the plan for these?” Elliot gestures to the carved pumpkins lined up on the counter. Each one has a different face—some scary, some silly, all expertly done.
“We’re going to put them outside the house like an Easter egg hunt, but spookier.” I unroll the paper towel and check my finger. The bleeding has mostly stopped.
When Elliot bends down to pick up a piece of pumpkin guts, I take the chance to really study him. He’s dressed casually today in a soft, oversized gray sweater and dark wash jeans that are slightly too long, pooling around his small feet. The sleeves of the sweater hang past his hands, giving him a cozy appearance, and I have to admit, I kind of love it.
I wonder what he’d look like in some of my clothes. Maybe one of my BSU hockey team sweatshirts. Yeah, he’d probably swim in it, but it’d be adorable.
Elliot straightens up, and I quickly avert my gaze so he doesn’t catch me staring. He has this way of looking both fragile and resilient at the same time, like a piece of glass that’s been tempered in a forge.
I’m drawn to him in a way that goes beyond physical attraction. I want to understand him and break through the walls he’s built around himself.
“Do you guys do this every year?” Elliot asks, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” Alex says. “It’s a team tradition. Each year, two people are assigned to the job.”
I notice Elliot glance at Alex’s hoodie, then at me. Is he thinking the same thing I am? That wearing your significant other’s clothes is a declaration of something more than just fashion?
“We’re lucky you’re here to help us out this time,” I say to Elliot. “You’re a natural.”
He shrugs modestly. “It’s kind of like dissecting an orange in biology class. Once you know where the seams are, it’s easy.”
I laugh. “Leave it to you to make pumpkin carving sound academic.”
Elliot rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. Instead, he goes back to his pumpkin and starts scraping out the last bits of guts with a spoon.
I can’t stop thinking about how he’d look in my sweatshirt, all snuggled up and warm. Would he wear it with pride, like Alex does with Kyle’s? Or would he be self-conscious about it, unsure if he has the right to claim that piece of me?
“Did you do this a lot when you were a kid, Elliot?” Alex asks.
Elliot sets down his spoon and wipes his hands on a towel. “Actually, no. This is my first time.”
Alex and I both stop what we’re doing and stare at Elliot. I’m shocked. Genuinely shocked.
“That’s like like saying you’ve never eaten a slice of pizza or…or watched a single episode of Sesame Street.”
Elliot shrugs nonchalantly. “My mom and I didn’t have the time for ‘fun’ things.”
I can’t even process what he’s saying. Growing up in Elk Valley, my family made a tradition out of every little thing—carving pumpkins, building snowmen, and even making ridiculous Valentine’s Day cards. The idea that someone could grow up without those simple joys is supremely foreign to me.
“I always had a ton of homework to do,” Elliot continues. “I spent most of my nights studying and sleeping. I didn’t mind.”
I glance at Alex, who appears as troubled as I am. Sure, Elliot might not have minded, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have enjoyed these kinds of activities if he’d had the chance .
“That sounds…intense,” I say, trying to be diplomatic.
Elliot waves it off. “It paid off. I got a scholarship here, didn’t I?”
There’s a moment of silence where I don’t know what to say. I respect how hard Elliot has worked—getting a scholarship is no small feat—but I can’t help feeling sad for him.
“You can make up for lost time now,” Alex says softly.
Elliot’s eyes dart between the two of us. “Maybe.”
There’s a distance in his voice that says he doesn’t quite believe it. Sensing Elliot doesn’t want to go too deep into it, I change the subject. “Speaking of scholarships and college stuff, what’s your major?”
“English. I want to write a novel someday.”
This surprises me. Not that he’s an English major—I could have guessed that from where he works—but that he has such a clear goal. “That’s awesome. What kind of novel?”
He shrugs, but there’s a spark in his eyes now. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve got a few ideas kicking around in my head.”
“Like?”
“One is about a guy who wakes up in a world where everyone has superpowers except for him. Another is set in the future where people can upload their consciousness into robots and live forever.”
“Those sound cool.”
He snorts. “They’re terrible, Gerard.”
“I doubt that.”
“What made you want to be a writer?” Alex asks.
“I’ve always loved reading. Stepping into another world, one where you could be anyone or do anything, always fascinated me. At some point, I was daydreaming about my own stories when I should have been paying attention in class or doing my chores at home. Writing them down was the next logical step.”
“That’s awesome,” I say. “It was a natural progression for you, then?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs. “The truth is, for me, writing isn’t just a way to escape boredom or let my imagination run wild. It’s a way to cope with the less-than-ideal parts of my reality. A survival mechanism, if you will. When bullies at school shoved me into lockers or hurled insults at me, I would retreat into my head and craft tales of revenge and triumph. When loneliness crept in, I would envision a world filled with friends and adventures. Writing has always been a way to rewrite my narrative and take control of a world that’s often cruel.”
“I can relate to all of that,” Alex adds. “Being small, not athletic, hanging around with Kyle…people always pick on me.”
I stare at Alex, surprised. He’s never mentioned being bullied before. I assumed he was always safe with Kyle’s protection and the team’s support.
Elliot nods in understanding. “It’s rough when people make assumptions about you based on who you hang out with or what you look like.”
Alex nods. “But having a friend makes it easier. I don’t know how I’d handle it alone.”
A frown tugs at the corners of my mouth as I take it all in. I can’t relate to either of them because I’ve never faced that kind of hardship. Growing up, I was always one of the more popular guys because I played a sport. No one ever shoved me into lockers or called me names. No one judged me for my looks or what I could or couldn’t do.
The silence stretches uncomfortably long, and I have to clear my throat to shake off the weight of these revelations. “Alex, if people are bothering you, you can tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
Alex blushes, his pale cheeks turning a soft pink. “Thanks, Gerard. That means a lot. But usually, I tell Kyle, and he handles it.”
“I’m serious. You’re one of us, Alex.” I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “We’ve got your back.”
He stares down at his pumpkin. “I know. Thanks.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elliot watching me. There’s something different in his expression—something softer and almost appreciative. He’s also smiling, and it’s such a rare sight that it stops me cold. For a moment, I’m completely stunned by how it transforms his usually grumpy demeanor.
Then he catches himself and quickly scowls, reverting to his usual testy self. It makes me snicker, which earns me an even deeper glare from him. “What’s your major, Gerard?”
“Business,” I reply matter-of-factly. “I know, I know. It’s not exactly the most exciting major, but if I want to make it to the NHL someday, I should probably have some business sense, right? I’ll be dealing with contracts and endorsements and all that jazz.”
Elliot nods, impressed by my foresight. I know it’s easy to write off athletes as all brawn and no brains, but I’m determined to defy that stereotype.
“My dad played hockey here back in the day,” I continue. “He was a total beast on the ice and led the team to several championships. He majored in business, too; he said it was the best decision he ever made, aside from marrying my mom and having me and my sister, of course.”
“Makes sense why you’d want to follow in his footsteps.”
“Yeah, he’s my hero. He’s taught me a lot about hockey and life.”
“And your mom?” Elliot asks. “What does she do?”
“Oh, she’s a total take-no-prisoners kind of woman. She’s a business lawyer who specializes in contract negotiations. She makes sure athletes and entertainers don’t get screwed over by shady deals.”
Elliot’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “Wow, that’s tough work. She must be exceptionally good at what she does.”
I nod adamantly. “She is. She has this knack for making tough guys feel like they’re back in elementary school, getting scolded by the teacher. It’s kind of amazing to see.”
“Your parents sound incredible.” The warmth of Elliot’s words makes me blush. “What about you, Alex? What’s your major? ”
Alex perks up. “I’m majoring in sports therapy. Starting in the spring, I’ll be interning with the BSU hockey team.”
“That’s awesome.” Elliot smiles yet again, and my heart stops beating.
“Yeah, I’m excited. I want to help athletes recover quickly and safely. Plus, it’ll be some good experience for when I apply to grad school.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out. Is Kyle going to let you practice on him?”
Alex laughs softly. “Oh, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll be my guinea pig, whether he wants to be or not.”
Elliot tilts his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “How did you and Kyle become friends?”
Alex pauses, replaying a fond memory in his head. “It was last year, right after practice. I was waiting for my dad in the stands and playing old-school Pokémon on my Game Boy. I couldn’t beat the Elite Four and was getting super frustrated. Then, out of nowhere, Kyle comes up, sits down next to me, and takes the Game Boy out of my hands. In five minutes, he crushes them and hands me back my Game Boy without saying a word.”
“So, he just…helped you? No conversation or anything?” Elliot asks, clearly intrigued.
“Not at first,” Alex says, smiling. “He got up to leave, and I thanked him. Then we started talking about Pokémon—it turns out he’s a huge fan—and that led to talking about other stuff. By the time my dad was ready to go, we’d made plans to hang out.”
Elliot raises an eyebrow. “I figured Kyle was the type to keep to himself.”
“He is,” Alex admits. “But with me, it’s…different.”
I wonder what Elliot’s thinking. He’s right about Kyle; our goalie is notoriously reserved, even around the team. But with Alex, it’s always been abundantly clear that their bond runs deep.
“That makes sense,” Elliot says. “Sometimes it’s easier to open up to one person than to a whole group.”
The room falls silent, but it’s a contemplative silence. I think about how lucky Alex is to have Kyle and how I’ve always had Oliver and now, maybe even Elliot—if he lets me in.
“Friendships are weird like that,” I say, breaking the quiet. “You never know who will become important in your life.”
Alex nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. Sometimes, it happens when you least expect it.”
We get back to working on our pumpkins, each lost in our thoughts. I glance over at Elliot and wonder if he sees the parallel that I do—he and I could be like Alex and Kyle, an unlikely duo that somehow works.
When we’re done, we line up our final creations with the other pumpkins and take a step back to admire them. Alex’s last pumpkin is a traditional jack-o’-lantern with a crooked smile and triangle eyes. Elliot’s is an open book with scribbles for words. Mine is supposed to be a hockey mask, but it came out more of a deranged pumpkin face. “Gentlemen, I dare say these are the best jack-o’-lanterns this side of the Mississippi River. If you ask me, they deserve a place in the Louvre, not our house.”
“This was fun,” Alex chirps as he walks to the sink to wash his hands. “Did you have a good time, Elliot?”
“I did,” Elliot says. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Gerard.” Alex nods at me, making me blush. “I’m going up to Kyle’s room. It was nice meeting you, Elliot. Gerard, always a pleasure.”
The moment Alex leaves, a blanket of tension covers the room. I’m at a loss for words and actions. My hands, usually so expressive, hang limply by my sides.
Elliot breaks the silence first. “I should probably get going. Thank you again for having me over.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say sincerely as I show him out of the kitchen. “I can walk you back to your dorm.”
Elliot shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I don’t need a chaperone.”
I try to hide my disappointment. I hoped we could spend more time together, maybe talk about horror movies or books— even if I’ve never read any. But I get it. Elliot’s independent and doesn’t need me hovering over him like an overprotective hockey player. “Okay, cool. I guess I’ll see you around then.”
Elliot tips his head in my direction before walking out onto the porch and down the steps to the driveway. I watch his slender frame disappear into the night, his black hair and the glint of his glasses barely visible in the faint moonlight that seeps through the trees.
A strange feeling twists in my gut. It’s a chilly night with a soft breeze that carries the scent of fall and the distant echo of laughter from the frat houses down the street. The stars are shimmering diamonds scattered across black velvet, but their light is too distant to penetrate the shadows on the ground.
I bite my lower lip, worrying it between my teeth as I lean against the doorframe. Elliot’s out there navigating the unfamiliar paths that wind through campus alone. What if he gets lost? What if he stumbles into trouble? I know he’s a grown man and perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but I can’t ignore the protective instinct that surges through me.
Someone needs to follow Elliot and see that he gets back to his dorm safe and sound. And that someone should be me.I push off from the door, my mind made up.
I grab my house keys and phone, slip into my trusty slides, and step out into the night.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Following Elliot back to his dorm is a terrible idea. It’s creepy, it’s stalkerish, and it’s definitely not the way to win his trust. But I can’t help myself.
So, I do what any rational, not-at-all-obsessed hockey player would do. I trail him from a distance and try to blend in with the night. But let me tell you, that’s no easy feat when you’re six-foot-five and as big as a brick house.
Elliot turns down a side path, and I quicken my pace to close the gap between us without being too obvious. But because it’s me, disaster strikes.
I trip over a crack in the ground and nearly face-plant on the concrete. I catch myself at the last second, but not before letting out a yelp that sounds suspiciously like a dying seagull.
A few people walking in the opposite direction glance at me, their eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement—they probably think I’m drunk as a skunk.
My face flushes with embarrassment, and I quickly duck my head. I hope Elliot didn’t hear my less-than-graceful moment.
Risking a glance in his direction, I’m relieved to see he’s still walking ahead, completely unaware of my presence.
As we progress across campus, I pretend I’m a character in a movie. I dart behind trees and duck behind benches, doing my best to stay out of sight. It’s funny and ridiculous all at once, and I chuckle to myself, imagining what Elliot’s reaction would be if he caught me.
When we reach the center of the campus, Elliot stops and turns around to scan the area behind him. I duck behind a shrub, my heart pounding loudly when I think he’s spotted me.
I brace for the inevitable confrontation, the accusations of being a creep, and the potential loss of a budding friendship. But thankfully, Elliot doesn’t notice where I’m hiding and starts walking again.
Thank you, hockey gods, for the cover of darkness and my awesome stealth skills.
Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’m about as stealthy as a mosquito buzzing in your ear, but I’ll take what I can get.
I count to thirty before emerging from my hiding spot and resume tailing Elliot.
It soon becomes apparent that we’re not headed toward the dorms; we’re walking to the library. Who in their right mind goes to the library at this hour?
I know he loves his books, but this is extreme. I guess he has a pressing assignment due at midnight. Or he just really needs to get his nerd on after spending hours dealing with pumpkin guts.
He walks up the steps of the library, but I hang back. While I’m tempted to follow him inside and discover what kind of late- night studying he’s getting up to, I know that would be crossing a line.
So, I settle for loitering outside like a total creeper, pretending to scroll through my messages while keeping one eye on the library entrance.
The minutes quickly turn into a half-hour. The half-hour soon turns into the length of the Titanic movie, and I grow worried.
What if he tripped on a loose floorboard and hit his head? What if a bookshelf toppled over and crushed him under an avalanche of dusty biographies? Or, oh God, what if the library is haunted and some vengeful spirit has dragged Elliot down to Hell, never to be seen again?
I know it sounds ridiculous, but stranger things have happened on college campuses—at least, according to the documentaries I may or may not have binged last Halloween.
Ugh, I can’t take it anymore. I have to go in there and make sure Elliot is okay. I’ll just poke my head in, do a quick sweep of the place, and if I don’t see him, I’ll leave. No harm, no foul, right?
I march up the stairs and push through the heavy glass doors. The lobby is empty, a far cry from the last time I was here.
As I meander through the stacks on the first floor, I appreciate how the carpeting muffles my footsteps. If there’s a serial killer here, he— or she! —won’t hear me coming.
I peer down each aisle, hoping to see Elliot’s familiar mop of dark hair. But there’s no sign of him. I make my way up the metal staircase to the second floor and try to ignore how wildly my heart beats.
It feels like I’m in one of those video games where you navigate a creepy mansion, unaware of what lurks around the next corner. Except, instead of zombies or ghosts, I’m searching for a cute boy with a love for snark.
The second floor is as deserted as the first, and I’m pretty sure I’m on a wild goose chase. Elliot’s probably back in his dorm room, laughing at me for being such a worrywart. And yet, something tells me to keep going.
Call it intuition. Call it stubbornness. Call it the fact that I don’t want to go back to the Hockey House and face the inevitable interrogation from Oliver about where I’ve been all night. Determined not to give up, I press on, climbing the stairs to the third floor. And then the fourth.
Each level is more deserted than the last, with the stacks appearing to close in on me as I navigate my way through the maze of books. When I reach the top floor, I’m convinced I’m in a horror movie.
The lights are even dimmer up here, casting eerie shadows on the walls. I half expect to round a corner and come face-to-face with Jason Voorhees, Michael Meyers, or—even worse—Ghostface. After all, this is a college, the setting for Scream 2 .
Oh, no. I’m about to be Cici Cooper’d.
When I turn the final corner in the library, I stumble upon something much worse.